A Merged Fairytale of
Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty
R.M. ArceJaeger
Platypus Press
Providing Quality Books
Copyright © 2015 by R.M. ArceJaeger
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover & Interior Art © 2015 by R.M. ArceJaeger
Used with Permission:
Gypsy Love—Tacostock
Winter Stock—K.A. King
Luck of Edenhall—VAwebteam
Published by Platypus Press
PROLOGUE
Liliath edged her way slowly across the thin sandstone ledge, creeping toward the opening in the canyon wall as silently as she could. Every few seconds, she would freeze in place—listening for whether her presence had been discovered. Everything was silent, however, except for the thin whistling of the wind through the gorge and the small tinkering sounds seeping out through the rift in the rock.
She had been forced to wait three months before searching out the ghastly’s lair—three months for her magic to renew itself enough to be useful should it come to a fight. Other fairies would have needed a full year to recover their power after expending it on a spell, but Liliath was not like other fairies.
A gust of wind blew through the canyon, and Liliath extended her wings slightly to help keep her balance on the narrow ledge. Strong and able, her wings were as long as her body and patterned with the brown, downy feathers of a kestrel. Liliath could have easily flown to the fissure that was the entrance to the ghastly’s den, but the sound of her wing beats would have echoed loudly in the narrow canyon, and she did not want to announce her presence to her enemy until the last possible moment.
“Are you going to come inside or not?” a crackling voice called out from within the rock, startling Liliath and causing her to take an injudicious step back. The edge of the ledge crumbled slightly under her foot, and she had to flap her wings furiously to restore her balance.
“Well?” the voice chided. “Either come inside or go away.”
Liliath scowled. How did she know I was here? she wondered angrily.
Reaching into the sack at her waist, the young fairy pulled out the Focuser and gripped it tightly in one hand. The relic had been passed down through her family for generations, and she had reasoned she was merely making an early claim on her inheritance the night she had pilfered it from her parents’ memory chest and left to seek out the ghastly. Though Liliath was an Aerie and thus already more powerful than any other living fairy, the Focuser would magnify her magic a hundred times more, making it an invaluable asset when she finally confronted her foe.
Liliath mentally rehearsed the spell she would use if the creature tried to attack. True, she had lost the element of surprise, but the ghastly could not match Liliath’s power. She would not abandon her quest.
Taking a deep breath, Liliath thrust herself off the ledge and swooped swiftly down through the rift.
Nothing happened.
She was standing in a large hollow in the cliff rock. Two torches burned hazily on opposite walls, their flames illuminating a small cave with several tunnels branching away into darkness. The ghastly stood at the far side of the chamber—her back was to Liliath, and she was poring over a book that lay on a sandstone ledge. Other books were stacked nearby in neat piles, along with pieces of parchment and a cluster of quills. The ordered simplicity of the room shocked Liliath, who had been expecting a den of bones at the very least.
“Well, girl, did you come all this way just to gawk?” the ghastly spoke without looking up, “or did you have a better purpose in seeking out my lair?”
Liliath’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”
The ghastly turned around.
Liliath had been only a small child the last time she had seen Moraga, but she had thought her recollection of the loathsome ghastly was crystal clear. Now, she saw just how inadequate that memory had been.
Matted black hair liberally streaked with gray coursed down Moraga’s shoulders in a mass of grimy tangles. The ghastly’s leathery skin was pockmarked and glowed greyish-green in the torchlight. Her body appeared oddly jointed, and her fingers curved like claws, ending in sharp, black nails. The tendons in her arms and neck jutted out clearly against her skin, and as she smiled at Liliath, the girl saw her facial features were all slightly warped—one eye lower than the other, a nose flatter than normal, and overfull lips that stretched across two rows of rotting teeth. It was the wings, though, that disturbed Liliath the most. Moraga’s wings were shaped like a bat’s, but while Liliath and her family all had wings like a bird’s, the mere fact that Moraga could fly was an unwelcome reminder that ghastlies and fairies shared a common ancestry.
She is not my relation—she is the creature who cursed my best friend, Liliath asserted. She stared boldly at Moraga, who stared back with piercing silver eyes—the only part of the ghastly that seemed alive. Suddenly, Moraga gave a dry, knowing laugh.
“Yes, you have a purpose,” she crooned. “Innocent little child. You want me to break the curse.”
“I am not a child!” Liliath snapped. “I am sixteen years old, and you will break Ari’s curse!”
“Will I?” the ghastly seemed amused.
Anger burned within Liliath—how dare she laugh at me?—and she held the Focuser high.
“Put that away, child. You dare not harm me—not if you want what you came here for. Besides, I am rather inclined to help you.”
“You what?”
Liliath mind reeled. The ghastly—willing to help her? That made no sense! In fact, nothing about this encounter so far made sense.
