Copyright 2016 Jennifer Silverwood
Edited By
R.J. Locksley
Cover Art by
Najla Qamber
najlaqamberdesigns.com
Formatting by Champagne Formats
License Notes
All rights reserved including the right to produce this novel and/or portions of it without specific permission from the author. This novel is a work of fiction, all names, characters, incidents and places are purely fictitious. As this involves lots of magic roses and beasts, this should be fairly obvious.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books
HER LIFE HAD been forfeit the hour the Prince locked her in the dungeon like one of his beasts. Being enclosed in near-absolute darkness made the hours crawl past and Vynasha’s mind was beginning to betray her. Had it only been a few hours since he’d left her alone with nothing but the echoing howls of her fellow beastly prisoners for company?
“You were our last hope,” he had told her, “and now I am left to this ruin, to watch it stone by stone fall into decay and dust…”
While the other beasts in this dank prison howled, she watched the way her inner violet light glowed beneath her skin. Scant incandescence, not enough to breach the black surrounding her. The inner light she had ignored all her life shone dimly now the longer she contemplated the Prince’s last words to her.
“A pity you could not love a beast…”
No matter whether the Prince truly loved her, he was right. They could have made an alliance, she supposed. But love had never been her reason for coming here. Her nephew, Wyll, was the sole purpose for which she’d foolishly risked everything to come to these forbidden mountains, denied a prince and determined to escape. For a moment she found herself retracing her steps, trying to grasp hold of something real other than the play of light beneath her skin.
In her mind she could clearly see the scars covering half of Wyll’s sweet face, the brightness in his blue eyes as she’d passed him off to Wolfsbane and his daughter Resha for safekeeping. The journey she’d made into the castle would have been too dangerous for her to carry him along. So she’d braved the terror of the unnatural wolves as they gave chase up to the castle gates. She could still see the giant doors and remembered her crippling loss of hope upon entering. Her skin still prickled at the memory of that first awful night, when the beast appeared, snarling and clawing after her flesh. It was impossible to fathom how much her perception of her beast and the castle’s mysterious inhabitants would change in one season. They had unwittingly influenced her, especially the Prince with his boundless knowledge of places and things she only dreamed of.
Would it have been so terrible to love him?
“Vynasha…” The wind whispered her name.
She turned her head, seeking the source in vain. Thinking the ghosts of the castle had found their way to the lower levels, she stood eagerly to listen. “Where are you?” she begged.
“Over here, Ashes,” the voice replied.
“Grendall?” Vynasha’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her hysterical sobs. “I thought I was alone,” she said through a rush of tears. Relief and joy filled her, building the intensity of her light so her bleak surroundings brightened.
“I am in the cell next to yours. Come toward my voice. Some of the stone is looser here.”
“Where?” She jumped as the rocks to her right shifted and spilled out onto the floor. She tripped as she tried to rush over to the dim blue light peeking its way through the lower portion of the wall. She crawled the rest of the way, bending low to the ground until she could peer through the hole Grendall had made.
“I see you!” she exclaimed, happier than she had expected to be. “Oh, Grendall, I’m so glad you’re here. I was beginning to think I’d never see you again.” Elation filled her upon seeing his familiar glow. She pushed her hand into the hole until her violet light clashed and blended with his.
“I cannot reach you,” he grumbled weakly.
“Wait, let me try,” she said and, leaning down, barely grazed the tip of her middle finger to one of his.
He sighed at the contact. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she dared to ask. Her emotions were so uneven, so mad, she did not trust her voice not to betray her.
“For coming back with me,” he replied. “After what you saw, I did not believe you would. But I could sense your panic when the wolves came. I could not abandon you to them.”
Vynasha shut her eyes and pressed her cheek to the chilled stone. “I’m glad you came for me,” she confessed and then after a pause added, “Better the beast you know…” She smiled ruefully but then grimaced at the sobering thought. Had Grendall heard everything the Prince said?
Grendall shifted against the rocks and his voice hushed to a whisper. “I should have told you from the beginning who I was. When you first arrived in the castle, I was stalking the halls, making sure none of the prisoners escaped. Your scent drove me senseless, I confess.”
“You might need someone to look into the locks on these dungeons,” she offered, choosing levity over the way his words made her stomach flutter.
He barked a low laugh and brushed his finger against hers. “That would be the curse. When the king ruled this city, majik was strong and used with just about everything, including this prison. The curse has weakened the wards placed here…”
We could escape, together, she thought and edged even closer. “Grendall, how bad are your injuries?”
He laughed again, mirthlessly. “Rrolthoz did not go down without ripping my chest to shreds. After I culled him all I could think of was you. Those bloody wolves might have finished me if it were not for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“My time as the beast is different, measured by base instinct rather than conscious thought. Our blood bond kept me aware enough to remember the reason I was there. I had to make sure you made it safely out. The wolves would have taken you if I hadn’t found you.”
