Roses (24 page)

That evening, she went down to dinner as commanded, though she did not wish to. With the darkness of night came her fears and she could not forget that it was a terrifying beast she headed to meet, with sharp fangs and claws.

She had spent the afternoon hanging around the stable with Champ for want of anything else to do. On the way in and out of the castle, she had looked for the tapestry again without success. Each time she left her room she seemed to follow corridors and passageways that she had never encountered before.

She entered the dining room with her head bowed and her hands hidden in the folds of her plain, blue dress so that he did not see that they were shaking. Once again, she sat alone at the mahogany table with a feast laid before her.

“Why must you watch me eat?” she asked.

“You wish to spend the day alone? You wish to spend the rest of your days in this castle surrounded by nothing but outlines?”

She did not reply.

“Surely the company of a beast is better than nothing?” he growled. “I did not think that the daughter of a farmer would be so demanding.”

“I am not the daughter of a farmer.”

“The thief that stole my rose said he was a farmer.”

“I am his adopted daughter, and do not call him a thief!”

“Then who is your real father?”

“If I am not allowed to ask you questions, then you are not allowed to ask me any.”

Beast bared his jagged teeth and snarled. Beauty gasped, dropping her spoon, but he turned away from her so that he faced the huge fireplace, and they waited in silence until he had calmed himself.

“Forgive me,” he muttered.

She turned her attention back to her dinner and heaped glazed gammon onto her plate instead.

“Where does all this food come from?” she asked, before quickly adding, “Is that a question that I am allowed to ask?”

“You may ask it, but I cannot answer it, for I do not know.”

“Do you hunt in the woods?”

“No, I do not leave the castle.”

She paused. “You cannot leave, or you choose not to leave?”

“I cannot leave.”

Beauty fell silent, suddenly realizing that she was not the only prisoner here.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

The Forbidden

T
he days passed and Beauty tried to settle in. The fact that she would never leave the castle had not yet sunk in, and she did not know whether it ever would—it seemed an impossible thing. She wondered often if Beast would one day get bored of her and cast her from this place, but as time passed, she became sure that he was truthful when he said that it was not him who kept her here. He seemed more like her cellmate, not her guard.

She spent her mornings leisurely, which was a novelty in itself. She woke late and took her time with breakfast before visiting Champ in the stables and riding him across the grounds. She would then try to amuse herself until dinner, when she would meet Beast in the dining room. This was the ominous task that lingered at the end of each day. She did not feel that she could relax until it was over with, and then she would sleep and the whole routine would begin again.

She was beginning to feel periods of ease in Beast’s company, but she was never a wrong question or a sharp word away from inflaming his temper, and she had not forgotten their first meal. He proved a
difficult companion, but as long as he stayed hunched in the corner of the room, hidden by shadows, then she found that she could eat near him without worrying that he might suddenly attack her. She did not realize that he, too, was making an effort in their meetings until she came down one evening and he stood as she entered.

He had never done this before and she stopped short, the sight of him balancing on his hind legs almost absurd. She wanted to laugh, but she saw his lips curling back into a snarl and decided quickly against it.

He dropped back to all fours, his hazel gaze falling to the carpet.

“Good evening,” she muttered.

He grunted and she sat at the table, busying herself with filling her plate. She had learned that if she spoke to the pots and pans, then they would give her whatever she wished, and so lately she had been asking for her favorite dishes from Sago. She had not eaten a proper omelet since she left—Owaine had tried to make some in their first seasons in Imwane, but they had not tasted the same—and recently she had been gorging herself on the delicious variations created by the castle’s invisible cooks.

“Did you have a good day?” asked Beast.

“Yes.”

Glancing up at him, Beauty noticed with surprise that he had combed the matted knots from his face and his dark fur was clean and wispy. She did not know whether to be pleased or alarmed.

“Are . . . are you well?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence until Beast asked, “Would you care for more drink?”

It seemed like a line that he had not said for a long time. It was as if it had suddenly popped into his head from the past and he instantly regretted it. He shifted away from her, further into shadow.

“Yes, please. Um, thank you.”

The decanter refilled her glass.

“What is your horse’s name?” he grunted.

“Champ.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Since he was a colt.”

“Where did you get him?”

Beast’s questions continued until Beauty realized that he was attempting to make conversation. The shadows flickered when he spoke, as if he were fidgeting, and she was not sure if she felt grateful or panicked by his efforts.

“I am full and a little tired,” she said finally, standing.

“Goodnight, Beauty,” he said as she walked to the door.

She shivered and did not reply.

A few days later, she was walking back to the stables after eating lunch in her room when she stopped short.

“Take me to the front of the castle,” she ordered.

She desired to do something other than hang around the stables for the rest of the afternoon, and she had not explored the front gardens since her arrival.

Outlines led her through a series of gates to the graveled drive, and tiny stones crunched beneath her boots as she stood before the front of the castle. It was very silent. A dot of red caught her eye, and she saw the rose that had been her downfall still lying perfect on the ground. She picked it up, touching the fading scar on her cheek where its thorn had scratched her, leaving a silver line.

Its scarlet petals were un-dented and still fresh. Its scent was strong and sweet, and its full head radiant. She tucked it into her hair, looking over her shoulder at the roses covering the castle. They
were a mixture of blue and purple, but she did not know what the colors meant.

