by C. E. Murphy
The Beast's palace was a patch of tamed land in the midst of a forest that went on forever on all sides. I had no sense which direction home lay; there were no tell-tale threads of smoke rising to indicate our village, or any other, nor any cut in the forest roof to suggest a river running through it. The treetops were black and white with winter right now, but in the summer I imagined the green leaves would look like a carpet that could be walked on all the way to the edge of the world.
It was hard to tell where exactly the rose gardens ended and the forest began, even with the high stone wall that surrounded the palace grounds. At the front of the palace, along the driveway, the demarcation was clear enough, but forest and roses grew together beyond that, as if the forest intended to one day encroach upon, and defeat, the palace at its heart.
I shivered, deciding the dome was perhaps best left for night, when all that could be seen were the stars. It only took a few minutes to work my way back to my room, the long halls offering scant temptation to explore them. There would be plenty of time to do that, and I was both hungry and tired.
A fire still crackled in my room, and the book I'd taken down now sat on a table beside a chair before the fire. I brushed my fingers over it on the way by, saying, "Thank you," again, but went to investigate the bedroom I hadn't looked at earlier.
Sunset was coming on, and in its light, my room swam like a pool of gold. The bed's clothes were a dark sky blue, embroidered with fanciful beasts and birds of gold, and its frame, like the rest of the furniture in the room, was of golden oak, rich but not dark with age. The furniture covers were done in blue and gold as well, though a deeper shade of blue, and the floor, where it could be seen beneath rugs and furs, glowed as golden as the furniture. The walls were tapestry-lined, keeping warmth in, but they too were light in shade, and picked with threads of gold. It was not just the effect of the tidy hearth in one wall that made the room seem warmer than the rest of the palace, but the light and color. The Beast wanted me to like it here, which was either reassuring or disturbing, depending on how I wanted to think about it.
For the moment, I would take reassuring. I went to the vanity, which held as fine a mirror as I'd ever seen, and touched its table-top before laughing.
The mirror's frame and the table's edging were both amber, glowing pieces of polished gold that looked lovely against the table's blue and white streaked agate surface. A hand mirror entirely backed in amber lay on the table, and upon inspection, the comb in one drawer, and the brush beside it, were respectively of, and backed by, amber. "Enough," I said, as if the servants could respond. "Perhaps too much, in fact. Thank you for welcoming me, but enough."
That almost-audible hum rustled the air again. I turned as if I could see the speakers, and instead found a gown lying on the bed. It was not amber-colored, and I wondered if that had been the topic my invisible servants were discussing; I wouldn't put it past them to have somehow changed the color while I was turning around. No, instead it was blue with lighter blue roses embroidered onto it—I hadn't been wearing blue when I arrived, and I wondered how they knew I liked it—had an underskirt of a dark, handsome red, and sleeves that hadn't lost their minds with frills and scoops. I had worn much more dramatic gowns when we lived in the city, but this one seemed suitable for dinner with a Beast, especially since I could put it on by myself.
By the time I went to inspect myself in the vanity mirror, one more thing had changed: a half-moon amber necklace lay on the blue agate, the pendant set in gold wire that bound it to a delicate chain. Crescent moon amber earrings lay beside it, but it was the necklace that knocked my breath away. I sank to the vanity's stool, collecting the pendant in my palm, and whispered, "So you hadn't forgotten me, after all."
I bowed my head and cried over the necklace a long time; long enough that when I had finally wept myself dry, I supposed dinner had been taken hours earlier, and that the Beast had presumed himself stood up. But I was fiercely hungry by then, so I rose and went in search of the dining hall, or at least the kitchen, and perhaps also the Beast.
None of those three things were difficult to find: I followed my nose—or maybe the subtle guidance of an invisible servant—to the dining room, beyond which presumably lay the kitchen, but I had no need to go that far: the Beast awaited me at a table that looked untouched. Or, rather, the Beast awaited me by the fire, near a table of food that looked untouched. I stopped in the doorway, fingers folded around the necklace. I'd wanted to wear it, to remind me of my family. Too late I wondered what wearing it might say to him.
