An Unnatural Beanstalk: A Retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk (Entwined Tales Book 2)

by Brittany Fichter

  Eva gaped at the book. “You want me to read this in two days?” Her voice sounded shrill even in her own ears. “I can’t read that fast—”

  “You can, and you will.” He arched a single brow, making his puffy face look even more like that of a pigeon. “And should I find you struggling with distractions . . .” He beckoned for Jack to come near. Jack walked stiffly to stand at the duke’s side, refusing to take his eyes off the wall behind Eva. His jaw muscles twitched as the duke reached up and took one of the goblets for himself, drinking deeply before replacing it. “I will have such distractions removed without warning.” He folded his hands and smiled. “Do I make myself clear?”

  It was all Eva could do to nod and walk from the room without allowing her trembling to overtake her.

  10

  You’re None of Those Things

  Jack had the nearly overwhelming urge to hurl one of the goblets at the duke’s head, but instead he forced himself to maintain his servant’s posture as he followed Eva out of the study.

  Her own posture was flawless, and she held her head high, but he didn’t miss the shudder of her shoulders as they turned the corner. She somehow kept the proud bearing, though, until she had led them out of the house completely and into the rose garden. Once they were hidden from view of the house by a trellis covered in red climbing roses, she sank to her knees. A single tear ran down her cheek, followed by another and another until she shook with violent, silent sobs.

  Jack had never felt so helpless.

  A rush of emotions swept him like a tornado, sucking him in and jerking his heart around as Eva held her face in her hands, her shoulders curved inward as she cried. Anger was first, anger like he hadn’t felt before. Despite all the acts Eva had to put on daily, she still treated the duke far better than he deserved. She was too polite not to. Even her insults, whether whispered or told to his face, weren’t nearly as vile as the duke had earned.

  Still, she had born his comments well, absurd as they tended to be. The duke’s cowardly cuts and critiques hadn’t bothered her. Or at least, Jack thought they hadn’t. But now he could see that all the insults the duke liked to heap upon her, all the little ways he found to criticize her over the course of the summer were starting to chip away at the confidence she somehow maintained whenever the duke was present. This alarmed him more than he wanted to admit. Eva was the last person who should be weeping on the ground, and the duke should be the last person with the power to break her.

  The whole situation was utterly wrong.

  Jack reached out a hand, but it took him several failed attempts before he mustered up enough courage to stiffly pat her on the head.

  “You . . . you can’t listen to him,” he said. “He’s trying to hurt you. He just wants to knock you down so you’ll have to look up to him.”

  Eva sniffed and looked up at Jack, her tear-stained cheeks making her brown eyes look even larger than usual. As she gazed at him, Jack found himself wishing to wipe the tears away with his hands and to pull her into a deep embrace the way his father had once done for him. If only he could will the hurt away from the gentle creature before him.

  But would she welcome such a touch? Or would she think he was simply trying to manipulate her, too?

  Instead, he satisfied himself with sitting beside her on the ground, making sure their knees didn’t touch.

  “I haven’t always been this much of a coward,” she sniffed, wiping her face on her sleeve.

  “I never thought you were a coward.”

  “But I have been.” Eva let out a shuddering sigh as she fingered the book. “Here I am with magic so powerful it’s somehow affecting all of Guthward, and I can’t bring myself to use it against him.” She shrugged. “My siblings were always trying to get me to be more adventurous. ‘Eva, just try! The junbon’s sour, but it’s good!’ ‘Eva, wear the red dress!’ ‘Eva, just give the boy a chance and dance with him!’” She let out a shaky laugh as she idly flipped the pages. “If you asked my younger sister Sophie, you’d think I’d never done anything worth doing in my life that wasn’t told me.”

  Jack just listened, not sure he was really qualified to comment. He didn’t know what a junbon was, but he was sure he would like to see her in a red dress. And for some reason, he really, really hoped she hadn’t given the boy a chance, whoever he was.

  “But I’ve never really lived!” she continued, the tears beginning to fall once again. “And just when I was going to, Mortimer had to swoop in and ruin it all!”

  Jack thought for a moment. “If you had the chance . . . to do whatever you wanted, I mean, what . . . what would you do?”

  She swallowed, and he handed her a goblet, for once glad he had to carry the awful tray with him wherever he went. When she’d finished drinking, she handed it back to him and stared up into the white cottony clouds that floated above.

  “Before Mortimer gave me the magic, I was supposed to be the head harpist at the Winter Ball. I’d dreamed about it for years.” Her eyes grew distant, and a small smile appeared between her tear-stained cheeks. “It’s one of the grandest compliments any musician can be given, and I’d practiced for years just to be invited.” She looked back down at the book. “Music brings me joy. Or it used to, at least. I had hoped, one day after some performing, to teach music as well as play. To get married and have a family. Children and music are the two things that make me happiest in this world.” Her timid smile disappeared again. “But if the duke gets his way, I’ll be playing music on command for the rest of my days.”

  They were quiet for a long time. As the noon sun took on its afternoon glow, Jack was very aware of the delicate hand that was only inches from his. He stared at it longingly out of the corner of his eye. Did he dare reach out and take it?

