22 Rapunzel
Legs may be rather cryptic, but she seems willing to talk. As she brings us back further into the woods, she chats with Zarev and I simply hang back and listen. It’s nothing terribly important, but they talk like old friends, and when he isn’t looking I see the looks of guilt she shoots his way.
No matter how long ago it was, she feels responsible for what happened to him. It’s clear in her hypnotic green eyes.
“It’s bold of you to come back here with so much unrest,” Legs says, and her horse friend trots directly through the double doors of a home that’s clearly hers. Every inch is lush with life, and the whole entryway smells like the freshest flowers.
I keep forgetting this place is built on endless death.
“Do you mean the issues with Arthur?” Zarev asks, and I frown at him.
Legs shakes a finger at him, and he smiles in return. “No jokes now, boy. There’s problems all across Mystica, but I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve been shadow jumping with Tressa’s Golden Princess now, haven’t you?”
We exchange looks. Dahlia picked up on who I was when we first got to the tavern, and Raymundo more or less knew before, but the Flowerborne we ran into had no idea. No one else I’ve crossed paths with directly pointed it out, or they were too scared to say it to my face. “You know who I am?”
“I know what you are,” Legs corrects, reaching out to caress my hair again. It’s a strange obsession of hers, but she only pats it one last time before looking directly at me again. “I knew that woman was a nut when she stole my flowers, but I never knew if there was truth behind the rumors until now. I would recognize my golden roses anywhere.”
I frown, my breath catching in my throat. “What?”
“Ah, I figured they wouldn’t tell you,” she continues, shaking her head. “Your father is Midas the Murderous, isn’t he?”
My breath catches. That’s a new one. “I suppose he is.”
She nods this time. “Yes, I thought as much. Stealing from my garden is already an act of war, but giving cursed flowers to the princesses was unthinkable.” She tilts her head, watching me. “Maybe that’s why there’s only one of you now.”
Slowly I shake my head, glancing at Zarev who looks just as lost. I take a step back, feeling like she’s ripping my world out from under me. I knew we would have to talk about this, but I figured I would need to bring things up and ease in. I didn’t expect her to recognize me at all. “I don’t follow.”
“No, I doubt you would. No one ever just gives you a straight answer, do they?” She shoots me a bemused smile, before navigating her horse towards a large, ornate table. When they reach a tall, leafy chair, she pulls herself onto it and the creature bows its head, fading back into leaves and pollen.
I gape. It’s hard not to in a garden like this.
“You’ll get used to things like that in Wonderland,” she says, studying the two of us. “Come on then, sit down. You must be here for a reason. And since Rapunzel doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about, I suppose a story is in order.”
I’m suddenly eager, my earlier fear melting away. We’re here for a reason, and all I want to do is sit down and see if this woman really knows anything about my past. But my hands slide to the bag on my shoulder, and I bite my lips. “I found you… well, Zarev brought me here, because of some letter that Dahlia gave us. They made me think that I should come here because they mentioned magical roses.”
She studies me a moment before nodding, gesturing to Zarev. Her face doesn’t give anything away, and I can’t tell if that information upsets her or not. When her eyes slant to his, there’s a harshness in her gaze. “This isn’t another instance like Little Red, is it?”
All at once, the color drains from his face. I don’t understand the reference, but he steps away like she’s struck him. “This is nothing like Red.”
Legs cocks her head, looking between us. “But the pretty princess doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
I frown. If Zarev didn’t tell me about some random person, there’s probably a reason. We’ve traveled across Mystica and this is the first I’ve heard mention of Little Red. Turning to Zarev, I search his face for answers.
His eyes narrow, looking towards Legs again. “That’s a cruel trick.”
“You want me to pass along information to the two of you,” Legs comments, shifting around on the chair. “Yet you don’t tell her how we met.”
Met? I assumed their first meeting involved the instance with the Mad Queen, but I guess I never really asked.
Zarev purses his lips, and this is starting to feel like a test. I don’t understand the tension rising between them. It’s as if Legs opened a forbidden door. He swallows, looking at me when he speaks. “Little Red was a girl who liked to play with me even after I was bitten. We were friends for a short time, prior to my change into a Reaper.”
He doesn’t elaborate, no matter how hard the two of them glare at each other. I wait for there to be some betrayal, a horrible twist to the story, but he says nothing more and Legs doesn’t look inclined to share either.
