Beauty Beheld: A Retelling of Hansel and Gretel (The Becoming Beauty Trilogy Book 3)

by Brittany Fichter

  “That’s her,” Isa whispered to Ever. “Sacha is the one who helped us escape.”

  Only now she wasn’t wearing the simple purple gown that she’d worn in the Fae world. This dress was made of rich yellow tones, and had much fuller skirts. Her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers dripped with jewels. She had also chopped off most of her hair so that it only reached the edge of her jaw. With her hair down and near her eyes, the woman suddenly looked very much like Genny. One glance at Ever and Isa knew he was thinking the same thing.

  “Dear ones,” Sacha clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head once more, “I am honored to see that so many have come today. Since you are great in number, and I can only heal for one hour, I will try to see each one of your loved ones as quickly as possible. Now.” She held out her hand to a small girl in the front, one Isa immediately realized as one of the children from Soudain. The one with the missing voice.

  Green mist began to envelop the woman’s hands. Gently, she tilted the girl’s head back, and with the other she grasped at the girl’s neck. The green continued to swirl until the woman let go of the girl’s head.

  “Now sing for them,” she commanded. The little girl looked back at her parents, who nodded cautiously. Then she turned to the crowd and opened her mouth. Immediately, a lovely little melody danced on the air, inviting hushed tones of awe from the people, and a feeling of icy dread in Isa.

  “My lady!” a familiar voice called out. Isa quickly spotted the skinny, red-haired woman from Soudain, the one who had rebuked Ever in front of the tent. “Why is it,” Agnes asked in her shrill voice, “that you can heal our children while the king cannot?”

  “Ah yes,” Sacha said, nodding her head. “I am asked that question often. But the time had not yet come to answer... until now.”

  Suddenly, Isa felt a fierce hatred emanating from Sacha. Before she had been secretive and hidden, pushing Isa’s abilities to their limits to read some sort of emotion in her. But now Sacha hid nothing in either her heart or her eyes.

  “It was not time until now because my little brother was not present to hear what I have to say. But now he is here, so I can tell all of you.” Sacha turned and looked directly at Ever. “Isn’t that right, little brother?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Reminders

  Henri skidded to a stop when he saw the Fortress steward leaning intently over a book, a new candle upon his writing desk. Perhaps this was not the morning to visit the Fortress library after all. Despite his inability to read, Henri loved the books with their beautiful leather spines and their spidery words on each page. Miss Isa had told him that she’d added the room herself after they’d been married, for she thought all Fortress inhabitants should have access to books. But looking at books was not worth another run-in with the steward. Before Henri could fully retreat, however, Garin called his name. Henri looked up at the distant ceiling, just as he had often seen Miss Isa do. “I thought you liked me!” he whispered to the Fortress.

  “Henri.”

  “Coming.”

  Slowly, Henri trudged back to the steward, staring at the ground as he waited to hear what new rule he had broken. Once he was standing before the steward, however, Garin was quiet. In fact, he was quiet for so long that Henri’s curiosity finally got the best of him, and he sneaked a peek up at the older man.

  The steward did not look young, nor did he look old. Rather, his age seemed to change depending on whatever he was doing at that moment. There were deep lines at the corners of his eyes, and strands of silver glinted in the long, straight black hair that was tied neatly behind the man’s neck with a leather thong. Henri had rarely seen the steward’s thin face in anything but a scowl, particularly when the topic of conversation had to do with him and his sister. But today he was surprised to find only a thoughtful look on Garin’s face as Garin tilted his head and rested his chin on his thumb and index fingers.

  “You seem to have quite an attachment to these books.” He glanced up at the three stories of shelves that vaulted up around them. “This is your third visit this week. Had you ever seen a book before coming to the Fortress?”

  Henri swallowed hard before answering. “Yes, Master Garin.”

  “Where?”

  Henri hesitated. Few people had never known about his excursions to see the holy man in the Samsin, and he had tried to keep it that way. His father wouldn’t have approved. “I would visit with our priest,” he finally said, keeping his voice as low as he could make it. Perhaps Garin would become tired of hearing his quiet words, and let him go.

  But instead, the steward only leaned forward. “And what would you do while you were there?”

  Henri shrugged. “Sometimes I swept the church floor. Sometimes he showed me the Holy Writ.” Would the steward be angry that he had seen something so sacred? Would Father Lucien be punished?

  “Why did you go to the church? Was it the one your parents attended?”

  “My father and Helaine did not attend the church.”

  “Then how did you come to find it?”

  Henri balked. This was a part of the story he did not wish for the steward to know. Who knew if he would bring it up later to Miss Isa or King Ever? And yet, when the steward raised his eyebrows, Henri knew he had no choice. “There wasn’t much food in the house. Genny kept crying because she was hungry, so I...” He paused, studying his foot. “I might have borrowed an apple from Father Lucien’s storehouse.”

  “An apple?”

  “And maybe some bread and cheese.” Henri looked up at Garin, wishing desperately that the questions would end soon. “I meant to pay it back! But—”

  But Garin held out his hands. “No need to go into all of that. I understand.”