“To be sure,” Moraga continued, “I was rather . . . perturbed to learn that you had managed to alter my curse. Twenty-one years spent plotting revenge, only to have it be thwarted by you—a mere child! Not that eternal sleep was much of an improvement, but still, it was the principal that mattered. You interfered with my spell, and the last person who did that got turned into a beast.”
Ari!
Almost as though she had heard Liliath’s mental cry, the ghastly continued, “Yes, your prince paid quite the consequence—and now you seek to break his spell. How quaint. Too bad that spells are permanent . . . unless, of course, they are cast with Old Magic. But fairies and ghastlies do not have Old Magic anymore. How unfortunate,” taunted Moraga.
“You lie! Ari’s spell can be broken,” Liliath snapped.
Moraga smirked. “It can indeed—but only because you, Aerie child, were born with the ancient power. You used Old Magic when you distorted my curse. Even so, it can only be removed if you meet the right conditions.”
“What conditions? Tell me!” Liliath demanded.
“No one knows, do they?” the ghastly cackled. “It is the spell that decides, not I. You can either spend your life trying to find the right way to shatter it, or you can take advantage of the other property of Old Magic—the one that allows a curse to be lifted at any time by the caster. In other words, by me.”
Liliath glared at the ghastly. “You know that is why I have come.”
“Naturally. And like I said, I am rather inclined to help you.
”
“You would lift Ari’s curse just like that?” she asked in sheer disbelief.
The ghastly grinned and sauntered toward the young fairy. Liliath held her ground, even though Moraga drew close enough for her to smell her rank breath—like something once sweet gone rancid. “Well, there are rules.”
Liliath squared her shoulders. She had promised her friend she would break his curse, and fairies always kept their word. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“Only a little help.”
“I would never help you!”
“Ah, but you will,” Moraga chortled, causing a wave of fetid breath to wash over Liliath, who struggled not to gag. “You see, when your prince interfered with my attempt to curse the princess, he inadvertently became part of my spell. I cannot lift it from him without also lifting my curse from the princess, and that would defeat my purpose.”
“The princess?” Liliath puzzled. “But she died. You carried the baby off and then let her fall from the sky. You killed her.”
“Nonsense!” Moraga shook her head, causing black tendrils of hair to whip through the air like striking snakes. “Really, I had so hoped you were smart. Think, girl! My curse said the princess must die on her twenty-first birthday. Not her first. Not her seventh. Her twenty-first. The only reason I kidnapped her in the first place was to stop you from interfering with my spell—though you, meddling child, managed to do that anyway. True, your parents knocked the infant from my arms in their foolish attempt to steal her from me, but the princess survived the fall.”
Liliath was stunned. “Then where is she?”
The ghastly shrugged. “I have not bothered to look. My curse will bring me to her when the time comes, and I have more pressing matters to attend. So do you, now that you are here to help me.”
“Help you? I cannot believe I am even conversing with you!” Liliath shouted, her voice echoing throughout the cave. “You ruined my life! You ruined Ari’s life! Lift the curse or I will . . . I will—”
“And we are back to that again. How disappointing. But it was not I who ruined your life—you can thank King Tirell for that. He was the one who exiled your family after all they had done for him. Years of friendship gone just like that!” The ghastly snapped her fingers, and the sound was like the breaking of a wishbone.
Now Liliath did take a step back. “How did you know that?” she faltered.
Moraga shrugged. “We all have our secrets. In time, I may tell you mine. That will depend on you. Or do you not crave revenge for all he has done?”
The ghastly’s shrewd question seared Liliath to the core—because she did crave revenge. King Tirell was the reason she had been forced to leave Gurion and grow up in a strange country where she was forbidden to do magic or fly. Liliath could not even return to visit Ari without risking death if she were caught. Yet her trials paled in comparison to her friend’s, who had been condemned to a life of solitude by his own father simply because he had been cursed. Fury at King Tirell ran ever present in Liliath’s veins, and now it surged through her blood like fiery poison. As much as she hated Moraga, she hated the King more and had long ago promised herself that one day, she would make him pay for his actions.
Moraga continued, “And there is King Derik, Ithikor’s heir, whose ancestor tricked ours into trading magic for refuge in his land. His line has exploited our power for so long that we are now but dim shadows of our former selves. Look at us! Practically extinct! How many fairies are there still powerful enough to cast spells? Seven? How many ghastlies? Only one.” Anguish wracked Moraga’s voice, making it crack.
Liliath stared. She had never really thought beyond her own family’s misfortune—had never paused to consider the true extent of their race’s decline. Yet now that she did, it was all too plain that Moraga spoke the truth.
“You still not have said what you want me to do,” she replied at last.
“Help me to restore magic to this land. Help me to resurrect our race.”
“Oh, is that all? How noble!” Liliath sneered, unable to believe that a ghastly could have such honorable aims.
Now it was Moraga’s turn to react, and the green cast of her face darkened as she flushed. “You think that just because I am unsightly, I am also evil. I am not.”
