In the week that followed Rodrigue’s death, Garin’s fears had been rekindled, his concern that the king’s myopic focus would have disastrous consequences in one as powerful and sensitive to the world as Ever. With each day that the prince came closer to being crowned the king he was meant to be, he had seemed closer to losing himself. Each day, he had trained harder and eaten less than the one before, and each night he had nightmares that made him cry out. Each night, he had called out about the girl.
Garin wasn’t the only one concerned for the prince. The other servants, though less familiar with the ways of the Fortress than he, had become increasingly unnerved by the prince’s erratic behavior as well. And now, when the prince could not be found an hour before his coronation, Garin had a sick feeling that it was going to all come crashing down that night.
“You sent for me, sir?” Solomon hastened to the steward’s side.
“Yes, I did. Do you know where the prince is?” The man grimaced a bit.
“Forgive me, sir, but I am not supposed to tell you.” Ah, so Ever was going to play that game, was he?
Garin huffed impatiently. “Well then, why don’t you tell me where he isn’t?”
Solomon relaxed a bit. Glancing up at the king’s study, he said quietly, “The prince is not in his chambers or with his guests.” He paused before adding, “He is also not drinking wine.”
Garin sighed and nodded as he headed up one of the spiraling staircases, away from the bustle of the grand entrance, where guests were still being received.
“Your Highness,” he cracked the ornate wooden door, “you’ve never had more than a few glasses of wine. Are you sure this is a good evening to begin something stronger?” Opening the door more, he saw Ever out on the small balcony that overlooked the back lawn. He was slumped against the door frame, powerful shoulders hunched.
“The crowds made it too hard to think.” His words were slightly slurred.
“Yes, they often do that,” Garin agreed cautiously as he joined the prince on the balcony.
Ever’s face was twisted into an emotion that tugged at the steward’s heart. Despite the savior Prince Everard had become to many, defeating the dark forces of the north, Ever, the young prince, was still there underneath, and he was grieving.
“But the quiet is even worse. Still,” Ever finally stood and walked back to his father’s desk, “I have finally understood. I know now why Nevina led her men to attack, why my father died. And it wasn’t my fault!” He slammed his hand down on the desk with a bang.
“You are right, it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was their fault!”
“Their fault?” An uneasy feeling stirred in Garin’s heart.
“Call my advisers, Garin,” Ever ordered, taking another swig from the flask in his left hand. “I am going to stop these threats once and for all!”
“Sire, it is the night of your coronation. Surely this can wait until tomorrow,” Garin suggested hopefully.
“No, it cannot. My father always said our enemies would be waiting, and he was right. We must cut them off now!”
With a sigh, the steward did as Ever bid. It didn’t take long for all of the prince’s advisers to gather in the king’s study.
“You all know my father believed the strength of the Fortress was our great secret in defending our land,” he began, his words still slightly blended. His advisers exchanged wary looks, but he went on. “He taught me to look for weaknesses in our lines, and to search for the chinks in the armor of our great armies. After much thought, I have realized that the lack of strength in our armies wasn’t what allowed the enemy to inflict such vicious casualties.”
“Your Highness,” General Acelet stepped forward cautiously, “the darkness in our enemy’s power was one we hadn’t anticipated.”
But Ever waved him off. “Just hear what I have to say. Our chink wasn’t in the strength of our men, but in the weaknesses of our people. We have too long coddled the unproductive citizens, the weak that inhabit the streets of our cities and live off the hard work of others.”
“Sire,” Garin gently reminded him, “they haven’t lived off of the grain of the Fortress in years. Your father cut off assistance to the churches years ago.”
“It doesn’t matter!” Ever turned to his steward and jabbed a finger at him. “If we did not have these beggars, these diseased and lame lying in our streets and in our churches, Nevina never would have dared to attack us. There wouldn’t have been a weakness to pursue! And I have decided it will never happen again!” As Ever uttered his next words, Garin felt sick.
“I command that our land be purged of its weakness. You will all go out and make sure that those who cannot contribute to our strength are no longer a threat to Destin’s well-being.”
General Acelet’s face was white and his voice quivered. “You cannot be suggesting that we kill our sick and crippled!”
“That is exactly what I’m saying, General!” Ever bellowed. “You are to begin tonight, after the coronation.” He strode up to his favorite general unevenly, and leaned his face so close to the man their noses nearly touched. “And if you don’t have the manhood to carry out my orders, then I will have to find someone else who will.”
“Please, Your Highness,” Dagin, the horse master, pleaded, “it is late, and the ceremony is about to begin. Please allow us to wait until the morning to reconsider and discuss this again.”
“If one more soul questions my order, then he will find the same fate as the diseased that will be soon cleared from the streets,” Ever barked. “Now, it’s time for my coronation. Garin?” Nodding blankly, Garin struggled to quickly help Ever into his ceremonial robes, which had been haphazardly tossed over a chair. The other men each bowed to the prince in turn, their faces pale and full of fear. They hurried off as quickly as possible, leaving Garin to his charge.
