Roses (23 page)

“What is your name?” it asked her.

She had just moved onto her third course, and his voice took her so by surprise that she almost dropped her gilded glass of juice.

“M-my name is Beauty.”

There was a long pause.

“You may call me Beast,” he said. “For that is what I am.”

“Beast, how came you to live in this castle?”

“Beauty, how came you to think that you may ask such questions?”

Ignoring the rumbling snarl of his voice, his words were surprisingly smooth. He did not have the mind of an animal, clearly, and it made him all the more unnerving.

“I deserve to know if I am to spend the rest of my life like this.”

“You deserve nothing! You are a prisoner here!”

She stood, pushing back her chair.

“I cannot spend eternity this way!” she cried. “I should sooner die!”

“You chose this!”

He stepped out of the shadows with one clawed paw and the light revealed his bent, crooked shape.

“No!” she screeched, her hands flying to her mouth. “Stay back!”

“Do I scare you so? Am I such a terrifying, horrifying beast?”

He advanced, the stamp of his paws making the floor shake, and Beauty stumbled away, knocking over the chair in her haste.

“You run!” he growled. “You must run from me!”

He grabbed the tablecloth and tore it away, sending the china, pots, and pans smashing to the floor. The food splattered over the tiles, and he seized a candelabra and hurled it across the room so that it shattered against the wall.

“Run!”

She fled to the door and yanked the handle, but it would not give. “Please! Please let me out, I beg!”

He prowled towards her.

“Please!”

The door opened and she staggered through it. Beast roared a dark, painful moan and she ran blindly down the corridor, praying that he would not follow her. Outlines opened doors for her, leading her down a certain path and finally, she came panting to her room.

She slammed the door shut behind her and said, “Please, lock! Do not let him in,” before collapsing on the pink rug. She gasped into it, waiting for her heartbeat and the ache in her chest to lessen.

“I must leave,” she sobbed. “I must leave this place! I cannot bear to stay!”

She felt something touching her hair, and she looked up to see an outline edging closer to her with an ivory comb in its grasp. She found that she was actually glad of it after the events in the dining room. Sitting up, she let it brush and braid her hair and then she let herself be dressed in a white nightgown with ribbons and frills.

“I am so tired,” she whispered at nothing, and the outline turned the sheets and the quilts of her bed down for her.

She climbed the steps to her colossal bed and slid inside the soft, pink covers. Resting her head on satin pillows, she closed her eyes and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

She dreamt of Imwane. She saw the cottage and Owaine lying on the floor in a sickbed while Isole bustled in the kitchen.

“I be better, my child,” Owaine muttered. “I feel much better.”

“Yur gone and got a chill, Papa. That girl left yur dying.”

“No . . . no . . . yur don’t understand.”

“Hush up and rest.”

“I must go and get her.”

“Get her?” snapped Isole. “We be better without her. Them soldiers come for her and the best thing she could of done is disappear. We should be glad she’s gone.”

“Oh, my Beauty.”

“She be here looking after yur? She be here tending to yur while her husband and children home?”

Owaine groaned.

“No, Papa. She ain’t. Something strange went on with them soldiers. They come for her, then she go and then . . .” Isole glanced out of the window at the churned, muddy snow. “Then Hally said there be blood on the temple floor and they gone.”

“At least they didn’t get her.”

“Well, she ran, Papa, that’s why. Them soldiers could of attacked us, they be so angry that she left and then suddenly, they leave. Like a miracle. As quick as they came. I arrived here from Dousal running all the way for fear for yur, and she’s gone.”

“I hope they never find her.”

“They be hunting her for sure, Papa.”

“I hope she is safe.”

Beauty awoke suddenly, and it dawned on her that in her hurry to leave Imwane, she had left her amulet behind.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

The Prisoner

B
eauty lay in bed the next morning, contemplating her future. A breakfast tray of buttered toast and sweet tea clattered up to her, but she rolled over.

“I cannot stay here,” she said. “He will kill me.”

The outline tried to cajole her with some clanging of cups, and eventually the delicious smell of toast encouraged her to take a few bites, but she only nibbled on the crust before casting it aside.

Pale light sifted through the pink curtains and laced blush patterns on the carpet. Beauty climbed out of bed and went over to one of her wide bay windows. She peered out at the snowy, empty grounds with a sense of dread. In the distance, at the castle’s boundaries, she could see nothing but the void of the moat and a blurred edge. It was the darkness of the forest mixed with a haze of gray.

“I am a prisoner and this is my cell.”

She turned away and slumped back onto the bed. The outline floated over to her with a comb and she tried to ignore it, but then
it opened the doors of the wardrobe and pulled out a black riding habit with ermine trim. Beauty glanced at it and a little of the color came back to her face.

“Give me my peasant dress,” she said. “I have no need of such a fine garment.”

The outline reluctantly replaced the habit and brought out a plain, gray dress. It was plain by the standards of the castle, though Beauty still thought it quite fine, but she decided it would do.

She was apprehensive to leave her room at first, worried that Beast would be waiting in the corridor outside, but the bright light of morning had washed away most of her fears, and though she was still a little frightened, she decided not to spend the rest of the day cooped up.