After a moment, Legs lip twitches up into a half smile. “Still stubborn as ever, I see.”
“Not everything changes,” Zarev replies evenly.
She gives him a soft chuckle before gesturing back the way we came. “Margo should be back soon with some fresh soil from the western border of the gardens. Usually she brings along ripe berries, too. See if you can’t help her get a meal prepared.”
He raises a brow, and I almost laugh at the look on his face. “You trust me to cook?”
“No. You’d kill us with your cooking skills. Burnt isn’t a flavor. Margo can handle it. Maybe teach you a thing or two, Zarev. Now off you go.”
He blinks, clearly as surprised as I am by the dismissal, but shrugs and turns away. His trust in Legs must run deep if he’s turning away without a backwards glance.
Anxiety builds in my chest. Dahlia is a cozy tavern owner who looked after me. Legs is a mysterious gardener who looks like she can take just about anyone in a fight, and she probably won’t even have to move from her comfortable spot in that chair to do it.
“Don’t look so terrified,” she says with a laugh. “He’s not going to want to listen to us yammer. And Margo will like seeing him again. She always likes when one of the boys stops by.”
I study her. Zarev is Death, but she speaks of him like he’s merely a young boy. And maybe that’s what he was long ago, but now he’s a type of monster most people fear, and she’s still looking at him like she’s ready to reprimand him for acting silly.
“Now,” she goes on, turning her curious eyes fully on me. “Let’s see these letters, Golden Princess. And maybe you’d like to hear about your magic hair?”
Legs surfs through the letters while I explore her home. She insisted on making us some tea before she began, saying it would help relax my nerves. I humored her, though my taste for tea is skewed now that I’m questioning why my mother always insisted I drink the cups she brewed. Had Zarev not mentioned it, I probably wouldn’t have put together that anything was wrong. It’s tea… it should be simple.
It feels improper to snoop, but Legs kept teasing me until I got up to look. Everything in here is homegrown, from the woven rugs to paintings that look to be done in dried berries. There’s lots of fresh fruit, and happy little ladybugs and caterpillars cling to some of the plants in the window, enjoying the wildlife that rests just outside the house.
I don’t believe this is a place that gets cold. The world is too alive out there to be coated in snow, and when I pull out a map to study it I notice that the Frostlands rest further west. The Butterfly Garden is close, but not close enough.
It doesn’t take long to read the letters, but I’m pretty sure she gives me a few extra minutes to explore. When I turn around she has the letters folded neatly on the table again, her hands folded beneath her chin as she watches me.
I give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. This place is so…”
“Beautiful?” she asks, tilting her head. “It’s pretty enough you almost forget about the horrors that happen here.”
That sobers me up, and I awkwardly clear my throat. “Well, not quite.”
Her eyes dance over me, and I see no judgment there. “We often avoid the truth by avoiding our problems. Take me for example, Princess.” She gestures to herself, shaking her shoulders as she moves. “I am a butterfly with clipped wings. A caterpillar with no legs. The only solace I have is here in the gardens, where I can still turn the ugly things in life beautiful.”
I give her a smile, thinking that’s a wonderful metaphor. But Legs cocks an eyebrow, pivoting in her seat, and a set of broken wings appears. What I thought was a cloak is a pair of butterfly wings, torn in spots with the ends completely broken off. Splotches of red decorate the translucent black, and I imagine when she could fly it was spectacular.
I swallow before I try to respond. “Um, what happened?”
She chuckles, turning around to face me again. “If I had problems talking about it I wouldn’t show you. I’m sure Zarev gave you a bit of a background on me. You didn’t ask about my nickname, so I assume he’s spoken of me.”
“When he does speak,” I say, embarrassed. “We had a lot to discuss. The nickname… it didn’t come up.”
She laughs again. “It’s called cruel irony. My love Margo made little jokes after it happened to try and lift my mood. The dark humor stuck, and now I never use my name anymore. Only the closest of my friends even know what it is.”
“Does Zarev?”
Her eyes sparkle. “I knew Zarev for a time when he was alive, after he was bitten. But no, only one of the four Reapers knows it, and he travels through fairly often.”
I wrack my brain, but I can’t remember who that would be or if Zarev even told me. She shoots me another wink, easing my mood. But there’s a look on her face that I can’t gauge, caught between admiration and sadness. “When I worked in the gardens of the castle, the Queen let the fairies like myself tend to her plants.”
