Page 70 of Down from the Tower

“I have no idea. It seems so unlikely now that I don’t even consider it anymore. He’s gone someplace we cannot find, and we’re on our own.”

“I’m alone too,” I admit, the truth hurting. “Even if I go back to Tressa, I’m a prisoner and pawn to my parents again. Outside the wall I’m on borrowed time waiting to be found. I can’t tie down anyone to stay with me when I’m always a threat. If Midas does send people over the wall looking, I’ll have to leave the tavern.”

“It’s better to be on the move anyway if you think someone is searching for you.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I force out the words before I can think them through. “I would like to stay with you, wherever you decide to go. I don’t know of any other place I want to be.”

“I’m not sure you know what that entails.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t know,” I snap. “My parents have controlled my entire life. This decision is mine to make. If I have to step into Death someday, I’d like to think of you on the other side.”

Zarev hesitates, and I know my words must sound insane and a spur of the moment decision, but it took a man who breathes Death to show me what it’s like to live, and I won’t give it up. Even for Tressa. Certainly not for my parents. I’ve seen the walls outside of Tressa, the torment and suffering all over the land, and I don’t think I can ever look back.

The old Rapunzel is dead. The girl I am now won’t be locked up and forgotten in her tower again. I am worth being remembered as something more than magic and hair, and I am determined to see it through.

Zarev might be Death, but I’ll breathe life back into him so we can both have a happy ending.

18 Zarev

We linger at The Missing Shoe for two more days, mostly because I can see in Rapunzel’s eyes that she’s hesitant to leave. Her statements last night were kind, but I’m not sure she acknowledges the weight of her decision.

Traveling around with Death by her own free will? Our time together would be spent finding the dead and sending them on, traveling to places of sorrow and fear. She’s light, and healing, and goodness, and taking her with me to find the dead not only feels cruel, but it’s a waste of the abilities she’s been granted.

Abilities I still don’t quite understand. That magic didn’t come from Midas alone, who can only kill, and no matter what I try to dig up on Dorah, it seems she only comes from a mundane life with no real magical ties. I don’t think Rapunzel’s healing side came from that wicked mother of hers.

For their part, Ray’s family tries and fails to not be nosy. Some of the younger siblings don’t know who Rapunzel is, but anyone Elsie’s age and older is in the loop. Dahlia hates lying to her children, so the princess’s identity is a shared secret amongst the family. So long as danger doesn’t come knocking at the door, it shouldn't be an issue.

I still think it was a mistake to tell Thomas, Genevieve, and Elsie, but they were all adamant things would be okay. Must be the cynic in me, but I have a bad feeling about it.

Elsie tries to entertain the princess the longer we’re here. She’s a little tough to get to know, much like Ray, but the two of them warmed to each other, making me worried about Rapunzel leaving the first friends she’s ever made more than I am that we’re going to have to move on soon.

Rapunzel is the opposite of the tavern children. Elsie is all curiosity pouring out of warm green eyes and a typical teenage attitude. At least Genny is humble, but Elsie is outspoken and sometimes pigheaded.

“You do look like someone I’d expect to meet from Tressa,” she says in a low voice, studying the princess. This is the third time they’ve had this debate. “Like, you’re so golden. Not skin-wise, I totally think you need to spend some time in the sun. But your hair is like silken rope. It’s so pretty.”

Giving her a bemused smile, Rapunzel pulls a section of hair over her shoulder. She stopped braiding it so tightly since we decided to stay here for an extended period, and I think she prefers to leave it free.

I trace a finger along my neck, reminding myself of the grip she had on me not long ago that made me come so damn hard. If I wasn’t already dead I would be worried about that, but there should be no reason that Death can sire children. I’m sure someone down the line would abuse that power. I’m simply satisfied to not have to concern myself with another problem.

“I bet this thing is a mean whip,” Elsie goes on, and my lip twitches. She has no idea how close she is to being accurate. “I heard a rumor that you can snap necks with it.”

Rapunzel chokes on her mead, and I hide a smirk behind my own mug. The rumors are rampant in the tavern right now, and every time we have sex, it’s known throughout the place. I’ve tried to keep her quiet, but short of knocking her unconscious, it isn’t going to happen.

That, and sometimes the loud grunts and moans come from me. Specifically if she’s choking me while she rides me.

Innocent princess, my ass.

Rapunzel blushes, and it’s cute that she still gets embarrassed by our antics. I don’t think she enjoys being watched but when we’re in our own little world, she truly comes alive. “Um, that’s an idea.”

Elsie winks when Thomas calls to her, getting up to head back to work. “It’s a good one too. I saw the red on Zarev’s neck last week. You go, girl. Make Death bow to you.”

Rapunzel is in danger of bursting to flames when Elsie walks off, and I have to cover my laughter by clearing my throat. Rapunzel looks one breath away from throwing her mead at me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she went through with it.

She’s gone back to tracking all the stories she’s learned and the princess's elegant penmanship fills countless notes upstairs in the room. Writing down stories turns them to legends, repeating the legends creates a myth, and the myths of the Grim Reapers are already abundant. If someone snatched her notes, it would get the rumors about the four of us soaring again, and any of that knowledge making its way back to the Mad Queen could have tragic consequences.

I just don’t have it in my heart to stop her. She’s only tried painting once with a few oil paints I picked up from wanderers, but the passion she used to cover the walls of her room isn’t there. Maybe because out here she doesn’t have to create her own world, she has the freedom to live in a real one.

Wiping her mouth, she tries to distract from Elsie’s joking words. “Umm, heard anything about Modred?”

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