4 Zarev
Traveling from Tressa to anywhere else is a royal pain and with how difficult it is to cross over the wall, I find myself stuck on this side. I need to finish my investigation and get one curious princess off my mind as quickly as I can. Shadow hopping within the walls only makes me anxious, but being confined to the castle for too long makes me want to slip into the shadows and never return. Maybe the princess doesn’t mind her solitude so much because her room isn’t caked in blood and gold.
Midas has a unique design approach. It seems he likes to leave reminders of his terror throughout the castle, and even on the palace grounds. I’ve seen more golden statues of people trying to flee in terror here than I’ve seen statues anywhere else in Mystica, except perhaps the Red Court. People frozen in time, cowering or running or standing to fight, Midas doesn’t appear to hold back on much. I’ve seen some poor people have twisted beneath the gold, suffering a half life no one will put them out of. Before I leave this place I’ll at least snap the necks of these victims and send them on from Tressa. It’s torturous how he’s handling his power and control over people’s lives.
This kind of torture is only rumored around Mystica. Each kingdom has its secrets, and the royals will pay handsomely to learn the inner workings of other courts. I’ve even heard of the Sherwood Fae going in to trick certain divisions and stealing the jewels and coins. It’s not nearly as chaotic here as it is out in Neverland, or across Storybrooke Sea to Ander’s Way, a large continent comparable to Mystica.
But here, locked in a golden castle, the souls scream in pain, cry for help. I can sense the unease, the terror bleeding into these halls, yet the spirits allude me. There’s no reason at this point that I shouldn’t see the dead, yet none appear.
Midas wants to play god where he doesn’t belong, and he’s crafting his daughter into the perfect likeness he can control. Her outburst in her bedroom three days ago proved there’s some strong will hidden behind the sadness, but I can’t spend all my time in this kingdom fawning over a princess.
I’m here to fix the spirits of Mystica. Reapers only help the dead pass on through the Great Divide. We don’t gain or lose anything by them loitering in Mystica, but it does add to the spiritual pressure. Too many souls trapped in one place can cause unrest, and there’s no particular reason Midas should be hiding the dead of all things.
So how is he?
Three days of ignoring the princess turns into a week. I visited her bedroom once more when she was asleep, sitting above her and letting my shadows play along her skin, but it just worked me up more than it entertained me. I’d rather she be awake so I can see that fire in her pretty eyes again. Asleep she’s too complacent. I’m willing to bet she’s a spitfire when the mood is right.
Since no one ever lets her out of her tower, she doesn't see me during those days. Arthur is gone, so there are no other royal guests to entertain. Even following the king down to his ship did me no good. If Arthur knows about the secrets in Mystica he doesn’t speak of them.
If I wanted to confront Midas, I could. When I clamp down on the shadows and fight the darkness, I can pass as a regular man. If I drop the illusion the living can see me, but it’s not something I do very often and certainly not in a hostile environment like Tressa. Visibility is something I only ever do in places that bring me comfort, or when I absolutely must be seen by someone I’m tracking. If the Queen or King sees me, they are as good as dead. I’ll let the princess be my one exception in this kingdom.
I tug at my hood as I walk, the comforting veil of my shadows putting me more at ease. My appearance is jarring, proven by the princess who can see me. I know the orange-red of my eyes equates to evil to most people, and they would be right. I’m cursed to exist this way, and even if I only did one truly bad thing in life, it was enough to condemn me to this death.
Thinking back, I should’ve known all along that Little Red was the Queen’s friend. That mistake cost me dearly. Along with my friends.
Almost a week into walking through the Golden Castle, I finally find something of interest. I refuse to believe the suffering of Tressa’s souls is the result of something that the princess did. It must be the King.
Midas is a bore to watch. His harpy of a wife is even less entertaining. I don’t particularly care where Queen Dorah hails from, I simply care that she is so wretched to her daughter. She only visits to talk down to her, something I’ve decided to stop listening to because it’s ridiculous things like manners, how to sit drinking some required tea, and other useless drivel that seems to do nothing but pass the time.
