“What promise?”
“You’ll allow Paul to walk in this garden. I’ll ensure that no one sees him, but he must have some freedom. He’s already becoming more agitated than is wise.”
Gustav shook his head. “He’s escaped once too often. These so-called sentries of yours are supposed to put him to sleep if he tries to escape.” He glared accusingly at the rosebushes. They drooped their heads in embarrassment.
Claudio glared in frustration. He began to pace. He’d served this family for years, being careful to conceal his magical abilities. When the change had come upon Paul, Claudio had no choice but to offer his help. He loved Gustav like a son, but Gustav treated magic like it was his own personal possession. He never considered the dangers.
Finally, Claudio said, “You expect too much of me, Gustav. I’m a paltry enchanter at best, and I’ve done all I can. I won’t interfere with Tecoptra’s will. To do so is madness.”
Gustav stared at Claudio for a long moment. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will. Take him inside.” He turned and stamped away.
Claudio could not contain his tears. He trudged toward a majestic castle that towered beyond the rosebushes, a castle that should have been a home but was instead a prison. “Forgive me,” he murmured to Paul, whom the zephyr was now bearing toward the castle.
He addressed the roses. “If he asks to leave here again, don’t let him go.” The roses rustled a promise to obey, but the sound contained a heavy reproach. Claudio sighed. Then, thanking the zephyr, he gathered Paul into his arms as he was deposited on the threshold. Claudio entered the castle, the door slamming behind him with a reverberating finality.
Chapter Three
A middle-aged woman stood by the closed castle gate. She listened for any sound from within, but all was still. Pain patrolled the grounds like a sentry.
Gwendolyn shook with sobs, and she repeatedly traced a hand along her left cheek. She thought of the crimson birthmark that gleamed there. In her other hand, she held a white rose. As she stood by the gate, she remembered the evil she had inadvertently caused. If Gwendolyn was honest with herself, perhaps she had known all along that her hatred would wreak havoc. Now, she hoped in some small way to make amends. The white rose she held would hopefully set things right.
Gwendolyn had always possessed an affinity for flowers. They were kind. They never laughed at her. She understood their language. Flowers imparted their wisdom and brought her comfort. In return, she lavished love upon them, discovering even as a child that she was able to use them to bring joy to others.
Gwendolyn hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. She especially hadn’t meant to hurt Gustav. As the pain-cloaked silence enveloped her, she sank into her memories.
The fact that Gustav was a duke’s son mattered not at all to Gwendolyn. She’d met him at the market one day, he a stout young man of seventeen then, she a maiden of sixteen. Mother allowed Gwendolyn to sell flowers at market, for her work as an herbalist brought in little. Since Father’s death, Gwendolyn helped in any way she could.
Of course, few people bought her wares. Everyone knew of the birthmark. Villagers passed by her stall, their eyes averted. She heard their fearful whispers. “Ain’t natural, ’er so ugly and them flowers so pretty. They might be enchanted. Witch’s spawn.” As if Mother possessed an iota of magic!
Gustav was one of the few patrons who would purchase her wares. She knew the flowers he bought were for a sweetheart, but she didn’t care. He talked with her, and she talked with him. The brief conversations brought her comfort. When his father had died, she’d empathized with his plight, and they often talked together about their families. He also shared his misgivings about becoming a duke. She remembered encouraging him, saying that he would be a wonderful ruler. Gwendolyn often cursed herself for growing attached to Gustav. She knew she was foolish, but feelings of longing haunted her, and she couldn’t banish him from her mind.
She remembered how her heart had broken the day she heard of Gustav’s engagement. He was to marry a nobleman’s daughter named Sauda. The engagement celebration was held in the duke’s castle, a building that Gwendolyn would never dare enter. But on that fateful night, she couldn’t stay away.
She stole into the castle ballroom. The ball was a masquerade party, and she wore a veil that cast the mark in shadow. She had no intention of approaching Gustav. She merely wanted to see him.
In the midst of the ball, the bride-to-be spotted her. Gwendolyn remembered the haughty stare that pierced through her veil to the ghastly visage beneath. Sauda wore no mask. Her face shone with radiance. She summoned a servant. “Remove this creature from the festivities.” She spoke softly, but her voice carried clearly to the guests. The servant led Gwendolyn from the room amid murmurs and stares.
