Towers Read online

  Her feelings were already bruised when Freida had suggested that Romy wait outside in the hallway. Pushing her shoulders back, Romy walked around the corner and into a well-appointed living area. It was nothing like the cozy cottage that she and Papa lived in. Frieda’s home looked—for lack of a better word—expensive.

  “What are you going to do?” Romy asked quietly.

  Thomas ran his hand through his hair. It was funny that after going through this experience, Thomas had lost even more of his handsome appeal to Romy. Now she had a hard time picturing what Frieda saw in him. The man clearly wasn’t anything like the image he portrayed to others.

  A magpie, Romy decided.

  “Romy, it’s nothing against you personally,” Thomas began uneasily.

  “But you are speaking of me—personally. Are you not? I can hear the both of you clear as day. There isn’t any point awaiting my fate like a recalcitrant school child. I saved Leon’s life. If you think that is worth punishment, then I will take what is coming to me. But at least let me face it with some pride.”

  Frieda’s chin went up a notch and a slight smile played about her lips. She moved to stand beside Romy, linking arms.

  “Whatever you choose to do to Romy, you must do to me. I knew about her secret and didn’t tell anyone. I have benefited from her magic. If she is to be punished, then so must I.”

  Thomas scowled at Frieda. “You are taking this loyalty too far.”

  Frieda looked at Romy, her brow furrowing. “No, I don’t think I have taken it far enough. Thomas, I care about you. But Romy is my best friend. There are things that you couldn’t understand. Even if I tried to explain them, I couldn’t. So, if you punish Romy by sending her away, you send me away as well.”

  Thomas pulled at his hair, making it stand on end. “Do you realize that, if my father finds out, this is treason? You are asking me to go against the rules of the kingdom.”

  “Your father makes the rules of the kingdom, Thomas. Perhaps it’s time to change the rules that aren’t fair to the people.” Romy wasn’t sure where she had gotten the courage to utter those words, but she meant every last one of them.

  Frieda nodded. “She’s right.”

  Thomas looked over at Leon, who was still snoring on the couch. “He won’t be so easy to convince.”

  “Leon knows,” Romy said. “The first day we met you, Leon had cornered me—”

  Frieda gasped, saying, “That’s what he was doing that day? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  “He knows about your father,” Romy answered in a whisper.

  “What about your father?” Thomas demanded.

  Frieda’s eyes had grown wide with fear. “He knows? Leon has known all this time and you didn’t tell me? Romy! He could have told my father! Something terrible could have happened. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Romy felt Frieda drop her arm and immediately felt the loss. She was confused as to why Frieda was suddenly angry with her. “I was trying to do what was right.”

  “By not telling me?” Freida screeched. “Do you have any idea the amount of danger you put me in?”

  Romy refused to get into a screaming match with Frieda. She had done what she thought was best to protect her friend—not harm her. “You don’t understand.”

  Romy tried to reach out her hand, but Frieda took a step back. Hurt laced Frieda’s eyes as she accused her. “Is this because I have gotten close to Thomas? Are you jealous, Romy?”

  The very idea was ludicrous. Romy didn’t want Thomas as a boyfriend or suitor. Frankly, she wasn’t even keen on him being the prince of the kingdom. Thomas was spoiled, selfish, and bigoted. In Romy’s eyes, he was ninety percent ego and ten percent good looks. How had she suddenly become the bad guy? Wasn’t Frieda just defending her moments ago?

  “Frieda, I didn’t say anything because Leon said that he would tell if I told anyone.”

  Frieda shook her head. “I tell you everything! Hiding things? That isn’t what friends are made of, Romy.”

  “Maybe you should calm down,” Thomas said, looking from Frieda’s angry face into Romy’s stricken one. “Maybe we all need to calm down.”

  “Maybe you should go home,” Frieda pointed toward the door. Only she wasn’t looking at Thomas; she was looking straight at Romy.

  Tears stung Romy’s eyes as she turned on her heel and began to walk out of the room. Step after step in the long hallway, she fought the emotions that threatened to steal her every breath. How could this have happened?

