Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) (23 page)
Read Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4) Online
Authors: K. M. Shea
“Gemma.”
Perhaps Gemma missed Stil too much. She could have sworn she heard his rich, melodic voice.
“
Gemma
.”
Gemma peered over Hvit.
Stil was standing just in reach of the torchlight, the silver embroidery on his cape gleaming. His hood was pushed down, and his unusual eyes were ringed by dark circles, but he was whole, and healthy, and he was
here
.
Gemma couldn’t say a word. She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the craftmage, clinging to him as the tears fell. Stil chuckled and slid his arms around Gemma. “I know I’m early, but I believe the deal was you would not leave until you saw Linnea happy?” he said teasingly, resting his head on Gemma’s.
“You’re here,” Gemma whispered, her heart singing with joy.
“Of course,” Stil said.
When Gemma finally looked up at him, Stil slid a hand under her jaw and kissed her long and passionately. After a minute, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Although I must admit, a season was too long to be away from you. Let’s not do this again.”
“Agreed,” Gemma said, sagging in Stil’s arms. It was like coming home.
He smelled of metal and forges, but also of pine trees and the outdoors. He really was here!
“I have come to take you away,” Stil whispered in Gemma’s ear. “This time…will you come?”
Gemma smiled—not a small one or soft one, but a rare smile. A wide smile that lit up her face and threatened to steal all of her good sense. “Yes,” she said.
“Finally,” Stil said, kissing her again.
The couple staggered when Hvit playfully bit on and pulled Stil’s cloak. The craftmage released Gemma long enough to pet the mischievous lupine before picking Gemma up and twirling her around for the fun of it.
“Marry me,” Stil demanded, holding Gemma propped up.
“Yes. Will you marry me?” Gemma asked.
“Yes. We’re going to have a charmed life,” Stil decreed, setting Gemma down.
“You’re fair pleased with yourself for marrying a seamstress, aren’t you?” Gemma wryly asked.
“Only because you’re a genius,” Stil said. “One genius deserves another.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“You’ll see. We can play the question game whenever we travel—and wherever we travel.”
“Oh, joy,” Gemma said, her voice dead.
“I will have a house built for you wherever you want.”
“Verglas?”
“Depend upon it.”
“Then I will make so many cloaks and capes, you may have a different one for each occasion,” Gemma said.
“What I would
really
like is a rug,” Stil said.
“It may take me time to learn how to weave.”
“I can wait. In the meantime, I will have to hide you away. I told some of the other craftmages at Prince Severin’s summit about you, and now they all want to get their paws on you,” Stil said.
Gemma smiled at Stil, and Stil smiled at Gemma. They embraced and kissed again, breaking apart and laughing when Hvit circled them, snapping at Stil’s cloak.
On an upper balcony, Queen Linnea seethed as she watched the spectacle below. “I knew that rat wouldn’t take long to show up and spirit her away.”
“Darling?” King Toril tried.
“He’s even craftier than I am. What a snake,” Queen Linnea said.
“Linnea,” King Toril said, placing a hand on Queen Linnea’s shoulder.
“Hm?”
“She’s happy. Leave her. She has sacrificed plenty; it is her turn now,” the young king said.
Queen Linnea studied her new husband. “Your understanding of love is rapidly improving,” she said.
King Toril allowed himself a smile. “A wise lady once said to me that it takes work to build a lasting relationship. You both have done the work. Your relationship will be a lasting one. She will not forget you, Linnea, anymore than you could forget her.”
Linnea’s anger withdrew, and she smiled. “You are right. I love Gemma—no matter where she wanders in this land. I love you, and I am so happy…and so blessed.”
King Toril offered his arm. Queen Linnea took it, and the royal couple left the balcony and returned to the celebration while the Craftmage and Seamstress remained in the courtyard, talking, laughing, and loving.
Epilogue
Peder the miller was known to be a generally useless man. Even after his daughter became the savior of Verglas, was the best friend to the queen, married a craftmage, and was renown across the continent for her skill with a needle and her ability to make clothes that could take and hold spells and enchantments for ages, Peder still had a reputation as the town drunkard. The only thing that changed was he now occasionally had useful bits of information on the much-esteemed Gemma.
On any given night, one could still find him in the Sno Hauk tavern, in his usual seat at the dilapidated bar. Tonight was no different.
Peder marched into the Sno Hauk, bearing a pocket of money and, unusually so, a framed portrait that he carried with rare care.
“Alf Skeie, you lying sunk,” Peder declared, setting the portrait on the counter.
“What,” Alf said, his weasel face scrunching up with displeasure.
