Then Vardan said, "But my birthday is still a fortnight away."
Sir Ryder shrugged. "His Majesty wanted to be certain his gifts arrived in time. Would you like to see them?"
Vardan's brother did nothing out of affection, he knew. There was no love lost between the brothers, especially not since Thorn had claimed the throne. Vardan had asked for, and been granted, what his brother had called the dubious honour of becoming the new Trade Master of Beacon Isle when he came of age. Vardan had thanked his brother and hightailed it out of the capital on the first available ship. If he hadn't, he was certain that he would either find poison in his food or be accused of some plot to assassinate the king. Besides, Vardan was not cut out for court life. The politics of the palace were too petty for him. He wanted to be doing things, and managing the country's largest and busiest harbour would be a welcome relief. He'd take a sea captain over a courtier any day.
"Did he send me a wife?" Vardan asked, only partly in jest. One of the other reasons he'd left court was because his brother had planned to marry him to some barren widow twice his age so that he could get his hands on the islands that were her dowry. When Vardan took a wife, he intended to marry for love, or at least for affection. He wanted a woman who enchanted him, not one who reminded him of his mother.
Sir Ryder laughed. "No. I think he's still looking for one of those himself. But if you fancy a ride..." He gestured toward the open doors.
Vardan gazed into the bailey, and was surprised to meet the eyes of a horse. Nothing like the sturdy ponies that roamed wild on Beacon Isle, this creature had all the hauteur of an emperor. Black as the ocean at night, he seemed to have the same seething turbulence, as if the moment a man had the temerity to mount him, the horse would show him no mere man could command the sea.
"He's magnificent. A mount suitable for a prince, or even a king. I'm surprised my brother was willing to part with him." Vardan approached the animal, whose bridle was held by Marshall, the head groom.
"Only the best for the prince, he said," Sir Ryder told him. "He wanted me to make certain the stallion is to your liking. I am not to leave until I have seen you ride him."
Vardan eyed the horse critically. "Tell me, has my brother employed a witch? One who has cursed the horse so that when I attempt to ride him, I shall be thrown off and killed?"
Sir Ryder's eyes grew wide with what Vardan thought was genuine astonishment. "Your Highness, no! The king would never wish to curse the horse ridden by his beloved brother."
Vardan believed the knight, but he still didn't trust his brother. "Very well. Saddle him, Marshall, and let Sir Ryder have the first ride."
Despite the knight's protestations, in the end, Sir Ryder mounted the horse and took a turn around the bailey. The stallion's steady gait was as smooth as the rolling waves. A thing of beauty.
Reassured, Vardan accepted the reins from Sir Ryder and sprang into the saddle. A short walk took them to the gate, where Vardan urged the horse into a gallop. The fields beside the road flew past as Vardan laughed for sheer joy. His brother had given him a magnificent birthday gift. Perhaps Thorn finally felt secure enough in his kingship that he no longer imagined his younger brother as a threat to the throne. Vardan hoped so, for he had no intention of usurping his brother's place. He intended to live out his life as the Trade Master of Beacon Isle, the place he loved most. Every time he walked into his grandmother's rose garden, it was as if the old queen were alive once more, and he was a boy filled with hope for a future that seemed so bright. And now when he rode out on his water horse, which he would call...Arion, he decided, he could almost fly to the harbour to greet the ships coming in to trade goods from all corners of the world.
When he returned to the bailey, breathless with laughter and the thrill of the ride, he thanked the knight profusely for bringing his brother's gift, and told him to convey his gratitude to the king.
"There is another gift, more valuable still," the knight replied. He held out a beribboned box, big enough to hold a book, maybe two.
Yet when Vardan took the box, it felt too light to be books of any kind. "What is it?" he asked, shaking it.
Sir Ryder seized the box, stopping him. "It is very fragile, Your Highness. You must be careful."
