The Subtle Beauty (22 page)

“Curse you, Eoghan. Curse your song and your soul!” Glory wept upon her bed. “Curse this pain you make me feel. Curse the joy your death has taken from me. Curse the life I must endure without you.”

The wind roared against the castle ominously. Glory remembered glaring into the sunlight, so angry with Eoghan as he laughed at her,
It is far too late for curses, Princess.

Glory climbed into bed, listening to winter’s song and pining for Eoghan until sleep finally found her.

Spring crept in like the budding of tiny flowers peeking through receding snow. The castle once again began bustling with final preparations for Portia’s wedding. Glory went about the daily demands with no more zest for life than a wraith. She mechanically did whatever was asked of her. The days bore little difference between each other, inasmuch that Glory could not tell anyone the name of the day or the hour of it. When approached by her father regarding celebratory preparation for Glory’s sixteenth birthday, she merely requested to be left alone, for she felt the world dead to her and she dead to the world. Balthazaar’s brow creased, and the look in his eyes waxed heavy for her, but Glory would not have his comfort. The following week, Glory found a package on her dresser, bound in ivory silk. The note attached was from her father.

“
A gift on your sixteenth birthday. I had hoped that somehow I could help you preserve Eoghan’s memory. Please do not do anything rash, my love.”

Glory unbound the material, and a single, polished, gleaming talon rolled out. It fell at glory’s feet. A part of Eoghan was in the room with her. Glory stared blankly at it, lying in the sunlight that streamed through her bedroom windows. She wondered how her father could be so cruel and thoughtless. Hesitantly, she bent over and carefully picked up the talon. The point was dagger sharp, naturally equipped for capturing prey and tearing flesh. Glory’s grip tightened, and she pressed the talon to her breast. She could end this pain now. She could be with Eoghan in paradise. She could take her life just to spite the gift.

So what was stopping her?

Hot tears streamed down her face.  Carefully she slid the talon between her skin and dress, feeling it cut into her ribs a little.  She wore it close to her heart, secreted away there, every day thereafter.

One late summer morning, Glory awoke to a clamor. She sat up in bed and listened.

“…But Portia, you must!”

“Unless you intend to feed me a swan, no, a
horse
in the next hour, I will not marry that man!”

Glory rubbed her face.

“Princess Portia, you will enjoy the most magnificent feast of your life tonight, I assure you.”
“And I assure you that I will not move from this very spot until I have been properly fed.”

Glory threw back her bed covers and flew to the door. She wasn’t exactly sure where the space between she and Portia went, but it escaped more swiftly than Balthazaar’s hounds hot on a quarry.

“You selfish, gluttonous swine,” Glory snarled.

Portia’s mouth opened. Suddenly there was a crowd swarming them.

“Don’t you realize how lucky you are? Don’t you see that you have your entire life ahead of you? You think you are so hungry, that you have been starved and deprived a year now, but I tell you this,” Glory looked around, met by the wide-eyed stares of her sisters and royal household, “and hear me now,” Glory growled at Portia, “you do not know hunger. You do not know pain such as I have known.”

“Glory, what has come over you?” Odessa asked.

“Yes, Glory.” Ophelia yawned, “you haven’t said two words in… well, since Eoghan— ”

Glory’s hand went up to silence her. “A year.”

Today was the anniversary of Eoghan’s death.

Glory’s eyes narrowed with a fierce glint. Her voice quivered, but she stood strong. “How could you think of your stomach and whine of ‘pain’ on a day like this….”

Glory looked at her sisters. “All of you.…” She took a deep breath, trying not to show weakness. “A day that we will all remember for our sister. A day… meant for joy and celebration. And Portia,” she looked her in the eye, softening, “you’ve worked so hard for this day and are healthy and beautiful. You, of all people,” she smoothed a crease in Portia’s nightgown, “should be the happiest.”

Portia’s expression was unconvinced. “Such an easy thing for you to say, Glory.”

“Easy?”

Portia’s brow furrowed. “You have always been beautiful.”

Glory stiffened. “Is that what you think?”
Portia stared at the floor, ashamed.

Glory looked around wildly. “Is that what all of you think?” She staggered backwards.

“You have never been a subtle beauty, Glory,” said Ophelia softly.

Her hands shaking, Glory thrust them under her nightgown and pulled out Eoghan’s talon. “Long have I considered joining Eoghan.” She pointed the talon at her heart dangerously. “Long have I mourned all of your ignorance. I would give…
anything
… to have a chance at what the lot of you possess. And even now, is beauty the only thing I still retain in this world? My beauty is a curse. It has only brought me sorrow this past year. Colin killed for my beauty, and I was too vain to treat Eoghan with any kindness in the beginning. What if I pierced my heart this very moment?” She pressed the talon deep into her flesh.

“Glory, no!” implored the sisters.

“I’ll do it!” Glory threatened, “If it would diminish my beauty. Would death make me less glorious to behold?”
“Glory— ”

Glory grabbed a handful of her own hair and with a fell swoop, sliced it to the floor. “How about now?” Another cut. “And now?” Another slice, until all of her long hair lay unraveled on the floor. Glory squared her shoulders, breast heaving. “Am I beautiful now?”

It took a lot of convincing on the royal servant’s parts, but eventually they got Glory calmed down. She refused to be a part of Portia’s wedding-day festivities so long as Portia was still ungrateful for her groom. However, by nightfall, Balthazaar bid Glory to join them, asserting how ridiculous her behavior was. Indignant, Glory refused, but Balthazaar won her over. He understood how the quarrel had risen its beastly head that morning and promised Glory would have at least an endurable time if she sat in the throne beside his and kept him company. Glory emerged, brightly gowned, close-shaven of head, and defiant. Balthazaar offered a relieved smile and his arm.