  Everything Romy had done was to protect others. She saved Leon’s life and was threatened to be sent away. She grew the devil’s breath for Frieda and ended up being banished from her home. Had Romy been in the wrong?

  Romy couldn’t stop the tears as they fell. She didn’t stop to speak to anyone as she raced once again down the garden path, much like she had all those years ago with rotting vegetables clinging to her clothes.

  Darkness surrounded her. Romy looked up, wiping furiously at her face. Trying to see what had blocked the sun, she was shocked to see a murder of crows overhead. It was as if she could feel their heartbeats pumping along with her own, her anger and sorrow becoming theirs. Her body felt lighter, her mind clearer. Romy was running faster and faster until suddenly the earth was no longer beneath her feet.

  Her misshapen arm no longer bothered her. It flexed and elongated just as it should have. She turned her black head and saw the silky feathers that now covered her wings. Her raven black feathers overlaid her breast and tail. She soared high in the sky, her brothers and sisters flanking her sides.

  Chapter 11

  “THERE, THERE, CHILD. It was only a dream.”

  When Romy opened her eyes, she was in her attic bedroom with Papa bathing her forehead with rose water.

  “What happened?” Romy’s voice was hoarse. Her throat felt dry and scratchy.

  “You have been out for nearly two days now. You gave me quite a scare, young lady.” Papa’s words were kind, but Romy could hear the fear behind them.

  Two days? That couldn’t be right. Romy remembered being near the stream with Thomas, Leon, and Freida. They had wanted to go swimming. It had been so very hot. Much like now, Romy felt very warm.

  “Can I have some water?” she asked.

  Papa reached for the side table and brought a glass to her mouth. The water felt cool and refreshing against her dry lips.

  “Don’t gulp it all, child. You will vomit. Just sips until we know the state of your stomach.”

  Romy wasn’t worried at all about her stomach. She just knew she needed water—and lots of it. The water reminded her of the swimming. Something had occurred when they were there.

  Leon.

  He almost drowned.

  Piece by piece, the events came back to her. She had used magic in front of Leon, Frieda and the prince, Thomas. Her Papa wouldn’t be happy at all if he knew.

  “What has you looking like that?” Papa asked gruffly. “Out with it then. I know when my girl is upset.”

  The story poured from Romy like water from a leaky faucet. Slowly at first, but once the words began to flow, a steady stream escaped until the whole of it was out and Papa was sitting there with his mouth agape.

  “Romy!” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

  Romy nodded miserably. “And now they all know, and the prince is going to send me away.”

  Papa shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. It’s been two days since you left with Frieda to sit by the stream. If you were giving her devil’s breath every twelve hours, she is far behind on the dose.”

  Romy shot up, and a wave of nausea nearly overtook her.

  “Papa, I have to go and see if Frieda is okay.”

  Papa shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. If that man finds out that you were be-spelling him all of these years, he could do something dreadful. Oh Romy, I really wished you would have told me before now.”

  It was something that Romy highly wished as well. It had s
eemed like the perfect answer at the time. Now it seemed that she had ruined everything.

  “Papa, I have to go,” Romy said, this time remaining upright.

  Her Papa clearly didn’t want Romy to leave, but he knew better than to argue with her a second time. Romy tossed on a dress over her nightshirt and slipped into a pair of shoes. She didn’t even bother with the laces before beginning to climb down the ladder.

  Papa followed Romy, only stopping to get his revolver and a sharp hunting knife.

  Darkness had fallen as they made their way down the familiar path to town. Neither one spoke a word as they were both wrapped in their own thoughts.

  Romy had dreamed she was a bird. It was the strangest thing to focus on in a time like this. But the images kept flashing through her mind. Her medallion warmed against her skin. What did it all mean?

  As they entered town, a great blaze illuminated the night sky. Papa and Romy began to run toward the end of town where Leon and Frieda lived.