“Wait, you said blood bond?” She stared at her violet skin and recalled in quick flashes the moment he’d healed cuts inflicted by black thorns. And then more recently, she’d healed his wounds nearly without effort, a joining of her blood with his. Dread filled her like a weight in the pit of her stomach.
“You spoke in your dreams, that was what drew me to you from the beginning.” Grendall’s answer was almost mindless, as though he hadn’t heard her, but could not stop speaking now he was confessing. “I knew from the moment you crossed our threshold you were special. I did not mean to form a bond with you at first, Vynasha, you have to believe me. But from the moment my claw first grazed you and I truly saw you I knew I could not fight it for long. And after I brought you back here, our bond helped me shift back, allowe
d me to heal you…” His words, which had withered since he began, tapered off into silence at the end.
“What do you mean you didn’t intend to bond with me?” She wanted more answers now he was so willing to offer them. She almost growled in frustration when he answered with silence. “Is this why my skin glows?” she pressed. “Is it your majik, or ours?”
His fingers twitched and fell limp against hers. Vynasha strained to keep hold of him as his hand slipped away. Her fingertip scratched against bare rock and then his pale light winked out.
“Grendall?” She pressed her ear to the rock near where her arm extended through the hole, until she was stretched along the filthy floor. “Are you all right?” Silence so thick after his confession was frightening. After hearing his confession, she was worried their bond, whatever it meant, wasn’t enough to fully heal him.
“Grendall, listen to my voice.” She spoke for her benefit as much for his. Losing him now after everything would be unbearable. He was the first person she could remember needing besides little Wyll. The realization made her reach for him again, until the rock cut into her shoulder and she finally felt his smooth skin. She relaxed the instant she heard him breathing heavily, in and out.
“We are going to be all right,” she whispered to him and then, to herself, “We just need to find a way to escape.” In the following silence, she recalled her promise to Wynyth, tried and failed to paint the details of her mother’s careworn face in her mind. So she thought of the changeling wolf that wore her brother Ceddrych’s face.
“They would have taken you,” Grendall claimed. But they hadn’t attacked her, at least, not after Ceddrych had stopped them. As she rested her cheek against the rock she wondered what would have happened if the gatekeeper had found her in time.
When she closed her eyes, she met the past again in the guise of vivid dreams.
Vynasha had gathered Wynyth’s latest crop of roses together but couldn’t find her father’s tow sack anywhere. It was the only thing large enough to carry her mother’s blooms to market and the sun wasn’t going to be forgiving if she let them sit unattended much longer. They needed new homes, water and human affection to stay fresh, and Grandmother Mayve’s tavern could provide that. So she was quite desperate as she upturned first the shed and then her bed in the loft above it. But she avoided asking the one person who could have answered her question. She knew what she would find when she walked into the cabin.
She wrung her skirts in her fists and glanced at the waiting pile of roses sitting on the bench just outside. After taking one last calming breath, she walked through the front door. She avoided looking at the silent, dispirited shape of the man who used to be her father.
“Father, have you seen the old mule sack?”
When he didn’t reply, she finally turned to Old Ced and frowned at the physical reminders of his change. Mother’s death had left him a fractured shadow of his former self. His hair and scraggly beard had grown white against his worry-lined face. He stared blankly into the hearth, his cloak tied about his neck as though he had just arrived, even though he had returned home the evening before. Old Ced had grown more and more distant, cruel whenever he did speak.
With a hard eye he lifted his watery gaze to peer through her and then, without a word, he looked to the cloak peg hanging just beside the door.
Vynasha spotted the corner of the rough sack sticking out beneath the billowing cloaks and she snatched it, desperate to leave Ced and his heartless eyes behind.
“Vynasha?” Grendall’s weary voice woke her and his fingertip brushed over hers. “What were you dreaming about?”
The slight comfort of his contact and the soft blue light shining at her through the hole was enough to orient her again. She released a shuddering sigh as she replied, “My father…”
“Not a good dream, then?”
“No,” she almost whispered. It had been so long since she’d spoken about Old Ced with anyone. After everything that had happened, it was a wonder she could dream of the past still. Her father and Ceddrych had disappeared after leaving the family to trade in the Eirwen Mountains. She’d spent the years after they’d left keeping her sisters and nephew fed. Six years after her father and brother had abandoned the family and the memory left her more shaken than it should have.
“Fathers can bring out the worst in us,” Grendall ground out, as though he could read her thoughts.
