She had always led us, and I had always been content to let her. Content because I knew that in truth she needed me as much as I needed her. The thought brought a fresh bout of tears. How was Lily coping back in Marin, as cut off from me as I was from her?
But she had Jon now, and a new place in this foreign land as the future duchess of Marin. I had seen a new strength grow in her throughout the Tourney, I had even used it to fuel my own resolve. But now that she was stripped away from me, I saw that it was not enough. Alone I was weak, when all I wanted was to be strong.
For the second night, my tears soaked my pillow, and I could not will them to stop. Eventually, exhausted from my long day, I slipped into slumber.
Once again, I was woken by the sunlight, my curtains still open from the day before. But unlike the previous morning, I didn’t have to fight back tears. Apparently, I had finally cried myself out. Or perhaps I was merely distracted by a thought. A thread that had woven its way through my restless dreams.
I struggled now to capture it, certain of its importance. I had been haunted all night by the growls and roars and deafening silence of my betrothed. But also by his haunting eyes, pleading with me. And I had been sure of something in my sleep—a realization that I could no longer recall.
It took me at least a minute to chase it down, the revelation finally bursting through my mind. My betrothed growled and snarled and roared like an animal, his mouth misshapen to fit beast-like fangs. What if it was not rudeness that drove his silence? What if he was actually unable to speak?
I lay in bed for some minutes considering the idea from all angles. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed, and I began to feel embarrassed for not seeing it before. His notes and his pleading eyes suddenly made sense. I sat up in bed, the new knowledge driving away any lingering melancholy. A new challenge had presented itself, and I felt glad for the distraction.
I slipped out of bed, weighing possible means of communication, but paused. A new note had been slipped under the door while I slept. I rushed over to swoop it up, elated by my new understanding. Surely this was a letter from the prince, explaining his incapacity and apologizing for his behavior since my arrival. Of course, I had already worked it out without his explanation, but he couldn’t be expected to know that.
But the glow of satisfaction died as soon as I opened the parchment and read the words inside. It could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered a letter. Instead it contained only a repeat of his demand from the day before.
You will join me for the evening meal.
I stared at it, rereading it three times before crumpling it up and flinging it into the embers of the fire. I had allowed my pleasure at solving the puzzle to blind me for a moment. The rudeness of his curt communications could not be blamed on his inability to speak. It came wholly from him. I should not have let myself forget I was dealing with a beast.
I dressed myself in a mood of righteous indignation. Would it really have been so hard to write me a proper letter? I struggled to imagine his clawed hand holding a pen but pushed the thought aside. However hard it might be for him, it could not compare to the trials I had been through in the Tourney. It had most likely been pride that held him back. He had not wanted to admit his limitations, and I felt sure he was not the sort to ever apologize.
I chewed my way through the food that had been laid out for me with more force than was necessary. I suspected that if I wanted an evening meal, I would have to eat it in his presence. And a part of me even relished the prospect. I would give him a piece of my mind and, if I was right, he would be entirely unable to answer back. I couldn’t resist a small grin at the thought. What girl hadn’t wished herself in such a position at some point or other?
And in the meantime, I had the whole day before me. Going higher hadn’t allowed me to bypass the wall blocking me from Lily, so I couldn’t imagine going underground would help. I glanced out the window and admitted to myself that at least some of this conclusion came from the fact that I had no desire to go searching for the dungeons.
The sun shone, despite the snow, and the open air called to me. Perhaps I needed to leave the boundaries of the castle. It might not be a wall so much as a barrier that blanketed this locality. In my anger and fear, I had assumed it was a specific block against me. But, in reality, that made no sense. No one even knew of our ability, so why would anyone plan against it?
One glance at the snow-filled garden, full of blossoming flowers and glossy fruit, was enough to see that this place existed outside the usual laws of nature. I was becoming increasingly convinced that whatever magic fueled this enchantment blocked my projections by chance. I would take Chestnut and ride far enough beyond the castle to test my theory. But not so far that I might lose my way back. I had not forgotten the conditions in the rest of this kingdom, nor the consequences to myself and my family if I tried to defy the ancient laws that bound my betrothal.