  He did? Henri studied the steward’s face again, searching for a sign of anger or disappointment. But to his surprise, there was none, only a slight frown. And for once, it wasn’t directed at him, but rather, the floor.

  “Surely your mother—”

  “She was not my mother,” Henri snapped. “My father only married Helaine because he didn’t know what to do with Genny.” He crossed his arms, suddenly not caring whether or not he was being impertinent. “Not that she ever took care of her.”

  “What do you remember of your real mother?” The steward’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

  Henri paused. What did he remember? “Not much,” he finally admitted after a moment of thought. “She didn’t hate my trick the way Helaine always did. Father said she was killed in a hunting accident nearby.” He shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”

  It was a long time before either of them spoke. Garin’s eyes were distant, focused on someplace behind Henri, though Henri didn’t know what. The silence was so long, in fact, that Henri began itching to move. He hated standing too still. It was temping to roll a bit of flame across his fingers, but he didn’t dare do so in front of the steward.

  Just when standing still was becoming nearly impossible, Garin’s eyes softened as they refocused on the boy. “You remind me very much of a small boy I knew once.” He placed a hand on Henri’s shoulder, then knelt to look Henri in the eye. “I fear I must ask your forgiveness in misjudging you and your sister. I believe... I can only guess that you know little of the Fae?”

  Henri shook his head, and Garin nodded.

  “Let it suffice to say that our mutual relatives are not a people you should ever wish to meet. It is not your fault that their blood flows in your veins any more than it is my fault that I suffer the same fate. But the day will come, I fear, when you will be made to choose one side over the other.”

  “How do you know that?” Henri didn’t like that idea in the slightest. How could he be forced to choose between things he didn’t understand?

  “I don’t. It is only a feeling I have. But if one day, you are told to choose either the side of King Everard and Queen Isabelle or the side of the Fae, remember the goodness the Maker has shown you in bringing you and Genny here. And if you und
erstand nothing else, know that a strength lies in your blood that is of the Fortress, and thus, of the Maker. You may be young, Henri, but that strength is not dormant. It was given to you for a purpose.”

  With that, the steward began to stand and gather his belongings from the desk.

  “Wait,” Henri said. A question inside had been nagging him for weeks. “When the king and Miss—Queen Isa return, what do you think they will do with us?” As soon as the question had left his lips, he immediately regretted asking. He didn’t know if he could really handle a dismissal now, not when they’d come so far.

  Surprisingly, however, a small smile lifted the steward’s thin lips. “I do not know for sure, but the king and queen have very pressing matters to attend to currently, and will, it seems, for some time. I wouldn’t go worrying about your place anytime soon. Now,” he turned and began to walk toward the door, “would you and your sister like some tarts? I believe I smell blueberries baking somewhere nearby.”

  Never one to turn down food, Henri trailed after Garin, and for the first time, he didn’t feel afraid.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A What Cost

  Years of practice kept Ever’s face as unflinching as ever on the outside. But inside, he felt as though he had just shattered into a million pieces. Though he had known deep in his heart that his father must have been unfaithful, Henri and Genny’s ignorance about their own past had allowed him to at least pretend another explanation existed. But now, in front of hundreds of his subjects and even his own wife and guards, this woman was proof that Rodrigue had broken his word to the Fortress and to his people. And to his son.

  Though Ever had always favored his father in appearance, looking at Sacha was too much like looking in a mirror. Her gray eyes, the shape of her neck, and the strong shoulders, though most definitely feminine, were all too familiar.

  “So the tear between worlds,” Isa called out, her voice much stronger than Ever’s would have been at that moment, “was only a ruse.”

  “A test,” the woman said, looking at Isa as though her presence was just a minor annoyance. “I was testing my brother to see if the great Fortress our father always spoke about was really with him. But when he failed to find the tear and you did instead, I realized that I had been right all along.” She turned and raised her voice to the people, addressing them now instead of Isa or Ever. “Perhaps the Fortress has tired of these men that forever go on playing their games of war and self-righteousness!” Her low voice rang clear in the perfect silence of the crowd as everyone looked back and forth between their king and his sister. “And,” she fixed her eyes back on Ever, “when you failed, brother, I knew that it was the Maker declaring a new era. It’s my turn now.”

  “You blaspheme the king!”

  In one smooth motion, Degare had thrown back his cloak and drawn his sword. People stumbled over one another as they struggled to give him space, trying to get away from the weapon.

  “Degare,” Ever called softly. Degare was one of his favorite guards and loyal to a fault. His temper, however, matched the color of his flaming beard, and if Ever wasn’t careful, the man would take on the entire crowd to honor Ever’s name.

  Before Degare could take the hint, however, two dozen other members of the crowd raised their own hidden weapons, long skinny pikes with a bundle of thick, green leaves tied together and hanging just behind the sharp pike heads. Hemlock, Ever realized, to poison the victim after breaking the flesh. By plunging the pike even deeper into the wound, the hemlock leaves would be dragged into the flesh behind the sharp head. They were crude weapons, but their damage could certainly be mortal. Ever guessed that there were more enemies hanging in mist form nearby.

