Chapter Twenty-Three Rapunzel #2
She can weave the starlight to her will easily enough, but the roots unfortunately prove more of a challenge.
Even though she can sense them clearly, moving them feels like trying to pick up a mug with a pair of tongs.
As she and Eugene approach the doorway, the tendrils jerk back in an ungainly tumble, nowhere near how they behaved under Enver’s adept control.
And even with Verette fighting him, Rapunzel can still feel the shift in his attention as silver like mercury surges through the network of roots, bound for them.
They have to get to the brake wheel before he does.
Rapunzel makes an awkward yanking gesture.
It calls a burly, thick root up through the earth, one standing as tall as the doorway and with plenty more length in reserve.
“Grab on,” she tells Eugene. Once they’ve both got a solid grip, she reaches for the starlight in her bones and draws the root upward.
It rockets them into the air like a string pulled tight, stretching higher and higher past the glittering sails. Amazingly, Rapunzel can smell the sunlight waiting for release in the crystal panes, even if it’s not the form she knows.
Then she makes the mistake of looking down.
Silver tendrils are swarming up the sides of the sunmill, racing them for the top.
Eugene sees them and says a very crude word. When she stares, he says defensively, “I learned it from Cressien.”
Their root arcs toward the heart of the sails, where their beams all meet and affix to the brake wheel’s shaft.
The shaft itself runs horizontally into a little covered hutch at the top of the sunmill to protect the gears from the elements, and a narrow walkway runs around it for maintenance workers.
Rapunzel swings down onto the walkway, with Eugene a heartbeat behind her.
The bottom two sails creak and rattle. Enver’s roots have curved away from the walls—and knotted around the edges of the sails like a heavy silver fringe, immobilizing them in a giant X.
There’s no doubt about it. He’s not chasing the apple anymore—he’s caught on to their plan. Even if they release the brake wheel, the sails won’t activate and the water screw won’t turn. She can feel the weight of the dragging roots—
Inspiration strikes. She rushes to the brake wheel’s hutch and throws it open. A heavy steel bar has the brake wheel locked in place, but this time, the release lever is clear as day. She points to it. “Eugene, on my signal, you pull this, okay?”
“As Her Highness wishes,” he says with a grin, and Rapunzel realizes—even with every awful thing that’s happened, she’s smiling too.
It’s not the starlight lighting her bones; it’s not trading seventy feet of hair for thousands of filaments of roots.
It’s that she’s solving problems, keeping her word, doing things again, because that’s the kind of princess she wants to be.
This is what she left the tower for. And even when the starlight fades, no one can take that from her.
Rapunzel crouches at the edge of the ledge. The roots pull on the bottom left and right sails, and she can sense Enver’s control in every fiber. She can use that. In fact, she ventures little feints at the starlight in the roots just to goad him into tightening his grip.
The trick is Enver’s trying to stop the sails entirely, and Rapunzel only needs one.
“Now!” she shouts, and brute-force shoves her way into the roots—but only those holding the left sail.
They curl back from the sail, shivering.
Enver doesn’t follow suit fast enough with his roots dragging on the right, and as the brake wheel releases with a clanking jolt, the silver roots pull the right sail down—kick-starting the sunmill into motion.
A shudder runs through the stones. The sails pick up speed, years of stored sunlight humming with glee. Enver’s roots are nowhere near strong enough to stop them now, and the sail tears them from the ground like so many feeble lichens.
Rapunzel can feel the starcloud tree far below, as the tension of the water screw strains to turn even through the wood of the trunk. It’s lived longer, larger than so many of its kind, grown where it was never meant to thrive.
And the tree—the tree is tired.
“Look,” Eugene says as he helps her back to her feet. He points beyond the sails, and she remembers this isn’t just the top of the sunmill—it’s the highest point in the kingdom, with a view to match.
Below them, all of Astera is ablaze with starlight.
The roots lace nearly every inch of open ground she can see, fanning out all the way down to the shore and shining even through the dirt and stone. It’s what’s turning night to day, wild and sprawling. Tiny figures like ants spill out into the streets to stare as flocks of birds swoop and cry.
And as the water screw grinds into the tree…the light flickers.
For a blink of an eye, Enver’s control on the roots slips.
Then they thrash with the panicked ferocity of a cornered animal.