  Sure enough, Frieda’s home was enveloped in flames. The crowd of villagers made it difficult to see what or who was fighting the fire. Romy elbowed her way toward the front, not even bothering with apologies. She had to find Frieda.

  Terror was clawing at her throat. Was Frieda still inside? Had her father hurt her—killed her even?

  “Wait!”

  Papa seized Romy around the waist right before she ran into the flames. He yanked her back to safety and pointed to where Leon was fighting the fire with magic. Frieda was huddled in Thomas’ arms near the edge of the property.

  Romy didn’t care that they had parted in an argument. She ran straight to Frieda and dropped to her knees. “I am so sorry.”

  Frieda’s eyes were glassy, and her voice wasn’t steady when she answered. “No, it was my fault. I sent you away.”

  Romy felt as if she could have died a thousand deaths at that moment. How could Frieda have ever thought she would abandon her?

  “No, you don’t understand. I have been ill, unconscious for two days. I didn’t leave you Frieda, not on purpose.”

  Frieda looked up in confusion, her eyes focusing for the first time. “You were ill?”

  Romy laid her head in Frieda’s lap. “When I awakened, I remembered our fight and insisted that I come right away. I didn’t know it had been two days. Oh, Frieda, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  Frieda stroked Romy’s hair with one hand as she leaned against Thomas. “I am the one who is sorry. I accused you of terrible things, Romy. I don’t know what got into me. When you didn’t come, I thought that you had washed your hands of me.”

  Romy choked on her words, trying to get them right. “I promised that I would always be there for you, Frieda. I would not let a silly fight get in the way.”

  “I spoke with Thomas,” Frieda said, her eyes mesmerized by the flames.

  “What?”

  Frieda turned to Romy. “You will always be safe here. He won’t tell his father, and neither will Leon. Thomas made Leon promise and sealed it with magic. He literally cannot tell on you. He can’t write it or speak it. You are safe.”

  Romy bit her lower lip. “Thank you, thank you so very much. But what about you? What happened here?”

  Frieda shuddered and turned to bury her face into Thomas’ chest.

  It was Thomas who answered. “I had no idea her father could be like that. I am glad that I was here. I was able to shove Frieda behind me and absorb most of the blow.”

  Romy gasped as she looked at the massive burns on Thomas’ arm. “What happened?”

  “Her father,” Thomas said wincing. “He picked up a log from the fire and was brandishing it about. Once the curtains caught, the fire raced up the walls and things began to spread. With my uninjured arm, I pulled Frieda out. But by the time I went back for him, the upper story had begun to collapse into the bottom floors. I couldn’t save him.”

  Frieda had begun to softly cry, and Thomas held her against him as if she were the dearest thing in the world.

  “I will replace everything. Your home will be even more beautiful than you can possibly imagine,” Thomas promised Frieda with a touch of desperation. “I just couldn’t save him. I tried. I honestly tried.”

  Romy couldn’t save her friend either from this heartache, but she could heal Thomas. Reaching her good arm out, she clasped his wrist and waited for the familiar glow of magic. She didn’t care who saw or what would happen to her. Hiding things hadn’t solved anything. Perhaps it was time to show the city dwellers and magic wielders just what she was made of. Romy was tired of hiding away.

  It’s said that the truth will set you free—Romy wasn’t sure she believed in any of the old adages that Papa was forever repeating. But one thing she did know was that hiding away hadn’t been the answer.

  Chapter 12

  ROMY PICKED THE RADISHES one by one and placed them inside of the old woven basket. Time is a fickle thing. How can it move slower than molasses and then pass in the blink of an eye?

  It was strange; she didn’t feel much different than she had when she was nine. Here she was, still picking radishes. A faint smile twisted her lips as she remembered the incident with Mr. Johnson. Papa had been true to his word. They never did sell radishes to him again.

  The best radishes in town were sold directly to Widow Hayes. Not only was she kind to Romy, but the widow had never once mentioned Romy’s disabilities. Widow Hayes had mentioned to Romy that her nephew would be coming to stay with her. From the worried look on the older woman’s face, Romy worried that perhaps her nephew was some kind of a troublemaker.

