Congrats! This page is only accessible if you’ve completed the fairytale adventure! Here is the full first chapter of my book, Tangled Sails, which releases on March 10th.
CHAPTER 1
LYRIELLE
I was needed.
That was the truth that dictated the circumstances of my life. I was always needed, and that need tugged on every piece of me, tearing away my dreams and ambitions piece by piece. I was so tired of being needed—never being allowed to need.
“Lyrielle, Lyrielle, let down your long hair!” a voice hollered from down below.
A smile leapt to my face, and I carefully picked up enough of my hair that I could safely cross to the balcony without dragging or damaging it. I leaned out over the banister and looked down on the grinning face of Gregor. “You’re early,” I pointed out, thrilled to see his friendly face.
“Yes, but I wanted to speak to you before anyone else came.” He opened his worn satchel and pulled out the edge of a book.
I looked behind me to be sure that Auntie was still busy with her morning routine, then gathered all my hair and tied my special scarf to the end of my braid before slowly lowering it over the banister and down, down, down to where he waited at the base of the tower. We’d developed this system long ago, so when the end of my braid reached him, he quickly placed the book in the large hidden pocket that I had sewn into the scarf.
I prepared to haul it back up, but Gregor held on to my hair. “While I’m here…” He held up his arm with a sheepish grin. “Aldie and I got into it this morning.” His sleeve was torn, and a long scrape marred his forearm.
I shook my head, exasperated. “Why are you two always fighting? You’re supposed to be friends.”
He gave a shrug. “We know you’ll make it all right in the end.” He gave my braid a little shake. “Sing for me, Lyri.”
I did so, humming a quick tune, feeling the pull of magic from my heart as it raised to my scalp, and watching my hair glow just a little, though it was barely noticeable in the bright morning sun. I’d always loved singing, making up little nonsense songs when I was only a few years old. My mother had encouraged it and often sang along with me. It had been irony of the cruelest sort that my healing magic had only manifested after my parents had died. It was a constant ache that gnawed at my insides, wondering how my life would have been different if only I’d discovered my gift in time to save them.
My healing magic flowed down through my hair, and it only took a few seconds before Gregor was moving his arm about and then grinning up at me. “What would I do without you?”
“Bleed out,” I said dryly. “Suffer horrible infection. Die.”
He chuckled even as he lifted the end of my braid, a reminder that I should haul my hair and the hidden book up to my balcony while Auntie was still busy.
“Thank you, Gregor!” I said as I pulled my braid up, hand over hand. It was tiring, especially since I had just healed him. My gift flowed easily, but it always took a toll.
He gave me a cocky salute. “I do what I can, Lyrielle.” He turned to go, but then looked back. “Oh, I almost forgot. Baron Mabry went on a tirade again. You’ll likely have more than a few of his servants stopping by.” Then he ran off down the lane, toward the village of Eldmere, tossing a wave over his shoulder as he did so.
I sighed with a frown. Baron Mabry was one of the more powerful sorcerers and had influence with the High Court because of it. He also liked to use magic to hurt those who displeased him, especially those he employed. If the injuries he’d inflicted were severe, it would be an exhausting day.
I quickly hid the book Gregor had brought me in the bottom of the sewing basket beside my chair. I had a plethora of books in the tower. The walls were filled with them, but they were all books that Aunt Ethel deemed suitable for me—philosophical discourses, the history of the Magisterium of Branfrie and the shroud protecting it from the outside world that hated magic, and tales of morality that nearly always ended with the too-adventurous main character suffering because of their disobedience or curiosity.
Whenever he was able, Gregor would borrow a book from his master’s library and bring it to me. Books about adventure and bravery. Exploratory texts about the kingdoms outside the magic shroud. Illustrated texts about animals or plants. Since being confined to this tower ten years ago, those books provided my only glimpses of the outside world aside from what I could see from this tower, and Aunt Ethel would have considered them a distraction when my life’s work revolved around healing others here in this one spot—the tower of a crumbling ruin of a castle from which the royal family had once ruled. But that was before magic became a part of our land, before the High Court had taken over, when it was still the Kingdom of Branfrie instead of the Magisterium of Branfrie.