Feeling like a chastened child, Vardan opened the package with exaggerated caution. Inside the box was a cloth-wrapped bundle, and inside the cloth was..."A lady's looking glass?" Vardan exclaimed, lifting the offending item up to the light. Oh, it was pretty enough, with jewels cunningly set into the shape of a flower on the back, and a quick rub of the surface revealed his reflection, staring back at him, trying not to laugh at such a strange gift.
"An enchanted looking glass," Sir Ryder corrected. "Now you are so far from the capital, the king wished you to be able to still see the goings-on at court. You merely have to breathe on the mirror, speak the name of a person or place, and when the mist clears, you will see what you seek, as clearly as if you were there. You could see the king at court, or his bride on their wedding day, without ever leaving your island. You could even peek at the future queen when she's bathing, to see if she is comely enough for the king." He winked.
Vardan tried to hide his disgust as he wrapped the mirror and stowed it back in its box. As if he would use such a powerful object to peep at women to stimulate his own lustful desires. Perhaps chivalry really was dead in the rest of the country. Not here on Beacon Isle, though. "Perhaps later," Vardan said. "Please convey my thanks to the king for his gifts. How long will you be staying? I shall have the servants prepare a room for you."
Conscious of being a good host, he made sure his guest was settled and that his staff knew to pay the knight every courtesy before Vardan carried the box to his solar.
Much later that night, weary of listening to Sir Ryder's tales of the latest intrigues at court, Vardan retired to his bedchamber.
Try as he might, he could not sleep. Could a magical object truly let him see things far away? And if it could, why would his brother part with something so valuable?
Finally, he rose from his bed and padded to his solar, where the mirror lay in a patch of moonlight. The flower on the back seemed to glow purple, but he was sure it was either his imagination or a trick of the light.
What would he want to see? Vardan truly had no desire to spy on women in the privacy of their chambers. Nor did he want to see his brother lording it over everyone in court. The Whale, one of the ships due this week, had been delayed, though, and there were tales of pirates to the north. If there were pirates in his shipping lanes, Vardan wanted to know as much about them as possible, so he or his small navy could hunt them down. The Trade Master of Beacon Isle had no mercy for pirates.
He breathed on the glass. "Show me the Whale." The looking glass glowed purple, and Vardan gasped in shock.
SEVEN
Zuleika travelled the world. Like her mother before her, she journeyed from place to place, seeking out those children who showed a spark of magic. Nothing like as powerful as hers, of course, but enough to make them dangerous without the knowledge they needed to control their powers. On their name day, she would appear to give the child a blessing, which in truth was the gift of knowledge they would need in later life. Once they discovered their powers, the girls – for they were always girls – would have the necessary knowledge to make use of them. Some girls were destined to be healers, while others possessed the power to communicate with animals. One girl appeared to have the extraordinary ability to manipulate destiny – not just her own but that of other people, too. Some had the gift of illusion, or power over plants and other simple creatures, and one particularly gifted child had the power to manipulate air currents. She looked forward to finding out how these girls chose to use their powers. For good, she hoped, so that they would follow her example.
Zuleika prided herself on being a good witch, by which she meant she did no harm to those who did not already deserve it. After all, she did not wish to end up like the djinn. Djin
n were powerful magic users like herself who had used their powers for their own personal gain, to the detriment of others. When they caused so much trouble that they came to the attention of the rulers of the day, they had been sentenced to enslavement. Not to a person, but to an item, and anyone who possessed that item also possessed mastery over the djinn.
Of course, djinn were clever, and quite capable of influencing their masters. Recently, the ruler of a desert city had requested her assistance to rid himself of a particularly pesky djinn who insisted on tampering with the city's only water source. She'd dealt with the djinn, all right, cramming his loincloth-clad behind back into his lamp before hiding the lamp in a cave so protected with enchantments no one would release him. But when she returned to the city to collect her payment for a job well done, she found that the problems with the water supply had worsened in her absence. The man who'd hired her blamed her for the faults in his ancient plumbing and threw her out of the city. Or he tried to, anyway. An enchantress as adept at portal-casting as Zuleika was couldn't be kept out of anywhere for long. She'd taken great satisfaction in turning the ungrateful bastard into a frog, before tossing him into his own water supply so he could investigate the pipework himself. She'd left him a loophole, so he could break the curse, if he didn't want to live out the rest of his life as a frog, but she hadn't made it easy for him. Such was the life of a good witch.