I bet Legs could tell me what’s in that damn tea if I stole some of the leaves. But that’s entirely too much effort for something I don’t care about.
However, the King and Queen finally do something interesting, and when I enter their rooms again through the Queen’s side, I realize they are both missing. It only takes walking through the maze of connected rooms for a few moments to find what’s different.
There’s a cabinet open on the far side of one of the connecting rooms, or I believed it was a cabinet until right now. It’s a bit like an in-between space, since each has their own bedroom and personal chapters. The communal space offers a table and smaller bed, and is so immaculately clean I wouldn’t be surprised if the last time they cared to use this room was before Rapunzel was born.
While I might not be visible to the naked eye, the things I do are. If I open drawers or move things around, it’ll be noticed. So I’m just discreetly walking through for the moment, observing without touching unless I find something good. I can dig through whatever I want when the royals aren’t present.
Approaching the hidden space, I hear their voices drifting up from a short hall. There’s a corner several paces ahead that I walk towards, and when I glance around I note both Midas and Dorah are standing in what appears to be a separate room hidden by the cabinet. As long as I have my shadows they will be none the wiser to my presence.
“The guards are dismissed for the evening,” Dorah breathes.
The royal couple stands in what appears to be a very old bedroom, what might be a crib covered in a very old, dusty satin sheet and rows and rows of baby toys sitting neatly around the room, with books resting on a shelf against the far wall.
A sense of dread settles over me. If this is Rapunzel’s nursery it’s oddly preserved for a girl they barely care for.
“Of course they are,” Midas snaps, tugging at the clasp at his neck. I’ve noticed he never seems to change anywhere but the bath, and I’m not so interested in the man that I’d follow him in there. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen gold embedded in the skin he hides. “I wouldn’t open the door otherwise.”
Midas is a strange man. His left hand is gold, and he appears to be right dominant. I don’t know if that’s real or a byproduct of turning every single thing he touches to gold. There’s flakes of gold by his wrist and lower arm, but he dresses in clothing that clasps high at the neck both day and night, as though he needs to keep his skin hidden. Who knows what the man looked like before obtaining his golden hand, but his eyes are like melted gold, the iris a little bigger than normal and reflecting that golden look. His hair is a lighter gold, streaked through with a few grays and whites that reflect an age he doesn’t show.
Dorah scowls, brushing back her hair. “I despise meeting here, Midas.”
“This is the only room guaranteed to not have anyone listening in.”
I smile to myself. If the King only knew.
With a sigh, Dorah peers around the room. Her eyes lock on the crib, and looking around I realize that there’s a second one pushed against the wall, draped in almost the exact same sheet. She grunts, repeating herself in a lower voice. “I hate coming in here.”
Midas shrugs out of the tunic he’s wearing, and my eyes widen as I catch sight of his skin. He completely ignores his wife, laying the shirt over an old rocking chair.
He’s muscular for a man his age, with skin that’s embedded in gold. Not like the poor souls I’ve seen forever frozen around this castle. More like golden flakes, like his skin is just touched by gold instead of covered in it.
His golden hand moves more stiff than his regular one, a fact that his clothes seem to hide. “I don’t like the reminder either, my Queen.”
I frown. This looks like a baby room. I figured it was Rapunzel’s before she was locked in the tower. The two cribs are curious though. Of all the whispers surrounding Tressa, more than one heir to the throne isn’t one of them.
“Is she still asking for answers,” Dorah gripes, digging her nails into her upper arms. “Tell her we don’t know where Rosen is. She isn’t so dumb as to try and come back here. She’d have to cross all of Mystica”
Now things are getting interesting. There’s no record of a Rosen anywhere, only a Rapunzel.
Midas groans, dragging his normal hand through his hair. “Rosen isn’t our concern anymore. She died just after birth, remember?”
There’s a harshness to his words, like he’s reminding the Queen of what she’s expected to believe. Dorah purses her lips, eyes narrowing just a hair. There’s something akin to disgust in her gaze. “I remember.”