“You’re a fairy,” I ask, doing a double take. She’s the same size I am, possibly a little bigger, and all the tales I ever read about fairies made them sound like they could sit on your shoulder.
“A type. Creatures are different depending on their environment. My kind have extra legs to help us tend to nature or live in the wild, and when we’ve matured fully we sprout wings and shed the extra appendages, taking to the skies. Our magic rests in the earth, and it’s what gives us life.”
I nod, leaning forward. There are no fairies in Tressa, and I suddenly have a brand new set of questions. But Legs continues on at her own accord, so I clamp my lips shut to listen. “When the Queen began to lose it, she started killing the fairies in her court who couldn’t nurture the prettiest flowers. Some escaped, some were killed. I had skill with roses in particular, so she kept me around. When she grew furious one afternoon and slaughtered everyone but me, my punishment for not being able to do the work of many was the loss of my legs - all of them. She tore my wings too, so I can never escape the gardens.”
She indicates over her shoulder, and it hurts my heart to look at what’s left of the set. “The soldiers brought me here, tossed me into the dying grass and demanded that I get to work. It took some time, and fairy blood has magic of its own. It bled into the land, and quickly helped me to craft beautiful roses that appeased the Queen. Things were okay for a time, until she started using her black magic in my gardens and killing people. The blood mixed with all my magic and nurturing in the earth, creating the Flowerborne.”
Blinking, I think of Zarev and the lack of information he gave me to prepare for Legs. She must read the thoughts on my face, clicking her tongue as she watches me. “Don’t hold it against him. Zarev was a lonely boy in life, and Death brought him friends he is bound to forever. To ease the suffering of others, he occasionally embellishes or avoids the truth. It’s usually harmless, but he’s doing it to cushion the blow.”
“You knew him well enough to know he was lonely?” I ask. He mentioned four friends, so surely he had company even if he didn’t have blood relatives to rely on after the wolf bit him?
She nods, her brow pinching. “Has Zarev told you about his past?”
“About the change? He mentioned getting caught in the woods, and the soldiers grabbing the four of them-”
“No,” Legs interrupts, her mouth turning down to a frown. “His past taught him how to track, how to sense danger and bloodshed, and taught him to be creative yet restrained in judgment. Each of the four Reapers had a personality that shaped how they handle the passing of life. You should ask him who he used to be.”
“He’s told me about the wolf bite, and the loss of his family when he was young.”
“But not of Little Red?”
Slowly I shake my head. “I’m sure he’ll tell me in time.”
Legs purses her lips, and for a moment I think she’s going to do the job for him. “Be patient with him, Princess. The first death is the hardest.”
What is that supposed to mean?
I open my mouth to ask more about that, sucking in all the information that she’s willing to drop like a sponge. Unlike so many, Legs is pretty much straight to the point. “I’m not going to betray an old friend. Ask him. Give him time if he isn’t ready to answer. But ask all the same.”
Pressing my lips together, I slowly nod. “Okay.”
“Now, these letters,” she continues, picking one up. “Not all of the names are familiar to me. I don’t recognize Priscilla or Anastasia.”
“Oh. They’re two maids who work in the castle.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I noticed that she made note of it in the letters. I’m sure when Lady Tremaine wrote these, she had no idea that someday the little princess she helped save would be sitting here in the Butterfly Garden, reading these letters with the woman she stole from.”
I bite my lip, holding Legs gaze. “Do you know what I’m doing here? What any of this means?”
“I do,” she replies, and my eyebrows lift. Leaning back on her chair, she taps her lips before grabbing her teacup and taking a long sip. “Do try it. I promise, it’s one of my best blends.”
I force a smile, humoring her as I pick up the cup. I just want answers, but tea isn’t the worst thing someone’s tried to give me. Swallowing the warm liquid, I stare down at the cup. This tastes… familiar.
A knowing look shines in her eyes as Legs sets down her cup. “Delicious, isn’t it? My Phoenix Roses are crusted in gold and are reborn from the ashes with each new moon. They resemble rebirth and the return of youth here in my gardens. But if you mess with the thorns too much, they can burst into flames.”
I stare at her, playing those sentences over and over in my head. Return of youth, flames…
Swallowing the tea, I shove the teacup away. Something stolen from a garden, and the weird power my hair grants me flashes through my mind. “My hair… my power… comes from a plant?”