He turned his head as he'd done when exiting the library: acknowledging me, but not looking at me. "Are you all right?"
There were far too many answers to that, available in a range of tones from tragic to sarcastic. I settled, after a long moment's silence, on, "Not particularly."
The Beast nodded as though he'd expected nothing less. He was better dressed than he had been earlier: not just trousers, but a well-tailored coat that did nothing to hide his bulk but hid a great deal of fur, and a cravat tied so neatly I assumed his invisible servants had done the job. "Don't you get awfully warm in that?"
He met my eyes, startled, and laughed. It appeared I had a capacity for surprising my host, which, given his claws and teeth, seemed like it could end badly for me. He didn't leap to rend me, though, only made a gesture at himself, at the clothes, and said, "Yes."
"But you wear it anyway."
"Particularly at mealtimes," he confessed. "It helps keep fur out of the food."
I didn't want to smile, but I did anyway. "Well, if you've gone to all that trouble, and there's all this food waiting, maybe we should eat. I'm starving. Not," I said a moment later, as we sat down, "this starving…"
The table was long enough to comfortably seat my entire family and the Beast besides, and laden from one end to another with food. Roast pheasant, half a boar, a rack of lamb despite the improbable season for such; sauces ranging from mint to cranberry and innumerable in between; vegetables with crispy brown edges from roasting in goose fat, and half a dozen bottles of wine. That was just what I could easily see. I had no doubt there were more delectables hidden away.
"I eat a great deal," the Beast said carefully.
My appetite momentarily drained away. "Is that why I'm here?"
"To be eaten?" The Beast sounded genuinely horrified. "No!"
I let out a shaky breath. "I supposed not, or you'd have slain me in the gardens and hung me for dinner. Unless you were planning to fatten me up first, in which case…" I took a bite of pheasant and slid down as far into the chair as my dress would let me, groaning with delight. "In which case it may be worth it. That bacon this morning was stupendous, too."
"I'm glad." The Beast had not quite recovered, it seemed, from my presumption that I was there as a meal. He watched me eat, and after a while, when I had stuffed myself nearly silly, I realized that he had only watched me eat, and not eaten anything himself.
"I thought you said you ate a lot."
"I do. Not, however, in company."
I considered the Beast's strange muzzle, his thrusting jaw and the deadly tusks that framed his face, and thought of wolves and cats eating. That in itself was a tearing, violent action, but their lower jaws were at least wired for it, not overbiting the upper jaw to an ungainly degree. "I assume it's an unsightly process."
The Beast nodded, and so did I. "Does that mean you've been waiting here hungry all evening, afraid to eat because I might show up unexpectedly and interrupt?"
"Something like that."
I put my napkin aside. "Then I should go, so you can eat in peace."
He tilted his vast head. "Why would you be kind enough to care?"
"I don't know." I waited on myself, seeing if any other answer surfaced, but none did, so I said again, "I don't know," and rose. "Good night, Beast."
His enormous chuckle rolled through the room. "'Beast'?"
Heat shot through me. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think to
ask if you had a name."
"'Beast' will do. It is what I am, after all." He chuckled again, and I fled toward the door, arrested there by the sound of my name and a question: "Amber, will you sleep with me?"
"Excuse me?" I looked back, too astonished to be insulted, and thinking, impossibly, that somehow the Beast had overheard Rafe's conversation with his friends, over a year ago. "Is that what you've kept me here for?"
"I most sincerely doubt it," the Beast replied, sounding, indeed, most sincere. "Answer freely; it will cost you nothing."
I snapped, "Then don't be ridiculous," and stalked out.
I slept better than I would have expected, under the circumstances, and awoke the next morning so warm and comfortable that for a few breaths it was as if the fire had never happened and we had never left the city. Then memory returned, crushing those happy thoughts, and I rolled over to bury my face in the pillows and cry. When that was over, I forced myself out of bed to find eggs and toast and more of that glorious bacon awaiting me, which made it harder to be miserable. Once fed, I dressed in the most sensible clothes available to me, put on my amber necklace, and went exploring.