After hiding the book, I lowered my braid back over the banister and returned to my seat on the tiny balcony. The clock tower in the distance read nearly eight o’clock, and Auntie insisted I be prompt. It didn’t matter if we couldn’t see anyone coming; she wanted me seated on the balcony, my hair hanging within reach of the ground by the time the clock struck eight.
I couldn’t wait until this afternoon when she would go on her daily walk and I could see what sort of book Gregor had given me. I cherished every single one that he lent me, knowing they were my only link to the world outside. It was getting more difficult to remember the years I’d spent outside of this tower, when I had lived with my parents—wandering the streets of the village where we’d lived, being part of the world. The dimming of those memories left me terrified that this tower was all I would ever know. But surely that wasn’t the case. I was grown now, a young lady. Surely Auntie would allow me to start making my own decisions.
I shook off the heavy thoughts and reached into the sewing basket at my feet, pulling out a sleeve I was working on. Sewing clothing for myself and my aunt was a challenge that I enjoyed. Creating something whole out of parts and pieces fascinated me.
As I stitched, I sang. It was easier to simply sing the whole time I was on the balcony instead of waiting for someone below to holler up at me. The routine was mundane for the most part, only sometimes punctuated by someone pulling too hard on my hair, or by a cry of pain as someone dragged their injured body to my tower. Auntie would often supervise, peering over the edge to be sure that those who used my hair left something in return. A coin, a measure of wheat, a few pieces of fruit—whatever they could spare, whatever they thought their health was worth.
Gregor’s prediction came true. Several of Baron Mabry’s servants came with blackened blisters slashing across their bodies. Magic injuries were always tricky, so I leaned over the railing, concentrating on each person one by one, putting strength into my voice and singing words of compassion to encourage quick healing. When they were done, they all sagged in relief and trudged away. I could heal wounds, but there was nothing I could do about the emotional toll those injuries inflicted. After they went, I slumped down by the railing, resting my head against it while my breathing came in shallow spurts, and I wondered yet again what it would be like to just walk away from this tower.
At noon, Aunt Ethel brought me my mid-day meal and placed a few books on the table beside me. I often switched to reading in the afternoons, and it was good to break up the monotony while sitting there, looking out on all the places I was never allowed to go.
I’d grown up in a different village far from here, but after my parents died, Aunt Ethel brought me to this crumbling castle and turned this tower into our home. I didn’t just long for the day she would let me leave, I craved it. I plodded through each day on the hope that one day she would tell me I’d done enough and could start making my own decisions and building my own life. There was an ache inside me, deep and throbbing, that yearned for a family of my own. I wanted the kind of comfort and security that my parents had given me. I wanted children of my own who I could love and teach and raise. And who would love me in return.
Aunt Ethel left late in the afternoon, as usual. She moved her bed aside to access the one door that led to the stairwell, then she disappeared through it and I heard the lock scrape into place. Usually that sound was ominous, but today it felt like a boon. I bent and pulled out the book Gregor had given me from the bottom of my sewing basket, running my hand over the worn leather cover before opening it.
It was a botanical guide. Names, descriptions, and illustrations of herbs, flowers, and every plant I could imagine. I wanted to devour it all. What might it be like to have a chance to see them up close, smell them, hold them in my hands? The only flowers I ever saw were the roses that climbed the tower, beautiful with their soft petals but brutal with their sharp thorns.
I was so engrossed in my study of the book that when the sound of the door being unlocked reached my ears, I had to scramble to shove the book out of sight, burying it in my sewing basket. Then I lunged to grab a different book from the little table beside me, quickly opening it and trying to look like I was engrossed in the material.
Aunt Ethel stepped inside with a bowl of cut vegetables in hand. She kept all the knives in a room below, worried I’d cut my hair. I’d tried once, when it first started growing out of control. “Hello, my dear,” she said in a cheery tone.
“Hello, Auntie.”
She crossed to the kitchen to set down her burden and then turned back to study me. “You look flushed.”
“Do I?”
“You are not getting ill, are you?” She came over to press a hand to my forehead. “You know how important it is to take care of yourself.”
“I feel perfectly fine,” I assured her.
