Kingdom of Mirrors and Roses

by A. W. Cross

  Questions flooded Fayre’s mind, but she didn’t want to frighten Delhi before she could get any answers, so she quelled them. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

  “Little by little.” Delhi glanced at her leg and sighed. “Some things simply must be done. It’s rare that we scar, but with iron…”

  “We?” Iron?

  “Faery folk. Oh, but I’m a faun.” The girl grinned, pride in the motion as she rocked on her hooves.

  Faery folk resounded in Fayre’s ears, stories she swore she’d created in her childhood a murmur of noise in the back of her mind. Not quite remembered. Never quite forgotten. Something terrible and beautiful and frightening.

  And beastly.

  Her breath held, she murmured, “Is…Auber faery folk too?”

  “Yes, of course.” The girl’s doe-brown eyes widened, and she covered her mouth, twisting to look behind her. “Was I not supposed to say? Wait, am I supposed to? He would have told me not to if I wasn’t, right? I know I shouldn’t mention that he’s—” She clamped her hand tight against her lips, silencing herself to a squeak. Her eyes moved frantically around, staring past everything. “We’re good?” She blinked back into focus. “We’re good.”

  Fayre’s stomach rocked. “Are you okay?”

  Delhi nodded. “Sorry. I’m quite young yet for what I am, so at times, I’m disoriented, but I find my way one way or another, as we all do. You have a question, don’t you?”

  Fayre’s brows lowered. “I have so many questions.”

  Soft laughter brightened the dim stairwell. “We only have time for one.”

  Dozens poured through Fayre’s mind, the first, Why?, utterly unhelpful. What did she need to know? If iron was a weapon, she could defend her escape, so her obstacle was the labyrinth. The question lit a spark, and she blurted, “Did Auber lead you to the tower? Without his help, I can’t even find my way to the dining room.”

  Delhi’s eyes brightened. “The easiest one. Wonderful. You’re seeing this palace like a human. An adult human. The only way to understand the machinations of faery folk is to either look at them with the mind of a child or the mind of a faery.”

  Hope stirred to life in Fayre’s chest. “How?”

  The door hit the back wall, and Delhi leaped, whirling. Fayre’s gaze shot up to where Auber stood, his grey hand against the rough wood of the tower door. “Evening, ladies,” he said, a distinctly dangerous gleam in his eye. “It’s nearly time for dinner. Would you both care to join me?”

  Any fear that had crossed Delhi’s face melted away, and she laughed. The sound was free, like a burbling brook, and Fayre could make no sense of it. “It would be an honor, Lord Auber.”

  “And will you do me the pleasure as well, little bo…” His expression waned with a sigh as he cocked his hip against the door and folded his arms. “Or at least will you stop glaring at me? You’re going to get some fierce wrinkles right—” He rubbed his forehead. “—right here.”

  “Have you fooled everyone? Or am I just missing something?” From little girls to young faery folk who seemed open enough with vital information, only Fayre appeared to understand that the man before her oozed menace. Yet, he’d not harmed her in any way.

  “If I wanted to fool everyone, I wouldn’t go to as much trouble as I have. Trust me. You’re missing everything, as humans tend to do.” He turned toward the steps. “Follow if you fancy a warm meal.”

  Delhi took Fayre’s hand before she could reply. “Please join us. I wanted to talk with you about humans since you’ve lived among them for so long.”

  “They’re meat sacks filled with fleas.” Auber’s voice drifted from the lower steps, and Fayre ground her teeth.

  “I’ll join you, Delhi. That insulting boar of a beast can suffer through our conversation about the creatures he despises, in spite of his kidnapping one!”

  Only an eerie chuckle floated to her ears. Her insides clenched.

  A smile painted across pink lips, Delhi squeezed her hand. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a master at it.” The woman’s brown gaze drifted toward the book Fayre had left on her bed, and her snout wiggled. “When you dare to catch a moment of belief, Fayre, ask him where that book came from.”

  Before Fayre could question, the faun pulled her down the steps, the sound of clicking hooves calming in the midst of confusion.

  ✶

  The next morning, Fayre stretched and clasped the thick cloak around her neck, settling into its warmth. During the night, the snow had stopped, but a chill remained along with a blanket of white beyond the bars of her window.

  Iron.

  Dense, unrefined iron.

  If faery folk couldn’t touch it, that would explain why Auber could do nothing about it before, had he intended to at all. Some piece of her believed he would have if he could have even if she didn’t know why he’d bother.

  She brushed her fingers over the coarse metal, inhaling its poisonous scent. Then she spun on her heel and left the room. Descending the stairs with nothing but the merest belief she wouldn’t fall, she hopped off the last step to the ground and meandered forward, arms pinned behind her back.

  This was her first attempt. She would start small and find the only other place in the labyrinth she knew well enough to picture clearly: the dining room.

  Fayre stared at the hall before her, dim light tracing pictures over the stone at her feet. The mind of a child or the mind of a faery. She had once been a child. She doubted she ever wanted to enter the same mindset as Auber. So her choice was simple.

