Enchant: Beauty and the Beast Retold

by Demelza Carlton

  Resolved, he climbed from his bed and padded to the library. In his childhood, the monks had worked there day and night, and true to tradition, the candles burned still. A warm wash of light to drive away the sudden chill in his heart.

  Something was amiss. He could feel it.

  Three steps into the room, he stopped dead.

  She lay in a pool of blood, stretching out her hand for the magic mirror as if it could somehow help her.

  He wanted to demand how she'd come here, where she'd gone, and who had hurt her, but most of all, he didn't want to lose her.

  So much blood...

  He bellowed for help as he dropped to his knees beside her, unsure what he could do. If he had a witch here now, he would trade his very soul for a spell that could save her life, but all he had were his two hands and a houseful of servants, none of whom knew magic or more than rudimentary healing.

  He shouted for help again, and he saw her move, just the tiniest bit. Her face crumpled, as if in pain. She mumbled something that sounded like nonsense and he did his best to reassure her. Help would come. It had to.

  A hand touched his shoulder. Fingers he could see.

  Inga's voice roused the household, commanding them like an army in battle. Better she than him tonight. He couldn't turn his attention away from Belle. Couldn't lose her again.

  She mumbled more nonsense before her eyes closed.

  No. What cruel fate had returned her to him, only to kill her before his eyes?

  "Why?" he begged of the heavens, but he got no answer except a sigh as Belle's breath left her.

  FORTY-TWO

  Zuleika opened her eyes, expecting an afterlife, but she only saw the dowager queen's bedchamber. She still lived. Her hand was terribly painful, and shrouded in linen bandages.

  "The lady wakes." Vardan rose from his corner chair, much as he had the first time they met. Today, though, he was merely a man, and no longer a cursed creature. As Zuleika's gaze caressed his features for what she was certain would be the last time, she found it hard to believe she had ever mistaken him for his brother. Sure, both men had similar features, but the expression on Vardan's face and the soul shining through his eyes showed him to be a very different man. A man of honour, integrity, compassion and...for at least a little while, love.

  "So many times I told you my tale, that I forgot to ask for yours. So, tell me, Lady Belle, or will you give me your true name now?"

  She winced. "I already told you. The first name was a gift from you. It wasn't so different to my name. Not really. Zuleika means brilliant beauty. It is the name my parents gave me, and the rest of the world knows me by. Zuleika, enchantress, daughter of Baron Hans and his wife Lady Zoraida, also an enchantress, and the previous owner of the mirror enchanted with farseeing before I cursed it at the king's command." She swallowed painfully. "The very same mirror I smashed in your library."

  Vardan drew the chair up beside the bed and seated himself. "It sounds like quite a tale, Lady Zuleika. Especially as I have heard that name before. I think I deserve to hear all of your tale now."

  So Zuleika told him everything, starting with the king's courier, Sir Ryder, through to her escape from the palace. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't stop to wipe them away. She described trying to open a portal at the bottom of the sea, where her father's ship had sunk, and of finding herself in Vardan's courtyard. Finally, she told him about how she'd realised that the curse on Beacon Isle was indeed of her making, but magnified hundreds of times over, because of the mirror, and how she hadn't been sure she could break something so powerful, but she had owed it to him to try.

  And when she was done, her vision so blurred by tears she could no longer see, Vardan walked out of the room without saying a word.

  Her every instinct screamed to call him back, but she knew it would be no use. Vardan was free to live the life he deserved and love a woman as honourable as he was. Not a witch who was tainted with the darkness of her crimes.

  Slowly, painfully, she pulled a gown over her shift, and made her way down to the courtyard. No one stopped her; no one even saw her. For a household that had once been full of invisible people, she was the only invisible one now without even a spell to make her so. No matter. She would not be here for long.

  Zuleika bit her unbandaged finger and drew a doorway in the air. Her blood touched the earth and the circle was complete, opening a portal home. With one final glance back at the house on Beacon Isle, she stepped through the portal and left the island, and the prince, behind.