“Good.” Auntie hated it when I was sick. It was difficult for me to heal others when I was not feeling well, and natural herbs and healing draughts were hard to come by, which meant that Auntie would have to purchase healing potions. I hated drinking magic. It made me feel off and I didn’t trust it. If only I could heal myself.
Auntie went back to the door and disappeared through it once again, this time leaving it open. This was part of our usual routine. I sighed, envious of her ability to move about so freely. She went to retrieve a bucket of water from the well close by so that I could wash the bottom of my hair. Having so many people touch it, sometimes with blood on their hands, left it looking a bit gruesome by the time I was done each day.
I looked out at the sprawling view beyond my balcony and, seeing no one else on their way to visit me, I started pulling my braid over the railing, careful not to let it rub against the stone, lest the strands break. My hair was long enough to reach the bottom of the tower while still leaving a bit of it trailing on the floor where I sat. For a year after my gift manifested, it had grown at an unfathomable rate, reaching past my feet in the first month and growing more and more each day. Aunt Ethel wouldn’t let me cut it, saying it would destroy the magic, and I’d been terrified that it would never stop growing. Fortunately, it had stopped after a year, leaving it ten times my own height.
After I’d washed the bottom portion of my hair, I arranged it on the floor in a pool of sunlight to dry before helping Aunt Ethel prepare our evening meal.
“Did I hear Gregor here early this morning?” she asked after we’d sat down to eat.
My heart jumped, wondering if she’d seen the book, but she sounded more curious than accusatory—stars be praised. “Yes, he’d gotten into a tussle with a friend and hurt his arm.” I was grateful to have that truth to tell her.
“He comes to see you often.”
I snorted. “He’s a foolish boy who thinks he’s invincible.” Just like the rest of them.
She looked me over with an intensity that made me squirm. “He’s a man now. And he likes you.”
It was an odd thing to say. Was she suggesting that someone liking me was a bad thing? “We are friends,” I said, trying not to sound like that fact was monumental in and of itself. After all, I didn’t have friends.
“Lyrielle…” Her face softened and she gave me a pitying look. It was a look I’d seen often and one that I loathed. It was the face she made when she was going to tell me a harsh reality of life that she expected me to swallow despite its biting bitterness. “You know you can never be with him, dear.”
My eyelids fluttered and widened in surprise. “Be with him?”
She tilted her head toward the little rounded balcony where my chair sat, and her pitying look turned stern. “Your life is here. Any ideas you may have about marrying that silly boy and going away should be set aside this moment. You are obligated to do what you can for the good of others.”
My mouth dropped open in confusion. I’d never once thought about Gregor in a romantic sense. He made me smile. He treated me like a whole person, not just a tool to be used. But I’d never let myself wonder if I could marry Gregor. Despite my yearning for a family, I refused to torture myself by pining for young men who were out of my reach.
I longed to marry someday, but I had to leave this tower first. I’d always assumed I would be allowed to grow up and have a family of my own, that I could have the sort of life my parents had lived with each other, but the way my aunt was speaking…
I spoke up, my voice tentative. “Surely I will marry some day, Auntie. Every woman should have her own family.”
She leaned forward and cupped my cheek in her hand. “Not you, my darling. You must utilize your gift. That is your work.”
My eyes stung. “But that doesn’t mean I need to stay here all the time, does it?” I pleaded.
“You listen to me,” she said gently. “Your magic is powerful. We are lucky we live so far from the seat of the High Court; if they knew of your abilities, they might want you for themselves. Or worse yet, they might feel threatened by you.”
“But I’m no one.”
She shook her head, her brow furrowed in concern. “Not to them.”
“What does that mean?” She always said things like this, and I never understood what she was trying to say. Yes, she mistrusted the High Court, but didn’t we all? They were the most powerful people in the magisterium. Most were power hungry and ruthless.
“Your place is here,” she reiterated, each word carefully placed before me. “It will always be here. You are too valuable to throw yourself away on something as mundane as marriage.” She gave me a teary smile, then turned and walked back to the kitchen.
