The Fabled

Four

Listen on low volume :)

"But round about the castle there began to grow a hedge of thorns, which every year became higher, and at last grew close up round the castle and all over it, so that there was nothing of it to be seen . . ." -Brothers Grimm, 1812.

    The conversation at the cottage was brief and has not left me optimistic.

    "I didn't know the queen kept a dungeon," the rebel had noted. "She got rid of the ones in cities and just went straight to execution."

    I grimaced, but it was more for show. "Mother likes keeping the real bad ones as trophies, and the prisoners wouldn't care if two other criminals snuck in."

    Clay shook his head, but only left it with, "It's just too easy."

Now, as we reach the palace, his words haunt my thoughts. I'm working with a rebel; one with a mole in the palace. He had admitted that his people sent one in, who had been assisting Clay on a set schedule to dig into regal offices. The rope I snapped. If only I kept it there. Our break-in would be a lot easier if I did.

The hike went by a lot quicker than I thought it would. I always imagined my home to be isolated from the other towns and cities, but it seems that the Glass Crest is indeed a small kingdom. My ignorance overwhelms my mind, even more than the paranoia. I blame it on the fact that my magic never returned to me. Perhaps I wouldn't be as distressed if I was still immune to the cold . . .

Clay and I press ourselves against the back of the palace wall after we carefully erased our tracks in the snow. There is not a single soul in sight nor another crunch in the icy terrain but our own. It's hard to imagine that Clay has done this before and had not gotten caught.

"Stay where I can see you," Clay whispers. "And don't try anything or I will end you and this mission."

"Great, nice to know we have each other's backs," I reply under my breath, but I am already creeping towards the trap door. It is hidden away under a pile of newly fallen snow, making it almost nonexistent.

The storm has passed from the night before, revealing a moon now brighter than ever. Just more exposure against our already unlikely odds of succeeding. The only reason we haven't been spotted is because of the thickets; shadows are cast from every direction and no guard dares to stay posted here for long. Wolves love the forest almost as much as I did observing it from my bedroom window, but never had I imagined myself being so close to this kind of danger.

It makes me work even faster.

With my borrowed cloak, I brush away the snow until I see a glimmer from the metal handles, parts of them rusted into bronze. I pull, but the door stays put, and I come back with orange hands.

Clay gestures for me to step aside and I obey. As he struggles with the door, I keep an eye out for any lurking guards, but my focus is more on the wolves than anything else. Luckily, they are nowhere in sight.

"It's rusted closed," he mutters, grunting.

"Or frozen," I quip. Something flies low across the needle shrubs, almost like a flicker of light.

I hold my breath. A wolf already? "Hurry, unless you want to be a midnight snack."

Clay lets out an exasperated growl before letting go. The rebel takes out his blade and sinks it where the two doors meet, sawing through ice. Yet another pair of eyes catch my attention, and then it's accompanied by two more.

I try my magic one more time, but not even a single spark appears. The rebel just couldn't wait for my magic to return first before coming here.