Before Beauty

by Brittany Fichter

  Before she had finished the first twirl, Isa’s ankle gave out, and she collapsed into a heap on the cold stone. Angry tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined how her former peers would have laughed at her if they could see her now. Her neighbors would have shaken their heads sympathetically, and even her parents would have urged her to stop before she hurt herself. The shame was still just as strong as it had been the day the healer told Isa she would never dance again.

  But they aren’t here, a voice inside her whispered. It didn’t matter if the girls she’d once danced with would laugh, and it didn’t matter how many times she fell. Isa was all alone now, and there was no one to stop her. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stood up resolutely and stretched her arms out again. A small star of hope began to glimmer within her heart as she slowly recalled the steps and turns in time.

  Her form was stiff, and nothing about her movements looked effortless or graceful. Her left wrist couldn’t lay straight, and her ankle was too weak for the leaps. And yet, in spite of herself, Isa began to smile. Sweat ran down her back and soaked her dress, and her hair fell out of place. With each movement, however, her body began to recall the fluid energy that had once flowed through it. Even if just a moment, nothing in the world could have made her happier.

  Isa danced until her ankle nearly gave out. Exhausted, she fell onto the stone bench to rest. Only then did she realize that one of the shadows must have brought her a midday meal. It was simple food and as it had been that morning, so dry that she could hardly swallow it, but Isa’s hunger drove her to eat it all.

  “Thank you,” Isa called out to whatever phantom had thought to bring her food all the way out in the rose garden. She expected no reply but was pleasantly surprised when a quick breeze gently brushed her cheek. Once she was done, she knew her ankle would last no longer, so Isa stood up and limped back to her room, where she dozed until the shadows awakened her in time for supper.

  Isa had been dreading supper with the prince all day, trying not to think of it as she went about her other activities. But now, she could ignore it no longer. She steeled herself, and donned a mask of composure. Despite his great fall from the man he had been, the prince had somehow maintained an air of supreme superiority during their exchange the day before. Isa’s manners were by no means lacking, but court etiquette was something she had never learned, and she would not give him another reason to look down upon her.

  As the shadows began to brush her hair, a large bath on the other side of the hearth was drawn. Isa hadn’t noticed it there before. A warm bath would be nice, she thought, until she walked over to it and realized the water was just as dirty as the rest of the Fortress was.

  She balked. “You cannot mean for me to wash in that. I’ll be filthier when I get out than when I get in.”

  In response, some brave shadow snatched up a rag, dipped it in the water, and began to vigorously scrub one of her arms. Isa let out a little cry as the cold water touched her skin. In response, other shadows began to do the same. Apparently, her unwillingness to get in was not a problem for them. Muttering at the shadows, Isa cringed throughout the entire bath, snatching away the drying cloth when it was finally presented to her. Then, as she had been the night before, Isa was dragged over to the wardrobe of musty dresses.

  “Where is the one I wore last night?” She gave a doubtful look at the rest of the fancy dresses that hanged before her. Her answer was a light shove that brought her one step closer to the wardrobe. “Just so you know,” she grumbled, rifling through the piles of lace and frills, “I am not keen on all this finery. Your prince brought me here as a servant, and a servant’s wear is much more what I would prefer to appear in.”

  The shadows paid no heed to her speech, however. They snatched the gown that Isa had chosen out of her hands, and then pushed her over to the writing desk, which had been quickly transformed into a vanity. Deft, invisible hands pulled her hair up into intricate curls and tucked them neatly into one another, while other sets of hands did their best to brush the smudges off the burgundy and cream dress. Another draped a necklace of dull red Agate around her neck.

  When the shadows were finally satisfied with her hair and jewelry and gown, Isa looked around for her boots. Her heart fell into her stomach when she realized that the only shoes she could find were red velvet slippers.

  “Where are my boots?” she cried out. The invisible hands, still adjusting her hair here and there, paused, but then continued as if she hadn’t spoken. Her voice got a bit louder as she asked again. “Where are my boots? You cannot mean for me to wear these!”

  When she again received no response, Isa pulled up her skirts to reveal her crooked ankle. “I can hardly walk without those boots! I don’t know how you expect me to get to supper if I cannot walk! Now please, give me my boots back!”

  But the boots never appeared, and nothing Isa said or threatened to do made them reappear. Finally, she was bullied out of the room without them. Defeated, she took three times as long to reach the dining hall as she would have if her own boots had been worn.

  Prince Everard was already seated by the time Isa arrived. She could tell by the gentle windy shoves to her back that she was late, but she didn’t care. Perhaps that would teach them to think twice the next time they wanted to give her such foolish shoes.

  “Isabelle,” Everard stood slowly when she entered the room.

  “Your Highness.” Isa gave him the best curtsy she could manage before collapsing into the chair after her long trek. When they were both seated, unseen servants placed food on the table before them. The light was a little better in this room because of the multiple fireplaces that were lit, and the candles that were scattered about the table, but that didn’t do much to alter the heaviness of the mood that filled the space around them.