My lungs felt empty and I could not draw breath. My limbs were numb. My one wish—to live my own life and have a family—had been instantly dismissed by the woman who called herself my family, my protector. She’d brushed it aside as if just her few words could make me forget that there was an entire world outside of this tower, one that I was desperate to be a part of. She expected me to stay. And stay, and stay.
I could not fathom what that would mean for my life. She’d called my dream of marriage and a family mundane. Was that what she believed motherhood to be? Something completely unextraordinary? I’d spent years setting my own desires aside, doing all I could to help anyone who came to me. I knew the value of helping others and I had no wish for people to suffer needlessly. But it wasn’t all I wanted to do. Yet I’d done it, day after day, year after year. I’d kept myself in this tower. I’d protected my hair and my gift, all in the hopes that one day my wants and wishes would matter.
But that day would never come, not if Aunt Ethel had her way. And I knew in that moment, more than I’d known anything in my whole life, that I could not let Auntie have her way. I would waste away, die, go insane if I stayed in this place much longer without hope, without the promise of anything other than this. And if Auntie would offer me no hope, then I would have to make my own.
I had to find a way out of this tower. I had to leave—soon. As soon as I was able.
I started climbing the walls.
I’d been over it a thousand times in my head. Aunt Ethel was very careful to safeguard anything that could be used as a rope or ladder, and since my escape would necessarily have to happen in silence while she slept, I knew I had few options.
So I practiced climbing the inside walls of the tower every afternoon while she was gone. I’d spent a lot of time leaning over the banister, studying the structure of the tower, and I knew that the way the stone and mortar fit together on the outside of the tower was the same on the inside.
I had to make up excuses for why my fingers were scraped and raw when Auntie noticed, telling her it had happened while I’d scrubbed the floors or that I’d been tending the roses that climbed the tower. Despite the difficulty of getting dressed while managing my hair, I started dressing myself without her help so she wouldn’t notice the inevitable scrapes and bruises on my shins and backside that resulted from my desperate endeavor.
After nearly two months, my strength and climbing abilities were improving. I was able to climb up and down the walls of our rooms, clinging to the rocks and maneuvering along them for longer and longer periods each week. Yet, the prospect of climbing over the balcony and down the entire height of the tower left me nauseous.
I started to doubt my conviction. Maybe I was being impulsive and foolhardy. Maybe Aunt Ethel hadn’t truly meant it when she said what she did.
So before I took my life in my hands and left this tower, I broached the subject with her one more time.
“I know you believe that my place is here, Aunt,” I said as we sat across from one another, eating our evening stew.
She paused her eating and fixed her eyes on me. “It is your place.”
“I know how important my gift is. I know the good I’ve done, and I want to do more. But I’m grown now. I must have the freedom to live my own life.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “Freedom?” The whispered word felt dangerous. “Is that what you want?”
I swallowed and felt myself start to tremble. “Yes, Aunt.”
“Freedom has a price,” she said with a cold stare. “And believe me, my dear, you are not willing to pay it.”
I shrank a little in my seat, unnerved by her hard eyes and sneering mouth. What price was she talking about? Did she think I couldn’t handle the freedom to move about in the world of my own accord? Was she just trying to scare me?
“I’m not a child anymore, Auntie,” I said, managing to keep the quiver out of my voice. “You can’t ask me to stay in this tower for my entire life. I deserve to—”
She slammed her hand down on the table with such force that I jumped. “If you continue to bring up this ridiculous notion, then you might need to spend some time in solitude.”
My lungs felt like they collapsed inside my chest at that single word—solitude. When I’d first come to live with Aunt Ethel at nine, I hadn’t understood her rules, and I’d fought her on them. I wanted to be allowed outside, so I’d pestered and whined endlessly—until she’d given me solitude. The rooms we currently occupied were not at the very top of the tower. No, there was another room farther up at the end of the long, winding stairwell. We used it for storage. I was never allowed to leave these rooms and go into that stairwell unless she was punishing me by giving me solitude in that upper room.
The room had no windows.
Sometimes she had left me there only for a few hours. Other times, she’d given me a “calming potion” and left me there for days with water but no food, too weak to stand and in a mental haze. I was only ever allowed one candle, and it never lasted long. The last time she’d used that punishment was after she’d taken away my precious dolls when I was thirteen, but just the mention of it left me in a cold sweat. “No,” I whispered, twisting the fabric of my skirt in my hands. “I don’t need that.”