Garin searched desperately for something, anything that might change the prince’s mind, but from the look on Ever’s face, there was much drink left in his body, and addressing him would only make him angrier. So Garin kept quiet, but that didn’t mean he would sit idly by as Ever stained his hands with innocent blood. If Garin could not prevent all of it, perhaps he could put off some.
As soon as the prince was dressed, Garin excused himself. Running back to his chambers, he whipped parchment and a quill from his desk. The ink smeared as he wrote in haste, but the words were legible. He hailed the first servant he saw.
“Give this to Edgar. Tell him to take it to Ansel Marchand in Soudain. And tell Edgar that if he values his position here at the Fortress, there must be no delay. That goes for you, too! Now hurry!”
As soon as his message had been dispatched, Garin tried to regain control of himself. In all of his years at the Fortress, he had never felt such a sense of dread wash over him. The prince who had always been the Fortress’s favored one, more than any other king he had seen, was quickly bringing something evil upon them all.
What can I do to stop this? He begged the Fortress silently as he walked quickly back to the throne room, where the ceremony was beginning. As he took his place in the back, he noticed many of the other advisers returning as well, from errands similar to his, he was sure.
Ever had somehow managed to get himself down the aisle and before the holy man without rousing much suspicion from the guests. Now, as he stood before them all, laying his hand on the Holy Writ, Garin felt a pang of sorrow. This should have been an eve of joy, not one of murderous bloodshed. The kingdom had waited for its beloved prince, its jewel, to become their sovereign since the day he was born.
Before the prince could utter the ceremonial vows, however, the priest abruptly withdrew the Holy Writ and took a step backward. Uneasy murmurs spread through the crowd as the old man’s face pulled into a frown and his eyes became engulfed completely with blue flame.
“Everard Perrin Auguste Fortier, son of Rodrigue, son of Damien the Fourth, the Fortress has declared you unfit to wear this crown.” A gas
p went up from the assembly. “From the day of your birth,” the priest continued, “you were gifted with a strength unknown to other men. Because of your callousness, however, what has never been done before will take place tonight.”
The old man raised his head and turned his fire-laden eyes upon the ceiling. “The Fortress will go dark, and you, Prince Everard, will be a prisoner of your own making. Before life can be found in this sacred place once again, a new strength must be found. What has been broken must be remade. The one who was strong must be willing to die. Only then can the Fortress and the kingdom have the protector they deserve.”
As the priest finished speaking, a dreadful grinding sound filled the hall. Garin fell to his knees, holding his ears, trying desperately to block the noise as the lights began to go out, one by one. The world around him seemed to rise, and rushing winds burst through the great doors, and as they swept through the people, each body began to disappear. Then all was silent, and there was no light.
CHAPTER FOUR
Belle
“Your eyes are sparkling,” Deline smiled at her daughter.
Isa beamed back. “It’s perfect.” And it was. The dress was simple, but it was everything she could have hoped for. The gauzy white made her feel like she was floating in a cloud. Her arms were covered in lace, and her veil made the world look like the clouds filled the room. Best of all, the long gown covered all but the toes of her shoes. If she stood still and buried her left hand in the layers of white material, it was impossible to see the crook of her ankle or how her wrist turned inward.
“No, Baby,” her mother wiped a tear from her eye. “You are perfect.”
Isa fought the tears that threatened to spill down her own face. She still could not believe that this happiness should be hers. At one time, she’d thought that it could never would be.
It was hard to imagine that just months ago, she’d been running for her life. After receiving a midnight letter from a friend at the Fortress, Isa’s father had dragged the family out of bed, whispering severely that there were to be no candles or fires lit. Deline had wept as Isa’s father and brother had bundled her up and buried her beneath a load of supplies in the horse cart and fled the city in the dark of night. For three days, they had waited up in a deserted mountain cottage before Deline had been able to send word that Isa would be safe again. The Fortress had gone dark, and the royal order had never been carried out.
Still, when they had returned, the neighbors said Ansel should send his daughter with the Caregivers. It had been a close call. While years had passed since the Fortress monarchs had shown true interest in the welfare of its poor, everyone had hoped their new king would bring about a more merciful reign. Instead, Isa had very nearly been killed in her sleep by the first edict of the young prince. No one knew when the Fortress would awaken, the neighbors said, and then what would become of Isa? No, her father had argued, much to Isa’s relief. Isa would stay.
It wasn’t that Isa disliked the Caregivers. They seemed kind enough. Merchants by trade, they would come with great varieties of foreign wares, many which her father sold in his mercantile. They did not trade only for money, however. Everyone knew the Caregivers by the black metal rings they wore. Those rings, they claimed, were a sign of asylum for anyone who needed sanctuary. Unbeknownst to the king and his elite, those who could not provide for themselves could be smuggled out with the Caregivers to their own country, where they were given fitting jobs, food, and shelter.
This was all fine and good, but it had always bothered Isa that those who left were not allowed to contact their families. It was too dangerous for letters, even, Marko said.