  FORTY-THREE

  By the time Lady Belle – no, Lady Zuleika – had finished her tale, Vardan wasn't sure whether he wanted to kill his brother outright or torture him for eternity. What Thorn had forced her to do, that she'd felt honour-bound to undo, even at the risk of her life...

  He didn't want to believe it, but her eyes burned with sincerity through every word. How could he not believe her? The memory of her lying in all that blood was one he would never forget. Even now, she was deathly pale.

  She had nearly given her life for him. If he'd taken the time to find out more about the curse earlier, he might have stopped using the mirror, might have saved her this pain. Damn him, if he'd taken his brother's advice and sought her out, even, none of this would have happened.

  So when tears welled up in her eyes – tears because of the pain he'd caused her, through no fault of her own, he forced himself to leave the room. He had no right to embrace or comfort her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  What comfort could he offer, anyway? She had run from him once. She didn't want him. But he was still deeply in her debt for breaking the curse.

  She deserved vengeance for the wrongs Thorn had done her. Had done to them both.

  Death wasn't good enough for him. And there was no honour in torture. Besides, Thorn expected some sort of attack from Vardan – he'd gone to great lengths to keep him here on the island, far from court. If Vardan did succeed in killing the king, he would be sentencing himself to a lifetime on the throne. A life he did not want, for his home was here. On a hill above what had once been the greatest trading port in the world. And would be again, he vowed.

  If he couldn't take Thorn's life, he would take the one thing he loved most – his power. Thorn could keep his precious throne and his court. But Beacon Isle's storehouses contained the riches of most of the merchants in the civilised world. Merchants who knew Vardan to be their ally. If he could control the trade routes with the promise of keeping them free of pirates, his humble seat would hold more power than all the thrones in the western world combined.

  But to do that, he needed Rolf.

  He shouted for his steward as he strode to his solar, already listing names in his head. He knew which merchants held the most power among their colleagues, and he must win those over first. Had much changed in five years? Vardan needed to find out.

  Rolf had a scruffy grey beard that made him look old. Vardan found himself staring at the man he hadn't seen for five years and wondering how the intervening time had aged him.

  "You bellowed, master?" Rolf asked. "If you wanted to tell me the curse has been lifted, I noticed it for myself. You summoned me before I could shave."

  "No. I've thought of a way to empty the cellars and the storehouses, and build a merchant league like the world has never seen before."

  Rolf lifted an eyebrow. "White Harbour has hardly been open for a day and already you plan to fill it with ships?" His lips twitched with amusement.

  Vardan hastened to explain his plan, as enthusiasm kindled in Rolf's eyes. Yes, he believed the idea was possible, and it was a good one. But he had so many questions and suggestions that Vardan had to reach for some paper to start writing it all down.

  Vardan wasn't sure what time it was when Inga burst into the room. "Where is she?" the housekeeper demanded.

  She'd grown thinner under the curse, he thought, though he couldn't be certain. "Where is who?" Vardan replied, before realisation froze
his heart. Who else would drive her into such a panic but the Lady Zuleika?

  "Lady Belle. She's not in her room," Inga said. "You were the last person to see her, master, and her so weak and all. She's supposed to stay in bed and rest. Where is she?"

  In her panic, the woman looked like she was ready to shake him to make him talk. No one had dared try that on him since he was a boy.

  "She was resting in bed when I saw her last. Search the house and the grounds, if you must. Send someone down to Harbourtown to enquire if anyone has seen her," Vardan said. "She's too ill to have gotten far."

  Even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. She could appear and vanish from his house at will, in a bolt of lightning. Weak as she was, had she run again? Not now. Surely not now.

  "Find her," he said hoarsely. "Whatever it takes."

  Inga marched out, so she didn't see Vardan grip the table to keep himself upright as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

  "Are you well, master?" Rolf asked. He nodded at the prince's whitened knuckles.

  Vardan passed a hand before his eyes. Without her, all his plotting would be a waste of time. She would be found, he told himself.

