The Sleeping Beauty

Spinning Threads

She stood before him, alive and well and real. Without thinking a hand twined in hers while the other reached out, hovering over her mouth. She was smiling, a sweet imperfect smile that hitched higher on one side.

He stepped forward, wanting to pull her into his arms, to know fully that she was real, but his foot hit the spindle partly hidden beneath the bed. It rolled smoothly across the floor with the flash of silver and precious jewels in the late afternoon sun, streaming through the tower slits. Together they watched it settle against the wall. Joran’s grip in Illandra’s tightened.

“We are now free.” Kord’va and Triamond whispered, their spirits fading into the sunlight as Joran and Illandra walked through them towards the spindle. A voice, weak and almost unheard, said.

“In time your memories from the dreams will fade. By the birthing of your first babe, Illandra, you will be as you once was. Live long my children.”

They paused as the caress of nervous hands lightly touched each cheek. They looked wordlessly at each other and Illandra smiled at the tears that mirrored her own pooled in Joran’s eyes. There was a glint of light and once again their gaze returned to where the spindle lay.

“It wasn’t like that before.” Illandra said as she picked up the jewelled spindle, a lumpy, ill spun thread around it. Joran’s face hardened as the dream that had teased him night after morning after day, crystallised into memory.  He remembered the same spindle spinning and spinning. Taking it from her gently he placed it on the unused fireplace lintel.

“It was my Mother’s,” he told her through gritted teeth. Illandra brought up their linked hands, turning his over and opened the fingers. On his palm she traced the scar it bore.  Everything was becoming clear.

“He intended this to be her prison. Even if she had not taken me to be gifted that night, he was going to remove her from me any way.” For all the fey had said her dreams would be forgotten, he knew she would understand.

“They brought me forward in time.” Illandra whispered. “I knew stairs should not have been here.”

Joran’s face hardened and with a renewed determination he pulled her towards the door. The Princess hesitated. Joran looked down at her and read the fear in her face.

“Do you trust me?” He asked her. Illandra stared at him. This man had given back her life. Had faced the demons of his past, been dealt a huge blow by her own words…

“Yes.” Illandra replied. He squeezed her hand and with a deep breath they stepped through the lintel together. She was still in one piece on the other side and she laughed a breathless laugh of relief. Even in the cold rage that was building within him, Joran could still smile back at Illandra but it did not last long.

At the base of the stairs they met their first resistance. A troop of Palace Guards on route to the training grounds turned into the corridor. Before Joran had time to pull himself and Illandra out of sight, the guards converged on them just as one shouted out in an amazed exclamation.

“My Prince!”

Joran stepped in front of Illandra as he turned to see a tall lanky figure with an earnest face push its way to the front of the men, shoving a spear away from Joran’s chest. It was a face he knew well for all that it had grown and thinned much as the boy’s body had.

“Millet?” Joran questioned. His paige had grown tall, long of limb with the lankiness of the not quite fully matured. “By the Fey lad, what happened to you?”

They stared at each other, the Paige and the Prince, while the guards around them shared their disbelief.

“It was the spell.” Illandra said, breaking the stalemate and drawing everyone’s attention. “Don’t you see? Time had past here beyond the door where in the tower it did not.”