“All magic is born of nature, Rapunzel,” she explains. “Even supernatural things, like controlling Death, have bits of life and earth morphed into them. I recognized your hair, and I’m sure Dahlia did too, from the unhinged lady who traveled through about thirty years ago. She stayed at the tavern, and I remember Dahlia reaching out to me, warning that some lunatic might be coming this way to steal from me.”
“You know Dahlia?”
“Quite well. Do you think the creatures of Wonderland only speak to their own kind?” She gives me a sly smirk, taking another sip. “I remember the woman who wrote these. Lady Gothel Tremaine raged up and down all the paths in Sherwood, claiming she was wrongly kicked from the throne of Tressa. Now I know that’s a lie, since there were never any rumors of a new Queen at that point. She was simply a malicious woman who wanted better for her two daughters and slept her way up to the King to get there. But Midas is as cruel as he is handsome, and he used Tremaine for his own purposes and discarded her after.”
“But…” I shuffle the letters until I find what I’m searching for. “When she first came here, did you even know about her connection to Midas? She stole and then took the flowers back to Tressa, and was kicked out after.”
Legs shrugs. “I knew there was something shady when a woman stumbled into my garden of all places.” Her fingers reach back, brushing against the damaged wings. “She came in here sobbing, claiming to cross from Camelot and around to the edges of the Frostlands to find me, begging me to give her something to heal. I didn't trust her, and my friends around the garden all warned me away from her. But those tears she shed were real, even if they were for something else. She felt no real guilt during her time here, and only wanted to achieve her goal. So when I went to gather something to help to fix up a wound on her arm, she rushed off to find the golden roses. I doubt she had any idea they are Phoenix roses, a special blend I made from gold chipped from a plant Midas once touched, and embers that I fused with the rosebush.”
I blink, trying to picture this in my head. “And that created the hybrid plant?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know how she knew it was here, but I imagine Midas has his spies just like the Mad Queen, Arthur, and all the rest. He wanted the plant for his own goals, and sent someone in his place in case things went south.”
She clears her throat before continuing. “I didn't really trust her. She was only here a few hours before she pestered me for a salve, and I was tempted to toss her into The Barrens with all the whining she did. Now I know Zarev, and Dahlia is a friend, so speaking candidly with you doesn’t bother me. But she was a stranger with her own agenda. When I decided to check what she was doing she'd already snipped a few roses and dug one up from the roots. I screamed at her, calling the Flowerborne to help me, and she panicked. I rushed at her, and she tried to burn poor Philippe when I went to stop her.”
“Philippe?”
“The horse, dear.” She gestures vaguely around us, and I suppose that means he’s still scattered around in the wind. “I tried to stop her, using the vines to try and grab her. So she grabbed one of my wings, already broken by the Queen, and tore it.”
My eyes widen, looking towards the broken wings once more.
“They were already damaged, and she laughed when I screamed. Margo was out working, too far to help. I kept trying to send the magic to attack her, the flowers coming to my aid, and she picked up my book I’d left outside and whacked me in the head with it. By the time I came to, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say immediately, reaching out to touch her hand. She’s cool to the touch, tilting her head at our joined hands. I pull back just as quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s perfectly alright. But most are disturbed by my features, and they grow uncomfortable touching my clammy skin or seeing my lost legs and broken wings. Their insecurities become my problem, even if I’m confident with myself.”
I nod, trying to find comfort in her words. But there’s no comfort to be found right now, not with my mind running wild. “So she - Gothel - stole the flowers and took them back to Tressa?”
“It appears so,” she replies, lifting her hand to the top of my head. “And to see the power transferred to a person is truly remarkable. Probably inhumane, but remarkable.”
“Why inhumane?”
“People who are born without magic aren’t always meant to come into it,” she explains. “Magic is an extension of ourselves and with such a powerful parent, sometimes the genes skip the next generation. I believe Midas wanted absolute certainty that his offspring would carry some type of gift. Although, I must agree with you. I’ve only heard rumors of the one princess in Tressa. I’ve never heard of two.”
But Gothel had, and she seemed to envy the fact. “I haven’t either.”
She pats my hand, smiling wider when I don’t flinch. “Some questions cannot be answered by an outside source. The only people who can give you answers about your heritage are the people who birthed you. If you did have a sibling once, they’ve gone someplace you can’t find in the years since.”
