Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) by K. M. Shea Page A

Prince Toril said before stepping away.
    Gemma was herded into her new spinning room—which was considerably larger than the previous room.
    “Sorry, miss,” a guard said before he swung the door shut. It clanked when it was locked, and thudded when the bar was slid into place.
    “There goes that idea,” Gemma sighed. She glanced at a small, round table that was loaded with food. There was pickled fish, boiled potatoes, baked apples, cheese, fat slices of sour dough bread that was so fresh it was still warm, and a small block of butter.
    Gemma’s stomach growled at the wonderful smells, but she forced herself to walk the perimeter of the room. The walls were wooden, but when she knocked, it seemed that there was some kind of stone behind the panels.
    The window, Gemma eagerly saw, was again barred with wooden boards, but this room was located on the top floor. Unless she could fashion a very long ladder, Gemma would die climbing out.
    “It doesn’t help anyway. I can’t leave, or the soldiers will be killed,” Gemma said. Not knowing what else to do, she wandered over to the table and started to eat.
    After she finished her third potato, she turned to the mound of frayed blankets piled next to the table. As Gemma chewed on a chunk of baked apple, she unfolded a blanket, inspecting it with a critical eye.
    “Might help,” she said.
    An hour later, when the mage opened and shut the door with a deafening clank—that Gemma didn’t understand how the soldiers could miss—Gemma greeted him.
    “Hello, Sir Mage,” she said before stuffing a piece of buttered sourdough bread in her mouth.
    “Working on your next escape plan?” the mage asked in his throaty voice.
    “Yep,” Gemma said around the bread as she continued braiding the strips of old blankets she had shredded.
    “Rethinking your sacrifice?” the mage asked, walking over to the spinning wheel.
    “Nope,” Gemma said. She tossed the sturdy rope/braid and blanket pieces aside and began gathering up flax fibers. “I’m just preparing.”
    “I see,” the mage said, wetting his fingers and pulling flax fibers away from the already prepared distaff, maneuvering them so they circled the spindle.
    “Will you have enough time tonight to spin all of this?” Gemma asked, dropping an armload of the fibers by the spinning machine.
    “Yes. The machine will merely have to spin faster. If it appears that I am running out of time, I can always set up my spinning wheel,” the mage said.
    “You have a spinning wheel?” Gemma asked, looking at his cloak with new appreciation.
    “Yes. I carry a number of tool kits, spinning wheels, saws, everything,” the mage said. “I need them to work my craft-magic.”
    “So you make magical items?” Gemma asked.
    The mage shrugged. “Yes. But it takes quite a bit of time to make things from scratch. My more valuable skills lie in the ability to bestow magic upon regular items after they have already been made. It’s not often I get to make something truly magical, though.”
    “Why not?”
    “In order to work my magic, the item must be high quality.”
    “I would think that would mean it would be quite easy if you visited a King or Queen,” Gemma said, dropping another bundle of fibers by the spinning wheel.
    “No, I don’t mean expensive. The high quality has nothing to do with the base materials,” the mage said as he added fibers to the distaff when the spinning wheel starting whirling on its own as his magic activated. “The item needs to be well made by a true craftsmen. These days, people are more concerned with getting the newest styles as quickly as possible—which means the items appear to be beautiful but often the crafters have taken shortcuts to churn them out,” the mage said.
    “So you can only make something magic if it’s well made?”
    “No, I can still enchant cheap knock-offs,” the mage admitted. “But they don’t hold on to the spells very long, and they won’t stand up for