  "I am well. Let us resume," Vardan said, and their discussion continued. Rolf recommended new names to add to the list of those to be approached first, then sent for inventories so they would know whose merchandise occupied the most space in the storehouses. Without the mirror and the invisible fleet, fighting pirates would be harder, but if they could persuade Zuleika to help with a spell or two...

  Realisation hit Vardan like a blow. "The pirates. She turned them into scum."

  "What did you say, master?"

  "The pirates," Vardan repeated. "When the pirates attacked the Trinity, they disappeared, leaving nothing but green slime where they stood. She kept calling pirates scum, so that's what she turned them into. That's why I couldn't find a witch on the Trinity. She was here the whole time."

  "So the Lady Belle truly was a witch?"

  "Is a witch," Vardan corrected. "The Lady Zuleika, for that is her real name, said she is an enchantress. A powerful sort of witch, I understand. One who has no need of ships or horses, for she can ride lightning."

  "She sounds like a powerful ally to have. Is she on these lists yet?" Rolf asked.

  Vardan swallowed. "She has helped us so much already. We are deeply in her debt. All this is a small way I can begin to repay her for what she has done."

  "Most ladies like flowers, gowns and trinkets. Love letters and poetry, even," Rolf offered. "Jewels – I know she likes those. A league of merchants is hardly the way to woo a maiden."

  "When the snow melts, I shall give her every rose in my garden, but until then...I would rather lay the world at her feet. The Lady Zuleika is not most ladies, my friend."

  "No, that she's not," Rolf said softly. He clapped the prince on the back. "Now, until we can persuade a witch to turn your sailors invisible, I propose...."

  They talked tactics for a long time, until the news arrived that she was nowhere to be found on the island. The lady had vanished as quickly as she'd arrived, just like before.

  Feeling Rolf's eyes upon him, Vardan schooled the anguish away from his expression. "Then I shall stay here, while you act as my envoy to the merchants on my first list. Send word after every meeting, so that I might know the outcome. I want to know who is with us, and who is not, for the more who agree, the more the others will be swayed."

  "And what of the lady?" Rolf asked.

  Vardan's eyes flashed. "She is a merchant's daughter. Maybe even the daughter of one of the men on that list. She identified her father's mark on some of the goods in our cellar. If you see her on your travels...tell her....tell her..." He swallowed. "Tell her she is welcome at Beacon Isle at any time, for any reason, and that the contents of the library are hers, if she wants them."

  Rolf whistled. "The monks won't like that."

  "Bugger the monks. They left the books here with me when they deserted the island. They belong to the one person who saved it."

  "Yes, master. When I find her, I'll tell her that." Rolf's eyes glinted.

  When. Vardan liked that. When he found her. Until that time came, he would live in hope. For now he was a man again, hope was his once more.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Weeks passed. The snow melted and the roads turned into a quagmire of mud. Then that, too, dried, until there was little to deter anyone but the most timid horseman from reaching her father's keep.

  Zuleika expected the king's men hourly, knowing it was only a matter of time before he discovered that she'd lifted the curse at Beacon Isle and was once again within his borders. Within easy grasp. He might not have a powerful witch at his disposal, but she was still weak from losing so much blood. Casting more than the most minor spell would tax her strength, leaving her as helpless as any normal woman in the hands of a much stronger man, and she swore she would die before she let the king touch her again.

  No man would, for her heart belonged to his brother.

  So she waited, and rested, and while she rested, she read. She read every book and scroll in her mother's bower, and when she was finished, she read them again. Never again would she curse an object as she had her mother's mirror, at least not without some safeguard in place to prevent the curse from enchanting the same person more than once. And never without some loophole that would allow someone else to break the spell without spilling her blood.

  It hadn't escaped her that if she'd created the very loophole the king had invented, her love for Vardan would have broken the spell weeks ago, and he would never have needed to know about her powers, or that she'd cast the curse in the first place. There was no point in wishing Thorn's lies were true, though. Even if she were to cast a spell on him so that any lie he told transformed into truth, it would be too late to help her.