“We have to get back and help—” Rapunzel starts, only to see the root that lifted them up here turn cold with silver. It reels back. “Watch out!”
Eugene grabs her waist and swings her out of the way as the root whips toward them and slams into the ledge inches away. They stumble back, his hands firm on her sides. “How are we getting down?”
A sail sweeps past them, moving fast enough now to trail a breeze behind it. Rapunzel squints at it, thinking. “On the count of three?”
“You know I love how your mind works, but there are zero handholds on those,” Eugene starts.
A crack and boom sounds from the audience hall. From here, they have a terribly clear view of more silver roots punching through the roof, ripping holes into the shingles.
At the same time, the root reels back, waiting for a gap between sails to strike, and Rapunzel makes an executive decision: She threads her arm through Eugene’s and yells, “Three!”
They leap as the root crashes down again and shatters the ledge where they stood.
The sail’s iron frame shakes with their impact, yards and yards of crystals jingling a discordant melody.
Rapunzel scrambles for a grip but lets it loosen when the sail dips into its downward arc, and slides down to the very end—where a cluster of fraying tendrils still dangles listlessly.
They wake at a touch of gold, and as Eugene skids down to join her, she tosses one to him, then wraps her fists around another and swings off the end of the sail.
The broken courtyard careens too far beneath them, even though their root-ropes frantically grow to close the gap—fifty feet—thirty—ten—
Rapunzel lets go and hits the ground running.
Eugene lands with an oof behind her, and together they sprint back for the audience hall.
The rest of the palace is in chaos, the corridors clogged with fleeing servants, Enver’s guards fighting other soldiers with verettes pinned on their chests like medals, roots flickering with pearl and silver and fleeting gold as they pass.
Around one corner, they see Maximus absolutely obliterating a very perplexed squad of guards, while Leona and Sulian and Torch nab anyone who squeaks by.
Down another hallway, Teophine and Ruvon are evacuating staff and guests.
The ruined hall, when they stumble into it, is nearly unrecognizable.
Mangled decorations and upended tables are strewn like shipwrecks in a sea of rubble, broken glass, and twitching roots scattered over the cracked floor.
Hughes and Cressien shelter behind a heap of debris, sweat glittering on Cressien’s face as he sits against Hughes’s shoulder, his eyes closed.
Enver and Verette are still locked in struggle in a cage of roots.
Rapunzel rushes to Cressien’s side and drops to her knees. “I’m here,” she tells him as he cracks an eye open. “I—I think I know how to fix this, if you can hang on a little longer.”
“Certainly not running away anytime soon,” he breathes with a wince. “Need to bill Enver for this waistcoat.”
“If we make it out of this, I’ll mend it for you,” Rapunzel promises, and pushes herself back up. Cressien only huffs something that might be a laugh, an unfortunate testament to how much blood he’s already lost. Ruvon said the apple could only buy him time, and as the tree is weakening…
The whole hall flickers and dims—then floods with starlight once more as Enver lets out a guttural, furious yell. “Do you really want me to die, Verette? Is that what you want?”
“No! I want—”
“Just because I wouldn’t give you the throne before you’re ready, you want me to die,” Enver accuses.
It’s time to end this. Rapunzel turns to Eugene. “Can you stay with them?”
“Of course.” He squeezes her shoulder.
She strides toward the writhing cage of roots, anger rising in her throat. Gothel used to blame her the same way when she was upset, and now—Rapunzel has outgrown it.
That pale gold starlight washes over the roots. She tears the cage open, roaring, “ENOUGH!”
Enver and Verette gawk at her. He sputters, “But—how—”
“Your apple’s gone,” Rapunzel tells him. “Your tree is dying. It’s time to let go.”
Enver reels back. This close, Rapunzel can see a strange texture stealing over his skin, almost like…tree bark.
“No,” he insists. “This isn’t how this was supposed to be. You were supposed to heal me—if you hadn’t given up the sundrop’s power, you could have saved me for good and I could have brought the tree down myself. The ships were only supposed to be a last resort, but you pushed me to this!”
He wants to guilt her, to make her feel like it’s her fault he has to hold her prisoner.
Rapunzel spent eighteen years playing that game against a much, much better player.
She refuses the bait. “I think I can try to heal you now. But only if you give your word—”