Kingdom of Mirrors and Roses

by A. W. Cross

  She jolted as the door slammed shut, but his own hopeless expression burned a hole in her mind. It didn’t fade even when his footsteps had.

  ✶

  She couldn’t leave it alone. The emptiness in Auber’s pitch and yellow gaze kept her awake, tossing and turning beneath the barred window’s shadows. Extending a hand into the cold room, she cupped a drop of moonlight slipping between the iron, and sighed.

  “Happy birthday,” she whispered to herself. “You’re seventeen now. Just look at you.” Something tingled in her stomach, and she hated the sensation. Guilt.

  Why would she feel guilty for prodding the man who kept her in a tower? She was no stranger to guilt. Her mother had often used it as a weapon against her, to mold her actions, yet Auber hadn’t. Supper had been like every other. She expected judgment, sorrow, anguish even, all crafted to burrow deep into her until she obeyed, but she’d gotten only the usual taunts, grins, and flippant gestures.

  Slipping from the lavish prison bed, Fayre drew her cloak around her shoulders and gnawed on her lip. She crossed to the door, her hand hovering in the air just before the handle. A final glance over her shoulder toward the moonlit sky, and she exited.

  She had been down the stairs enough times that she didn’t bother steadying herself with a hand on the wall. She had looked down the hall enough times that the glinting mirrors appeared natural, familiar, and not at all threatening. Silver light poured across the stone floor, its origin unknown, but she was grateful for it illuminating her way.

  Cutting shadows through it, she walked forward. No logic bound the castle to a set of rules concerning direction or distance. Just like a child or a faery, she had to believe anything was possible within the enchantment. It was that simple. Belief.

  And it was that difficult.

  “Okay,” she whispered, “I need the stairs.” She turned a corner, sighing when only more mirrors decorated the next hall. Folding her arms beneath the cloak, she leaned against the corner. “Yes, I’m nervous,” she told the castle. “But if you wouldn’t mind cooperating in spite of that…please?”

  A light breeze brushed by her ankles, and she smiled, taking that as its reply. “Thank you.”

  Turning, she walked around the same corner she had just passed and toward the staircase that lead up to the third story. Heart pounding, she tempered her breaths. She had to be going insane if she thought this was a good idea. The man—creature even—had no heart. He couldn’t appreciate her apology or her concern.

  Or that’s what he would have her believe—maybe that’s what he believed himself. But could someone with no feeling act the way he had without attempting to prey upon her emotions?

  A bitter taste trailed into her stomach when she swallowed. Consequences be damned. She had tried so long to make herself right to others, her family, the town, that their expectations had hardened into a chain around her throat. If she didn’t do this, she couldn’t be right with herself.

  And perhaps that’s all that mattered.

  Standing before what she believed was Auber’s bedroom, Fayre wrung her hands, then knocked softly. No one responded. Several minutes passed, and she cleared her throat, glancing at the ceiling. Maybe it was the wrong door or he wasn’t in his room?

  No, she doubted there were any wrong doors, but he could be on another appointment, or asleep, if he slept. After all, he hadn’t intercepted her.

  Gathering her courage, she cracked the door open, and froze.

  Auber stood before a golden mirror, a hand combing through his dripping hair. Water slipped down his neck, and across his bare back, cutting delicate paths through toned grey muscle. When her mouth fell open, his head jerked with his body, displaying his chest.

  Terror hit her like a javelin, piercing straight through her gut.

  Near the center of his chest, where his heart may have been, a gaping chasm opened to reveal nothing but dark veins and gore.

  “What are you doing here?” His words blended with a breathiness that spiked into anger.

  “I—” Her eyes flicked between his face and that empty pit. “I wanted to ap—”

  “Are you trying to kill yourself? After all I’ve done…” Fury electrified his gaze. “I specifically told you mere hours ago not to wander around the castle alone.” The door hit the wall as he yanked it from her hand and threw it fully open.

  Her fists clenched. “Why would I ever want to listen to a monster who’s trapped me in a tower and treats me like some sort of pet?”

