The Subtle Beauty

by Ann Hunter

  Glory’s hand went to her burning heart. Oh, Eoghan! I am not blind. I see you now. She drew close to him, closer than she had ever been before. She saw the rise and fall of his proud chest, heard the breaths he drew. She reached out to him. Her hand paused and her eyes looked into his. Her fingers slid over his rippling shoulder and under his feathers. He trembled at her touch. His mouth opened, his tongue rolling a little. Glory relished his warmth, the exquisite down of each silky vane. She saw her reflection in his great eye.

  “I am so very sorry for all of the ill things I have said, Eoghan. It is no way to speak to such a noble prince. Please forgive me.”

  Eoghan bowed his head. “There is something I wish you to know, Princess,” Eoghan murmured.

  Glory’s gaze turned to him.

  “You were never my prisoner during your stay here.”

  Glory’s eyes widened.

  “You could have left any time you chose. You may have felt there was no way out, or that you had no other options, but you were wrong to believe so.” Eoghan gazed at the stars, a certain sadness washing over him. “I was wrong for allowing you to believe so. There is always a choice. You kept choosing to return to Blackthorn.” He sighed and looked at Glory. Her hand was slipping away from his shoulder. “Seeing your unhappiness, Glory, causes me great sorrow,” Eoghan admitted. “I do not wish you sorrow, Princess, but your happiness only. If you can not find it here with me, then you are free to leave whenever you wish. In my faery tale the princess rescues herself.” Eoghan looked into the face of the heavens once more. His expression was pained. “I release you from our betrothal.”

  “Eoghan, I—”

  Eoghan shook his great head and spread his wings. Glory gave him his space, and he took flight.

  Glory sat on the bed in her room. She pondered what had transpired between them. She was free. Did she want to be free? For a season, she had wanted nothing more. The door was now open to her, and the road she had been so eager to take sprawled out ahead. Glory could not take the first step. She looked across the room to where the ghost usually appeared to her, willing it to show itself. “Now would be a good time for you to do your magick,” she told it. But the specter did not come.

  Glory’s shoulders sagged. She was alone. Staying at Blackthorn Keep or returning to Winterholme Castle was going to be her choice to make. She tried to weigh the pros and cons, but they both seemed to equal each other out. This matter was presenting itself as very difficult. However, the more she thought, the more questions began to arise, and she realized that they could only be answered by one person. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and went to the door. She summoned a servant.

  “Please ready a carriage immediately.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  Glory took one last look around the room and left. She made her way to the courtyard. A black carriage was ready and waiting, drawn by two black horses. A footman opened the door and assisted Glory inside. She sat down and stared up at Blackthorn Keep.

  The driver turned from his perch up front and asked Glory through the window, “Where to, Princess?”

  “Please take me to Winterholme Castle as fast as you can.”

  “As you wish.” The driver flicked the reins and the carriage lurched forward.

  Tears welled in Glory’s eyes, but she never looked back.

  Part IV

  THE SUBTLE BEAUTY

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Wisdom and the Glory

  The early-morning sunlight glinted off of the sparkling white stone of Winterholme Castle the same way it had done for centuries. The snow on the All Father’s Spine had melted. The silver peaks were lush and green with summer. Yet, to Glory, who had arrived in the middle of the night, it seemed as though she was seeing it all for the very first time. Her reflection in the polished and ornate marble floors did not seem to gleam as it once had. Instead, she noticed the intricately-painted details of each shining tile. The gardens seemed more beautiful than she had ever remembered them being, and mirrors did not catch her eye the way that the swaying trees and singing robin did. She had been tired, resting on very few hours of sleep in her own bed, but she rose at early dawn anyway. Questions pressed upon her mind. She dressed without assistance and snuck away from her room. She tiptoed to her father’s room. She sat on the edge of his bed and gingerly touched his shoulder. The old king startled from a deep sleep. His eyes fixed on Glory and bit by bit adjusted.

