The Beast

by Alianne Donnelly

  The day breaks in gloom and fog. Summer is turning to autumn and the country air is chill but a lovely fire burns in the library hearth, banishing the cold. The smell of books comforts me. No matter what life brings I can always seek sanctuary within their pages.

  In no mood to converse with my family, I hide in a concealed nook with a soft lap blanket and a book of fairy tales. For a while, at least, I want to pretend that every obstacle can be overcome and deserving people truly can live happily ever after. Love can victor over all – if it is strong and true enough.

  “Whatever Bastien gives, it is only so he can take again.” The Beast’s glowing eyes look tired in the darkness of his hidden passageway. The cold tunnel stands open now, a grave breeze howling through it and stealing the warmth out of my bones. “I have warned you about him before.”

  There is gruff reproach in his growling voice which far overshadows the regret in his eyes. Though I have not fought Bastien’s attentions last night, I did not invite them yet my Beast blames me for what happened? It angers me. “Yes, you have,” I tell him. “You know what he is capable of, so why did you choose to come to my rooms yesterday mere moments before sunset?”

  He must know everything that happened after his transformation otherwise he would not have said this. It shames me that his regard of me has lowered, but I will not bear the brunt of his indignation. I am not the only one at fault. He knows this, too, and hangs his leonine head. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. His paw shifts as though to come closer but he stays himself, remaining little more than a great shadow in his dark tunnel. “I just needed to see you before…. I wanted to tell you good night.”

  Something Bastien did not do when he left me stunned in bed, with my clothes in shambles as much as my mind.

  “What he did—”

  “You did,” I say.

  He lifts his gaze to mine in surprise.

  After all these months, all the patience I have shown him, all the roaring and threats I have endured, and the fate of everyone inside these walls weighing me down day after day, I cannot stand it any longer. It is too hard to try for so long and have so little to show for it. I am failing and I do not know how much longer I can keep fighting this losing war. It is exhausting and it infuriates me that after all that it somehow became my fault that Bastien took advantage of my moment of weakness.

  “Both of you tell me you are not one and the same, and yet you remember everything. You know each other’s minds. You know what the other is planning and you let it happen.” The words come in a rush and with them a terrible realization. “You let it happen.” Angry tears sting my eyes. I’ve given everything to this being; left myself at his mercy time and again. I’ve borne the Beast’s torments, as I’ve shouldered Bastien’s, hoping that my pleasance would better them in return.

  And for all his now gentle words, I find that the fearsome, powerful Beast is a coward.

  “It is all an excuse,” I say, willing him to tell me otherwise; praying he can somehow explain himself. “Bastien is only as cruel as you allow him to be every time you choose to look the other way. You don’t want to stop him… because it would mean admitting that he is part of you.”

  My Beast says nothing.

  “He is part of you, even when you are like this, he’s still with you, and you with him. Oh, God…” Two months of torment at Bastien’s hands… and all the while they were the hands of the creature who swore to safeguard me. Bastien is the Beast? And the Beast is Bastien. Both of them are monstrous in different ways; both can – and have – hurt me unimaginably. Bastien is merely honest about it. “Say something, damn you.”

  The Beast’s silence is his answer.

  It is true, then; they are one and the same. Though one’s form is different from the other, they never leave each other. That is how the Beast knows what Bastien does on the nights he is free, and how Bastien knows so much about me. They – are –one. “Can you influence each other?”

  His gaze breaks away; he cannot even look at me. That means yes.

  It means that everything Bastien has done, he could only have done if the Beast allowed it. “I trusted you.” My voice is hardly a whisper but he can still hear.

  He growls and turns away. “There’s been no word of Marguerite,” he says, retreating into the passageway. “I sent a messenger to look for her.”

  Then the bookcase slides back into place and it is as though he was never there. I stare down at the book of happy endings in my lap. It seems an alien thing that no longer belongs in my world. How could it? My world is ending as I sit here and nothing about it is in any way happy.

  It is over.

  I failed…

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Please, my lady, give him a chance.” Aimee is on the verge of tears, desperate to keep me from leaving. She is not the only one. The household has been in a panic since I asked young Jocelyn to begin packing my belongings and alert my father and Amalia to our departure.

  “I’ve given him months of chances, Aimee. I can’t do it any longer. I am sorry. I cannot save Bastien. I don’t think anyone can.”

  “But you’re so close!”

  “I’ve never been farther.”

  I will miss this castle but I cannot wait to put it behind me. The Beast knows what is afoot; he chooses not to intervene. It’s for the better. We’ve said all there was to say, except perhaps good bye. Something tells me he will not stand on that final bit of formality.

  I walk the grounds one last time bidding fare well to everyone I’ve come to know. Amalia is locked in her room; I can hear her crying from the staircase. She will blame me for this and I know I shall never hear the end of it. It would be of no use to try and talk to her when she is like this. Instead I go in search of my father.

  I find him in the garden, sitting by the rose bush. He pats the seat next to him in invitation. “Amalia is deep in her theatrics, I gather.”

  I smile. “Yes. She threatened to kill herself.”

  Father chuckles. “Amalia has always had a passionate nature.”