  His jaw clenched, his body tensing until nothing moved. “A monster? That’s all I am, isn’t it?” The dark words coiled around her, and her gaze dropped to the oozing hole in his chest again. He murmured, his tone level but boiling with threat, “Yes, stare. Stare for awhile at this hideous beast, then get out of its sight.”

  Tears prickled in her eyes, her stomach swaying. “That’s not what…” She met his gaze, swallowed her apology. “You want me out of your sight? For good?”

  “Wouldn’t that make us both happy?”

  A tremor skated over her skin. “Happy? I’d just as soon be overjoyed to never see you again!”

  Spinning on her heel, she launched herself to the door across the hall. She threw it open to display the snowy front yard, then slammed it shut behind her. Bunching her skirts, she ran toward the intricately woven iron gate and slipped out of the palace grounds.

  The craggly forest welcomed her. Wind tickled her hair. A dozen far-off scents whipped past her damp cheeks, and she scrubbed her face, wondering when—and why—she’d let tears fall.

  One thing remained on her mind, and one thing only: she had to get away from that thing. That heartless beast couldn’t possibly have her best interest in mind. Who knew why he’d kept her this long already.

  Her feet carried her through the snowy night and deeper into the safety of the forest, one crunching step at a time. One crunching step at a time, she fought toward her freedom. Away from her family, away from Roald, away from the beast. She’d change her name. She’d find the ocean. She’d be surrounded by the same peace that always came when she was at her lake.

  Nothing could reach her upon the waters. Nothing at all.

  The moment that thought whistled through her mind, danger overwhelmed her, and her feet choked to a halting stop. Her heart thundered. Tension poured into every fibre of her being.

  A ticking clack chattered in the underbrush before her, growing louder, closer. Fayre trained her attention on the spot, backstepping. Gleaming eyes blinked on in the dimmest shadows, shades of yellow and red peering at her.

  Her breath caught as the first stubby body hobbled out of the bushes, trailing a spear through the crusty snow. Moonlight cast the green creature in a sickly hue, spots coating it like knots on a tree. Teeth poured from its mouth, their mouths. More filtered into the clearing.

  The chattering clacks grew into a cacophony, and Fayre realized each of their wide, razored mouths was grinning.

  7

  Fayre looked behind her. The way was clear. Could she make it back to the iron gate and take solace behind it? Would she have to face Auber if she turned back now? What if he threw her out to these creatures?

  Cold washes of fear rippled across her skin, but she didn’t have much choice. Stay and die, or hope she could take refuge without Auber caring to confront her, drag her back, or watch her be eaten.

  The chattering ceased amidst her thoughts. The first creature that had emerged raised its spear, and a horrible shriek poured from its mouth, quickly followed by the cries of its companions. They surged forward as one.

  Fayre ran, tripping through the path she had already carved. Blood throbbed in her ears while the cold stung her nose. A spear whizzed past her ear, its flight a distinct whistle even in the screeching onslaught.

  Panic welled in her chest. Her breath stung her nose and sawed through her throat, burning with every bit she gulped down. Before she knew what was happening, her boot caught on a stone and sent her to the
harsh, icy ground.

  Wrapped in the cloak, she barely managed to face her pursuers in the same moment they jumped, their mouths open and their eyes hungry. She threw her arms over her head.

  A burst of power radiated off her in a single tide. Thick, thorny vines encased her, caging her body and thrusting the creatures away. They screamed, chattered more among themselves, and paced before the line of her defense.

  While she panted, power pulsed, a wet chill seeping into her veins. She raised her shaking hands and found them laced in thorned gloves, delicate, flowering. The white petals shivered in her breath.

  She screamed.

  Her yell alerted the monsters to return to battle, and their gnashing teeth dove for her shield, ripping every thorny vine to shreds.

  A rumbling growl shook the ground.

  The creatures jerked, their beady eyes whipping in every direction. Fayre stilled.