Glad for a purpose that would take me outside and into the company of my horse—currently my only friend—I hummed as I hurried my final preparations. I might be talking to Lily again within the hour.
Chestnut seemed happy to see me and eager for exercise. I easily found her saddle and fitted it quickly, glad my parents had made me learn how to care for my mount myself. I had been relieved to see no sign of the Beast, but confused to still discover no sign of anyone else either. Yet Chestnut’s straw was fresh and her coat recently groomed.
I thrust off thought of the mystery, too eager to speak to my sister to lend it my full attention. A mounting block outside the stable helped me onto Chestnut’s back, and we were soon walking through the gardens.
I had intended to move quickly toward the aisle of orange trees, but my fascination held me back. I let Chestnut wander through the plants at a walk. The hours spent surrounded by the enchantment of the castle had softened the unease the strange garden had initially produced. I could now see the unusual beauty of it—the colors gorgeous against the pure white of the undisturbed snow.
I spotted an intricate rose garden far to my left and nearly turned Chestnut toward it. But at the same time, I saw the first of the orange trees on my right and remembered my purpose. I directed my mare’s nose toward the row of trees and urged her into a trot.
The warmth of the sun beat against my shoulders, and I marveled that it did not melt the snow. As we moved into the aisle, I let Chestnut settle back into a walk. I steered her to one side, brushing close against the trees. Clumps of delicate white flowers alternated with plump-looking orange globes. The intoxicating scent of the flowers surrounded me, and I had to stop myself from picking one of the fruit. It looked juicy and delicious, but I didn’t know if it was safe to eat something so clearly enchanted.
I felt more relaxed than I had since leaving Marin. It was hard to feel stressed or afraid when every sense was flooded with so much beauty. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes. For the first time in days, I felt hope—as I always did amid the beauty of a garden.
When I opened my eyes again, I noticed a tall set of iron gates, located at the end of the trees. Both sides were flung open, giving free passage into and out of the aisle. And from the look of the grass growing around the bottom of the metal, the Beast was not in the habit of closing them. I hadn’t noticed the gates from inside the carriage, but I could hardly be surprised given my state of distraction at the time.
Unconsciously I pushed Chestnut back into a trot, spurred on by the glimpse of freedom ahead. Lily, I’m coming! I projected, although I knew she would not receive it.
Before I reached the gate, however, the sound of pounding hooves drew my attention. Flashing between the trees, I caught glimpses of a huge black horse, thundering along outside the aisle. The Beast rode his stallion as if the two were one, moving more gracefully together than I had imagined two such giants could.
I slowed slightly, unable to tear my eyes from the sight of them. Once again, I found myself captured by the controlled power of the Beast. He
appeared to be racing to meet me, and for an unthinking moment I felt glad, pleased to have the opportunity to examine his technique more closely.
But he didn’t give any sign of greeting or turn his mount into the aisle to ride beside me. Instead, just as I neared the gate, he swung his stallion’s head sharply, turning him perpendicular to the path I rode. As he crossed the open gateway, he pulled his horse to a sharp halt, the stallion rearing up, his hooves flashing through the air.
The Beast’s roar rang out through the garden, crashing through the still beauty of our surroundings. I scrambled to pull Chestnut up before we were crushed by the stallion’s hooves. The mare neighed loudly as I tugged on the reins, lifting her own front hooves as she attempted to pivot away.
Brown mane streamed in my face. A black coat flashed before me. Sharp hooves and dark riding boots streaked past, rising and then falling. And then, somehow, we had avoided a collision. Branches and leaves filled my vision as Chestnut, having regained her balance, took off running. She shot between two trees and out into more open ground, racing toward the garden that surrounded the far end of the row of trees.