Glory slouched in the throne in the Great Hall. She watched her sisters dance with their husbands and betrotheds and drummed her fingers on the arm of the throne. She leaned her head glumly into her other hand. The room was bright and festive, filled with rich food, strong drink, and a summer breeze. When the dance was over, everyone but Glory applauded. Suddenly the heralds posted at the doorway blasted their trumpets, and the doors swung open. Another wedding guest. Glory rolled her eyes at their late arrival.

The master herald pounded his staff to turn all attention to the door. “His Royal Majesty, King Eoghan of the Blood Realm.”

A hush fell over the room as a tall, strapping man entered. Glory gripped her seat and swallowed hard. He was handsome and regal, of ginger hair and unmistakable amber eyes, clad in royal purple. Glory leaned forward, transfixed by the single connection between his eyes and hers. Her heart galloped and her body trembled. Eoghan seemed to glide with ethereal ease to her. Those eyes… Glory would know those eyes anywhere. But it couldn’t be… she must be dreaming.

Eoghan approached the throne and said nothing. His eyes bored into hers, and he offered a single gloved hand. Glory reached forth, but hesitated. It couldn’t be! With an electric touch, her hand met his, and he pulled her to him. Glory’s knees nearly buckled, but Eoghan’s strong arms held her tightly. He led her to the center of the hall, never taking his shocking amber eyes from her icy blue ones.

Glory’s voice came in a hoarse whisper. “Eoghan?”

Eoghan offered a gentle smile. “Glory…” He reached up to stroke her short hair tenderly. “It suits you.”

Music began to play, and Eoghan swayed rhythmically. Glory’s body followed instinctively.

“How?” she blurted. “How is this possible?  I watched you die.”

“And so I did.  I was born cursed, Glory, trapped in the body of a creature as penance for the sins of Xander.  When I died, I was finally set free of all earthly boundaries and laws.  I met my beautiful mother, whose wraith form often haunts the keep, and she saw that I was free of the curse, but not truly of the world, for you were still in it.  And so she sent me back from the Land of Faerie.”

“That’s impossible.”

Eoghan smiled. “Yet here we are.  My mother likes you very much.  She said the universe can be changed, Glory, if it is for the good of mankind.”

"Your mother?"  She squinted at Eoghan, mentally matching his features against the glowing woman often seen in her room.  "I saw such a ghost."  She smiled at him and shook her head.  “This is but a dream.”

Eoghan lowered his head, pressing his strong jaw against Glory’s pulsing temple and whispered sweetly, “Then let us dream on, for nothing’s impossible when you’re in love.”

Glory breathed in Eoghan’s new, human scent.

Eoghan chuckled. “Rosewater. A nice change, yes?”

In an instant, Glory felt a flash of malice, turning the moment bittersweet. She pushed Eoghan away. He had cost her so much agony. How dare he come back!

“Glory…”

“How dare you,” Glory hissed. “How dare you leave me alone in the world.”

Eoghan drew her in once more. “It doesn’t have to be that way anymore, for I have a secret.”

Glory looked at his boyish grin suspiciously.

“Tonight isn’t Portia’s wedding.”

Glory’s brow furrowed.

Eoghan leaned in close, breathing her in. “It’s ours… if you’ll have me.”

Glory clutched his arms. He was still as bull-headed as ever! “I hate you.”

Eoghan beamed, his nose brushing hers. “And I, you.”

Glory’s lips parted, and she tilted her head, her breath beating against his. “Make me yours.”

Eoghan swept her into his arms and kissed her fiercely, with all the passion and love Glory could ever have hoped to know.

"In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you."

--Buddha's Little Instruction Book, J. Kornfield

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THE ESCAPE

An Excerpt from
Moonlight

A clatter rose from down the hall. Fourteen-year-old Aowyn lifted her head and looked toward her door. It grew quiet. Another crash-bang erupted. Aowyn ran into the hall. The noise was coming from Áodhán’s room. There was yelling and groaning, not unlike Aowyn had heard on other nights Ciatlllait came to visit Áodhán. Aowyn moved toward her brother’s room and pressed her ear to the door. There was grunting and cries followed by a very animalistic
Honk!

Aowyn’s brow knit. She rapped on the door. Ciatlllait opened it. Her hair was disheveled, and she blocked the view into the room. Aowyn tried to push past her. “Where is Áodhán?”

Ciatlllait smoothed her gown and took a deep breath. Her eyes bore through Aowyn.

Aowyn’s jaw set. “I’ll not ask again, she-witch. Where is my brother?”

Another awkward honk came from the room. Áodhán’s silver plate with the family sun crest toppled from the shelf behind Ciatlllait. Aowyn rammed her shoulder into the woman. Ciatlllait toppled backwards. Aowyn stood in the middle of Áodhán’s room staring at the open window as black feathers floated down around it. Ciatlllait was laughing. Aowyn rounded on her. “What have you done with Áodhán?”

Ciatlllait’s laughter grew maniacal.

Before Aowyn could stop herself, the back of her hand left its mark on Ciatlllait’s cheek. Aowyn’s chest heaved.

Ciatlllait raised her hand to her offended cheek and stared up at the girl. She rose and screamed.

Aowyn’s eyes widened. She backed toward the door. Her closest brother, Aogán, was the first to the scene. He looked just as surprised as Aowyn. Before he could ask what was going on, a shock of blue light shot forth from Ciatlllait’s hand. Aogán crumpled to the floor, writhing. Aowyn faced Ciatlllait. The woman’s nostrils flared and her eyes flashed, filled with crazed intensity.