  Isa supposed it was probably polite for the guest to praise something about the home or the food or the décor to the host, but Isa could think of nothing to say. Still angry about the boots, and reminded of how much the prince irritated her, Isa stared sullenly at her plate, sneaking angry looks at her host every so often.

  He still wore the long, thick cloak. Isa presumed it was to cover a nearly skeletal body that would have matched his face and neck. His dark gold hair had been cut much shorter than it had been the night before, and it now shined weakly in the firelight. The deep hollows under his eyes made it look as if he had constant bruises. It was hard to imagine that this man had ever fought against any foe and lived to tell the tale.

  Everard was the one to finally break the silence. His voice was distant, but surprisingly polite, very different in tone than it had been the night before. “Your quarters are comfortable, I presume?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “And the servants have provided you with what you’ve needed?”

  “I suppose you could say that.” Isa glared at the ground, thinking of how much her ankle already ached after walking from the bedroom. Another silence ensued as Isa tried to eat the bland stew that had been set before them, the clinking of their spoons making the lack of conversation even louder. Eventually, Everard took a deep breath before finally asking a question Isa could not give a simple answer to.

  “So what do you think of the Fortress so far?”

  Isa’s face began to burn as all the emotions that had been boiling inside of her rose to the surface. “It would be easier to fulfill my purpose here if I were allowed to visit your library, but your servants this morning refused to assist me when I asked,” she snapped.

  For a moment, the prince stared at her, surprise making his gray eyes look even larger in his gaunt face than usual.

  “You think you are to break the spell by reading about it?” His musical voice had a hint of amusement to it that annoyed Isa even more.

  “I was raised in a house in the city. And as I only know as much about the Fortress as any other commoner, I don’t see any other way to learn about it. I cannot be expected to break a curse that I know nothin
g about!”

  Everard gave a low chuckle before putting his spoon down and leaning towards her over the table. “Miss Isabelle, I am proficient in four languages, including the two dead tongues that existed before the birth of this land. I was trained to read the markings of the ancient symbols that were carved into the tombs of my forefathers. I have had access to the sacred writings all of my life, and I have been living alone in this great crypt for six months. What do you think I have been doing in all of that time?”

  To that, Isa had no response.

  “Believe me,” he continued more seriously, “if the curse could be broken by reading, I would have found it by now.” Holding her resentful gaze, he added, “I have ordered my servants to give you full access to the Fortress so that you know my good will. Except the Tower of Annals. The Tower of Annals is mine, and even the servants have restricted access to that place. Only a few are allowed to accompany me there.”

  Isa wondered how he knew which shadows really did accompany him there, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she found herself still protesting her lack of books.

  “I still know nothing of this place or its true history. I can’t even begin to consider how I am to break the curse if I am completely ignorant!”

  At this, displeasure seemed to surface on the prince’s face for the first time, which up until now, had been a mask of cool reserve.

  “Ask the servants for any specific books you require, but by no means are you to enter the Tower of Annals. Do you understand?”

  Isa nodded. For a moment, the blue fire in his eyes flashed, and in spite of herself, Isa felt a bit frightened. Briefly, she could see the warrior prince. The warrior quickly disappeared, however, when the flashing dimmed and he slowly stood. As he shuffled towards her, Isa was again reminded her of her aged grandfather.

  The prince extended Isa a black gloved hand. “Miss Isabelle, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

  Isa felt her mouth drop open in horror, and panic filled her. All of the confidence she’d fought so hard to convey slipped away in that instant, and before she knew it, she was begging, pleading not to dance. Tears ran down her face as she looked up at him.

  “Your Highness, I have come here in accordance with your will! I have worn the dresses, eaten your food, and agreed to live in your home! Please don’t humiliate me in this way. I beg of you!”

  As she wept, surprise showed in his eyes again, but he did not relent. “This is something you must do if you wish to help me break the curse,” he said quietly, but firmly, as she sobbed.

  Still, she could not rise, so he reached down and took her hand, leading her out of the tall dining hall doors to an outdoor balcony.

  The balcony was larger by far than the entire dining hall. Even more strange was its floor. Instead of the typical stone, it was covered by a beautiful, clear crystal, as smooth as a pool of water. Unlike anything else Isa had yet seen in the Fortress or its grounds, the crystal floor was completely spotless. A hundred couples could have danced upon it.

  As they approached the center, invisible musicians began to play, their beautiful, haunting melody echoing over the mountain. As magnificent as the music was, however, Isa could not enjoy it.

  They were an awkward couple, able to do little more than sway back and forth, and not even in time to the music. It seemed as if the prince’s knees were as stiff as Isa had suspected from the beginning. Her own ankle throbbed with pain as the little slipper left it completely unsupported. As the dance went on, Isa, to her horror, was forced lean against her partner more and more. The dancing she had done earlier that day had already used most of her ankle’s strength, and without her boots, it was all she could do to cling to the prince’s arms and pray not to fall.