I fought to keep my seat and break through her blind panic. It wasn’t the first time a mount of mine had bolted, but it had never happened on such unfamiliar ground. Unaware of potential dangers in the terrain, I struggled to get her quickly back under control.
Just as I felt her begin to calm beneath me, the sound of hooves once again filled my ears. I glanced swiftly back, under my arm, and saw the flash of black as the Beast raced toward us. Chestnut, hearing the approach, picked her pace back up.
I bit back a scream. Was he trying to get me killed?
The longer legs of the stallion quickly brought them alongside us. The Beast leaned toward me, reaching out with one hand. With shock, I realized his intention. He was attempting to stop Chestnut.
In panic, I turned my eyes away from the ground ahead and met his eyes for a fleeting moment. “Stop!” I screamed with all the air in my lungs. “Leave me be! Are you insane?”
He seemed to falter at the determination and anger on my face. His pace slowed slightly, and I took a deep breath of relief, transferring my full attention back to Chestnut as he fell away.
The garden raced toward us, and my heart pounded at her renewed speed. I could feel the unthinking terror filling her and wondered if I should aim her toward the castle. She would swerve before she hit the building, but would she throw me off in the process?
As she leaped over the first of the garden beds, I noticed that the ground rose to one side of the castle. Angling her in that direction, I pointed her uphill and toward the clearest ground I could see. I held my breath as we thundered forward, sitting back in my seat and pulling periodically on the reins.
Gradually I felt her speed shift and slow. As the castle flew past us, she dropped down to a more controlled gallop and then slower still. As we crested the rise, she finally transitioned into a trembling walk. I slumped slightly in the saddle taking deep, gulping breaths.
I closed my eyes for a second, heart still racing from the near disaster. The Beast had prevented me from leaving. It was the only explanation that made sense. I narrowed my eyes. He had purposefully blocked my passage and had done so in the most dangerous way possible, without thought for my safety.
I wheeled Chestnut back around and walked her to the front steps of the castle. The Beast stood there, his stallion’s reins in his hand and his eyes on me. It was hard to read the veiled emotion in them, although he was calmer than I had expected.
The same couldn’t be said of me. “How dare you!” I drew myself up tall, staying on Chestnut’s back to give me extra height over the dismounted Beast. “You could have killed me. Do not ever attempt to touch my mount again.”
My chest heaved with my angry breaths while the Beast watched me calmly. After a moment, he bowed his head in apparent acquiescence. I felt an ungracious surge of triumph at his capitulation. “And do not attempt to control where I go. We may be betrothed, but I am not your property to order as you will. If I wish to leave the castle, I will.”
He froze, not a muscle moving as his eyes tightened. Then he bared his fangs and growled, the sound starting low, but gaining quickly in volume. My eyes widened, and Chestnut shied, reacting to my tensing legs as much as the noise.
She turned her head toward the stable, and I encouraged her to move faster with a further tightening of my knees. As we fled ignominiously, I felt shame course through me. Once again, my courage had failed me.
Chapter 7
I trembled the whole time I groomed Chestnut, as the terrified energy of the ride and the tension of the confrontation with the Beast drained away. When I finally made it back to my room, I had regained my calm. Until I saw a new parchment pushed under the door.
You will not leave the castle grounds under any circumstances. It is not safe. The gate will remain closed and locked from now on. Do not try to circumvent it.
No details or real explanation. No apology for nearly getting me killed. The new note followed the last one into the fire. There was no way now that I would be attending a meal with him, even if it meant going hungry.
As twilight approached, the sound of inaudible whispers filled the room. The wardrobe door rattled and opened, a breeze ruffling the dresses. I resolutely turned away, despite my rumbling stomach.
The whispers seemed to grow more agitated, the soft sound growing louder and more discordant. The door of my room swung open, and I strode over and slammed it shut again. The whispers went silent for a moment before bursting out louder than ever. I went over and sat in a chair by the window, staring out into the garden below as the last rays of sunset burnished the flowers.