The library lay where I'd expected ballrooms to be, but in the opposite rounded facade my expectations were fulfilled: a magnificent ballroom, with balconies and seating areas unlike the library's, all open to the high ceiling rather than shaping the room like an egg. I wondered when the last time a ball had been held there, then went away from that room in hopes of finding answers to that, and other, questions.
The halls were broad with floors of well-polished parquet, and lit with candles that roused themselves when I came close, then went dormant again behind me. I opened innumerable doors, finding nothing more extraordinary than bedrooms and sitting rooms. I spent half a day doing that, walking far enough inside the palace that by lunchtime I was wobbling with exhaustion. The Beast didn't join me for lunch, and to my embarrassment, I fell asleep in front of the dining room fire only to be awakened by his arrival near dinnertime. "I've been working hard every day for over a year," I mumbled in apology. "I don't know why a walk around a house, even a big one, put me to sleep."
"Did your older sister sleep a lot after you arrived at the lodge?"
"Pearl has always slept a lot." I frowned at the Beast, trying to order my thoughts. "But now that you mention it, yes, she did. A great deal. So did Maman. I thought they were just grieving for the life we'd lost."
"That's no doubt part of it, but it often happens when magic awakens, and your sister had only just become a witch, hadn't she?"
"How do you know that?" I wasn't quite awake enough to be scared or angry by his knowledge, only befuddled by it.
"You live in my forest, and now in my palace. I know a great deal about what goes on here."
"Do the little birds and mice come to tell you?" I mumbled, scrubbing my hands over my face. "All right, if you don't want to tell me, don't. Have you eaten? Because I think I'm going to have dinner and go back to bed."
"I will keep you company."
"All right." From the way he'd said it, I thought if I flapped a hand at him and told him to shoo, that he would, which made me more willing to have him stay. Dinner was no less extravagant than it had been the night before, and I found myself breathing, "Are you sure you're not fattening me up?" without expectation of being heard.
"Quite sure. Judging from how much of the house you explored today, I think you're in no danger even if I was trying to." The Beast's mouth was not well suited to a smile, but I thought I saw a glimpse of one at its corner as I looked up guiltily. "I have excellent hearing," he offered, as if it was an apology.
"And probably a keen sense of smell," I muttered, but that time I expected to be heard.
His face twitched with amusement again. "Yes."
"What are you?"
I hadn't meant to ask that. The Beast's entire form went fierce with surprise and I quailed, more shocked by the asking than the response. It took a few seconds for either of us to be able to speak, and when he did, he replied, "A Beast," without any of the humor from before.
I set my teeth together. "Yes, but you weren't always, were you. A Beast who had never been a man wouldn't care about clothes, or what he looked like when he ate, or ancient libraries restored in his own. Or spy on a family in a hunting lodge nearby, and you did spy. You knew all of our names. You gave them that wagonload of goods. The cloth, the books, the stones. Why?"
"Most of the stones carry protective charms. The rest was as much to disguise their importance as anything else."
A chill sluiced down my spine and over my arms. "Why do they need protection? And what do you mean, most of the stones?" I curled my fingers around the amber necklace I wore, wondering if it offered protection, and from whom. Or what, if it came to that.
The Beast, watching me, said, "It's woven with a protective charm as well. I wasn't sure if you'd wear it."
"It makes me feel closer to my family. Why are the stones all charmed?"
"Magic can be troublesome." The Beast shrugged a huge shoulder. "The pearl is more than just charmed, and could be of great help to your sister's witchery, if she chooses to use it."
"I could feel it had power. It made my hands tingle. Why wouldn't she use it?"
"Because she's received it in exchange for her sister."
"A bridewealth, paid to the whole family?"
The Beast held himself still for a breath, then released it in an exhalation that seemed even larger than he was. "I would not have said that. Since you've broached the topic, though, Amber, will you sleep with me?"