Gwendolyn stood outside the ballroom, her cheeks flushed. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to stare at the kind visage of a tall man. He carried a platter, which held a cake decorated with roses. Gwendolyn backed away in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Mean to what?” The man smiled at her. “What’s the harm in standing outside a door?” He turned his head down the corridor. “Help me carry things to the dessert table, will you?”
Gwendolyn blinked. “What?”
“Something wrong with your hearing?” He blinked back at her, grinning. “It’s me with the hearing loss, not you.” He gestured for her to follow him.
Bewildered, Gwendolyn trailed in the man’s wake. They turned down numerous corridors and entered a small chamber. The man turned to face her. “He’ll be here any moment,” he whispered. Then he was gone.
Gwendolyn gaped, hope filling her heart. As if on cue, Gustav entered the room. His face was sad when he looked at her. “What did you mean by coming here? My fiancée is, shall we say, a bit—”
“Repulsive?” The word shot from Gwendolyn’s mouth, and she immediately flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
Gustav frowned. “I was thinking headstrong. Look, I’m sorry too. I can’t disobey Father’s orders. The marriage was arranged before he died. The man who led you here is named Claudio. I’ve talked with him, and he says he’d be glad to help you.” He held out his hand, clasping Gwendolyn’s own. He smiled at her. “If you want to work here, you may. You’ve always been kind to me, and I want to return the favor. You don’t have to work here, of course, but—” His voice trailed away, and he relinquished Gwendolyn’s hand.
Gwendolyn smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t consider refusing Gustav’s invitation. After all, her family needed money. Besides, she wouldn’t bother Gustav. She’d just do her work, and if in the process she saw him occasionally, well, that was all right, wasn’t it?
She worked in the scullery, keeping out of sight as much as possible. Everyone knew she was different, and her reclusive behavior ensured her privacy.
Chapter Four
Gwendolyn discovered that Claudio possessed the same affinity for flowers that she did. She discovered this fact on the third day of her employment.
Cook, a cantankerous man with a distaste for morning, noon, and evening, ordered Gwendolyn to take breakfast to the nobleman’s daughter’s room.
“Mistress Sauda wants her breakfast waitin’ after her bath. Betsy has the confounded toothache again! You ask me, it’s all pretense.” He growled and resumed his work.
Gwendolyn turned to the large breakfast tray sitting on the counter. A bouquet of flowers sat in its center. She couldn’t help smiling. Mistress Sauda had at least one good quality. She loved bouquets of all kinds. As Gwendolyn surveyed the flowers, she noticed two roses with drooping heads. “You’re tired,” she murmured sympathetically, bending toward the weary flowers to comfort them.
“You talk to them, do you?”
Gwendolyn started and glanced up. Her eyes met Claudio’s, and he smiled at her. “They crave attention as much as people and animals do,” he murmured. He turned his gaze to the roses and stroked their p
etals. “Buck up there, ladies. Can’t have you frowning when you’re presented to the prospective bride, can we?”
Gwendolyn gasped as she watched the roses move. They actually shifted beneath the elderly servant’s hand as if they were waking up. She gaped at Claudio. He winked at her and approached Cook.
Gwendolyn’s heart pounded with apprehension as she took the tray. She left the kitchen and traversed several maze-like corridors until she reached Sauda’s room. Since her tentative knock yielded no response, she opened the door and entered the chamber, inhaling the rich aroma of apple-scented soap. Mistress Sauda was probably bathing in the adjoining chamber.
Gwendolyn placed the breakfast tray on a table beside the bed and prepared to leave. As she turned, her eyes were arrested by a gleaming vanity, upon which stood countless pots and jars. Almost involuntarily, she stepped toward the table, her gaze coming to rest upon a small hand mirror.
The mirror was carved from applewood. Semiprecious stones framed its heart-shaped face. Gwendolyn’s hand closed over it before she could stop herself. Mirrors were a rarity, and she couldn’t resist this one even though she knew what she’d see. She gazed into its depths, her twisted features mocking her as they were reflected back.