  Abandoning apprehension, she skipped forward, halting the moment a snort echoed in the chilling space. Fayre whirled to find Auber leaning against the wall beside the stairs and covering his mouth.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” His chest shook. “I’m excited to see where whatever that was will take you.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” Her face twisted in a scowl. “The palace is enchanted, isn’t it?”

  “Believing in enchantments now, are we?” He kicked off the wall and approached. “Well, we have come so far, haven’t we?”

  “Don’t avoid the question.”

  “What good would an answer do you?”

  She folded her arms. “It might bring me closer to breaking the spell and getting out of here.”

  “As if I’d just let you leave.” Lifting his arm, he tapped her head with a book. “I was coming to bring you this, if it interests you. If not, I have some time to chaperone your skipping around so you don’t end up lost somewhere, in the dark, with the others.” His gaze glinted. “I assure you, there are quite frightening things all over, and it would be abhorrent if you stumbled upon them.”

  A shiver traced down her spine as she snatched the book from his hand. “Don’t try to scare me.”

  “Succeed in, don’t you mean?”

  Her eyes dropped to the cover of the book, skimming over the title. Interest piqued in her, but the distraction was clear. He couldn’t expect to bring her books and keep her appeased for however long he intended to hold her.

  “It’s a particular favorite of mine. You seem fond of adventures, so I thought you might like it as well as The Feather.” Auber tapped the embossed cover. “The main character starts in a kingdom not at all unlike yours, struggles with the realization he has a power that could save or end the world, then quests with an initial intention of passing it on to someone else.”

  Fayre swallowed. “Why would he want to give up such an ability?”

  “Responsibility.” He quoted the first book he had left for her, pulling from the very last lines, “‘The strong are never left alone. They are depended upon, sought after, exploited. Great expectations follow anyone with any gift, and expectations are like chains.’”

  Her brow knitted, and she glared at him. “You’re distracting me from the fact I’m currently in chains.”

  “Am I?” His lips quirked. “Are you?”

  “Yes, and yes.”

  “Beg y
our pardon, then, little boar. Be on your way.”

  She twirled, holding the book against her chest and starting forward. “Could we agree to drop that, maybe?”

  “Drop what? My endearment?”

  “Your insult.”

  He scoffed. “Little boars are cute.”

  “Definitely not.” She scoffed back.

  He trailed behind her, his heavy boots clomping against the stone floors, reminding her she could make no headway. Fayre glanced in a mirror at him, and he smirked, asking, “So, where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She stopped. “I haven’t reached a turn yet. How could I be heading in the wrong direction?”

  “I never said you were heading in the wrong direction. I just believe if you were leaving, you’d have your herbology book with you.” He didn’t look at her when she spun on him, but a ghost of a smile lifted his lips as he stared at the ceiling.

  “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Her knuckles went white around the spine of the novel against her chest. “I can’t make sense of you.”

  “A wonder why. I personally blame your simple human mind.”

  Sparks of anger flared to life in her chest, but she exhaled to calm herself. “Why am I here? You haven’t touched me. You haven’t forced me to do anything. You haven’t taken anything from me.” She lifted the book and shook it. “You’ve fed me and brought me toys. Am I a pet to you?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that before.” A childish glimmer brightened his ebony gaze. “But I’ve always wanted a pet.”

  “You’re horrible,” she looked down, tracing a finger over the indented title, “but not horrible enough.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  Her head shook, and she sighed, resigned for the moment. “Where did you get The Feather, Beast?”

  A black brow rose. “What feather?”

  “The book I read yesterday.”

  “Ah.” Something solemn pinched his lips, a breath exiting his nose. Passing her, he crooked two fingers at her, motioning for her to follow. “Come along then. If we’re listening to Delhi’s advice, we may as well put banter aside. I am surprised you asked so quickly, though. It’s almost like you believed it would mean something.”

  Fayre hesitated, looking back at the stairs that led to the tower, then she tucked her arms and the book beneath her cloak and caught up to him. “Does it?”

  “I wonder.”

  Silence consumed their short walk, and soon they stood before a large door adorned with gold and silver. Etched pictures of tiny winged creatures danced over the dark cherry wood, their stationary action so life-like Fayre thought they might move if she looked away.

  Holding her breath, she waited as Auber pushed open the door. Within, a desk with large clawed feet sat in front of a window seat before a courtyard filled with ice-crested rose bushes. The brilliant red blooms distracted from the overgrown thorns lacing across the path, and Fayre swallowed.

  Auber cupped her chin, directing her attention away from the ground-floor window and toward the walls in the room. “Let’s focus on why we came here, please.”

  Reaching to the ceiling, rows and rows of books lay upon stacks and stacks of shelves, each title gleaming in the muted light. Though modest, the room had to contain hundreds of books. Certainly more than she’d heard existed. Running her thumb over the one she held, mouth agape, she drifted into the room and away from Auber’s touch.

  He let his arm fall and rested his shoulder against the door jam. She could feel his eyes on her as she traced each spine in the nearest shelf. “What is this place?” she breathed.

  “My study. And a small portion of my collection.”

  Her heart thumped. “Small? You’re just saying that.”

  “No. It is fairly small.” He paced to her side and plucked a tome from the bottom shelf. An encyclopedia of sorts, images and information filled each decorated page as he flipped through. “Don’t look at me like that. Faery folk are incapable of lies.”