  However, Romy knew better than to stick her nose into anyone else’s business. She had simply smiled at the widow and told her that she would bring the same order next week.

  It had been more than a year since that horrible night when Frieda’s father had passed. True to their word, Thomas and Leon had kept quiet about Romy’s magic. During that time, Romy had quietly celebrated her eighteenth birthday with Papa and Frieda in their little cottage in the woods.

  Frieda had wanted Thomas to attend, but Romy insisted that it only be the three of them, even though the city dwellers were no longer openly hostile to Romy. And it was true that Thomas was openly friendly with her, or at least it appeared that way. Having the prince on your side went a long way with the city dwellers.

  But what they didn’t realize was that Thomas only tolerated Romy because he was head over heels in love with Frieda. Romy wasn’t under any illusions that he liked her. As much as Frieda adored Thomas, Romy could sense cracks in his armor. It wasn’t that Thomas was a bad man, because he wasn’t. However, Romy didn’t see him as the fairy tale hero that Frieda did.

  “Are you about done with those radishes?” Papa called out from the porch.

  Romy could hear the squeaking of wood indicating that her father was trying to stand. “Papa, you need to rest! You were out here for hours this morning,” she called out.

  She couldn’t see his face from where she was in the garden, but she heard the frown in his voice when he responded.

  “Tarnation, child! There is nothing wrong with me.”

  Romy rolled her eyes, thankful that Papa couldn’t see her. He had been an old man when she had first come to live with him. Now, eighteen years later, Papa was no spring chicken. It was true that he still had several good years ahead of him—perhaps a dozen or more.

  But he wouldn’t have many if he insisted on gallivanting about as if he were in his youth.

  “Papa, do as I ask, please.” Romy had given up trying to reason with him. Her current plan was straight up guilt. “Do you want me to end up living here alone?”

  Grumblings from the porch were followed by the squeaking of wood. Phew, she blew out a breath. Thankfully, Papa had complied with her wishes.

  Once her basket was completely filled to the brim, Romy hefted it up into her arms. It was heavy, but manageable. Romy wasn’t much taller than she had been as a child. Papa often told her that
she was no bigger than a minute.

  A moment of sorrow touched her heart. It had always appeared as if her Papa could do anything. He was the strongest, kindest, and bravest person Romy had ever known. But Papa had aged. For Romy, it had seemed as if Papa had become human. What bothered her even more was the fact that her magic couldn’t heal his ailing leg.

  Magic was a fickle creature. It could restore things to what they should be. But it couldn’t make one younger, nor could it prolong one’s life past where it was intended to go. Romy had done the best she could do with his leg, but it wouldn’t heal.

  Chances are, this is just how God intended things to be. There wasn’t any magic on earth that could change the will of God. Romy knew it, Papa knew it, and there was nothing more to be said on the subject. Everyone’s born and everyone dies. No matter how long or short the journey may be, it’s up to God to decide.

  Brushing the sadness away, Romy pasted a smile on her face and walked around to see Papa scowling at her from beneath the straw hat she had made for him. She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her lips.

  “Papa, you don’t have to wear that. I promise, I won’t be offended if you use it for kindling.”

  Papa’s scowl deepened. “What are you taking about? This hat was made for me by my daughter. She is the most clever and brilliant mind to ever enter this forest. I won’t have you making fun of this hat.”

  Romy’s lips pursed together. “I can’t make fun of the hat I made?”

  Papa nodded, his lips twitching the briefest of moment. “I think you are secretly jealous of my hat. You know how good it looks on me and now you want one of your own.”

  Romy burst out laughing. “’You are ridiculous. Do you know that? Keep your silly old hat.”

  His weathered, wrinkled face broke into a wide smile. Romy grinned at him. The straw hat was unevenly woven, misshapen, and altogether a complete mess. But he loved it, and that was all there was to it.

  “Do you want me to take these radishes to Widow Hayes before the party?” Romy asked.