Marko was one of the Caregivers who visited Soudain most. An old family friend, Ansel often purchased his goods for the mercantile. Marko was a good-natured man, and ever since she was a small child, he had never come to the mercantile without sweets for Isa and her brother and sister. He was fiercely built for a tradesman, and would have frightened her if she hadn’t known him for so long. His long hair was always pulled back into a tight knot at the back of his head, and he smelled of campfire smoke. Marko had visited not long after the Fortress went dark, and he had also strongly advised Ansel and Deline to send Isa with him.
“It is too dangerous to leave her here!” he had argued, gesturing in the direction of the Fortress with one of his large arms.
“I will not send my daughter off by herself to a place I have never been, and will likely never see,” Ansel had answered his friend in a steady voice.
“You could come with her! We would happily take you back with us, all of you!”
“It would be too conspicuous.” Her father had shaken his head. “I’m on Soudain’s city council. They would notice when I left. No, I will care for my daughter. She will be safe with her family.”
That had been the end of that discussion, and Isa was grateful. After a few weeks, the Fortress had remained dark, and the urgings of well-meaning family and friends had stopped. Life had begun to return to normal. Well, better than normal for Isa. Raoul had asked her to marry him.
Isa smiled to herself as her mother repinned her dress one more time. Tonight, everything would change. Tonight, Raoul would return from his journey with his father, and she would become the wife of the future chancellor. She imagined, as she often had in the last few months, what it would feel like to see him again. They’d exchanged letters, she more than he, several times since he had gone. His father kept him busy with political meetings and social events, so his letters were far and few between, but such was the life of a chancellor. Isa refused to be bothered by his full schedule. It was simply a pleasure to write to him, something most women wouldn’t have been able to do. But tonight, she would have no need for quill or paper. This would be the night she would wed the one who had been able to see her in spite of her brokenness.
“Now, we have no time for crying.” Deline wiped both her face and her daughter’s. “The guests will be here soon, and I can already hear your aunt ordering everyone around. I will be back up when it’s time.”
Isa watched as her mother left, and felt a familiar pang. She would miss her mother. Most women would have been nearly beside themselves with worry, trying desperately to get their grown daughters married, particularly if they were Isa’s age and still unwed. But not Deline.
“You’ll always have a home here,” Deline had told Isa on the day she had gotten engaged. “No matter how old you are or how many years pass, you can always come home.”
With those words in mind, Isa carefully practiced the wedding dance steps as she waited impatiently. She had decided to forgo her sturdy walking boots in favor of the beautiful white slippers her father had commissioned the tailor to make for her. They would make dancing more difficult, but she was determined not to give anyone a reason to smirk or whisper. She would be as beautiful and graceful as any bride this night.
“Isa,” Deline finally opened the door, “he’s here. It’s time.”
Taking a shaky breath, Isa tested her ankle once more, before beginning down the stairs. It seemed like the whole city was there, crowded into her parents’ home. Friends, neighbors, and family smiled at her as she slowly descended, but they weren’t the ones she was looking for.
Her groom stood by the door next to his father. Straight backed, he held his head high. His brown coat was clean, despite having just returned from a long journey, and his black boots shined. Slicked back with oil, his neatly trimmed hair matched his boots. What she was most interested in, however, were his eyes. Dark brown, nearly black they were so dark, they reflected the light of the dying sun as sunset passed through the shuttered room. And they were looking right back at her.
As soon as she saw him, she remembered just how handsome he was, why all of the other girls had been so jealous when he had proposed to her. That a crippled girl should have the son of the chancellor was unthinkable. She, who couldn’t walk evenly, didn’t deserve the responsibilities of being his wife. And yet, he had
chosen her.
Isa walked as carefully as she could, making sure not to teeter in front of the crowd, until she was finally standing before him.
His dark eyes were wide and his face was taut, as though he were afraid. She knew the feeling. Cautiously, she curtsied.
“My lord.” She murmured the first words of ceremony, just as she’d been practicing. “May my life strength be bound to yours.”
“Isabelle,” he whispered, “we need to talk. Alone.”
Isa stared back at him, momentarily unsure of what to say or do. Not only had he failed to give the ceremonial response, but he’d called her Isabelle. He hadn’t called her Isabelle since they were children. Something, she quickly realized, must be very wrong.
Nodding slightly, she began to tremble as she turned to walk to the back door of the house. Whispers and gasps went up as they walked. In addition to all her other woes, Isa miserably admitted to herself that wearing the silken slippers had been a bad idea as she struggled towards the door. After a few slow steps, Raoul stiffly offered her his arm. Silently, everyone watched them leave.
Isa’s mind was spinning. They should have begun the ceremonial dance by now. She felt as if she were stepping out of one of her daydreams, and into a nightmare. As they sat on the garden’s low stone wall, she realized she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
“Isabelle, we’ve been apart for some time now,” Raoul began slowly, his gentle voice strained. Isa nodded silently, staring at him with fear knocking her heart about in her chest.
“You know my father took me along so I would learn about how other chancellors and governors lived. He says that living here can sometimes blind us to the traditions that people of our station must carry on. It is too easy to get wrapped up in what we desire for ourselves, and what we truly need in order to best serve the people.”
Before Beauty Page 4