  “Glory?” he mumbled groggily. “Is that my little princess? What are you doing here?”

  “I have come home, Father. Will you rise and walk with me in the garden?”

  Balthazaar sat up. “Give me a moment to dress, and I will join you down there.”

  Glory smiled and left her father to his privacy. She made her way to the rose garden and waited by the lily pond. She looked in, not seeing her reflection, but wondering when all of those beautiful, rainbow-like fish had ever existed in the water. The sun was beginning to peek over the hedges. Glory sat on a bench and watched the sunlight roll in. She pictured herself only a few yards away, in the center of the garden. She could imagine a beautiful girl waiting in the shadows, her beauty only surpassed by her vanity. Glory shook her head, banishing the image from her mind. That seemed like an eternity ago. She felt like a fool to have been so vain. That girl was someone else, a stranger even. The sun crawled over the ground to where her feet rested near the base of the bench. She still loved the gift of the sun’s warmth, but she recognized it as only that: a gift. Every day was a gift and precious in its own right. She leaned back on her hands and turned her face skyward with a smile, closing her eyes and feeling a compelling gratitude deep within.

  “You look very serene,” said Balthazaar.

  Glory hummed contentedly, “I am.” She opened her eyes and looked at her father. He offered his arm.

  “Shall we walk?”

  Glory took it and rose.

  “I have missed you, my dear,” Balthazaar murmured.

  “Yet you do not ask where I have been. Have you not worried for my sake?”

  Balthazaar shook his head. “I hope your regard for me will not diminish when I say that I have not wondered one day after your whereabouts.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The night that I announced your betrothal, I had the suspicion that you would try to run. It was in my foresight, and your best interests, that I confide my concerns to your sisters.”

  “To what end did you hope this would achieve?”

  “I disclosed to Alexa that Barwn Xander, Regent of the Blood Realm, would be expecting you after the wedding. I had felt there was no time to waste on your betrothal, especially when I knew how spirited you are.”

  Glory momentarily resented the fact that her father knew her too well.

  “Xander approached me at Council’s Realm with a proposal that I could not ultimately turn down. Your marriage to Prince Eoghan would unite all of the kingdoms and bring about a long and celebrated age of peace.”

  “So it was a political union.”

  “Not entirely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must know that I love you and your sisters more than anything else in the world. You may think that the men I choose for your sisters are unsuitable to their dispositions, with the way they carry on in a show of misery. What you all fail to realize, however, is that I desire nothing more than the happiness of the lot of you. As your father, I see beyond what you all stand to see. I see, from my own experience, that you all are already a bunch of miserable mongrels.”

  Glory looked at her father; her brow furrowed.

  “So when I pick a suitor for one of my daughters, it is my every intention to change that misery into joy. I wish for you all to know the unconditional love that your mother and I shared.”

  “I am sorry, Father, but I still do not understand.”

  “Yes, yes. I thought you might come to say that. I wish you to know that you and your sisters possess certa
in… qualities, shall we say. You each are like a rough and dirty lump of coal.”

  Glory did not exactly appreciate that metaphor.

  “However, with guidance and the proper care, that lump of coal can be put through a fire and polished in to a brilliant, perfect, and most exquisite diamond.”

  “I still fail to see the point you are trying to make, Father.”

  Balthazaar patted Glory’s hand. “Perhaps you should ask your sisters.”

  “For what purpose? Will they not all bemoan and wail of their misery?”

  “Not necessarily. Each one has been matched to a man who is their equal, if polar opposite. Each of your sisters was also presented with the option of leaving their betrothed. Not one of them has chosen to end her marriage, so they are not as miserable as they appear. It is my intention to instill desire to serve into lazy Murtia; frugality to extravagant Lucullia; happiness to melancholy Ophelia; temperance to wrathful Odessa; moderation to Portia, who is a glutton; and chastity to lustful Alexa.…”

  “And to me?”

  Balthazaar smiled broadly. “My dear, I think you may have fulfilled my intentions for you already. I hope you will return to your prince.”

