Rapunzel thinks for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin. “Tell me more about your family, Wren, please.”
I pick at one of the many calluses on my right palm—put there from long hours spent training with swords and bows. “You already know my mother is a midwife, and my father is a royal huntsman. What’s left to tell?”
“Everything,” she breathes. “I enjoy the stories you share with me of your grand adventures.”
Adventures.
The inconsequential things I take for granted: daily school lessons, making mischief with my friends, grueling training sessions with weaponry, and household chores.
According to Rapunzel, these are my grand adventures.
I tell her the mundane details of my day. How I woke before dawn, ate a quick breakfast, and helped my mother with the chores while my father is away at Newkirk Castle visiting King John at court. I take what little of herself Rapunzel offers and allow her to live vicariously through me. In return, I spend time with this mysterious girl who has become my best friend.
“Nothing will compare to the adventures you and I will have once you are free of this place.”
She rocks farther out. “Yes, Wren…such wonderful adventures await us.”
Something in her tone sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t know why.
Perhaps she doesn’t believe she will leave this tower.
She’s wrong.
The day she gains her freedom will be our first adventure together.
3
WREN
Fourteen Years Old
Once upon a time, there was an evil, old hag—”
“Wren, stop.” Rapunzel, one hand planted on her hip, wags a scolding finger at me.
“Or what?” I ask on a laugh.
Shetsksme, but I ignore her reprimand. The distance between us has increasingly become an itch I can’t scratch. I’m training as a huntsman in earnest now, and it’s taking up much of my time, making it difficult to sneak away from Leeds. The time between my visits and the space that separates us are living entities. Something tangible and ugly.
“Sybil is neither old nor evil.”
I cock a brow at her assessment of her captor. “You have your opinion. I have mine.”
“You’ve never seen Sybil. Therefore, you can’t form a proper opinion,” Rapunzel points out.
Sitting on the grass, I swipe my flop of brown hair out of my equally brown eyes and peer up at Rapunzel. As usual, she’s perched on the edge of the windowsill. Today, she has a bright yellow blanket gathered around her lithe body. It’s early spring, and the wind still carries a chill. I’ve finally grown large enough to inherit my father’s old clothing. His deep green woolen jerkin works wonders to keep me warm during the endless hours spent outdoors.
“Not true,” I counter. “I’ve seen the witch once. I’m convinced she led me to you.”
“That’s impossible.” The note of skepticism in Rapunzel’s voice drifts down to me on the breeze. “Sybil cloaks herself in magic. It renders her invisible to the eye.” She thinks for a moment. “Not unless she wants to be seen.”
I shrug, pulling up tufts of grass. “Maybe Sybil wanted me to find you.” Rapunzel’s measured silence draws my gaze from the ground to her. She’s staring back at me, her expression peculiar. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Rapunzel slips off the window’s ledge and retreats into the tower. “I’m tired, Wren. You’ll come back soon, won’t you?”
“Always, Rapunzel.”
Before the promise finishes leaving my mouth, she’s already gone from the window.