“You say that now, and yet I worry that in a week we will be having this same inane conversation. You know what happened to my sister. You know the tragedy that could befall countless families if you are not willing to help. Yet you insist on bringing it up time after time.”
“I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”
“Good. But just to be sure…” She stood and crossed to my bed, tossing my pillow aside and snatching up one of Gregor’s books I had hidden there. “I will be taking this.” She stalked over to the fireplace and tossed the book in without hesitation. “And each time you act in an ungrateful manner, I’ll burn another.” She came back, grabbed both of our half-eaten bowls of stew, and threw them in the wash tub. Stew splattered the walls and ground, but she ignored it and left the kitchen.
My breathing was pained and shallow, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, but I forced myself to breathe past the horrific panic that consumed my chest, then stood and cleaned up the mess she’d just made.
Aunt Ethel was asleep—and had been for some time—yet I waited a few moments more, gathering my courage before slipping from my bed. I didn’t have time to delay. I had to dress, gather the few things I would take with me, and then…go.
Climb down the tower. Leave my entire life behind.
Gain some semblance of freedom—I hoped.
I quickly dressed, taking the time to grab the back hem of my skirt and pull it forward through my legs, stuffing as much as I could into the sash at my waist so it wouldn’t be in the way as I climbed. I grabbed the necklace my mother had gifted me from my bedside table and secured it around my neck. Then I pulled out one of the long scarves that I used to bind my hair and placed a change of clothes, my aunt’s shoes, some food, and a water pouch in the middle. I tied it in a bundle, then crossed to the balcony, grabbing Auntie’s cloak as I went. I held the cloak as far out over the railing as I could and then let it go, watching as it plummeted and then slumped onto the ground. My heart leapt to my throat. I was used to being up high; it was all I’d known for the past ten years, but watching that cloak fall made me realize just how high it was. If I lost my grip and fell…
No, I wouldn’t fall. I’d been practicing. I was good at clinging to the rocks. My grip was strong. My toes knew how to find the right holds.
I took my bundle of belongings and tied it to the back of my belt. This was it. I was going. There had only been two visitors to my tower today, both with small injuries, so I still had my strength. I glanced over my shoulder, at the shadowed figure of Aunt Ethel still sleeping soundly in her bed that blocked the door that only she was allowed to pass through. She’d been my only comfort and companion since my parents died, and I would miss her. I knew that much, but it wasn’t enough to make me want to stay, not when she would never allow me to have anything more than this set of rooms. My life was so small, and the world outside was so big. I wanted the chance to discover at least a portion of it, to meet new people, to make a family—to make my own choices.
“Goodbye, Auntie,” I whispered, feeling as though there should have been more to say, but unable to find any more words.
I threw my leg over the banister, got a good toehold, and then let my other leg follow.
I was going, and I couldn’t hesitate. I was strong, but the longer it took for me to scale the tower, the more my strength would wane. So I settled my weight on my feet and extended my arms to lower my body. I moved my feet down to new holds, then gathered my courage, my heart beating out of my chest, and released one hand from the banister. I found a grip on the rocks easily, then did the same with my other hand. It felt familiar and secure. I’d been right to think it would be much the same as climbing the walls inside. I could do this. My body was strong.
I lowered myself again and again. Foot, foot, hand, hand. My hair tugged gently at my scalp as more of my hair was pulled over the ledge of the balcony. I was making steady progress, and I wasn’t worn out. This would work.
I moved down again, and there was a sudden rushing beside me. Glancing over, I saw that instead of my hair being pulled over the ledge a little at a time, it was falling like water, tumbling toward me all at once. I had the shortest moment of realizing my mistake, and I gripped the wall tighter, hoping that when the full weight of my hair pulled at my neck, I’d be strong enough to hold on.
The weight came, my head was viciously jerked back, and my fingers failed me, losing their grip on the stones. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing but air around me. In all my practice climbing, I’d never climbed with the full weight of my hair pulling on me.
And I was going to die for that mistake.
