Learning to work the twisted stairs was like learning a language.

Each step was a warning note that she learned to play. She now knew every false step, every mislaid stone, where the spiders most often nested, and where a particular stone, about the length of a long nail, protruded from the wall. She called it the Catching Stone.  It was here she always stopped to catch her breath and she’d come to realize the protruding stone meant she was halfway there.  

         Three sets of twisted stairs, each becoming progressively smaller until she reached the top landing – hardly more than a wide step itself. It would be so easy, at the end, to fall backward, and tumble to a painful death. Perhaps this was what the builders intended for the door, heavy to open and made of stone and mortar, was a stone’s throw away from the Queen’s bedchamber. 

         She’d never told the Queen about the stairs or the door, even when it was clear that Laveth didn’t know. Or if she did, Laveth never made mention of it, but always praised Mirella for her promptness.