  In a blur, a grey form streaked over her cage, dashing the monsters away. The large, sleek body heaved, more canine than anything. Fangs glinted in the shadowed light, yellow eyes within pools of black above an elongated snout.

  The wolf lunged, countering the dozens of monsters, taking each blow as it came. Blood decorated the broken patches of snow, blooming like watery roses. When the creatures fled, the wolf sneered after them, glanced at her, and stepped toward her cage, yanking the vines with its maws.

  Once she was free, he huffed, then collapsed.

  Fayre stared, heart hammering against her ribs. She glanced down the forest path where the creatures had gone, then flicked her gaze back at her rescuer. Auber’s chest filled with labored breath, his body shrinking until the man remained face-down in the snow.

  He had protected her. For several long moments, Fayre stared. The heartless beast had risked himself to protect her, after what had just happened. What had just happened?

  She lifted her hands, still gloved in thorns, and closed her eyes against the sight. Had he done something to her? Was that what she was? An experiment? Peeling the vines from her skin, she exhaled as they all came undone without pain. The thick scent of blood overwhelmed the earlier hints of spice, but she tried not to dwell on it.

  The night screamed alive with murmurs, presenting her a choice. Continue to leave, likely facing a similar fate to the one she just escaped. Or help him.

  Fayre knelt beside Auber, swallowing bile. Soaking his shirt in red, a spear protruded from the fabric, and although that was the only tear, crimson dyed the linen in large splotches over the expanse of his back. Fayre fought the uneasiness swirling in her gut.

  He had saved her. If he hadn’t scared her, if he hadn’t kidnapped her, she wouldn’t have needed saving.

  She should leave him to die, but her legs refused to stand and walk away. Her hands shook, but they reached for him. They touched his still-wet hair, brushed melting snow off his cheek. “Damn you,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears. “You’re horrible. Absolutely horrible.”

  And he knew it. He never hid it. He simply lived, accepting everything he was openly, sadly, sarcastically, effortlessly.

  Propping him up, she looped his arm around her shoulders and stood, starting toward the castle. “You’re going to fix what you’ve done to me,” she breathed. “Then you’re going to escort me to safety.”

  Her eyes drifted over the trees and foliage around her, dread welling as she trudged. She couldn’t name a single one. Something otherworldly coated the air, each mixed scent of nutmeg and lavender and burning sage possibly not mixed at all.

  This wasn’t her world.

  Her fists clenched, shivers wracking her body before she could make it all the way to the iron gate. This wasn’t her world. All along, it had been futile to run, deadly. And he knew. He would have been right behind her, stopped her before she’d ever left the palace grounds, if he’d really cared, but, then again, pretense didn’t surround the bastard. He told her he couldn’t care. She’d seen why. Her teeth gritted, breath puffing from her lips. “You’re the worst.”

  But she didn’t stop carting his mangled body beyond the iron gate, careful to keep his skin from brushing it. She didn’t stop when she’d reached the safety of the palace. She didn’t stop until she’d brought him all the way to his room and discarded him atop his bed.

  Panting and threading one hand back through her hair, she fiddled with the clasp on her cloak, then stomped her foot when her numb fingers were little help in undoing it. The cloak jumped, falling in a wet heap. She glared down at the mess, then at the fireplace.

  Logs hurled themselves into a frenzy of flame, filling the room with an instant gratifying heat.

  Fayre whirled on Auber, expecting a grin as he toyed with her, but the man lay the same way she had left him, completely still. Unbidden, worry stung in her gut.

  His grey skin appeared parched, chalky white like his tattoos. His sharp face was hollow, damp strands of dark hair sticking to thin cheeks. Every second worsened his condition, and her stomach jolted.

  Rushing to his side, she turned his body over and ripped the iron spear from his back. Blood gushed, and she frantically looked around for something to quell it, finding his comforter nearest. She pressed the luscious material against his skin and watched his face. He didn’t move. Breathe.

  How would she tell if he were dead? What circulated the blood leaking from his wound?

  His wounds.