She had returned home on occasion, ostensibly to check her mother's books and notes when she was asked to enchant items with unusual properties. That pair of dancing shoes, for instance, which the girl had managed to lose at a party, so that the prince pursued her all over the country to return her precious shoes.
First Arya, then Anita had found suitable men they wanted to marry, so both now lived with their respective husbands and, the last she'd heard, children, too. That left her father alone in the keep, so she made it a point to visit him as often as she was able. She only stayed for a day or two before leaving again – she didn't want the king to get word of her presence. There was no telling what that dishonourable man might do, to her or her father.
This time, when she arrived in her mother's bower, she found her father waiting for her. He started from the couch, as though from a deep sleep. Evidently, he had been waiting for some time.
"Hello, Father," she said. "What is wrong?"
"Zuzu, you're here," her father said, rubbing at his eyes. "My ships. I have lost all my ships. Wrecked, sunk, boarded by pirates... Who knows? But they are lost. And without them, we have nothing but this keep. I need your help, Zuleika. If anyone can find my lost ships, even one of them, for that would save our fortunes, it is you. Will you help me?"
"Of course, Father," she said warmly. "Which ship did you hear from last?"
"The Rosa. Her cargo was to be your dowry, dear girl. Purple silk, vair and amethysts exactly the colour of your eyes, to make you gowns fit for a queen. The king has not taken a wife yet, and I had hoped to send you to court so that you might enchant him. But the Rosa has disappeared, along with all your finery. She left port on schedule, but she should have arrived in the harbour by now. I fear all is lost."
Biting back a protest that she'd rather die than dress up for the king, Zuleika merely nodded. "I will not fail you, Father. I will find your ships and their cargo. If pirates have taken them, they will rue the day they were ever born." And searching for them would take her far from King Thorn, she thought but did not say.
Father fell to his knees. "Thank you."
A father should not kneel before his children, least of all to her, Zuleika thought, as she helped her father to his feet. "Think nothing of it. I am a dutiful daughter, nothing more." And one who had no desire to be queen.
Though she had been home scarcely more than a few minutes, Zuleika prepared to cast another portal, not to a place, but to a ship's deck. She bit her lip, tasted her own blood, touched her finger to her tongue, and drew the doorway. When her blood touched the earth, the doorway glowed and opened. Zuleika stepped through.
EIGHT
Zuleika took in a deep breath, as she always did when arriving at a new place. Except that this time, there was no air to breathe, only water. Deep beneath the surface, Zuleika's lungs filled with seawater, and she began to drown. Her flailing legs kicked something hard – the ship, or the seabed? She wasn't certain. Desperately, she drew a doorway, then another, and a third. No light meant no portal, and no portal meant she would die. Zuleika bit her finger, watching the blood stream in the current, as she drew a fourth doorway. She thought she glimpsed light, before her eyes were forced to close. It might have been a portal, or it might have been heaven beckoning her home. She wasn't sure which she welcomed most, but darkness dragged her down, and she knew no more.
NINE
When Zuleika regained consciousness, she couldn't feel her body. The one exception was her throat, which burned like she'd swallowed liquid fire. She coughed weakly, relieved to find her ears still worked.
"What is it?"
"Is it a bird?"
"No, I saw a flash, like lightning. That be no bird."
"It's a girl!"
"A corpse, more like. She's not moving."
"Her dress is soaked through. She'll freeze, laying out here in the snow like that. Feel her skin. Cold as ice, she is."
"See? A corpse, like I told you."
"She's no corpse, you old fool! She still draws breath. We better get her inside and warm before she perishes of cold."
"But the master..."