Turning, she followed a path through an avenue of overhanging trees, their branches frosted with snow. When she reached the end, she found a flowerbed full of spring blooms, its soil clear and brown. She thought about last night at dinner when she had asked Beast about the strange climate here.

“Why are some of the grounds covered in snow while others are not?”

She had been thinking of her daily rides with Champ across white and green meadows.

Beast had moved his shoulders in what could have been a shrug. “It is always partly winter here.”

“Always?”

“The seasons are the same. There is always snow.”

Beauty had known better than to ask why. Instead she had slumped back in her chair, wondering at an existence forever surrounded by whiteness.

Now she wondered about it again as she continued through the grounds, peering into walled gardens full of exotic plants and passing headless, bare statues that made her blush. She dipped her fingers into one great fountain that had golden horses and mermaids erupting from its center and found that the water was warm. She lost herself in an evergreen maze and then sat for a while on a stone bench laid before a symmetrical, still pond. Finally, she came to the deep, misty moat and she was about to turn and head back when she saw another walled garden.

She gasped and stumbled toward it, wondering if it were a trick. It was filled with red roses. They climbed the walls, they trailed the ground, they grew from bushes and even on trees. There was no other plant but roses and all of them were blood red.

Beauty staggered among them, their scent charging the air. They were all perfect and all frozen at the height of their splendor, but there was one that drew her eye in particular. It grew in the very center of the garden, emitting from the ground in a tangle of purplish thorns, and it was the biggest and most breathtaking of them all. Beauty recognized it immediately from her dreams and she stepped toward it.

There was an earth-shattering roar and Beast flew into the garden, his teeth bared.

“Get out!”

But Beauty was too intrigued to be afraid this time and she held her ground.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“I said get out!”

“What is that rose?”

“Get out before I tear you to pieces!”

“You will not—you said that I would be safe here.”

Beast roared, his fangs glinting in the winter sun. She had never seen him in bright light and he was all the more terrifying, but she was determined not to flee.

“You cannot stay here!”

“Why?”

Beast paced in a circle, the muscles in his haunches rippling. He was evidently fighting to control himself.

“You may do great damage,” he growled.

“To you?”

“No, to yourself! My damage is already done.”

“What do you mean?”

“Go from here, please.”

She hesitated.

“Go!”

She turned and ran to the castle, now covered in orange roses.

Later that evening after she had bathed, the outline that occupied her room did not lay out a dress for her as usual. Instead her nightclothes were placed on the bed.

“I have not eaten dinner yet,” she said, frowning.

The outline did not move. Beauty had grown accustomed to its fluid form, and sometimes she thought that she could almost read its actions. Right now it appeared angry.

“I cannot go down in my undergarments!” she insisted.

The outline ignored her so she went to the wardrobe and took out a plain, brown frock. As she was about to leave the room, she turned back and glanced at it.

“I am sorry,” she muttered, and then she left.

She was led reluctantly to the dining room by other outlines, but when she entered, she found that it was empty. She looked to the corner that Beast normally occupied and was surprised to find that she was disappointed upon not seeing him there.

“Beast?” she called. “Beast, where are you?”

After waiting in silence for a while, she finally sat at the table and ate a little, but she felt uneasy.

“Beast? Please come in. I am . . . I am sorry about before. Beast?”

A door opened and he entered, his shaggy head turned away from her. He stalked to his shadows and curled there, staring at the carpet.

“You never told me that I could not go to the walled garden.”

“You did not leave when I asked you to!” he growled.

“I was curious.”

There was silence.

“Owaine took my rose from there, did he not?”

The rose was in her room now, resting on her dressing table as perfect as ever.

“Yes.”

“He took it for me. They are so rare in Pervorocco, they are so—”

“Yes.”

She finished her broth. “I miss him.”

“You said he was not your father.”

“No, he was better. He was my friend. I do not know who my father is.”

She wanted to ask if he knew his parentage, but she suspected that the topic was off limits.

“He would never have taken anything from you if it were not for me,” she added. “He is a good, kind man, and he has only ever tried to make me happy.”

Beauty was shocked to feel tears welling in her eyes. She dried them quickly.

“I suspect a man would do a lot of things to keep you happy,” Beast rumbled quietly.

“Are you still angry?”

“I am not ecstatic.”

She knew that she had hurt him in some way. Trespassing in his walled garden of roses did not make him angry; rather, it made him sad.

“You must promise never to go there again,” he growled.

She jutted out her chin.

“I am immovable on this. It is not just for my sake that I ask it.”

She thought of the outlines that occupied the castle.

“All right,” she said. “I promise.”

There was a pause.

“I did not want you to see me in daylight yet. It is a wonder that you did not flee.”

She blushed. She had not considered that he kept to the shadows for her sake.

“I have seen you before.”

“Not like that.”

It was true, but she would not admit it.

“Light or dark, it makes no difference to me,” she said, though neither of them was convinced.

She pushed back her chair and walked across the room.

“Goodnight, Beast,” she said as she passed through the door.

“Goodnight, Beauty.”

The next evening, he stood closer to the fire as she ate, his fangs and claws glinting in its amber light, and Beauty pretended that her knees did not tremble.