  “A schoolmaster,” he said instead.

  She looked up, those doe-like eyes searching his once more. “What?”

  “You said you wanted to be a musician. I wanted to be a schoolmaster.”

  She stared at him, so he went on before he could reconsider his choice to embarrass himself by speaking.

  “Before my father died, I had the chance to attend school long enough to learn how to read simple things and do basic arithmetic. I even won a counting contest once.” He smiled at the memory, remembering how proud he had been of the little jar of peach preserves he’d won and taken home to present his mother with. She’d grumbled about disliking peaches, but his father had been ecstatic.

  “Why did you stop?” Eva asked.

  “I didn’t want to. But after my father died, my mother said I had to be the man around the house. Which meant that at age fourteen, I was running the farm by myself.” He shook his head. “While I attended school, the schoolmaster allowed me to help the younger students learn. That became my favorite part of the day. I realized quickly that I wanted nothing more than to have my own schoolhouse when I grew older. I would teach them, and life would be grand. But when my mother took me out of school, I knew I would never get to teach.” When he looked at Eva, she appeared horrified.

  “Why not?”

  “What town is going to choose a schoolmaster who never finished school himself? I didn’t even complete my basic learning, let alone study at a university.”

  When he looked up again, to his surprise, all of the sorrow had fled Eva’s face. And it had been replaced with a nearly terrifying determination.

  “What’s stopping you now?” She sat straighter. “Why shouldn’t you have a chance? You’re obviously intelligent enough, and you’re wonderful with children!”

  He smiled, his cheeks heating a bit at the praise. “As kind as that is of you to say, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. My brothers aren’t old enough to run the farm on their own yet, and won’t be for a while. And even then, I would still need more money than I’ve ever made in my life.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Farming isn’t exactly the way to make an easy fortune. Besides, my mother owns the coin we make, and she certainly won’t be sendin
g me any, anytime soon.”

  “Oh.” Eva’s shoulders slumped again.

  “What did you do?” he asked, hoping to keep her mind from returning to that morning.

  “What did I do?”

  “You said you did a good deed and Mortimer rewarded you.”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand. “It wasn’t a deed worth a reward.” Then she scoffed. “And what makes it even worse is that my sisters warned me not to. But I didn’t listen.”

  “Why does he give rewards out at all? Especially if you hate them so?”

  “Mortimer has a bad habit of falling behind on his wish-granting. So he shows up at random times and bestows gifts on whomever he can find, whether they want the gifts or not.” She chuckled softly. “Our first twins, Martin and Ellie, were given the gift of beauty at birth. It drives Ellie mad because that’s all anyone sees when they look at her. Martin whines that he looks like a girl. Sophie, the sister immediately my junior, always knows what time it is, and Penny, one of our youngest twins, has amethyst eyes.” Her smile faded. “I thought I could pass the dress off and he wouldn’t know. I suppose that was rather naive now that I think about it.”

  “I think it was pretty brave.”

  “What?” She looked up at him, eyes still red at the corners.

  “I mean it.” He shifted to face her. “You knew what you were risking, and yet you took the chance on being kind. So I don’t think you can really say you aren’t brave.”

  She stared at him for a long minute. What she saw, he wished he knew. Or perhaps he didn’t. All he knew was that the longer he stared into the warm depths of her gaze, the more he wanted to continue. What would it feel like to reach out and touch her cheek? To take her hand?

  He couldn’t tell just how long they sat that way, staring at one another wordlessly, but eventually, she blinked a few times and looked up at the sky.

  “Well, if I’m to have any of this read in the next two days, I suppose I should begin soon.” She stood and began slowly back down the winding path. Jack stood, too, gathering his platter and goblets, both of which were now empty, and followed. Before they left the garden, however, he reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned to look at him with questioning eyes.

  “You’re beautiful, you know.” Why did his voice sound so thick?

  Her eyes somehow grew even wider, and he couldn’t tell if it was from shock at the touch or embarrassment at the statement. So he decided to finish before the remnants of his nerve could flee him.

  “Don’t let him make you feel ugly or stupid or inadequate. Because you’re none of those things.” He paused, his gaze dropping to where he still held her hand. “Any real man could see that.”

  He let her hand go, but for a split second, he was rather sure she had squeezed his back.

  11

  Don’t Be Sorry

  “What exactly did the duke threaten me with if I don’t finish this by tomorrow?” Eva glared at the book as she turned another page.

  Jack looked up from the ledger he was holding. “That he would remove me, if I recall correctly.”

  Eva made a scoffing sound but went back to reading. A few minutes later, Jack started chuckling. She looked up from her page.

  “What is it?”

  He grinned. “Is it really that bad?”

  “It’s like I’m opening my head and dumping piles of sand inside on purpose. But why do you ask?”

  “Since you sat down to read, you’ve let out a sigh every thirty seconds or so.”