Zuleika heard what sounded like a slap.
"Shhh. You'll scare the maid to death."
Zuleika wanted to tell her rescuers that she feared little any more, but her voice died in her damaged throat. For when she opened her eyes, she saw no one at all. Nothing but a walled garden, shrouded in snow. Her eyes drifted shut, and the darkness embraced her once more.
TEN
"With respect, master, it won't be enough. One, perhaps two more ships, and the cellars will be full. Your storehouses were full months ago. If we don't find a way to shift this cargo off the island soon – "
A bolt of what appeared to be purple lightning arrowed down from the cloudless sky, followed by a sharp crack that echoed off the courtyard walls.
Vardan waved Rolf into silence. "What in heaven's name was that?" the prince asked.
"Hopefully not something in the cellar," Rolf said drily.
Vardan laughed. "I hope you're right, my friend." He clapped his steward on the back and hurried to the nearest window overlooking the rose garden. At least, the expanse of snow smothering his grandmother's garden.
"It's a girl!" Inga exclaimed.
Vardan stared. Sure enough, the housekeeper was right. Lying on the snow was a woman whose scarlet dress made it look like she lay in a pool of blood. Perhaps she did.
"Is she hurt?" Vardan demanded.
Sven, the gardener, muttered something unintelligible.
"I don't think so, master," Inga called up. "Cold, yes, frozen nigh to death in her wet things outside in this weather, but her eyes opened for a moment there, and she still draws breath. We must get her inside before she takes a chill, if she hasn't already."
Most men would have called for more servants, Vardan knew, but he wasn't most men, and he was curious. Just as lightning did not strike out of a clear sky, women dressed in scarlet did not suddenly appear in rose gardens. Vardan smelled magic at work, but he wasn't yet certain whether it was good or ill. After what had befallen him, he no longer had any love for magic or those who practiced it.
He took the steps two at a time until he reached the garden, then trudged through the snow to where he could look upon the strange woman's face.
What he'd taken for a dark veil was instead the girl's unbound hair, as rich and dark as the sable furs in his nearly full cellar. He wondered idly whether her hair was also as silky to the touch. His hand reached out almost of its own accord.
"She's quite the beauty, isn't she, master? T
hough she's mighty pale. Perhaps it's the cold. With a little colour in her cheeks, there wouldn't be a man in the kingdom who could ignore her when she walks by," Inga said, as if reading his thoughts.
"She would not walk," Vardan found himself saying. "She would ride. A horse fit for a queen."
Inga cleared her throat. "Before you go riding with her, master, we must get her warm. Inside. For that we need a strong man more than a horse who can carry the maid – "
"I'll do it," he said. The girl was surprisingly heavy in his arms, but he realised that most of the weight was her waterlogged, half frozen clothes. "Have a room prepared for her. In the meantime, I will take her to my bed – "
Inga made a disapproving sound. "The queen's bedchamber would be better, master."
Though his grandmother no longer lived, they would always think of her favourite rooms as the queen's chambers. "Yes. Of course, you are right. I shall take her there."
He carried the mysterious girl up the steps to the corridor his grandmother had claimed as her own. The windowless bedchamber was exactly as she had left it, right down to her shell combs on the table.
"Put her on the bed, master," Inga ordered, and the prince obeyed.
He regretted it instantly, as his arms felt strangely empty once he released the girl. "Surely you should turn down the bed first, so I can place her under the covers? I wouldn't want her to be cold." He reached for her again.
"Not in her wet things. I'll help her into some dry clothes before I put her to bed, master," Inga said. She waited a moment, before she added, "I will have to undress her. It would be unseemly for you to stay."
It took a moment for Inga's words to register. Unseemly. Undress. No, he did not watch women undress without their knowledge. Whoever this girl was, she deserved to be shown every courtesy. Vardan wasn't sure what had come over him, that he could forget such a thing. Thank heaven Inga had taken the liberty of reminding him.
Enchant: Beauty and the Beast Retold Page 2