“So there’s nothing to report back to the Queen. We don’t know where Rosen is, or why she was so different from Rapunzel.”
Different?
“Is she going to try and seize the city,” Dorah continues, pursing her lips. Now I’m not sure who we’re talking about. “She’s threatened that before if we ever strike against her.”
“The walls will keep an army out. An attack by sea could work, but the shallows make it hard to navigate without wrecking on the rocks. Even Arthur’s crew struggles to not sink their ships when they stop in port. It would be a great feat to breach us that way. The wall is strong, and it will protect us from an intrusion. The last of the spell went into it.”
Things make less and less sense the more Midas talks. This place is built on too many secrets and not enough answers.
“If someone wanted to join forces with the merfolk-”
“We know the merfolk will never side with Mystica.” He pinches his nose, looking deep in thought for a moment before lifting his head. “Rapunzel’s tea is ready?”
“Of course. I’m not an imbecile. We never stray from tea time.”
Well, there’s certainly something in the tea. Rapunzel doesn’t like me, but I feel a dull ache in my chest, like maybe I should warn the girl that her mother is up to something. Dorah was strangely insistent that she drink the whole brew when she was up there, and from the sounds of it she’s going to go visit and pull the same thing again.
“Good. We need to keep a tight hold on her. I’ve heard rumors that Arthur is returning without an invite within the next week.”
Dorah’s eyes widen. “The nerve!”
“He’s bringing a companion along. Someone I’m certain who thinks I will let him control our Rapunzel. She only listens to us, and I won’t have anyone storming into the castle and trying to turn her away from us. The brew must be perfect this time, Dorah. We need her docile.”
“Rapunzel’s never shown an interest in rebelling,” Dorah replies, waving a hand. “This will be no different.”
“We will have more guards on duty for the next few weeks. If anyone tries to go up to the tower, banish them. We will not allow anyone to get in her ear or steal her away.”
“I’ll take care of Rapunzel,” Dorah says dismissively. “You handle our company.”
Midas nods, dragging a hand over his face. It’s the first time since I’ve arrived that he’s looked tired. Old, even, like time is weighing on him. “I’ll visit her after the tea. She’s more willing to help me after that. You know she hates using her gift on me.”
I can’t imagine why. But it’s curious that Midas would need her golden touch, since he has magic all his own. Maybe it’s not enough to gain the part that lets Rapunzel wash away time, turning someone young again.
Dorah nods, and this whole conversation makes me want to dash off to find the golden princess. But Midas’ next words make me pause.
“Tell the Mad Queen we know nothing of Rosen. And if she thinks we’ll give up Rapunzel, she’s more insane than I thought.”
“Yes, Rapunzel is our gift of life.”
“She is life, Dorah. And no one will control life but us.”
Their words bang around in my head, and despite everything I’m learning one thing sticks out above all else.
The Mad Queen.
The Red Queen.
Midas is on speaking terms with the woman who ripped my heart from my chest, and condemned me to this fate.
I have to walk around the city the following day before I go in search of Rapunzel. She was still asleep last night when I peeked in on her and eavesdropping on Dorah again this morning told me she didn’t plan on visiting her daughter until midday. I thought the Queen claimed the second batch of tea was ready, but walking around on the roof of Rapunzel’s tower I never saw or heard anyone climbing the stairs.
I tried to reach out to my Hell Brothers, but none of them answered through the seeing stone. Ray is certain that the stones we use are looking glasses, and they aren’t readily available in Mystica. Usually the rich have them, or extremely powerful beings. We picked ours up after the Mad Queen finished with us, when it was time to try and put back together our broken lives.
They have their own problems to deal with in different parts of Mystica, but the issues behind the wall of Tressa are mine to bear. One will reach out, eventually. Hopefully by that time I’ll have left the city and resolved the problems.
It falls within my domain, the divide we created to make the life of a Reaper a bit more tolerable. We each handle a section of land, and avoid the Red Woods altogether. Until those lands can be saved, the souls are trapped and dying. The nation might be screaming in agony in a tone only we can hear, but everyone knows how damaging the Mad Queen’s rule is.
