Before Beauty (11 page)

“
You are here to help me break the
curse.”

Isa nearly fell back a step. She
had imagined many horrible endings to her time with the prince, but
none of them had involved breaking a curse. She was both relieved
and horrified.

“
I can do that?”

“
We will see. Now, I assume you’re
tired from your journey. You will be served supper in your chambers
tonight, but tomorrow, you will dine with me.” And with that, the
prince turned slowly and began to limp away. Still in shock, Isa
stared as he paused one more time.

“
Oh, and one more thing,” he said
without turning around. “You are safe on the Fortress grounds by
day, but you must never venture out after dark. I cannot protect
you then.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Riddles

Shock, anger, and confusion clouded Ever’s mind,
making it hard to think, as he began the long trek up the tower
steps. It couldn’t be
her
. It just couldn’t. And yet, the
crippled woman who had stood before him was injured in all the
right places.

Even more telling, though, were
her eyes. The eyes that had haunted him for so many years, large
and midnight blue, had been staring right up at him. From the
moment he’d recognized her, it had taken all of his combat training
to chase the angst from his face.

Of all the girls in the kingdom,
why did she have to be the one? What kind of vengeful trick had
that rat of a merchant played on him? He’d promised Ever a woman of
strength, and had given him a cripple instead. Ever contented
himself with plotting how he would get even with the merchant until
he remembered the desperation in the man’s pleas when he’d asked to
stay in his daughter’s stead. Besides, Ansel had boasted of
Isabelle’s strength of heart; he’d said nothing of her
body.

Ever considered this as he
continued the slow climb up the stone steps. Could this Isabelle’s
heart have the strength the Fortress demanded? If so, it certainly
wasn’t like his strength. She could barely get off the floor from
her kneeling position, let alone fight a battle. And yet, there had
been a spark in her dark eyes that had hinted at something fierce
beneath the surface.
There is nothing to
lose
, the voice of reason suggested to
him,
by allowing her to try.

It wasn’t as if he had any better
choices. In the months after the curse, he had very nearly gone
mad, shuffling around the Fortress in his new prison of a body,
raving at the stone walls like a lunatic. And yet, who could blame
him?

The great Fortress, which had been
his constant companion and guardian since childhood, had abandoned
him. He no longer felt the familiar presence pushing or pulling him
in different directions. There was no gentle guiding company, no
personal familiarity with all that surrounded him. The sorrow he
felt at losing his courtiers and servants was nothing compared to
this. Losing his parents was nothing.

For weeks, all he had wanted was
death. If the Fortress was so intent on forsaking him, he had cried
out, then why couldn’t it simply let him die? Without the Fortress,
Ever didn’t know where he belonged or what his purpose was. Without
the Fortress, Ever was nothing.

The servants, damned to existence
as shadows, had kept him alive, somehow, but just barely. After
days and nights of walking and screaming into the eternal night, he
would awake to find himself wearing new clothes, and food in his
belly. In time, he had eventually realized that if he focused, he
could sense the servants’ emotions. That had made it a little less
lonely. His real saving grace, however, had been the evening when
he first heard Garin speak.

The day had been much like the
others, one filled with Ever’s rants at the Fortress, when the
shadow that acted most like Gigi, had forced a bowl of thin soup
into his hands. Ever had protested, but the shadow would not let
him rest until he’d begun to eat.

“
How does it taste,
Sire?”

Ever had very nearly choked on his
food when Garin’s calm voice first broke the silence. Once Ever had
finally regained his composure, he demanded to know where the
others were, hoping perhaps, that the curse was lifting on its own.
But it wasn’t to be. As always, the unusual steward had either
found a way around the rule of silence, or was exempt from it. As
disappointed as he was about the others, Ever had been immensely
grateful for even this small improvement.

Still, life had seemed bleak and
hopeless for a long time after that. The curse was a riddle, and he
didn’t know how to interpret it.

What has been broken must be
remade.

That he was broken was obvious.
Ever had never felt as vulnerable in his life as the moment he’d
awakened inside of a body that was no longer his. Every joint
ached. He could no longer stand tall. His hands were those of an
aged man, bent and claw-like in their pain. It was only with great
difficulty that he could grasp objects, and the aching and swelling
in his knees made it equally difficult to walk upright. The limbs
that had subdued enemies and won battles had become frail and
defenseless. He had become like the very people he despised. Weak.
How could such a broken body ever be remade?

The one who was strong must be
willing to die.

Ever had been strong. But had he
also not been willing to die? Ever had fought in countless battles
alongside his father and his men. He’d faced adversaries of great
evil. Surely this part of the curse would be the easiest to break.
If only he could be remade, then he could prove his willingness to
die. But even solving that portion of the riddle left the most
confusing requirement of all.

A new strength must be
found.

This requirement had brought him
countless nights of despair. Ever had always been filled with the
strength of the Fortress. The light had burned brightly in his eyes
since the day he was born, and it had filled the servants with
hope. All of Ever’s forefathers had possessed the strength, but
according to Garin, none had ever possessed it the way Ever did.
The strength was a part of him, just as the Fortress had always
been. He didn’t know how to live without it.

The first time Ever had begun to
understand what a power he possessed was when he was young, only
six. He had informed the master of swords that he wanted to learn
how to fight. Greatly amused, the master of swords had given him a
small wooden training sword, and taught him a few blocks and
thrusts. Ever had then proceeded to challenge the man to a duel. A
few of the courtiers and servants came to watch, smiling with
affection at their young, ambitious prince. The master had begun by
giving him a few gentle, obvious attacks, when blue fire suddenly
burst from Ever’s arm and down his sword. In the blink of an eye,
the master of swords was on the ground, the breath knocked out of
him as Ever stood over him with his little wooden
weapon.