  “It’s awful,” she groaned, straightening her legs. It really wasn’t a very ladylike way to sit, but she was tired and frustrated, and the book only seemed to get longer the more she read. Sometimes, a girl just had to sit on the floor and stretch. Then she sat up a little straighter. “You doubt me? Listen to this.” She cleared her throat. “If the queen wishes for something to eat between meals, she shall ring a bell or other mechanism to garner the attention of her inferiors. Shouting, however, is strictly forbidden. Going to the kitchens personally is even less appropriate. If one is in the unfortunate position of having a lazy maidservant or even lazier ladies-in-waiting that do not come when the bell is rung, it is permissible to obtain their attentions through a low call.”

  “That is . . . specific,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Who writes this tripe?”

  “I can guarantee you it wasn’t a queen. Or even a woman.” Eva scowled.

  “For all his insistence on propriety, he does know he’s the rudest, crassest, most slovenly creature on the face of the earth, correct? Particularly when he’s eating.”

  “I doubt it. Listen, it gets worse. ‘Once a reliable source for fetching the food has been found, the food itself should be cautiously chosen. There shall be no chocolate or sweets. Neither shall a queen indulge in any sorts of meat between meals, but rather, she shall tastefully enjoy a prepared square of barley or some . . . ’” Eva squinted at the page. That couldn’t be right. “Broth?”

  Jack looked up from the ledgers again, but this time he looked horrified. “Broth? If you’re hungry?”

  “ . . . lest,” Eva continued reading, “the queen become stout and uncomely because of overindulging—”

  “Let me see that.”

  The book disappeared from her hands, and Jack, who was standing above her, leafed through it with a frown. “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. Who acts like this?”

  “I met the queen of Astoria once when I was performing at a season festival, and she was absolutely nothing like a queen is described in this book.”

  “Well,” Jack said, closing the book with a thump, “all I can say is that we’d better stop the duke if you’d like to escape starvation and live past the age of twenty.”

  Though she knew he’d meant it as a joke, Eva felt her heart fall.

  “What is it?” The smirk left his face.

  She shook her head. “I might finish this book by tomorrow, but it’s only a matter of time before he does it again. And again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For the rest of his existence, he’ll use everything I love against me. He knows where my family lives. And eventually, if he gets his way,” she made a face, “eventually, our children . . .” She looked at Jack. “You’re only the beginning.”

  Jack’s face had darkened at the mention of children, but then he looked surprised, and it took a moment for Eva to realize why.

  Everything she loved began with him.

  She hadn’t meant to say she loved him. She hadn’t even been aware of it. But now that she considered how much leverage the duke had over her . . .

  The power he held by threatening Jack was far more than she had ever meant for it to be. Had the duke spoken of hurting Jack at the beginning of his stay at the mansion, Eva would have been horrified. Having the blood of anyone on her conscience would have made her sick.

  But in the past four weeks, he had become so much more than just anyone. He had dried her tears, followed her around as a servant, and been a constant comforting presence. Every morning, she was able to play a song of joy because she knew she had something to look forward to that day, and each night, her song of sorrow wasn’t so sad because she knew the next day would hold companionship. He didn’t have to stay. He could have left her anytime and gone to take his brothers far away, and she wouldn’t have held it against him. And yet, he had stayed. And continued to search and comfort and calm her. And he thought she was beautiful.

  When was the last time someone had called her beautiful? Probably the day she’d tried on the blue dress, over a year before.

  But . . . did he feel the same way about her? Had she just crossed a line she couldn’t take back?

  “Jack,” she said, twisting her hands and staring at the ground, “I didn’t mean—”

  “Hold on.”

  She looked up to see him squinting at the corner of the bookshelf, just beside the door. She followed his gaze down to see a single ledger barely out of line with t
he others. Jack strode over to the shelf and bent to pick it up. When he did, his jaw dropped. He held it up for her to read, and Eva nearly collapsed.

  On the front of the ledger, burned into the leather, were the words Golden Goose.

  Revelations of emotion temporarily forgotten, Eva hopped up and ran to see. But as she did, voices sounded in the hall. To her horror, the loudest belonged to the duke.

  “ . . . must have forgotten it in my study.”

  Eva and Jack sprinted to the desk and began shoving ledgers back into the places they’d pulled them from. The doorknob began to turn, but it caught on the lock. Eva threw Jack a look of panic.

  “Are you sure you left it in here, my lord?” Mrs. McConnell’s muffled voice came through. “You were in your chambers last before you left.”

  “I would appreciate you not questioning my memory, which, as you know, is flawless.” The key slid into the lock, and Jack grabbed Eva and shoved her behind the right curtain, then leapt behind the left. Eva sent up a prayer of thanks that the curtains reached to the floor as the door clicked open and footsteps padded in. Her heart pounded in her stomach as she listened for the cry of discovery that would doom both her and Jack forever.

  Each second was an eternity. Would he be able to tell that they’d moved anything? She had been fairly certain that she and Jack had put everything back where they’d found it, but now that the silence stretched on, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Where in the blazes . . . Oh. Here it is. Funny, this is the double. I don’t recall placing it here.”

  “A servant might have moved it to dust, sir,” Mrs. McConnell said.

  Bless her, Eva thought as she closed her eyes. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she heard the heavier set of footsteps come to a stop just on the other side of the curtain. She held her breath. What if this was it? What would he do if he discovered them?