Quickly, Gwendolyn replaced the mirror upon the table and groped among the cosmetics until her hand closed over a vial of concealer cream. She picked it up. It was very light. No one would notice if—
“What’re you doing?” The melodic voice caused Gwendolyn to start violently. The concealer fell from her shaking hands to the floor. The vial shattered into fragments. “F-forgive me, my lady. I—”
“Clean it up.” Sauda turned emerald eyes onto Gwendolyn’s flushed face. Her flawless skin gleamed. Her damp, chestnut hair sparkled with golden hues. “Did you hear me? Clean it up.”
Gwendolyn hastened to obey. As she worked, Sauda watched her every movement with impassive intensity.
When Gwendolyn had completed her task, the girl said, “I have one more task for you to perform.” She gestured to her vanity table, smiling slightly. “Do you see that yellow casket of cream? Anoint my face with a small amount.”
Her cheeks flaming with humiliation, Gwendolyn began applying the thick, peppermint-scented mixture to Sauda’s face. Sauda’s features shimmered more than ever. Her skin glowed with vibrancy, looking exactly the way it had the night of the ball. So, Sauda had worn a mask, just not a traditional one. Gwendolyn gasped in shock.
Sauda smiled at her. “Now apply some to your face.”
Gwendolyn’s heart began to pound. Anticipation tore through her even as she hesitated, not daring to hope.
“What’re you waiting for?”
Gwendolyn applied some of the cream to her face, paying particular attention to the mark upon her cheek.
Sauda watched her. “My brother made me this face cream. We can’t afford luxuries like cosmetics because of Father’s debts, but that doesn’t matter. My brother always helps me. He’s quite talented. This is a cream that enhances your features. It makes anyone who wears it beautiful.” She laughed. “Well, almost anyone.”
Sauda thrust her mirror into Gwendolyn’s hand. Gwendolyn gasped at her face. The mark shone more lividly than ever. In fact, it seemed to have spread. Gwendolyn moaned, a broken, pitiful cry. Her head spun, and tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but she could not.
Sauda blinked, proffering a damp cloth. Something akin to regret crossed her features. Then they hardened. “It’s ridiculous to cry. Has it ever helped me?” She continued watching Gwendolyn, who was shaking.
Sighing, Sauda rubbed the cloth upon Gwendolyn’s cheeks. “Honestly, the way you’re acting, you’d think I committed murder.” She finished removing the cream, and when she spoke again, her voice was flat. “You come near my fiancé, and I’ll force you to wear the cream in public. Do you understand?”
Gwendolyn trembled. “I meant no harm, my lady.”
“You lying witch! Gustav told me he’s the one who got you the situation here. My brother told me not to worry, that Gustav wouldn’t break our engagement. But how can he be sure? I have enough problems without a repulsive creature like you interfering. If Gustav doesn’t marry me, I’ll be sent home. I won’t go back there. Father will kill me if I—I have to escape from—” Her impassive mask fell away, revealing a contorted visage of pain and fear.
Gwendolyn’s mind whirled with anger. “If you knew anything about Gustav, you’d know that he’s kind and honorable. Your brother was right when he told you not to worry. Gustav will marry you. I’ve known Gustav for months, and you know nothing about him.”
Gwendolyn flung the mirror onto Sauda’s dressing table. Satisfaction stabbed through her as the mirror shattered. “Perhaps Gustav will teach you some civility. I’m not pretty like you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. You’re a spoiled, arrogant beast who should be taught a lesson!” She bestowed one look on Sauda’s stricken face and stormed from the room.
Chapter Five
The days before the wedding passed in a whirlwind. Gwendolyn worked tirelessly, ever conscious of the fact that she might be sent away at any moment. Yet nothing happened. Anger festered within her, a roiling, unquenchable fire. The only time she found relief was when she arranged flowers.
On the wedding day, the kitchen was more crowded than usual. Servants scurried about, preparing the wedding breakfast. Gwendolyn volunteered to arrange the breakfast bouquet.