I don’t want to think about it. There’s enough change in my life lately and adding a lost sibling is out of the question. Licking my lips, I take another sip of tea and relish in the familiar taste. Her blend isn’t as heavy as the one Dorah favors, and I can’t quite put my finger on the difference. “Do you think my magic is rejuvenated by the tea?”
Legs shrugs. “Perhaps. If it came from something to do with the leaves it’s possible.”
“This tastes familiar,” I continue, following the train of thought before I forget all about it. “I’ve learned my magic reaches farther than I ever knew. I was always taught that my gift could reverse age, but when I met Zarev I learned I can burn and melt things too. My hair glows whenever I use my magic, warming my scalp, but my hands are starting to heat up too. I can heal, not just reverse someone’s age. I keep trying to get Zarev to let me heal these wounds in his chest, but he claims it’s a lost cause.”
“This is new?”
I shrug. “I never knew about it before.”
She purses her lips thoughtfully. “The flowers were stolen. Midas may not know the extent of what the magic can do. But healing and burning are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. It would be hard on your body to handle great surges of either power.”
“I have noticed that,” I admit. “I get tired if I use too much magic, and I have a much better handle on reversing age than I do anything else. I only learned of the healing magic because I tried on Zarev when Midas shot in with gold.”
Legs slams her hands on the table, startling me. “He was shot?!”
I hold up my hands. “An attack from my father. It was directed at me and Zarev got in the way. The gold embedded in his skin. I’ve tried to heal him but the gold returns every time. It’s suppressing his magic. Maybe I don’t have the skill to heal him fully.”
But Legs shakes her head, leaning back in the chair. “No. Zarev is half-alive. He heals remarkably well. If he’s still suffering from the injury, it’s not a normal one. Midas has a supernatural touch, and his powers might not know what to do with a body that feels pain but heals on its own.”
Too many questions still swirl in my head. “So, Gothel went back to the tavern at some point after dropping off the flowers?”
“It would seem so. Do you know anything about her daughters? If she’s missing-”
“No,” I interrupt, “she’s dead. I heard the sisters talking about it from time to time. I remember the name Gothel. I never knew she was my father’s mistress back then.”
Even as I say the words, I can’t help wondering if Midas did it. He didn’t return her feelings, so removing her as a problem might be the simplest solution. I almost feel bad for Anastasia and Priscilla, but they’ve never been kind to me. Maybe that’s why.
Legs reaches over, giving my wrist a squeeze. “Did you really come here all the way across the lands to talk to me about flowers?”
“We came because of the letters. Zarev says there are more Flowerborne around, and there were troops of Arthur’s walking in Sherwood towards Tressa. Something is happening and we’re in the dark. I needed answers on these letters and how they connect to me, and learning that you believe these magical roses are responsible for my hair is a good thing. I’ve never had anything to pinpoint the cause to.”
“It would be more than that,” she says gently. “I’m drinking the tea and won’t have any of your abilities after this. You’re something special, Rapunzel. You can’t attribute all of that to a flower.”
I frown. She has a point, but I don’t think Midas’ powers are hereditary. Dorah doesn’t have magic as far as I can tell, so wherever these abilities came from has to be because of the plant.
But there’s still pieces of the puzzle missing. There’s a missing heir to Tressa in the wind, and I need to know if the child ever existed, and what happened back then.
She offers me a soft smile as my thoughts mix together. “Remember, Princess, you’re on this side of the wall now. Midas built that wall decades ago, and I’m willing to bet only he can break it down. Just because troops are moving across Mystica doesn’t guarantee that your kingdom will be sieged. Do you plan on going back?”
I shrug. “Zarev asked the same thing. I haven’t decided yet, but if I go back they will try to morph me back into the perfect daughter they wanted. I can’t be her anymore.”
Legs grins. “Then your journey over the wall is worthwhile. Midas will always be a concern, even to the people who do not live in Tressa. He’s too big of a threat.”
Nodding, I open my mouth to respond, but the door to the house flies open, startling me. Another woman, with wings that spread wide and boast a similar design to Legs, marches in. “Quickly! We need a bigger horse.”
“Why?” Legs is already twirling her fingers to make the leaves form Phillipe again.
Her eyes dart to me, then away. “It’s Zarev. He grabbed his chest before muttering about Tressa and collapsing by the great willow. Something’s happening, and it can be felt across the land.”