More rattling emanated from the wardrobe, but I resolutely ignored it. Material enveloped me, and I yelped inelegantly, fighting my way free of the many layers. I stood up and glared down at the violet dress which had apparently been dropped on my head.
I turned my glare on the room but, of course, it remained empty. “Leave me alone,” I said out loud. “I’m not going.”
More rattling and rustling spread through the room, and my door swung open again, but I continued to glare indiscriminately until it slowly subsided. “If he wants me to eat with him, he needs to learn to ask nicely.”
A sound more like a sigh than a whisper filled the room, followed by silence and the soft closing of the door. I shook my head. I had been right the night before—the castle seemed committed to my dinners with the Beast.
I flopped down on my bed. My defiant stance unfortunately meant a night of boredom as well as a night of hunger. I sat up abruptly. The food I had so far eaten had tasted real enough and had filled my stomach. If it was only delivered by the enchantment and not created by it, then there might be a kitchen full of food in here somewhere. A kitchen where I could requisition a meal.
Given their recent agitation, I doubted the lights or whispers would be inclined to help me circumvent the Beast’s orders in this way. But I had spent my entire life in various palaces and castles, and I was starting to get a feel for this one. I suspected I would be able to find my way there eventually.
Listening at the door for any hint of movement in the passage outside, I pushed the door partially open and slipped out of the room. I felt a little ridiculous creeping along through empty passageways in a castle that contained only one other inhabitant—and one who was presumably in the dining hall. But somehow—possibly due to wishful thinking—I had begun to think of the whispers as companions. Slightly misguided ones, perhaps, but company of a sort. And I wasn’t entirely sure what they would do if they saw me.
I chuckled quietly. If they saw me. Whispers didn’t exactly have eyes, and for all I knew they were part of the magic of the castle, in which case I was trying to hide from the walls themselves. But still I trod as quietly as possible, stopping to listen and then peer around each corner.
It took me well over an hour to find the kitchens, by which t
ime I was beginning to fear that the Beast must be finishing his own solitary meal. And I had no idea where he went when he wasn’t riding or eating. The thought made me tread even more carefully, but it also made me more determined. I would not go to sleep with an empty stomach while he satisfied his hunger.
When I finally reached a promising doorway, I stuck my head around cautiously. Sure enough, a large kitchen greeted me with a cheerful fire burning in one of the fireplaces. I thought I had become used to the strange ways of the castle, but my knees gave a slight wobble at the sight of plates, cutlery, and food flying around the room. After a moment, I registered the presence of the whispers.
I stood there motionless until a sort of pattern emerged. The remains of a delicious looking feast were cleaning themselves up, scraps making their way into scrap buckets of their own accord and dishes washing themselves. If I hadn’t felt so unnerved, I would have laughed at the comical sight.
I wish you could see this, Lily, I projected into the nothingness. I wish you were here.
The whispers seemed to rise in volume as I thought of my sister, although still stopping short of any clear meaning. I sat just outside the doorway and let myself fall into the grip of sadness and loneliness. What was the point of new sights and adventures if I had no one to share them with?
A loud crash and a renewed surge of whispers distracted me from my melancholy. Peering into the room once more, I saw that shards from a large dish now lay scattered across the floor. I could almost hear a recriminatory tone to the sound of the whispers, and they sounded so much like words that I listened intently hoping to decipher something. They had become much louder since I had first encountered them, and I didn’t understand how I was still unable to hear any words amid the rustling, murmuring sound.
I held my breath, tipping one ear toward the kitchen, but still the sound seemed to slip past my consciousness. I thought again of my twin and all the theories she would have about this odd place, and a sudden thought struck me. I had put plenty of effort into connecting with her, throwing my projections out in her direction, but I hadn’t put the same experimentation into listening. Perhaps if I could not reach her, she could still reach me.
A Tale of Beauty and Beast: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (Beyond the Four Kingdoms Book 2) Page 5