  Glory wandered the palace. She still had some unanswered questions, but she had followed her father’s advice. She hoped to bump into any of her sisters, but they did not seem to want to be found. No doubt, word had spread of her return home. Could it be they feared how she would treat them for what they had done to her? Now that she understood that they had been under the direction of their father, how could she possibly be angry with them? She was keeping her promise. She did not blame them for where she was now. It had made her a better person, as her father had intended for each of them. Knowing she was beautiful and finding peace with the knowledge that it was enough not only made her stand a little taller on humbled self pride, but it had lifted a tremendous burden from her shoulders. Everyone conceded that she was the fairest in the land. What more did she need? She did not feel compelled to gloat or enforce such knowledge on the world. Her vanity had been a curse.

  Glory halted. That was it, wasn’t it?

  Her father knew that each of his daughter’s qualities, as he had so diplomatically put it, was a curse to them. There was only one way to break curses: love.

  Glory suddenly wondered why she was free from vanity and happy, when her sisters were long wed or betrothed and still miserable. What made her different? What did she understand, what had she done so differently, that freed her, but not the others?

  Glory’s feet started moving with urgency. She had to find her sisters.

  She ran into Ophelia first. They both stopped in the hall, across from each other. Glory was not sure how her older sister would react. Without hesitation, Ophelia burst in to tears and ran down the hall toward Glory. Glory braced herself. Ophelia swept Glory into her arms.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I am happy to see you!” Ophelia squeezed Glory.

  “You are not usually so happy,” Glory wheezed, the air squishing out of her.

  Ophelia released her death grip. “You are not usually away from the palace for a season, tricked into a marriage.”

  “This is true,” conceded Glory.

  “After the others tricked you into the hands of Barwn Xander, I could not still my tears, for my conscious was heavy. It was a terrible thing that Alexa and Odessa did, but I hope you understand why.”

  “Do not worry, sweet sister,” Glory assured, “all is forgiven. How is it with you?”

  “Well, when I could not bear the weight upon my soul, I told Lord Gaylord of it. He came at once and chased away my demons. I am much better now and do not cry nearly as often.”

  “And the others? How is it with them?”

  “Why do you not ask them yourself?”

  “I would, if I could find them. I fear they expect me to be cross with them and are hiding from me.”

  Ophelia shook her head. “It is not so. They have kept quite busy. Not long after you left, Father was approached with a suitor for Portia.”

  Glory’s eyes widened. “Really!”

  Ophelia giggled. “Shall we go see how miserable she is today?’

  Glory nodded eagerly.

  Ophelia took her by the arm and led her to Portia’s room. Odessa knelt, seamstress pins held in between her lips, at the foot of a girl in a white gown who kind of resembled Portia.

  “I do not understand why we continue to work on this dress when it will not fit when I am wed.”

  “If we do not continue taking it in,” Odessa growled through the pins, “you will be wed in a tent rather than a gown.”

  Glory squinted at the girl in the white dress. “Portia?”

  Portia looked over her shoulder. “Oh, thank The Dagda! Go and fetch me something to eat, would you?”

  Before Glory could even consider it, Ophelia grabbed her hand and shook her head no.

  Portia stomped her foot, yowling, “But I am so hungry! Lord Carson starves me.”

  “No, he does not, Portia,” Odessa sighed. “You are being dramatic.”

  “Yes, very,” Ophelia concurred. “Lord Carson is only concerned for your health. He has told you this repeatedly.”

  “You are very lucky,” said Odessa, pulling some of the pins from between her lips and placing them in to the dress, “to have a suitor who loves you so well and wants a long life with you, filled with all sorts of adventures.”

  Portia wrinkled her freckled nose. “I fail to see how this resolves my feeling of hunger.” She lifted her arms, making the excess fabric from the last alteration clearly visible, as it hung from her as wispy lichen from a willow tree. “I am wasting away. Can you not see how much has changed since the last fitting?”