After that, Rodrigue had had to be
the one to train Ever, as no one else had the strength to withstand
him. As Ever had gotten older he had eventually learned better how
to restrain the natural fire that came from within him. The power
touched more than his body, however. He was also very sensitive to
other people. He could often tell when someone was lying, and his
parents found early on that they could not leave or enter the
Fortress without his knowledge.

The strength that filled him had
always inspired confusion, even fear in many. His father had
approved of this and encouraged him to use it to his full
advantage. He’d ended many battles before they were begun, simply
by intimidating enemies in a face-to-face meeting.

What kind of strength could exist
that compared to what Ever had been gifted with? What new strength
was there to appease this curse?

It almost didn’t matter. Even
Ever’s strength had all but disappeared when the curse had taken
effect. The blazing blue flames in his eyes had dulled until they
were all but extinguished. Now he wasn’t just weak by his own
standards. But by any man’s. Besides, he didn’t want a new
strength. He wanted his old strength back.

Still, he’d searched every piece
of writing in the Fortress’s Tower of Annals, and nothing had
suggested itself as a possible new strength. That was, until the
day the merchant had arrived.

It was the way Ansel had worded
his description of his daughter that had suggested the idea to
Ever.
She has a strong heart and a quick
mind like no other
, Ansel had said. What
if she could bring a new kind of strength, Ever had suddenly
wondered. Perhaps the strength of her heart would be enough to
satisfy the Fortress’s demands. Then her strength could mend his
body, the thing that had been broken. And if his broken body was
whole again, he could prove that he was willing to die by facing
Nevina, whose men were now camped at the foot of his
mountain.

As Ever continued to slowly climb
the tower steps, the memory of that night with the merchant filled
him with shame, as it always did. Ansel’s pleas for mercy had
nearly moved him. Aside from his one night of too much drink, Ever
had never considered threatening to kill a whole family simply to
get his way, particularly with a sickness. It was the coward’s way.
But, he told himself, this was the only hope he’d found in the
months of his searching. If it worked, it would be for the good of
the whole kingdom.

Of course, there was the question
of whether the young woman would cooperate or not. It was obvious
that she hated him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. His
hasty, childish outburst had must have greatly altered her life.
The rebellious defiance had been there in her eyes the entire time
they had spoken.

As much as he disliked her, Ever
had to admit after the encounter was over, that she was indeed not
weak of heart. And that observation watered the seed of hope her
father’s words had planted within him.
She
has a strong heart.

Perhaps, with time and attention,
Isabelle could be moved past her hate for him. He would need to
treat her kindly, make her feel wanted. And he would definitely
need to change his usual direct, blunt way of addressing her. That
had seemed to make her angrier than anything else he’d said in the
short time they’d spoken. But with much of work and very carefully
chosen words, perhaps there was a shred of hope that her strength
was indeed what the curse demanded. A new strength.

As Ever finally reached the top of
the tower, and laid down on his pallet, he looked out the window at
the north foot of the mountain. Doing so, he felt the dangerous
beginnings of hope spark inside him once again. Nothing could be
sure, however, until he saw whether or not the Fortress had truly
chosen her for her strength. And that test would have to wait until
the next night.

With this thought, Ever attempted
to settle himself and sleep, but sleep was nearly impossible as he
looked down the mountain. And though its abstinence had something
to do with his new arrival, so did the lights at the foot of the
mountain.

News of the darkened Fortress had
spread fast, apparently. Nevina had made her camp just a month
after the curse had fallen, and showed no sign of
leaving.

The rogue Tumenian forces were
still hurting from their last defeat. From the number of fires that
burned, Nevina was still out gathering men, and would be for some
time. If nothing else, Ever comforted himself, their last battle
had produced a bit of fear in their northern enemies, one that
would make them think long and hard before attacking hastily again.
It would buy him some time. He just hoped it would be
enough.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lonely Dancer

Isa tossed yet again in a vain attempt to sleep,
but the musty smell of the bed and the revelation of the prince’s
purpose for summoning her kept her awake. What had possessed him to
think she could unlock the secrets of the realm’s oldest source of
power?

Isa had heard the stories growing
up, tales of the monarchs’ strength, great feats of cunning and
bravery that were only possible because of the Light of the
Fortress, strength that was conceived in the Fortress itself. Those
were legends that parents told to their children at bedtime, but no
one knew much beyond those legends.

The true nature of the Fortress
was unfamiliar to the people, something that wasn’t paid too much
unnecessary attention. Tradition dictated that only the monarchs
truly understood their own power, and if the commoners were wise,
they would leave it that way.

But Isa’s childhood brush with the
prince’s power had long ago stirred something inside of her. She
wanted to know, and despite all her desire to return home and be
rid of this devilish place, she found a small piece of her heart
yearning to unravel this knot of mystery.

Not that such a desire mitigated
her fear at all, for she also found herself completely terrified.
How was she supposed to address the power that had ruined her
limbs? More importantly, how was she to even begin breaking the
curse? And what would he do to her if she failed?

Isa rose early while the sky was
still gray and listless. It was a morning typical of mid-autumn.
Still, she noticed that perhaps for the light of the day, the smell
of dust wasn’t quite as strong as it had been when she had laid
down the night before. The morning is meant for deep breaths and
new beginnings, Isa, Deline would always say. And it felt this
morning that she was right.