  Fayre skimmed her gaze over his bloody shirt. She had to remove it if she were going to attempt to dress his injuries. Exhaling, she tore the soiled linen off, displaying the pit in his chest. It didn’t worry her near half as much as the deep gashes perforating his skin.

  “Okay,” she whispered to herself, pressing his back against a mound of comforter to apply pressure to his worst cut while she searched his bathing room for first-aid. “Okay. You’ll be fine. Stay.”

  Stumbling into the bathroom, she ripped open each cabinet until she found a shallow basin, several rolls of bandages, and a mortar under the sink. She found no herbs or ointments for a salve. Pushing back her hair, her fingers caught on a stray twig, and she pulled it free.

  A brilliant orange flower bloomed bright in her hand, and she stared at it. Sickness swirled through her, threatening to revolt. It was calendula. The flower that had grown out of her head was calendula. Attempting to quell her racing heart, she pulled her fingers through her hair again, plucking lavender. The strong, grounding scent was all that kept her steady as she brought the basin of water to the nightstand and proceeded to make a salve.

  By the time she had washed his wounds and tied the last bit of gauze, sunlight peeked through the windows on either side of his bed, ushering in the morning. Exhaustion pulled on her eyelids, but she could find no rest until he moved.

  Just a flutter of lashes.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Fayre smoothed her thumb over his cheek, her gaze falling on the still, gutted hole in his chest. Nerves and flesh bundled red in the pit. Her fingers trailed from his face down his neck to the location, and she traced the jagged edges.

  It appeared as though his heart had been carved straight out of him.

  “If you survived that,” she murmured, “this is nothing.”

  Against her will, her eyes closed, her head resting against his shoulder, and she fell asleep.

  ✶

  “Well,” a low voice called Fayre from her dreams, “asleep with the monster, in his own bed no less. That’s scandalous to a fault.”

  Fayre lurched upright, off Auber, and her eyes widened. “You’re alive.”

  “It can be a little hard to tell, can’t it?” Half a smirk lifted his bleary grin. “Or rather, I hope you weren’t sleeping with me thinking I was dead.”

  “No, I—” She stopped, catching the satire in his gaze, and hardened herself. “I only spared you so you could fix whatever you’ve done to me and get me out of this place.”

  “Whatever I’ve done to you?” His brow jumped.


  “My hair is growing flowers,” she snapped.

  He displayed his fangs. “Yes, what a turn of events. You look lovely.”

  Her arms jerked, and her fingers dove for her head, but his large hand stopped her moments before she could dredge through her locks.

  “You look lovely,” he repeated. “Don’t hurt yourself on account of hating me.”

  Her voice came in a breathy whisper, hands tense in his grasp. “What have you done to me?”

  His touch slipped away. “Nothing.”

  “But—” She choked back her words when he looked at her. Faery folk didn’t lie—couldn’t. She didn’t know why she believed that. But she did. “The food then?”

  Auber shook his head.

  “Where am I, Beast?” She inhaled a melangé of flowery scents she knew came from her hair and gulped. “What’s going on?”

  His lips spread slow over his face. Fangs flashing, he murmured, “You’re in the Myre, little half-human, and you’ve just grown into your true nature.” Danger gleamed beneath humor in his yellow gaze as he added, “Literally.”

  “The Myre?” Fayre looked out the window at the afternoon sun glinting over the black forest. “Where’s that?”

  “Where? It’s in the blurry edges, the corners of your vision, the fuzzy lines used to draw in your imagination. What, though… It’s the space between the world you know and The Land of Youth, where all the faery folk exist. It effectively separates two very distinct realms. One of reality. And one of magic.” His gaze shifted to the window as well. “Welcome.”

  “You called me a half-human.”

  “Yes.” He said the word slowly. “Because that is what you are.”

  Her head shook, her mouth going dry. “That can’t be right.”

  Auber groaned, sitting up. Her hands flew toward him to stop the strain on his injuries, but his glance forced her to pull back. His gaze didn’t waver as he adjusted his body. “It is right. Your faery father did sell you to me, after all.”

  “That man, for the last time—”