Golden Stair Read Free Page A

coils like a particularly fine rope. She squinted at the wild strands tickling her fingers. The braid was starting to look a little worse for wear, the strands escaping from the fat coil giving it a look not unlike a demented centipede.
     
    In the morning, she’d have to do something with her hair. All seventy-five feet of it.
     
    Stifling a groan, she forced her attention back to the healer’s journal.
     
    The soft ragged edges of the well-worn parchment fluttered like a slap in the face and she squeezed the weathered leather. She’d read this text so many times, the words were probably etched into her brain itself—right next to all the other words from all the other books her mother allowed her to read. After all, living in a tower, completely isolated from the rest of the world, there was little else to do but read the same books…over and over and over.
     
    Something tickled her nose and Ivy’s face screwed up as a sneeze jerked her back in her seat. She narrowed her eyes at the wall beside her, covered with various herbs and flowers that her mother had hung there to dry. That’s. It.
     
    Closing her book, she stood and walked over to the wall, removing the dried bunch of yarrow that was still releasing tiny flakes into the air to dance on the breeze from the open balcony dominating the east wall.
     
    “You’ve made me sneeze for the last time,” Ivy muttered and abandoned her book. She wrinkled her nose, holding still as she fought off another round of sneezing. After she was sure the threat had passed, she snatched the offending yarrow over to the small table in the kitchenette nestled between the bookcases on the north and south side of the tower. Her body went through the motions of grinding up the herbs and measuring them out into neatly labeled earthen jars to be added to the rows of other jars lining the shelves in the cramped kitchen.
     
    Her mind was gone to a meadow, picturing what the yarrow might have looked like growing wild. Before its leaves and stems had become brown and brittle, it had been a living thing, roots dug deep into soft brown soil and green leaves reaching for the bright sun. She could imagine its sweet scent, feel its soft blooms.
     
    She slid her gaze to the one opening in the large main room of the tower, the smooth stone archway above the balcony that looked out over the valley outside. Her heart beat a little faster as she peered into the darkness, imagining the view from her high vantage point. She pictured herself leaving the tower, going down into the valley to collect herbs herself. The cool emerald grass would tickle her feet, and she would finally know what it was like to run…
     
    Every summer it seemed the longing grew worse, became a little harder to ignore. The sun burned throughout the day, calling to her, begging her to come run in the sunbeams, playing peek-a-boo in the forest that hid the entrance to the crescent-shaped valley. It lit up the snow peaked mountains that formed the border of her safe haven. A trickle of adrenaline dripped through her system, whispering to her like a naughty secret. She could do it. She could leave the tower. Her mother didn’t have to know…
     
    “Ivy!”
     
    Dame Gothel’s voice shattered Ivy’s daydream, the weak, high-pitched tone yanking Ivy from her position by the kitchen table and urging her to dart to the window. Her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest, hearing her mother’s voice while in the midst of thinking to leave the tower almost more than her sanity could bear. She had to concentrate to rid herself of the unreasonable paranoia that maybe her mother had heard what she was thinking—that somehow she…knew.
     
    Ivy braced her hands on the cold, unforgiving stone of the balcony, leaning over to look down the twenty ell tall tower to where her mother was kneeling on the ground. Dame Gothel was a witch, much, much older than her smooth ivory features would suggest. Her raven black hair was so dark