“My father changed after my mother died. I think he wished he had died with her. My brother raised me more than he did, but Ceddrych had to leave to fight in the war not long after. My oldest sister’s husband went missing and she took my nephew to live in the village. My other two sisters seemed to only find pleasure in the misery of others. I didn’t have anyone who cared for me, yet they left me to manage everything. My father did nothing to stop them.”
“Sounds like you had a pleasant childhood,” Grendall mused.
Vynasha smiled and sensed that somehow, he might understand better than most could. “What about you? Was your father a dungeon gatekeeper like you?”
His laughter was cut short by a low groan. “Seven hells, no. I am afraid I have fallen below his lofty standards for me. A sweet mercy he died before I chose my path. Were he still alive, he would have continued to make our lives a living hell. That bloody beast did not simply delight in the misery of others, he reveled in it. Your childhood sounds idyllic compared to mine.”
She smiled. “You must be feeling better.”
He did not answer, but his finger twitched and she could hear his sharp breath. This was her only warning before the door to her cell creaked open with a groan. She nearly ripped a fresh hole in her arm, trying to wrench it from the hole Grendall had made between their cells.
For one torturous moment, she envisioned the Prince’s gravelly voice and shadowed horns. Judging by their last conversation, she knew he would not want her speaking to Grendall or anyone for that matter.
“Who is it?” Grendall hissed through the space between their walls.
Vynasha shook her head as she scrambled to her feet, a difficult task thanks to the awkward position she had been lying in. She skirted the shadows as light filled the room and nearly barreled into the hunched figure who stepped through the door.
“Odym!” she gasped as she stepped into the wyne’s blue light. Her first friend in the castle froze in wide-eyed horror at the sight of her.
“Careful, Mistress.” Odym glanced back over his shoulders. He opened the cloth bundle in his hands and urged, “Quickly, you must eat.”
She wasted no time in digging into the bread and cheese he had brought and tried not to ponder the last time she’d eaten. “I’m so glad you came!” she exclaimed once she had tucked away the other half back in his hands. “You must take the rest to Grendall.”
Odym shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder again at the echo of beastly groans. “I dare not risk it, Mistress. He would want me to look after you first.”
Vynasha frowned. “Well, I don’t care. He needs to eat as much as I do.” She paused, then added, “Or do you? I suppose I’ve never asked.”
Odym pushed the bundle back into her arms. “Forgive me, but I cannot stay any longer. We are under orders not to visit you, but Lyttia would not let you starve. I could not steal away until now. He is sleeping.”
“You mean the Prince,” she replied. It was clear then that the castle’s ruler intended her to suffer and fade too, like the wyne, like the majik of this place. The knowledge filled her chest with an indefinable ache.
Odym wrung his hands and snuck glances back at the open cell door, anywhere but her, and this made her more afraid than anything.
She took in his overall haggard appearance and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Odym, what did he say to you?”
His voice was bleak, hollow. “You are to be treated as the others who came before you, left alone and forgotten until you either fade, or are transformed by the curse which plagues us all. Yet we cou
ld not bear to abandon you, not when you do not know the truth.”
“Odym,” Grendall growled through the rocks in warning.
Odym straightened in shock and then suspicion as he crept over to the small opening amid the rubble. “My foolish boy, what are you about, locking yourself in there? Is this why the Prince is keeping stricter watch on the upper grounds? I had wondered the other beasts were so restless of late.”
Vynasha took Odym by the arm before Grendall could reply and forced him to face her. “What do you mean transformed?” She dug her nails into her palm to quell her panic. Down here in the bowels of Grendall’s nightmare domain, transformation could only mean one thing.
“Leave her be, you meddling old fool!” Grendall shouted through their shared wall.
Odym lifted an eyebrow at the wall and then turned his questioning look to her. Vynasha sighed and spoke on her fellow inmate’s behalf. “He hurt himself trying to protect me, says he doesn’t trust himself not to shift in this state.”
“Not to—what?” Odym stuttered, glancing from her to the gap in the stone. “Grendall, my boy, what have you done? Please tell me you did not turn shapes in front of her.”
“Curse the both of you,” Grendall grumbled.
“Don’t worry, Odym,” she said with a faint smile. “I know he won’t hurt me, much as he tries to convince himself otherwise. Besides, it’s been nice having him here to keep me company.” Her words turned sour, however, as she pressed, “Odym, what did you mean by transformed?”
The puffed, lacy sleeves about Odym’s wrists trembled as he threaded his fingers together. “My lady, I am afraid you have learned too much prematurely and still too late.”
Vynasha gripped his twitching hands. “So tell me now.”
Odym wrapped her hand in his, a look of pity in his faded eyes. “I fear the matter is more complicated than you know. The Prince believed you were the one to end his curse, but we knew in ways he could not that you are our last hope.”
“What do you mean by his curse? Does this not affect all of you?”
“You go too far, old man,” Grendall interrupted.
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