as the champion of the night, Gemma’s heart was lighter, and the dungeon was not so terribly bleak.
Chapter 7
At sunset the following day, Gemma stood in front of her cell door, her arms folded across her chest, her feet firmly planted. Her stomach growled so loudly it was painful. She hadn’t had anything to eat besides the apple and cheese from the mage almost a full day before.
Gemma stood as still as a statue and was not disappointed. Within minutes, the door to her cell clanked and swung open.
The captain from the previous day, the guard called Foss, and four other guards stood on the other side, braced as if Gemma were a wild animal about to attack.
Gemma raised an eyebrow at their stance and wordlessly joined them in the aisle. The soldiers crowded around her, making it difficult to move. Gemma was surprised they didn’t put shackles on her or tie her arms behind her back.
The escort to the room she was to spin in was silent, awkward, and uncomfortable. The guards startled whenever she moved—Foss almost yelled when she raised a hand to adjust her hair-band.
After climbing two different sets of stairs and winding down several hallways, Gemma and her escort popped out in a narrow corridor where King Torgen, Prince Toril, and a band of guards were waiting for them.
“Gemma Kielland, your time has come,” King Torgen said, indicating to the doorway in front of him. “The conditions are the same as before. Spin all the flax into gold by dawn, or I will have you beheaded.”
Gemma glanced through the open doorway and, with disappointment, noted that it was not the same room as the previous time. Even worse, there was a great deal more flax. There was so much, in fact, that it covered the room like a fibrous carpet.
“Very well, but I have a new condition as well, My Lord,” Gemma said.
“What?” King Torgen said, his face going from feverishly happy to angry.
Behind him, Prince Toril made a gesture to stop.
“I will spin this flax, but it will make more noise than my previous time. I cannot have any guards on duty—for if they hear my work, the flax will fail to turn into gold,” Gemma said.
The guards surrounding Gemma did not turn to gape at her—as Gemma was sure they longed to—but one of them shifted, and two of the guards who were holding spears tightened their grips so the wooden poles of their weapons creaked.
They knew what she was doing—or trying to do.
“I think not, Gemma Kielland,” King Torgen said, his bloodshot eyes narrowed.
“Then you won’t see a speck of gold,” Gemma said, her voice flat as she stared the King down.
Nobody spoke.
King Torgen and Gemma stared at each other. Gemma held his feverish glare. She knew if she looked away, he would tear into her.
“Father, you should give her a fair chance,” Prince Toril said. “If she, er, cannot complete the task it will hardly be her fault.”
King Torgen sneered. “Fine. The guards will stay on duty, but they will be stationed two hallways away.”
With this pronouncement, King Torgen walked away, four guards trailing behind him.
Prince Toril shuddered. When his father drew out of sight, he whispered, “That was dangerous. I can see why Lady Linnea thinks so highly of you.”
“Forgive me, My Lord,” Gemma said.
“No, I know what you were trying to do. It was an honorable idea, but he’s not desperate enough to give you whatever you demand. Yet,” the prince said as he looked at Gemma with a pinched expression.
“Thank you, My Lord,” Gemma said when she realized he expected some sort of reply.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you more. I’m working to keep flax fibers out of Ostfold for now. I hope that is useful. Will you be alright tonight?”
Thinking back to her time spent with the mage, Gemma cocked her head. “I think so.”
Prince Toril’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Great—I’ll tell Lady Linnea. Until tomorrow morning, then. I wish you all the luck in the world,”
Chapter 7
At sunset the following day, Gemma stood in front of her cell door, her arms folded across her chest, her feet firmly planted. Her stomach growled so loudly it was painful. She hadn’t had anything to eat besides the apple and cheese from the mage almost a full day before.
Gemma stood as still as a statue and was not disappointed. Within minutes, the door to her cell clanked and swung open.
The captain from the previous day, the guard called Foss, and four other guards stood on the other side, braced as if Gemma were a wild animal about to attack.
Gemma raised an eyebrow at their stance and wordlessly joined them in the aisle. The soldiers crowded around her, making it difficult to move. Gemma was surprised they didn’t put shackles on her or tie her arms behind her back.
The escort to the room she was to spin in was silent, awkward, and uncomfortable. The guards startled whenever she moved—Foss almost yelled when she raised a hand to adjust her hair-band.
After climbing two different sets of stairs and winding down several hallways, Gemma and her escort popped out in a narrow corridor where King Torgen, Prince Toril, and a band of guards were waiting for them.
“Gemma Kielland, your time has come,” King Torgen said, indicating to the doorway in front of him. “The conditions are the same as before. Spin all the flax into gold by dawn, or I will have you beheaded.”
Gemma glanced through the open doorway and, with disappointment, noted that it was not the same room as the previous time. Even worse, there was a great deal more flax. There was so much, in fact, that it covered the room like a fibrous carpet.
“Very well, but I have a new condition as well, My Lord,” Gemma said.
“What?” King Torgen said, his face going from feverishly happy to angry.
Behind him, Prince Toril made a gesture to stop.
“I will spin this flax, but it will make more noise than my previous time. I cannot have any guards on duty—for if they hear my work, the flax will fail to turn into gold,” Gemma said.
The guards surrounding Gemma did not turn to gape at her—as Gemma was sure they longed to—but one of them shifted, and two of the guards who were holding spears tightened their grips so the wooden poles of their weapons creaked.
They knew what she was doing—or trying to do.
“I think not, Gemma Kielland,” King Torgen said, his bloodshot eyes narrowed.
“Then you won’t see a speck of gold,” Gemma said, her voice flat as she stared the King down.
Nobody spoke.
King Torgen and Gemma stared at each other. Gemma held his feverish glare. She knew if she looked away, he would tear into her.
“Father, you should give her a fair chance,” Prince Toril said. “If she, er, cannot complete the task it will hardly be her fault.”
King Torgen sneered. “Fine. The guards will stay on duty, but they will be stationed two hallways away.”
With this pronouncement, King Torgen walked away, four guards trailing behind him.
Prince Toril shuddered. When his father drew out of sight, he whispered, “That was dangerous. I can see why Lady Linnea thinks so highly of you.”
“Forgive me, My Lord,” Gemma said.
“No, I know what you were trying to do. It was an honorable idea, but he’s not desperate enough to give you whatever you demand. Yet,” the prince said as he looked at Gemma with a pinched expression.
“Thank you, My Lord,” Gemma said when she realized he expected some sort of reply.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you more. I’m working to keep flax fibers out of Ostfold for now. I hope that is useful. Will you be alright tonight?”
Thinking back to her time spent with the mage, Gemma cocked her head. “I think so.”
Prince Toril’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Great—I’ll tell Lady Linnea. Until tomorrow morning, then. I wish you all the luck in the world,”
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