  “And how are you?”

  He sighs wearily. “I am… glad,” he says. “A father wants only the best for his children. I hoped this would be the best for you. I was mistaken.” He smiles and takes my hands in his. “Nothing could make me prouder of you, my child. You have a good heart, Lyssette. You always stand up for those who need it and fight for what you believe. But sometimes you must stand up for yourself. Hold on to that strength. There will be many times when you might need it still.”

  I don’t feel strong. I feel a fool. Not once have I thought to seek answers beyond what the Beast told me – I trusted his word completely. I let my dreams and hopes blind me to the truth. A beast will always be a beast, no matter how hard one tries to change it.

  Well, I know better now.

  Our midday meal is a quiet, somber affair. Amalia sniffles on occasion, her face red from crying, but she is restraining herself to nothing more than scathing looks cast my way. The servants’ reluctance to see us leave – and I suspect some trickery as well – makes packing drag on until sunset.

  At the prospect of another night spent under this roof I nearly march out into the night on my own. For my own safety, however, the hostler refuses to saddle a horse for me and I dare not pass through the forest on foot. I can hear wolves howling at the big, bright moon even now.

  As I go in search of a quiet parlor to while away the evening until exhaustion claims me, the great door opens, admitting a scruffy young boy. He is winded and past him, on the drive, I see a horse being led away. This must be the messenger the Beast sent.

  “You’ve news?”

  He nods eagerly and pulls a crumpled letter out of his pocket. He smoothes it out before he hands it to me. “Thank you,” I say. “Go to the kitchen to warm up, and tell Cook I said to feed you. You look starved.”

  He grins at me, his eyes shining. “Thank you, Mademoiselle!” And with a quick bow he scampers off.

 
; “Good news, I hope.” Jacques is composed as ever. Of all the servants he is the only one who did not plead with me to stay. I think he understands better than the rest why I cannot.

  I open the letter, curious to see what my sister has written me.

  At once I recognize that it is not Marguerite’s hand. The letter is from Monsieur Lafarge. He writes:

  A man of honor keeps his word. I have given mine to provide for Monsieur Clemens and his two daughters in the absence of the third. As Mademoiselle Marguerite now finds herself without the comfort and protection of her father’s presence, it falls to me to secure her in a position befitting a young lady of her stature. I have asked for Marguerite’s hand in marriage and she has happily accepted. The wedding will take place with all haste tomorrow morn and all are invited.

  “My lady? Are you all right?”

  I find myself leaning on Jacques, numb with shock. This must be a jest! Marguerite will marry Monsieur Lafarge? I cannot believe she would be so foolish; the man has twice her years and more. He’s outlived two wives already and neither had given him the heir he’d so longed for.

  “Mademoiselle… Lyssette. What can I do?”

  God, Marguerite would not have agreed to this, would she? “Saddle two horses,” I say, though I don’t know how the words manage to make it past my lips.

  “My lady, it would be wiser to wait until day break.”

  “Now!” I cannot risk waiting so long. It could be too late by the time I get there. If I am to save my sister from making the greatest mistake of her life, I need to leave immediately.

  And I need help.

  “Where is Bastien?”

  Jacques draws himself up. “The lord is not receiving visitors tonight.”

  I extricate myself from his bracing hold and press the letter into his hands. “Take this to my father,” I tell him and run up the staircase. Jacques calls after me but I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to listen.

  I do not even slow through the dark hallway, but rush right up to Bastien’s door and push it open without knocking. He is on the bed, reading some sort of book. “Get up,” I say.

  He raises an eyebrow at my rude entry; that is his only reaction. “You’ve come for more? I’m ever your humble servant.” He inclines his head in a mocking bow. “Alas, it would seem our furry friend was not amused.” With a sharp yank of his wrist, he makes the heavy chain binding him pull taut.

  He is chained?

  Panic wells inside my breast until I can hardly breathe. I look around frantically for the key but, of course, it will not be anywhere within reach. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?” There is amusement in his voice. He is enjoying this.

  Footsteps thump on the floor behind me. Jacques catching up. “My lady, I really must insist!”

  “Free him,” I demand. “Lord Bastien and I are going for a horse ride.”

  “Why not a carriage?” he mocks.

  “Horses are faster,” I tell him.

  “I cannot allow you to leave the castle grounds at night,” Jacques insists.

  “In a hurry, are we?” Bastien drawls.

  “My sister is getting married tomorrow morning.”

  “Felicitations,” he says dryly.

  “To Jean Lafarge.”

  “Perhaps not, then.”

  “I need you to help me stop it,” I say. It is impossible to stand still under that steady, unfeeling gaze, when my body hums with the need to move; to run. I know I have no chance at all of stopping the wedding on my own. Bastien, human as he is now, is my only hope. I cannot imagine what possessed Marguerite to make this devil’s bargain. My heart tells me she is in danger and though we’ve had our differences in the past, she is my sister and I cannot let her come to harm.

  “And why should I?” Bastien asks. I have nothing to say. Nothing that would persuade him to take up my cause. I cannot appeal to his feelings or sense of honor – he has neither. And if he was not roused by the prospect of being freed from his chains, why should he care about leaving the castle?