  Despite his men’s skill in battle, Ever knew that there were far too many Fae for any sort of fair fight. Besides, the citizens that surrounded them would surely get in the way and be killed themselves.

  “Admit it, Everard,” the woman called out to him. “Four years ago, you brought a curse upon your great Fortress, and now, it seems, you have brought a blight upon these people as well. You are too much like our Father.”

  “You think I did this?”

  “I’ve been watching you, and the evidence is too great to ignore. Look around at the proof. Could you heal the Fortress four years ago? Answer me honestly.”

  “The Maker had to heal the Fortress. That was the point,” Ever said, “to prove that I was not able to do so on my own...” Ever’s words trailed off as he realized that he was digging himself into an even deeper hole. Arguing was unkingly, and by the sudden look of horror on Isa’s face, Ever knew that true or not, his words had just spelled out his judgment in the eyes of the people.

  “And if the Fortress is so intent on keeping your line upon the throne, why is it that your wife,” she gestured to Isa, “has not yet conceived a child?”

  Ever’s mouth suddenly tasted bitter. Who was this woman to think she could insult his wife? To his surprise, however, even his anger was eclipsed by that which he felt coming from Isa. And yet, Isa was not simply angry. He could feel Isa’s familiar power working on the woman’s heart, trying hard to impress the truth of the Fortress’s love upon her. But some hearts were stiffer and more hidden than others, and for all of Isa’s glares and hard work, Ever’s sister only smiled.

  Whispers broke out around the crowd. But as the three continued to stare one another down, the whispers began to lose their whisper quality, and even without Isa’s gift, Ever could feel the frustration rise within the air.

  This had been a terrible plan.

  Just as the first Fae soldier began to step forward, shimmering slightly as he went, and Ever drew his own sword in response, a blur of gray robes darted between them.

  “Please!” Father Lucien held up his hands, gasping between words. “I know you are all confused, but please do not turn our home into a village of blood!” He turned in agitation from side to side in short, jerky movements. “Certainly there must be a more legal, civilized way to go about deciding this!”

  To Ever’s surprise, his sister spoke up, her voice suddenly gentle. “You are right, Lucien. There must be another way to bring these people what is rightfully theirs without fighting around their children.” She turned to the Fae, her golden hair bouncing as she began to step backward, in the direction of the tree from which she had first appeared. “We are done here today. I will heal again tomorrow.”

  The people began to groan, but she held her hands up. “There are children here. Do you wish violence upon them?”

  Before Ever had time to hear their responses, the priest lurched at Isa and grabbed her hand, fairly dragging her back towards the town with him. Immediately, Isa disappeared. She wouldn’t be able to hold her invisibility for long, though. It was a skill she still struggled with. Ever used his power to project his own invisibility onto the holy man, something he had only tried once or twice before. The invisibility wasn’t perfect, but it did the job of mostly hiding the priest as they raced toward the church.

  As they rounded the back of the church building, Ever could hear footsteps in the distance behind them. Despite his sister’s words of peace, the people hadn’t listened, it seemed. They wouldn’t have long to hide. Without a word, Father Lucien, Isa, Ever, and their men darted into the little hovel at the back of the church. There was no light inside this time, not even a fire. They did their best to crouch in the corners, but Ever knew it wouldn’t do them much good if the door was broken in.

  “We will have to fight,” Olivier, their knife master murmured.

  “No.” Isa’s voice was quiet, but commanding. “There are too many children.”

  “If we die,” Degare pointed out, “then all of the children of Destin will be at risk from that witch!”

  Ever felt a soft hand work its way into his. “I can do this, Ever.” Her voice was quiet but resolved.

  “It’s too dangerous.” He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, though. Even Ever knew this was a losing battle. Too many
innocents would die if fighting ensued.

  “This is my gift,” she said in the same soothing voice. “Trust the Fortress. Pray for me, and let me talk to them.”

  Ever squeezed her hand so hard that it must have hurt. But she was using her gift on him even now, and as much as he abhorred it, Isa was right, as usual. She was their only chance of escaping without the shedding of blood.

  “This will draw more strength from you than you have ever expended,” he said in a voice that shook far too much. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

  He was interrupted by more shouts outside the door, but Isa simply squeezed his hand again, and in the dark, leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

  “I love you.”

  With that, her hand was pulled from his, and he could hear her rise and walk to the door. Immediately, he made himself invisible and went to stand just beside her. She might be their only hope for peace, but he was not about to allow his wife to face the crowd alone.

  Isa opened the door, the light of the fading sun touching her hair and making its copper strands shine almost blindingly. The crowd that stood just outside the door was mostly void of children, but there were still enough present to make a fight difficult.

  Fortress, he prayed as he lifted his weapon, give her strength.

  “Where is the king?” someone called out. Ever suddenly felt like a louse for hiding beside her. He nearly revealed himself, except for the slight flick of Isa’s hand that reminded him to leave her be.

  “Does it matter?” she asked evenly, her dark blue eyes searching each of the faces before her. “For you have seemed to forget that the throne was rightfully mine before it was King Everard’s.”