  So, sighing, she returned to her books. She'd heard whispers about a witch who could weave the fates of men into real cloth on her loom, and she wanted to know whether it was possible before she sought out the witch to stop her. Cursing men was one thing, but taking their free will and rewriting their destiny? That went too far. She wanted to believe that the woman was merely a seer whose skills allowed her to illuminate a man's path to his desired goal, but if the stories were correct, she demanded a high price from her would-be clients, and those who chose not to engage her services found themselves threatened with ruin in the most horrible ways.

  Shouts from the courtyard below dragged her thoughts from the dry manuscript before her. More voices than there should be in her father's house right now. Her time had run out – the king's men had come for her.

  Zuleika sighed. She might not be completely recovered, but she was well enough to cast a portal. Were they just in the main courtyard, or had they overrun the keep already? Zuleika peered out the window. If she could make it to the kitchen garden...

  She gripped the window sill, forgetting about spells or escape. The courtyard was filled with laden wagons, and more were plodding up the road to the keep. The shouts she'd heard were orders for every able man in the household to help unload the goods Zuleika recognised from the storehouses on Beacon Isle. Vardan had kept his word, and returned everything.

  Zuleika flew down the steps to her father's study, where she found him in deep discussion with a man whose voice she recognised as belonging to Rolf, Vardan's steward.

  "I already told you, he will accept no payment for the return of your goods," Rolf said irritably. "He's done this as an act of goodwill, because he needs merchants like you to join with him in league against pirates and kings who make doing business impossible, and he knows the losses you have already suffered. He asks but one thing from you." Rolf's eyes darted in Zuleika's direction, though he did not meet her gaze. "That you send him the Lady Zuleika."

  Father's face turned red. "That's preposterous. Sell my virgin daughter to a rebel who opposes the king? Better I send her to court, where she will find a hus
band whose armies will fight this insanity. Why, the king himself has expressed his interest in my daughter for a bride. I'll not have her sold into slavery to a man who holds me to ransom!"

  "Prince Vardan does not buy or sell slaves, Father," Zuleika said. "If he seeks to set up a league of merchants, doubtless he has heard of how fast I can travel, and he wishes to engage my services as an envoy to turn this league into a reality before someone breathes word of it to the king. If you join him in this, as your daughter, the other merchants will listen to me. Wouldn't it be a relief to only have to lose your ship to a storm, instead of so many other things? If only to save your fortunes alone, I would go, but to set up lasting trade agreements across the world? It would be an honour, Father." Now she found Rolf staring at her, and she met his gaze without flinching. "If the prince wants me, he shall have me."

  If only he wanted her the way she wanted him.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Vardan surveyed White Harbour with satisfaction. The ships had returned, as he'd predicted, and many brought letters from the merchants who owned them. Pledges of support, paeans of praise for his ideas, requests for reductions in port duties when they docked at Beacon Isle...they came thick and fast, but still didn't have the power to bring a smile to his face. Only one person could do that – the Lady Zuleika, if she returned to him.

  Or Rolf, if he sent a letter saying the lady was on her way.

  He ripped open the last letter and skimmed the first lines. This one was far from complimentary. The merchant who'd sent it couldn't decide whether Vardan was insane or merely a traitor, but he swore the king would hear of it, all the same. Vardan peered at the seal, trying to remember the man. Ah, now he knew him. He was the younger brother to the crone Thorn had tried to marry him to, years ago. That made him the king's man, or a man the king wanted to court.

  Vardan was tempted to throw the letter into the fire and be done with it, but caution stayed his hand. Yes, Thorn would certainly hear of their merchant league, but there was little he could do about it when he did. That was the beauty of it – many ports were already in the hands of those who had been first to support Vardan. Even if Thorn sent troops or ships to attack Beacon Isle, they were one port among dozens around the world, in countries Thorn did not control. And the one port which had a fleet experienced in naval warfare and combating pirates.