  Tension poured out of her limbs. “That sounds inconvenient, for you.”

  “Quite the contrary, it’s easy to use to our advantage.” He clamped the book shut, a fanged grin resting on his face when he met her gaze. “You relaxed. I am quite skilled at twisting words, crafting half-truths, and holding back information. Yet you have just reclined into a false sense of security.”

  “And now I’m jerking back out.” A frown marred her face a moment before she sighed. “If you really can’t lie, that means you really don’t have a heart.”

  His muscles stiffened. “Yes, well.”

  “How do you function? Is that why you’re so cold?” She tilted a novel to better make out the cover. “Why breathe?”

  “Aren’t these questions a bit personal?” Rubbing his neck, he pursed his lips. “I didn’t always lack a heart. Breathing is the last bit of internal movement I have, and it’s familiar. No, I don’t need to; yes, I have stopped before…” His jaw jutted out as his words fell into silence. A dull clicking of his teeth was all that lingered when his eyes shifted away from her.

  Fayre pushed the novel back into place. “If you’re bound to honesty but not to providing information, why keep speaking?”

  “You asked.” His eyes closed. “No one’s asked before.”

  A flutter lightened her chest and swirled in her stomach. She inhaled deeply to quench the feeling, but something in the moment felt sacred. With grey skin, fangs, and yellow eyes, he appeared as innocent as a child wondering why they were so dreadfully alone. Could she trust it?

  His eyes snapped open, clinging to her hand on his bicep, and she tensed, wondering when her fingers had gotten there. A satirical grimace, sent every drop of blood in her face racing to her toes. Delicately, he plucked her hand off him. A growl rumbled in his tone. “I would be careful if I were you. I’m the villain in your story, remember?”

  Breathless, she whispered, “You don’t get to decide that, Beast.”

  “A heartless monster who has kidnapped you?” He dropped her hand like a soiled rag. “It’s fairly well decided for us.” He pulled the novel she’d been looking at off the shelf and set it atop her head before whirling toward the door. “Take as many as you want, but carry them to breakfast. My pet needs to be fed.”

  She flinched, raising her head. “You’re horrible.”

  Providing a small bow, he held the door open and murmured, “Whatever you say, little boar.”

  6

  A cheerful tapping sequence ended in the tower door opening. Stilling on the bed, the comforter strewn with books, Fayre looked up, meeting Auber’s waning expression. A full-bodied sigh expanded his massive chest, then eased out between his lips.

  “Tell me…are they breeding? I know I didn’t see you take this many, and I haven’t brought you many more since.” His gaze skimmed the interior. “Has my little boar discovered how to traverse the palace, and instead of fleeing—in desperation—you’ve decided to empty my study of anything with words first?” Entering, he retrieved the top book from a stack beside the door and turned it over in his hands.

  Fayre cleared her throat. “I’m done with those.”

  His fearsome eyes bulged. “All these? It’s only been a week.”

  “Yes. A whole week.” And the snow still hadn’t shown signs of dissipating. She would love to flee, truly she would. Her gaze lowered to the book in her lap and the ones on her bed. Well, perhaps when she was done, she’d love to, but until the snow cleared getting out would leave a clear trail for him to follow. While his beastly appearance and magical prowess worried her he was capable of finding her even without a marked path, she had to give herself the best chance she could to get as far away as possible, find a weapon made of iron, then live knowing he might always be just around the corner, watching her, for the rest of her life. Her stomach soured.

  Unaware, he interrupted her thoughts and returned the book to the stack. “How have you
managed this without my knowledge?”

  She returned her gaze to the book in her lap and casually turned the page. “What? You mean to say you don’t know everything that happens in the shadows around here? How very reassuring.”

  “I’m not entirely patient when I’m curious.”

  “My, my, that sounds like a personal problem.”

  Hands slammed into the headrest on either side of her body, and her soul jerked within her flesh. Inches from her, Auber stared. Several moments passed where she refused to breathe, then he pulled back, clapped his hands together, and folded his arms. “So you figured it out when I had that appointment four days ago.” She paled, but he continued, “The gall humans have. I do believe I’ve mentioned this place is dangerous, but that didn’t stop you from wandering about unsupervised while I was predisposed. Do you have any clue what could have happened?”

  Fear curdled in her throat, making her voice shake. “Can you read my thoughts?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” she choked.

  “Sometimes you leave them writ upon your face.” He waved an arm, caught her expression, then slowed. He stepped back toward the barred window, his focus slipping over her entire body, leaving no piece of her alone. Eyes closing, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she whispered.

  “Terrified. And hopeless.”

  Her tone bit. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.” Auber’s fist clenched, pressing against his chest. “I can’t. But your eyes make me feel like I should, and then I want to, but there’s nothing—” His nostrils flared. “There’s nothing.”

  Before she could reply, long strides swept him to the door where he picked up the stack beside it. “I’ll reiterate: the dark, spooky palace is dangerous. If you really have figured it out past getting to my study, exploring isn’t advised. Be good. Stay put. I’ll be back to get you for dinner.”