Cinder and the Stone Man

Chapter 4

"First time here?" Klaus asked, hiding a grin as he twisted in the saddle to gauge his companion's reaction to the impressive view of the castle coming into sight. Dru's naked curiosity was endearing; her eyes didn't dare blink, like she was afraid of missing something.

"Yes," she breathed out, only half-listening, arms tightening reflexively around his waist as if to reassure herself that this was real.

Ahead, the stone walls surrounding the castle stood sturdy and stalwart, trebuchets strategically arranged on all sides, and armed sentries strolling the ramparts. The multi-storied castle gleamed pristinely ivory, the sun behind it like a halo, suffusing the entire building with a warm glow. Proud turrets at every angle of the castle, reaching towards the sky, moss of the deepest green clinging to the hallowed stone. For the briefest of moments, she felt a yearning in the pit of her stomach. It was an angry ache of greedy wanting. Would this be Ana's future home? Druella's toes curled in her scuffed leather shoes. But what had Ana done to deserve this, other than to have the grace of a pretty face? Not for the first time, it stabbed at her how unfair life could be. She tried to banish the traitorous thought, struggling not to let the envy linger.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Klaus leaned forward to pat Skylark's neck. "Whoa, girl," he murmured, a lock of brown hair flopping into his face. He pulled up on the reins, raising his hand in greeting to the red-clad sentry at the gate of the portcullis. Without a word, the soldier began the slow, arduous process of raising the heavy iron gate.

"That's it?" Druella asked in disbelief. "You didn't have to show identification?"

"I'm familiar here," Klaus replied evasively. "Just act like you belong with me. I can point you in the direction of the prison, but that's as far as I can go."

Druella nodded, belatedly realizing he couldn't see the action. "Thank you." She didn't expect him to bring her this far, and she certainly didn't presume to think that he would risk his neck further in freeing Maggie. On an impulse, she gave him a quick squeeze around the waist. "You've been very kind, Klaus."

"Enter!" barked the sentry as the vertical gate guarding the passage to the castle creaked fully open.

"Many thanks!" Klaus called out, the clicking noise in the back of his throat the only motivation Skylark needed to lunge forward, having recognized home, and eagerly awaiting a brush down and bucket of oats waiting for her in her stall.

A few peasants scuttled out of the way when they saw Klaus approaching, offering hasty bows and curtsies. Soldiers looked down at them from atop the pitted stone walls, their faces carefully expressionless. Her throat tightened, not daring to speak. She owed it to Maggie to try and rescue her, if she could, but Dru couldn't deny that a wave of nervousness hit her with full force when she saw the casual way the soldiers rested their hands upon the pommel of swords strapped in their hilts.

Sensing her reticence to converse, Klaus remained mercifully silent. Even though she barely knew him, she would miss his presence when they parted ways. Something about him seemed so safe and solid, like he really was the knight in shining armor she had teased him of being when they first met.

He silently brought the horse to a slow halt. Up ahead was the castle, to the left was a blacksmith's forge, and to the right was the prison. The scarred stone parted with thin slits in the thick walls made Dru's skin crawl and she almost wanted to tell Klaus she had made a mistake and didn't want to go inside at all.

"We're here," he said unnecessarily, giving her a doubtful glance as she swung her leg and landed nimbly on the ground. "Are you sure you want to...?" he trailed off.

"It's why I came," Dru said, reminding herself as much as him. "I have to try." Mindful of her manners, she offered him a curtsy. "Thank you. Really."

"If you need me or if you have trouble getting out, come find me," Klaus offered. "I have some business at the castle to tend to, but I'll be at the Boar's Head Pub in an hour and I'll probably stick around until closing."

Touched by his concern, Dru could only nod mutely, watching as he urged Skylark into a trot as he made his way to the castle doors. "It's now or never," she muttered under her breath, squaring her shoulders and summoning all her courage as she passed through the open archway of the prison. Immediately, the dark and the dank enveloped her. Though there were torches on the wall, the flames inside them were no bigger than her pinky finger, and the stone beneath her feet felt slick. The steady drip-drip of water was the only sound other than her own footfalls. She tried to ignore the huddled masses in each cell, all of them pressed into the corner of the enclosure farthest from the door.

The little hairs on her arm prickled with awareness as Dru continued her isolated progression in the eerie surroundings. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, she saw Maggie's familiar shock of curly red hair, and she almost sobbed with relief. "Maggie!"

The woman jerked her head up, eyes widened with disbelief. "Druella?" She moved to the door of her cell, grasping the iron bars. Unlike her compatriots, she wasn't coated with grime and matted hair, but the expression of resigned acceptance in her eyes made her look every bit the forlorn prisoner. "Druella," she repeated, as if in shock. She extended one hand through the bar, which Dru took, interlacing her fingers against those of her friend.

"They're accusing you of witchcraft, Maggie," Dru whispered. "The trial is today." She gave Maggie's hand a squeeze.

"Trial," snorted the older woman. "The real crime is that they call that farce a trial." Abruptly, she let go of Dru's hands, wrenching herself backwards against the wall of her cell. "Go away from here, child."

"I came to help you!" Dru protested.

"Can you bend iron to your will?" Maggie's brow quirked upwards sardonically, gesturing to the bars of her cell.

"I can talk to the king," Dru said hotly. "Why are you so ready to die?"

"Why haven't you asked me if it's true?" Maggie looked at Dru from beneath hooded eyes. "Were I in your place, I wouldn't be so quick to presume innocence."

"Don't talk like that!"

"Leave this place, Druella."

"Are you saying you did kill those children?"

Maggie released a bark of laughter. "Some children die when they come into the world. It's not of my doing. The fathers all want me to save the mother. If the mother bear dies, she can never have another cub. But if the cub dies, the bear can always have another." She gave an inscrutable look at Druella. "Haven't you ever wondered why there's no broom in your house?"

The about-turn in the conversation made Dru's self-righteous anger falter. "What?"

"Why there's no broom," Maggie repeated patiently. "Surely it would lessen the burden of cleaning were you allowed to use a broom to sweep."

"A rag and some soapy water work just fine." Dru couldn't keep the uncertainty out of her voice. "Maggie, please, stop this. Let me help you."

"Let me help you," Maggie's earnest face pressed against the iron bars. "A witch gets her powers from her broom. She can fashion a wand from the slivers of wood to make her even more powerful, but it can't be just any wood broom. It has to be derived from the tree that speaks to her magic, to her soul."

"It's just an old superstition," argued Dru, but the anger had gone from her voice.

"And where do superstitions come from? All superstition comes from truth. It may be a truth no one is ready to hear. But life rarely happens when you're ready for it, Druella."

"What do you expect me to do with this? Go out and cut down a tree and whittle myself a broom?" She couldn't keep the derision from her voice.

"You're a witch, my girl. I expect you to do as witches do. As witches have always done in the face of persecution. Survive."