"For the Queen's sake, no! Are you going to ask me that every day? What use will the pearl be to Pearl? What can she use it for?"
"If she learns, you'll know." The Beast raised a paw. "Amber, there is very little I can tell you about…anything. I can tell you that I'm caught in a war between two very powerful and very angry people, and that I can do nothing directly to challenge my fate."
A dozen more questions leapt to my lips and stopped there, another chill draining through me. "'Directly'."
He nodded once, and I got up and left the table to chase the edges of understanding undisturbed.
The Beast was a pawn in a war. The idea of his great and terrible self being unable to guide his own fate carried twists of black humor: I, who was so much less than he—and arguably much more, being at least human—could hardly dream of managing my own future if the Beast couldn't direct his.
Could not directly affect his. But my sister was a witch, and he had given her a gift of magic. I had no doubt that was an indirect action that could affect him, if Pearl were to pursue it. I thought she would. The pearl had power, and I doubted the new-found witchery in her veins would let it lie. I didn't know what would happen then, but I had confidence in something happening.
I might be here only as an incentive, an excuse, to get that pearl to my sister. But perhaps there was more than that; perhaps my being here simply disrupted the status quo, changed the places of the pieces on the board, if nothing else. An extra piece had to change the game in some way. I found the idea oddly comforting. If there was some purpose to my captivity, then that captivity—not exactly onerous as it was—was easier to accept.
I had taken the stairs to my room. I was certain I had taken the stairs to my room, but my room was only a few steps down the corridor, and I had been walking for some time already. The palace had grown colder, as if the walls thinned and the wind came up to blow through them. I looked behind me, but the hall was gone: instead I looked at a courtyard, cobblestoned and walled with polished stone. Dirty, melting snow lay in cracks between the cobbles, but the air warmed, carrying the scent of spring rot in it.
A woman walked out of the walls, carrying a bundled infant in her arms. She was hooded in a green cloak embroidered at the hem with roses, and shook the hood back as she approached me, revealing a strongly-jawed round face and pale eyes with a ring of black around the irises. They made her exp
ression intense, as did the hint of a sneer around her lips, as if anything I did was known to her and already harshly judged.
Then she smiled, and affection filled me, as well as loss. I embraced her and kissed the child, then swiftly turned away to mount a tall horse who wore the accoutrements of war. So did I, for that matter: chain mail that fit well, the weight of the cowl unfamiliar on my shoulders. More familiar was the sword at my hip and the leather, metal-knuckled gloves I gripped the reins with. I clicked at the horse, and we rode out of the courtyard to stand before an army of thousands, whose voices all rose as one as I came to them. A corridor opened through their center and I charged down it, letting their cheers propel me forward into war.
I fought like the mother sun who had been separated from her lover, the sister moon. I fought with the strength of grief and the resolution of sorrow. Every night I worked the spell I had been given by my lady, she who now watched over my infant son. Every night I kissed one of my husband's bones and buried it in the earth, dedicating his body to the huntress moon, and every morning I let three drops of my own blood fall where the bone had been, asking the brutal sun goddess to be our strength. Where my blood and his bones lay, a border rose, defining my kingdom so that none could ever again dare to claim it as their own. When there were no more bones to bury, I gave three drops of my blood to the huntress moon and six to her sister the sun, and built our border that way.
For three years I fought and bled and rode, until my enemy could run no more, and finally stood to face me. He had mocked my husband and then me, believing our goddess-worshiping country to be weak, and for his arrogance, died beneath my blade.
We rode home in triumph, my army and I, and I, Amber, found myself at the door of my room, as if I had never gone anywhere else. I flinched, whipping to search for the army, my horse, the scars on my fingers where I had bled and bled and bled again for my country, and none of it was there. I hurried into my room and poured wine that I hunched before the fire with, trying to clear my head of the visions. I fell asleep there, huddled around a glass of wine, and was grateful that the visions didn't pursue me into dreams.
