Spindle by Shonna Slayton
For Mike,
who will always be my prince.
Prologue
Two servants filled the largest fireplace in the castle with wood while a small gathering anxiously watched on. Small bits of kindling and cotton on the bottom and larger pieces of dry hickory on top. It would be a fire that lit fast and burned hot. One of the servants bent down, striking the flint and setting the kindling aflame.
Aurora’s face immediately warmed with the heat, and she allowed herself to hope. Her nightmare would soon be over.
“Thank you. Leave us, please,” she said.
The servants exited, closing the solid wooden door behind them with an ominous thud.
Aurora reached for her fiancé’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He kissed her forehead in response. Such a courageous, patient man. She turned to the fairies gathered in the shadows. They nodded encouragingly. They, too, had been waiting for this to end.
Careful not to prick her finger, Aurora took one last look at the item that had cursed her. Such an ordinary object, aside from the pretty scrollwork carved in the wood. No one would suspect the power it wielded—and that was the danger.
One of the fairies coughed, reminding her to continue.
“The end,” Aurora said with finality, and tossed the spindle into the fire. No one else would ever go through the horrors she had. Still, she held her breath, fearful of what might happen. Were they standing too close? Would there be an explosion of magic? They waited.
Nothing.
Not a crackle, a sizzle, or a hiss.
Aurora bent down and peered into the flames. What she saw made her heart pound with fear. She’d thought her ordeal was over. Her hundred years of turmoil had ended, and she had found love with a prince who was eager to show her what she had missed while she was sleeping.
“Why doesn’t it burn?” she demanded.
The good fairies gathered around. “I was afeared of this,” said one. “The curse still lives. You will not be able to destroy it until it fulfills its intended purpose.”
“Isodora will be furious,” said another. “Her powers are wrapped up in this unfulfilled curse. We must hide it in a place where no young girl can ever find it again. For if a girl before her seventeenth birthday pricks her finger…”
“We cannot help her,” said the third fairy. “She will die.”
Chapter One
Briar walked the length of her spinning frames, keeping a close eye on the whirling threads. She’d been shut down more often than not today and tried to keep her mind off of her lost wages. It was Saturday, so they’d be ending early, giving her time to go home to the country and spend the night with her young siblings and their nanny.
All she did at the cotton mill, she did for those children.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several threads break on frame number four. Her heart sank. “Drat.”
Quickly, she pulled the shipper handle on four and waited for the spinning to stop. With her other frames, she could easily fix a few threads that had turned thin while the machine was running, but not this frame. It had a mind of its own and would likely pinch her fingers if she tried.
She looked around for Henry. He worked in the machine shop and had a knack for fixing this persnickety frame. His boss allowed him to come up to the spinning room and doff for her, tweaking the frame each time to keep it running. Most doffers were children, their small hands the right size for slipping through the frames and removing the full bobbins and putting on new ones. Henry, despite being seventeen, didn’t seem to mind helping her even though the other boys his age gave him a ribbing. He had been her first friend when she moved to town with her family, and a loyal one at that, so she was thankful for his help.
Briar set to work tying threads and straightening out bobbins.
“Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” called a voice close to her ear.
Henry. He had to yell above the roaring noise of a roomful of spinning frames. He reached out and pulled off a bobbin, then pointed. “This here is your problem. Something’s wrong with this spindle and it sets the others off.” He took out his tools and straightened the metal spindle.
Briar finished tying the last broken thread. “Can’t you replace it?” she yelled back.
Henry shook his head. “Already have. Every one I put in here goes crooked.” He grinned. “Besides, if I fix it for good, I won’t get to see you every day.”
Briar rolled her eyes, which only seemed to encourage him further.
With a wink, he pushed the bobbin cart ahead and began swapping out the full bobbins for empties. While he did that, Briar started up number four again, staying long enough to make sure all the threads caught and were spinning evenly before moving on to check her neglected frames.
When Henry finished doffing, he waved to catch her attention, signaling he was done. She lifted her chin and smiled her thanks. Then he tapped the edge of number four—the same spot every time—and was off.
The only person completely dependable in my life is Henry Prince.
Sure, Nanny was always available for the children, but that was only temporary. Stiff and unyielding as the spinning frames, Nanny had only agreed to help out for a year, ending at Briar’s seventeenth birthday. After that, if Briar hadn’t come up with a more permanent solution for the children, they’d be turned over to the orphan asylum in town that would put them on the orphan train sure as anything. No one would take three children all at once. They’d be split up and would never see one another again.