“You’ve been spreading rumors about my Gemma and her mage,” Peder said. As he hadn’t yet drunken anything, he could shake a finger at Alf without falling over.
“Have not,” Alf said.
“Best not lie, Alf Skeie,” Otto the barkeep said. “Not two nights ago, I heard you telling an out-of-town guest that craftmage Stil was not quite three feet tall and as ugly as a warped cabbage.”
“See? That!” Peder said.
“I said nothin’ like that,” Alf squirmed.
“The missus said you were telling tales at Sissel’s wedding. You said craftmage Stil lost a bet to the deceased King Torgen—God rest his soul,” Big Tim said, chewing on the stem of his pipe.
“No, I didn’t,” Alf said. “All I said is people look up to Gemma and her ‘mage’ husband too much. That’s all. People still sing and chirp praises for them more than our own dear king and queen. It’s a crime,” Alf protested.
“I also heard you called Gemma a stupid twit for not telling King Torgen she couldn’t spin flax to gold before the whole thing escalated,” Small Tim said.
At the back of the room, chairs scraped as four palace guards stood. Two of the guards twirled spears, and one unsheathed a sword. The only one that didn’t immediately reach for a weapon strolled up to Alf.
“What did you say about Gemma Kielland?” the guard asked, looming above Alf.
“N-nothing. I didn’t say nothing,” Alf squeaked.
“Alf Skeie,” the guard said, making Alf shrink. “I will remember your weasel face. If I hear you talking badly of our Gemma Kielland again, there will be a reckoning,” he said.
Alf swallowed sharply.
“You want some help, Foss?” the sword-wielding guard asked.
“Nah, this one isn’t worth it,” the unarmed guard said, scowling darkly at Alf before returning to his table.
“Well, how do you like that?” Peder happily said, plopping down on his stool and popping a coin onto the counter. “Otto, a pint, if you will!”
Otto poured a drink for Peder as Big Tim and Small Tim joined the miller.
“Whatcha got there?” Small Tim asked, squinting at the painted portrait.
“My son-in-law sent it to me. It’s him and Gemma,” Peder proudly said after taking a swig of his beer. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Small Tim studied the painting with eagerness—planning to carry the details of it in his mind to relay to his wife.
The portrait was of Gemma and her husband—the famous craftmage Stil—or Rumpelstiltskin. Stil was reclining on mound of pillows, his blue eyes lit with adoration and affection as he looked across the painting at Gemma.
Gemma was seated on a cushioned settee, a soft smile on her lips, and her hand raised as she appeared to pull a needle through an exquisitely embroidered piece of fabric. She wore a Loire-style dress, which was soft blue in color, didn’t cover either of her shoulders, and had wide sleeves and a tight bodice.
Gemma’s hair was elaborately braided, although wavy strands had come loose and framed her face. She had gold bracelets and necklaces, and gold barrettes secured her hair.
Curled up at her feet was a giant, white, wolf-ish creature. It had a woven collar that was the same color as Gemma’s dress, although it looked out of the portrait with blazing blue eyes.
Long ago, before King Torgen died, Small Tim would have been hard-pressed to call Gemma beautiful. But seeing the portrait—the way happiness softened her face and made her glow, and seeing her relaxed, almost liquid posture—Small Tim couldn’t think of a prettier girl in Ostfold.
“She is,” Small Tim finally said.
“That Gemma Kielland,” Big Tim said, peering over Small Tim’s shoulder. “She’s done well.”
“Gemma Kielland has done more than well,” one of the guards said. “She has done
great things
, and she continues to do so as she aids other countries in their battle against dark magic.”
“Aye,” said several other Sno Hauk patrons.
Otto raised his own mug. “To Gemma Kielland,” he said.
“To Gemma Kielland!”
The End
For a free, short story of
Rumpelstiltskin
visit
www.kmshea.com
Other books by K.M. Shea
Robyn Hood:
The Magical Beings’ Rehabilitation Center:
King Arthur and Her Knights:
Three pack (Enthroned, Enchanted, Embittered)
Timeless Fairy Tales
Coming Soon
King Arthurs and Her Knights, Book 4: January/February 2015
Timeless Fairy Tales: The Little Selkie: April/May 2015
About the Author
K.M. Shea is a book lover, champion web surfer, and all around geek. She’s been writing for over ten years and has worked as librarian and a newspaper reporter. K.M. lives in the quaint countryside with her pets: Perfect Dog and Fat Cat.
Follow K.M. Shea on Twitter: KM_Shea
Visit her blog:
www.kmshea.com
Visit her Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005ANPMZU
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