Outlines led her through the castle’s corridors and halls once more and out a side entrance. She briskly walked to the stable, keen to see a familiar face, and Champ whinnied as she entered. There were tufts of hay sticking from his mouth as he chomped on a fresh net, and he looked as though he had enjoyed a peaceful night.

She hugged his nose and nuzzled into his broad chest, glad that he was safe. He snorted in return and chewed at her hair.

“I want to groom him.”

By the look of his polished coat, someone already had, but she did not care. A full grooming kit appeared by her side and she set to work. She barely had time in Imwane to run a currycomb through his mane and to brush the mud from his belly, but here she spent as long as she could rubbing his coat to a gleaming bay.

She turned to take a hoof pick and saw a sidesaddle flop over the door. She smiled.

“He does not take a saddle, let alone a sidesaddle.”

The stirrups jingled.

“I do not ride on the side. I ride like a man.”

The saddle slipped away in what Beauty took to be horror.

“But that is not a bad idea,” she added to herself.

She had not thought to ride Champ here, but he would need exercising. She remembered when they used to ride the hills and run freely across the acres of undulating green.

“Come on, boy,” she said, slapping his flank.

He raised his head and flicked his ears.

Unbolting the half door, Beauty guided him out of the stables and into the courtyard where they found a mounting block. Once seated, she trotted him away from the castle and pushed him into a canter over the grassy meadows. They raced toward the front gates, pulling up sharply in a cloud of snow before the edge of the moat. The drawbridge was nowhere to be seen and below was a hazy, swirling mist of black water. Beauty stared at the blurry trees on the other side until her eyes ached, then she turned Champ away and they galloped off in the opposite direction.

Snow scattered in clumps as they cantered and Champ never lost his footing. The wind rushed through them and Beauty let go of Champ’s mane, stretching her arms wide to feel the surge of air. They galloped for a long time, the meadows going on and on—some covered in snow and some full of fresh green grass—until she finally slowed him down. She thought that she would have reached the boundaries by now. She glanced over her shoulder and she was shocked to see the castle but half a mile away. They had been riding a long time and with Champ’s huge strides, they must have covered over double that distance.

“On, boy.”

They galloped on and on for half an hour before stopping again. Beauty looked over her shoulder and groaned to see the castle just as near as before. It was all an illusion—they were running and going nowhere. She reached down and patted Champ’s neck.

“At least we shall never be lost,” she muttered, but she did not feel particularly grateful.

After two more hours of riding, Beauty returned Champ to the stable, fussing over him for as long as possible. Once she had groomed him three times over and it was well past noon, she was forced to leave him in peace and wander back through the castle. She was idly passing a gallery when she stopped to look at a tapestry.

There were many ornaments and embellishments in the castle that washed over the eye, but Beauty had found that if she tried to stop and look at them closely they became hazy. The tapestry had caught her attention, for it seemed to be the first solid decoration she had found. She halted in front of it, expecting it to blur or grow faint, but it remained crisp.

She stepped closer and reached out a hand to touch it. She could feel the bumps of the tiny stitches beneath her fingers and it smelled of old, musty material. The scene showed a great battle being fought. There were figures with axes lodged in their heads and horses pierced with arrows; there were men wielding swords and soldiers lying dead on the ground. The tapestry was as tall as the wall and the breadth of Beauty’s arm span. It was faded a little as if from age and torn in places as if it had been scratched.

A figure in the background of the scene caught her eye and she frowned. It looked like the lyan that had saved her from the Sago shantytowns all those seasons ago. At first she thought that the strange shape of its face could be only a stain on the fabric, but the more that she looked, the surer she became. It was a lyan—a Magic Being. She scanned the rest of the scene and found other creatures: winged horses, trolls, wolf-men, and sprites. It was a battle between humans and Magics.

Beauty was hunting for other creatures in the scene when she was drawn to the figure of a knight in armor. He rode a great warhorse, and when Beauty stared closely she was sure, though the stitching was small, that there was a scar over his eye.

“Did you sleep well?”

She yelped in surprise and turned to see Beast crouched in the opposite corner. He had positioned himself as far away from her as the hall would allow, but she backed up against the wall nonetheless, keen to be farther away from him.

“W-what did you say?”

“I asked if you slept well in your room.”

“I slept fine.”

It was only then that Beauty realized that it was the first time in a long while that she had actually slept in a real bed.

“Do you want for anything?”

“Only my freedom.”

He grunted and caught sight of her trembling fingers.

“You are safe here,” he said after a pause. “You need never fear anything, for you are safe in the castle and in its grounds.”

“I did not feel very safe last night.”

He cast his hazel eyes to the floor. “I am not used to company, but I promise no harm will come to you.”

“How long have you lived here alone?” she asked.

“Nor am I used to questions. Do not ask me questions and last night’s events will not be repeated.”

“That hinders conversation.”

He made a low rumbling sound that after a moment she realized was laughter.

“I cannot tell you most of what you ask.”

“Why?”

“I do not remember,” he muttered, lowering his shaggy head.

“Then say so. Do not shout and rage.”

“It is not that easy!”

Beauty flinched and Beast’s eyes flashed.

“Forgive me, I have forgotten . . .”

“I will eat lunch in my room,” she muttered, edging around him. She had not forgotten the candelabra shattered against the wall the night before.

“I will see you at dinner,” he replied, as she hurried away.