“You are evil! How can you claim otherwise? I was there when you laid down your curse!” Liliath spat.
“All I wanted was vengeance on the one who stole our races’ future!” Moraga retorted. Her nostrils flared with emotion, but her next words were calm and earnest. “Still, thanks to you, I have had time to reconsider my plan, and now I want something else. A future. A future for ghastlies and for fairies both.”
Moraga reached out one clawed finger and stroked the side of Liliath’s face, making her shudder.
“If you help me, I swear to you that when the time comes, I will lift the curse on your friend. You will have your prince and all that you dream about. You have my word.”
Liliath gasped and took another step back, shaken to the core. The word of a ghastly was just as binding as the word of a fairy—to break it would destroy their ability to use magic forever. Liliath’s thoughts raced.
Ari, I gave you my word that I would free you—this may be the only way to do that. You are all that matters to me.
I love you.
She lifted her chin and looked the ghastly straight in the eye.
“What is your plan?”
Moraga smiled.
CHAPTER ONE
Andrew Farmer drove his hay cart down the road, unaware that he was the subject of keen scrutiny.
“Too short,” Adara said decisively. “If I am going to marry a man, he must be taller than me.”
“Good luck finding that,” Chase replied, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and leaving a streak of dirt behind. “You are the tallest girl in town.”
“You are nearly as tall,” Adara shot back.
“Yes, but not nearly so picky,” winked Chase.
“What about Matthew Cooper?” Rose interjected before her sisters could start to bicker. “Helping him make barrels would be better than pulling weeds all day in the hot sun.” She frowned at the undesirables she was uprooting and placed a handful in her basket.
Adara shook her head. “You think he would let a woman help him? Matthew may be handsome, but he is as arrogant as a lord.”
“And how many lords do you know?”
“Exactly the same as you. None.”
They all laughed.
“Well, what about Michael Tanner? He is certainly tall enough,” Chase asked Adara, but Rose contradicted the choice in disgust.
“Not him—he is a beast! I saw him beating his horse the other day for no reason at all,” she exclaimed.
“That poor mare,” Adara murmured in sympathy, carefully plucking the weeds from among the radishes.
“You mean you actually got close enough to see his horse? Why, Rose! I am surprised the mere sight of the old nag did not frighten you away,” Chase teased.
Rose threw a clod of dirt in her sister’s direction. “You promised you would not bring that up anymore!”
“How can I help it, Rose? This morning, you were startled by a baby bunny! I think you jumped higher than it did.”
“Animals make me nervous, all right?” she defended. “I just prefer they keep their distance."
“You let Pesk get close enough.”
They all turned to look at the dog who was sunning himself near the gate.
“Who says I like him near? I named him that for a reason,” Rose countered, but she smiled at her pet.
“Look who is coming now,” Adara said, shielding her eyes to peer down the road, “Gareth Forge out on another delivery. You will not find anyone better than a blacksmith’s son when it comes to muscles,” she told Chase, her tone coy. “He would make a good beau for you.”
Chase sniffed. “He is an infant—a whole year younger than me! Besides, he is always so dir
ty.”
“Sweet, though,” Adara insisted.
“You have him then.”
“I can hardly believe a boy exists you do not want to flirt with,” Rose interrupted, seizing the opportunity to needle her sister in turn. “You are always chasing after them so.”
“At least I will not end up an old maid like Adara, here,” Chase countered.
“You are not so young yourself!”
“Twenty-one is much older than nineteen. And besides, I have a beau.”
“Oh? Who is it this week?”
Rose ceased listening to her sisters’ squabbling, her attention instead on a monarch butterfly that was fluttering amongst the plants. Though animals larger than a rabbit frightened her more than she would ever admit, she adored butterflies, and this one was drifting closer. It settled on a milkweed plant only a couple feet away from Rose, and she carefully scooted over to it, shifting slowly and steadily so as not to frighten the butterfly. Moving so gradually that her hand trembled with the strain, Rose placed one finger next to the butterfly’s legs. The monarch did not move, just flapped its wings slightly to maintain its balance as the leaf dipped beneath her weight. Slowly, ever so slowly, Rose inched her finger forward until it just brushed the butterfly’s feet. To her utter delight, the butterfly climbed on.
“How do you do that?” Chase whispered. Both of her sisters had crept up behind her and were peering over her shoulders in wonder.
“Do you really think they used to be fairies?” Rose marveled aloud, her voice barely audible so as not to frighten the monarch. “Little ones, I mean?”
“I am not sure fairies even exist,” Chase remarked.
“I suppose they must,” Adara frowned thoughtfully. “Father says he saw one once when he lived in Nathar, but I do not think any have lived in Darvell for a very long time.”
The butterfly, perhaps bored of its flowerless perch, flapped its wings twice and took off.
Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2) Page 1