  “My lady, this is not the time to discuss these things.”

  I ignore Jacques’ warning. “Please, Bastien.” I am not too proud to beg. Or bargain. “I’ll do anything.”

  His eyes briefly flare with lust and his entire body tenses. “No,” he grates at last, turning back to his damned book.

  Breath leaves me at that callous answer.

  “And you will not be leaving the castle, either. Jacques, bar the gates and lock the door.”

  “You think to keep me from my sister?”

  “The selfish meddlesome whore who took up with the first bastard who had coin enough to impress? Bloody yes, I’ll keep you from her.”

  “I see,” I return, “because I am clearly much better served keeping company with the heartless bastard who abused my trust, kept me prisoner, humiliated me and took advantage of me.”

  “You forgot clothed you, fed you, and provided you with all the books and frivolities you females hold so dear. You and your motley relatives. You should be grateful, Lyssette. I raised you far up from that hovel you called home. Your sister got precisely what she deserved. She and Lafarge should suit nicely together.”

  “I despise you.”

  He does not even bat an eyelash. “You are entitled.”

  Incensed beyond reason, I cannot keep my feet from moving forward. In three steps I am by his bed and my hand flies before I can stop it. I’ve never slapped a person before in my life. My palm throbs and his cheek reddens where I struck him. A muscle ticks in his jaw. His eyes burn with cold fury when he lifts his gaze to me again. “Stay here and rot, then,” I tell him.

  I turn on my heels, heading for the door.

  “Lyssette,” he calls after me.

  I run out into the hall as chains rattle. “Lyssette get back here!” he roars. I cover my ears and refuse to listen. Servants stare at me as I rush past them. Heedless of everything, I run out to the stables. There is not time to saddle a horse. I choose a strong mare I am familiar with and mount her bareback. Her whinnies echo in the night as I urge her into a gallop toward the gate.

  The path lays open before me. I squint into the darkness, trusting my mare to lead me true. She snorts and picks up her pace, as if she can sense my urgency, and as we fly through the night I whisper my soft good bye to a dream, bracing myself for the nightmare that is to come.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clouds gather in an instant on a wicked faery wind, obscuring the night sky. I feel my mare tense and snort as lightning strikes in the distance but she stays her course, flying so fast through the woods I would think she wasn’t moving at all, were it not for the beat of her hooves. Then we emerge onto the open fields and the sound is lost amidst the furious thunderclaps.

  Lightning strikes a lone tree nearby. The mare rears and I grasp onto her mane to keep my seat. By sheer force of will I remain on her back and calm her enough to continue past the burning trunk toward my village. The driving rain stings my face and eyes; my hands are numb holding the reins. I do not let up.

  Our cottage is near the edge of the village, just past the bridge now threatened by the swollen, churning waters of the creek. I race across it, heading toward the only home I’ve ever known. I hope and pray that I will find Marguerite there.

  The cottage is dark. No candlelight flickers in the windows, no gentle puff of smoke rises up from the weathered chimney. My head knows what my heart refuses to accept: Marguerite would not be without a fire on a night like this. I dismount and push open the groaning door, shouting Marguerite’s name even though I know she is not there. I call out again and again; I search around the cottage and in the small barn. It is empty, as it has been for years.

  My dress is soaked through, the skirts tangling around my legs as I make my way back to the mare waiting trustingly where I left her. I am chilled to the bone but strangely the cold does not bother me. My shaking now has nothing to do with the icy rain and everything to
do with my horrifying suspicion. I know where to find Marguerite.

  “Please God let me be wrong,” I pray, mounting the mare again. I slow my pace through the flooding village streets, dreading my destination. Water splashes up with each step my mare takes. The mud will loosen soon, making the going too treacherous to continue. I must make it to Marguerite before then.

  Past the church square the streets widen. It is a straight road through the village to the hill where the Lafarge estate towers over everything, a majestic monarch watching over its subjects. Torches are burning on either side of the entrance, and every window of the house is aglow with light. No doubt there is a fire lit in every hearth but there is nothing warm about it.

  I leave the mare untethered and pick up skirts weighted down with water to climb the marble staircase. The door before me is iron like a prison cage and the knocker is in the shape of a demonic gargoyle. Not even the Beast’s lion head knocker had ever infused me with so much dread. I raise the heavy thing and let it drop. The ominous gong is underscored by thunder.

  A flash of lightning turns the world briefly blue and when darkness returns, there is only the smoking torchlight to see by when the heavy door slowly opens.

  “Lyssette,” Monsieur Lafarge says in greeting, his sickly wrinkled face creasing into a semblance of a smile. He is nearly of a height with me, his weathered body disguised with expensive clothes. His hair has been white for as long as I have known him and in his advanced age it is thinning, making him appear even more skeletal. “I rather hoped to see you again.”

  “I received your message,” I tell him, grateful that my teeth stopped chattering long enough for me to speak clearly.

  “Did you? Then you’ve come to offer your congratulations? I humbly accept.”

  “I’ve come to take my sister home.”

  His laugh is more of a cough. “Fanciful child. What do you imagine she will say to that?”