Everyone except for Rapunzel, it seems.
When I do make it to her rooms with a better mindset, Dorah is already there. I glare at the Queen when I pop into existence, watching as Rapunzel’s glass rattles against the saucer when she notices my appearance.
Dorah shoots her a disapproving look. “Rapunzel, you know how I feel about distractions. You’re getting spooked over nothing. Is painting becoming an issue for you?”
Her eyes widen, and I glance around at the walls. If Dorah thinks she can take painting from this girl without repercussions she’s an idiot. There’s sweeping art all over the place, even high on the rafters. Loneliness made her paint her own adventures, and I don’t miss the smear of black off to one side, white paint glossed over the top to create a shadowed figure. “No, Mother.”
I purse my lips. To me the new painting sticks out, but perhaps Dorah is too distracted by talk of the Mad Queen and Rosen to worry about anything else.
“Good. Now, drink your tea. You know how you get when you’re worked up. This will calm your nerves.”
“I’m not worked up,” she replies, glancing between me and the Queen. “I’m okay, I was just doing what I always do.”
“Yes, painting.” Dorah’s words are clipped, as though she finds Rapunzel’s hobby a waste of time.
“It’s not as though I have anything else to do,” she snaps, gesturing to the bars on the window. Dorah’s lips flatten, and I can’t help agreeing with the princess that her options are pretty minimal here. “You don’t want me to get any sunlight. What did you tell me last? The rays will damage my hair if I am outside too long ? So you barred me into this room. I can’t even walk around the castle!”
There’s some fire in her today. I don’t think she’s had any of that tea yet, because that docile attitude is completely missing. Maybe the tea is suppressing something within her.
Dorah sighs, setting her cup and saucer down. “Rapunzel, you know the dangers if anyone gets a hold of your hair.”
“My hair only works for me. So what difference does it make? Unless I recite that chant it won’t work anyway. I can’t reverse time without it, and no one else can make the magic work if they say it.” She shrugs. “They need me to get anywhere, and I wouldn’t help anyone else. They can’t cut it or the magic disappears. So really, Mother, in a courtyard full of guards, what would a few minutes in the grass do to me?”
That’s kind of a strange thing to say. Magic is rarely activated by a chant. It’s innate, a part of you. The magic comes from within Rapunzel, not from words, but she seems to wholeheartedly believe what she just said.
“Rapunzel, we can’t take chances-”
“I just want to go outside,” she says, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of Dorah’s dress. Immediately her mother’s expression harders, like she would like to slap her daughter’s hand away. “Get some fresh air.”
“You have the window.”
“That’s not fresh air! It’s the only view of the outside that I have and you covered it in golden bars.” She shakes her head, slumping back in her seat. Her eyes briefly dart towards me, like she wants to convey that she hasn’t forgotten that I’m in the room. “I’m feeling a bit tired, mother. I just want to lie down for a while.”
“Drink your tea, dear. It will help calm the nerves.”
It’s going to do more than calm her. I step forward without thinking. “Don’t drink that.”
Rapunzel jumps, and Dorah remains none the wiser. She’s glaring at her daughter, waiting for her to listen. “Rapunzel, the tea. It will help with a nap. You’re too jumpy.”
I glare at Dorah, speaking to Rapunzel as I do so. “There’s something in the tea. It keeps you content and docile. She’s rather persistent, don’t you think? I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” I hesitate. “You’re much more vocal today than any other day we’ve chatted.”
She hesitates, looking down at the cup. I step closer, and she stubbornly keeps her gaze down. “I’m not feeling the greatest. Maybe I’ll have it after I’ve rested. My stomach hurts at the moment.”
It’s a lie, and by the flash of Dorah’s eyes I know she’s picked up on that. “Drink the tea, Rapunzel.”
When she makes no move to follow orders, Dorah reaches out to press the cup to her lips. I move without thinking, batting the bottom of the cup to one side, watching as Rapunzel gasps in surprise.
The tea spills from the cup, landing on the center of Dorah’s skirt and staining it as the delicate tea cup bounces off the layers before shattering on the floor.