  Glory was stunned. “Portia,” she stammered, “you look astonishing. Can you not see how beautiful you are?”

  Portia crossed her arms. “Beauty does not feed my snarling stomach, Glory. Besides, beauty was always your element.”

  What Lord Carson was doing was so clear to all except Portia. Why could she not see it? Glory hoped Portia would realize that the gift Lord Carson was giving her would one day, hopefully, see her through to being an able, old woman, actively chasing her posterity.

  Glory shifted her attention to Odessa. “Why do you not have a seamstress assisting you?”

  “She fell ill.” Odessa sat back on her heels, examining her work.

  Ophelia leaned in toward Glory. “Embroidery work calms her,” she whispered, “Lord Bedricht suggested it as a hobby. It gives her something to focus her energy on.”

  Lord Bedricht was smart, Glory noted. Come to think of it, Odessa had seemed calmer while they had worked on Lucullia’s dress before everything happened, too. Glory was glad she had started doing it more regularly.

  Portia looked over her shoulder at Glory. “What of your Eoghan? Does he feed you?”

  My Eoghan, Glory thought with a pang of guilt. “He does well at the hunt. No prey escapes him.”

  “Are the rumors true? Is he cursed by deformity?”

  Glory closed her eyes. The memory of her reflection in Eoghan’s glassy eye made her smile. “He is beautiful.”

  “How convenient Father matched a beauty with a beauty,” Portia muttered.

  Glory opened her eyes and bit her lip. How unfortunate you do not see your beauty as I see it now, sister.

  “How is Lucullia?” Glory asked. “Has she sent news of her new life in Council’s Realm?”

  “Lord Davenport has already doubled what Father has given him. He has uncanny luck with overseas trade. Yet, he does well to make Lucullia mind him and live frugally. She is not happy to be living on a budget, but she does well. Lord Davenport dotes on her occasionally and allows her certain gifts whenever he returns home.”

  So half of my sisters are working through their tribulations, Glory thought. Ophelia seems happier. Odessa is less often full of wrath. Lucullia is learning to live within her means. Howe
ver, Portia does not yet recognize the burden Lord Carson is trying to lift from her.

  “Do Alexa or Murtia ever write?” Glory inquired.

  “I believe Father mentioned that Alexa has softened to Covington’s advances, and they are expecting a child. Murtia has taken to working among the people of her kingdom and has become very well-loved for her charity.”

  Glory laughed with both delight and shock. Alexa was with child. She and her husband had found a way to make their marriage last, and now they were being blessed for their efforts. Somehow, Lord Covington had outsmarted Alexa’s game and turned her desire for all men in to a solitary desire for him.

  Murtia had gained a work ethic and become a humanitarian. Not only that, but she was surely on her way to becoming a beloved ruler. Glory’s chest swelled. She felt a sense of pride and was highly impressed upon. This change in Murtia had seemed the most dramatic from among all of her sisters. Furthermore, Alexa’s love of men had turned to one man, and Murtia’s disdain for her husband had blossomed in to a love for her people. Glory pondered this. As it was, her sisters seemed to possess an initial resentment toward their marriages, or at least maintained an air about their misery, but their arrangements had definitely improved upon them. Such improvements did seem to make them happier and kinder to one another.

  She felt as though she was on to their little secret. They may appear miserable, but it was not so bad after all. In fact, it was downright good for them. Could it be that they were not unhappy with their mates, but with the change within themselves instead? Perhaps what they all wanted wasn’t what they had needed.

  Glory left the room, meditating on how her father’s will had affected her. Her vanity had been obvious, and she had cursed the very gods for ending up at Blackthorn Keep. This seemed to be in line with what her sisters had experienced as well. She had also resented Eoghan, though she did not know it was him at the time. He had opened her eyes to her vanity and freed her from its bonds, Colin included. But how do I feel about Eoghan now? she asked herself. All of her sisters still had arrangements after coming to terms with their weaknesses. Glory had none, as Eoghan had released her from their premarital contract.