  Worse than the pain, however, was the acute knowledge that Prince Everard was only the second man who had ever been willing to dance with her. The warmth of his gloved hand on her waist and the closeness of his body to hers was nearly unbearable. It was too much like the last time Raoul had danced with her. They had been at a town festival, and his eyes had gleamed with joy as he’d twirled her in circles over and over, despite the disapproving looks of his parents. It had been the night he had proposed.

  Tears began once again to run down Isa’s face, and she knew the prince was watching her curiously. Yet, he said nothing. By the time the dance was finished, Isa could continue no longer.

  “I beg of you, Sire, if you have any pity in your heart at all, please just let me go. I cannot go on tonight.” Isa hated appearing this weak in front of the prince. Her goal from the start had been to appear strong, to let him know that she was not a coward, nor was she coming willingly. But the pain of her ankle and the pain in her heart had grown too great to bear.

  Nodding, he stepped back and bowed slightly. Isa didn’t even attempt to curtsy as she did her best to begin limping back to her room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Something that Can

  Ever left the balcony tired and sore, but pleased nonetheless. It had been worth the physical aches to know that his plan might actually succeed.

  The dance itself had been a disaster. Ever had never danced with a partner so unwilling that she wept, and never had he felt so pathetic or inept himself. And yet, while they had dance, he had seen what the girl’s untrained eyes could not, especially as she had spent the entire duration of the dance crying.

  Beneath her shuffling feet, the crystal floor had given off the barest hint of a blue glow. It certainly wasn’t the bright shine that Ever’s ancestors had used to find their wives in the stories, so clearly she was not yet ready to be queen.

  But she could be.

  There was some sort of strength in her, enough, perhaps, just perhaps, to awaken the power of the Fortress that had all but disappeared since the curse.

  Back in the Tower of Annals, Ever stiffly sank into the warm bath his servants had prepared for him. He had long ago ceased caring about the dirty water. The relief that it brought his body was too great to sacrifice for some grime. Two of the shadows removed his gloves and began to gently rub a potent salve into them. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, not wishing to ruin his good spirits by the sight of his claw-like hands, or any part of his body for that matter.

  He was no longer used to the physical strain it took to dance, and the pain was enough to make his eyes prick. His pain reminded him all the more of why he must succeed in preparing this strange girl to carry the Fortress’s power. At the rate his strength was leaving him, he would not survive the next spring.

  After getting redressed, Ever slowly moved to his pallet, which had been laid out on a low sofa. Although his mood had improved with the revelation of Isabelle’s potential, the fires at the northern foot of the mountain sobered him once again.

  Ever lowered himself to his side where he could watch the fires from the pallet, but could not keep his thoughts on the princess’s militia for long, despite his efforts. Instead, his mind kept wandering back to the strange girl across the castle.

  He had been right when he’d first guessed that she despised him. The flash of her eyes had not been lost on him when she spoke, and it seemed he was incapable of pleasing her.

  Strangely enough, Ever found that this disappointed him. Of course, her willingness to carry the power of the Fortress would speed her strength, and that was enough reason in itself to try to gain her better graces. Still, he had hated her for so many years. Why was he interested at all in what she thought of him?

  The odd desire for her respect had tugged at his heart earlier that day when he’d seen her dancing in the rose garden. She was by no means a lovely dancer, but there was something about her that had made him watch a few moments longer. He had happened to look out of the tower window just in time to see her fall to the ground, and had nearly sent a servant to check on her, when she had gotten up and tried again. Why would she try again?

  After spending so many years hating her for haunting his dreams, it felt wrong to see h
er as anything but a means to his end. And yet, he had to admit that after one day of having her as a guest in his home, he could see what her father had meant when he’d said she had a strong heart. A woman who would willingly turn herself in to live as a servant in an accursed castle with the man that had made her lame as a child, that woman was worthy of respect. Getting up and continuing to dance after falling so hard was worthy of respect. A small voice in his head wondered if perhaps, he had taken even more from the young woman than just her ability to walk. But this wasn’t something he was yet ready to consider.

  He also found himself wondering at her reaction to dancing on the balcony. She had spent her entire morning dancing. Why would she be so upset at dancing with him? It couldn’t be that she was embarrassed. His bent back and weak knees made it obvious he would dance poorly, too. But then, he hadn’t missed the way she had shuddered when he had touched her hand, or how her eyes had widened when he’d stepped into the bright moonlight.

  This also bothered him more than he wanted to admit, that of all the important pieces of the puzzle, his vanity was meddling with his mind. But, he shook his head, there was nothing more he could do than go on with the charade. Whatever he felt about her, he would need to convince her that his desires were true.

  “Garin,” he called quietly.

  “Yes, Sire?” Garin’s shadow flitted to stand before him. Keeping his eyes on the fires below, Ever asked,

  “What do you think of her?”

  The steward paused a moment before answering. “In truth, Sire, your question isn’t an easy one to answer. I have known young Isabelle since she was a child, before the accident even.”