For a moment, no one makes a sound. Dorah stares in horror down at the broken cup, and Rapunzel glares up at me.
I try to feel bad, but it just isn’t there. Who is she when no one’s holding the reins?
“What have you done?” Dorah’s voice is nothing but a horrified whisper. I half expect her vanity to show through, but she ignores the stain forming on her skirt to kneel on the floor, crunching parts of the broken cup with her haste. “What have you done!?”
Rapunzel blanches, looking between myself and the Queen. “I-”
Dorah springs up, nearly tripping over her skirt, and grabs Rapunzel roughly by the shoulders. “Did someone say there’s an issue with the tea? Who are you speaking to?”
There’s paranoia in Dorah’s voice as she shakes Raunzel’s shoulders, and the princess grasps her mothers forearms to try and get her to stop. “No one! I didn’t mean to-”
“Lies!” Dorah cries, shaking her harder. I tighten my hands, watching the exchange before flicking my eyes to the door.
Do the guards not hear, or do they simply not care?
“You have to drink your tea,” Dorah spits, her eyes wild with anger. “You do not disobey me, Rapunzel! You always need some tea to help soothe you. You’re ruining things!”
I stare, waiting for her to stand ground and tell off the Queen. Mother or not, Rapunzel is a fully-grown adult and if she can’t stand up to Dorah, she won’t stand up to anyone else either.
Flexing my hands, I debate if it’s worth blowing my cover to stop the Queen. As a shadow wielder, if I drop the magic surrounding me I can touch the living. Death is my domain, so I have to let the magic flow freely to be able to touch someone alive.
Rapunzel is the only exception to that. I’m almost certain the girl who gives life was once touched by death. I can't think of any other reason why she is able to see and touch me when no one else can.
Dorah loses the last shreds of composure, lifting a hand to strike her daughter. Instead of fighting her, the princess curves her shoulders inward, like she expects the blow.
Unacceptable.
I grab Rapunzel’s arm, pulling hard to make her stumble from Dorah’s grasp. The hand flies uselessly through the air, throwing Dorah off balance so she stumbles a couple steps. Rapunzel shoots me a glare, but I can’t be bothered to watch her.
Wide-eyed, Dorah looks around. I’m not sure if she can really sense me, or if she just has a feeling something is wrong. Those cold eyes glare into me for a single moment before passing on, and I know without question that she has no idea that I’m here.
But Rapunzel does. And she looks terrified by the both of us, probably waiting to see who’s more dangerous.
Even if she fears her mother, the right answer is me.
Dorah tightens her hands, but she doesn’t try to strike Rapunzel again. Taking several breaths, she smoothes out her skirt. “You will drink the next batch I bring you. Do you know how difficult it is to brew that mix? I make the tea for you myself, as a labor of love. And you toss it on the floor?”
Rapunzel winces. “Mother-”
“None of that,” she chastises. “You won’t be seeing the sunshine anytime soon if you want to act out. You’ll be in here the next two nights without a maid. I won’t have Anastasia or Priscilla helping you for such bad behavior.”
Her punishment is to be even more alone. It’s not all that different from what she puts up with now, but I see her shoulders deflating anyway.
“Mother-”
“If you are required to meet with an audience during that time, then, and only then, will we send the maids to attend. Let this be a warning for your bad behavior, Rapunzel. Do you want to be even lonelier here in your tower?”
I almost feel bad for the princess. Her mother knows exactly how tortured she is by their chosen punishment, and she continues doing so anyway.
Rapunzel crosses her arms, ducking her head. “No, Mother.”
“Then use your solitude to think about your behavior. I’m not cleaning up the shards or the tea. Let it be a reminder of how fragile your freedom is.”
With that chilling reminder, Dorah gathers her skirts and stalks from the room. Rapunzel watches her leave, her cat darting into the room just before the doors bang shut again. They nearly close on his puffy, purple-pink tail.
When the locks click into place, she sinks down to her knees and presses her hands to the stone. “I hope you’re happy.”