Claudio turned to her, his gaze penetrating. “Thank you, Gwendolyn, but it’s a special day, and I think it best if I arrange the flowers.”
Gwendolyn blinked in surprise. “But don’t I do adequate work?”
“Phenomenal work.” He smiled at her, but beneath his smile lurked concern. “I must speak with you. We’ll talk in the garden.”
Gwendolyn nodded and followed Claudio outside. It was a lovely morning. Roses sparkled with dew, and the temperature was perfect. Claudio sat upon a bench and gestured for Gwendolyn to join him.
He looked at her with piercing eyes, and his voice was urgent when he said, “I need to know if you talked of your hatred of Sauda to the flowers.”
Gwendolyn blinked. “No,” she said.
He frowned. “You cannot lie to me. You’ve poisoned them.”
Gwendolyn glared. “I’ve done nothing but love them,” she said defensively.
“Exactly. Yet hatred lurks in your heart. Don’t you know what you are? You’re a Flower Mistress, one Tecoptra has chosen to care for his creation. You give of yourself, and the flowers accept what you give. They serve you, fulfilling your desires. When you spoke to them of your hatred for Sauda, they determined to help you. They allowed your hatred to enter their hearts.”
“What do you know of anything, old man?” The words spewed forth, and guilt immediately followed. Yet Gwendolyn couldn’t stop speaking. “Tecoptra is a myth. If he existed, would I look like this? Anyhow, Sauda’s not the right person for Gustav.”
“And who are you to decide that, young woman?” Claudio smiled compassionately upon her. “Only Tecoptra knows what’s best in these situations. You must ask him to remove this hatred from you. If you don’t, it will eat you alive, just as it is even now consuming the flowers’ hearts. Tecoptra exists whether you believe in him or not. He gives all creation free will. Humanity, flora, and fauna can choose to serve him, or they can choose to reject him. Whatever path is chosen creates a magic that resembles the casting of a stone into water. The ripples fan outward, and one never knows what will happen as a result.”
Gwendolyn turned her gaze to the roses in the garden. Something was indeed wrong with them. They huddled into themselves, convulsing with pain.
Shaking, she whispered to Claudio, “I told them Sauda needed to be taught a lesson and that her descendants would be no better than beasts. I said I wished Gustav would marry me instead of her.” Blinking back tears, she turned abruptly and reentered the scullery.
During the weddin
g breakfast, everyone admired Sauda’s beautiful gown and radiant smile. Yet certain people questioned why one of her fingers was bandaged. The servants whispered among themselves, and Gwendolyn listened to their gossip, each word slamming against her like a slap.
“Saw a red rose in her room when I brought mornin’ tea,” a maid whispered. “Red! Ill omen, that is. She was cryin’, and I said I’d take it away, but she’d already grabbed it. Pricked her finger on a thorn, she did. I took it from her, and it wilted in my hand. Died right then. Gave me the creeps!”
Gwendolyn shuddered, the full implications of her actions finally dawning upon her. If Claudio spoke truthfully, then she’d delivered death to Sauda that morning. She’d only meant to deliver an insult. Everyone knew that white roses were the only ones brides received on wedding days. To receive any other colored flower, particularly red, was akin to the vilest insult.
Sauda grew ill the day after the wedding.
Gwendolyn sought out Claudio and confessed her wrongdoing. “How can I help her?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Claudio gazed at Gwendolyn with compassion. “You can ask Tecoptra to heal her.”
“Isn’t there something more I can do?”
Claudio frowned. “The poison’s in her bloodstream. Physicians come daily with new remedies, but unless a miracle occurs—” His voice trailed away.
Gwendolyn bowed her head and turned to leave.
“Will you simply run from your problems, Gwendolyn?” Claudio spoke harshly, more harshly than she’d ever heard him speak. “There’s no shame in praying, you know. Sometimes, it’s the only thing we can do.”
After a long moment, Gwendolyn nodded. She continued to work in the scullery, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. Occasionally, she’d ask Cook to prepare apple custard tart, a dessert Sauda loved. Gwendolyn arranged the dessert trays herself, placing upon them sachets of fragrant herbs that brought healing to those who possessed them.
Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Page 2
