Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  She turned and looked straight at him, and hoped that her face and eyes conveyed all her sincerity and none of her residual anger. "But if you so much as attempt to take my daughters from my care, I will kill you myself." He flinched at her words and sank despondently into a reclining position on the bed, his face buried in the blankets. Suddenly weary, Venizia walked as calmly as she could to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. "Stay here," she said firmly to her motionless husband, and shut the door behind her.

  Out in the hallway, she saw a bottle of wine and a small tray with bread and cheeses. "Dear Marchetta," Venizia thought, her heart heavy. She wondered fleetingly if it was right to burden her daughter with her troubles, but Marchetta would know how to counsel her. Whether or not this overwrought story about magicians was indicative of a deeper problem, Marchetta could help her figure out how best to handle it. Quietly, she stepped down the hall to her eldest daughter's door in search of a solution to her husband's madness.

  Chapter 8 - Fiorita

  Fiorita plunked tunelessly on the portative organ as Bella sat mutely next to her on the window seat. Her chubby fingers still had difficulty picking out precisely the correct keys, but she had been excited at the prospect of learning if it gave her something to do in this small village and a way to connect with her quiet stepsister. Mama had been, if not distant exactly then at least busy since her marriage, and Marchetta had sunk into a solitary melancholy and busied herself in the management of their new household. Now Fiorita felt more alone than ever as she found herself playing doggedly in an attempt to distract her new friend from the shock of seeing Cienzo drive up to the house covered in blood.

  Bella sat clutching the strange, withered rose that Cienzo had brought her. Fiorita had suggested putting it in a glass of water, but Bella had shook her head and clutched it all the more firmly. Fiorita supposed the older girl was still in shock. She could distantly remember the news of her own father's death at sea when she was a little girl, and wondered if Bella was feeling the same falling sensation that Fiorita remembered from that day. Surreptitiously, she inched closer to the pale girl and hoped that her nearness would bring comfort.

  Upstairs came the sound of a closed door, and then the sound of another door, farther down the hall, opening and shutting firmly. Fiorita shot a quick glance at Bella, but she didn't react to the noises coming from above them. Fiorita stopped her tuneless playing and immediately switched to an easy song -- a scales exercise Bella had taught her -- and carried on as loudly as she could, hoping to block out the disturbing sounds.

  As Fiorita was finishing the scales and considering starting the song again from the beginning, she felt Bella draw in her breath sharply. Fiorita looked up to see Cienzo quietly limping down the stairs and into the drawing room where they sat.

  "Father!" Bella jumped up and hurried over to him, but Cienzo waved her away in a manner that was probably meant to be kind, but which left Bella looking dejected. He sat down slowly in a delicate chair opposite their window seat, carefully moving the chair closer to be near them. Bella sank back into her seat next to Fiorita.

  They sat in silence for a moment, while Fiorita shifted uncomfortably. The atmosphere was heavy and awkward, and finally she blurted out, "Are you all right, Father?" Mama had told her and Marchetta how important it was to Cienzo to be their 'father' and not 'sir' or 'stepfather', so she hoped that her earnestness would excuse her forwardness in breaking his reverie.

  Cienzo looked up at them, and Fiorita tried not to frown. His face was a strange study of opposites: the sun from his trip had left his skin brown and burned, but in the light of the drawing room he looked gray, as though soot from the fireplace had seeped into the cracks of his lined face. She wondered if he was sick. Cienzo ignored her question and looked long and hard at Bella, reaching forward to clasp her free hand. "Bella, dear," he said hoarsely, "I have bad news."

  Fiorita could feel Bella trembling slightly beside her. Bella cleared her throat, and tried to stay calm, but her voice shook as she asked, "What is it, Father?"

  Cienzo hung his head and stared at the floor. When he spoke, Fiorita had to lean forward to hear him clearly. "Bella, I was a fool. I plucked that rose from the garden of a magician -- no, it's true, only I didn't know it at the time," he hurried over the startled noise that came from her throat. "Let me finish. The man came to me in the form of a bear -- that's where these cuts are from," he said, gesturing to his arms. The cuts they had seen from the road were now covered with white bandages that seeped red at his elbows. "He placed a curse on me: my life for the life of the rose. I will die soon, just as that flower wilts."

  At this bizarre speech, Bella gave a start, and stared in shock at the rose she clutched in her hand. Her fist unfurled around the stem, and Fiorita saw her hold the flower delicately between forefinger and thumb, gazing at it in disbelief. Quietly, Fiorita leapt up from her seat and ran to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was empty. The servants were surely in the yard unloading Cienzo's cart, and Marchetta and Mama were nowhere to be seen. A glass of water had been left on the kitchen table, and Fiorita snatched it and ran back into the drawing room at full pelt. Once there, she presented the glass to Bella. "Here. Water." Fiorita panted in relief as the rose was gently lowered into the lukewarm water. Bella clutched desperately at the glass before offering it silently to Cienzo, who sat watching them with haunted eyes.

  "Thank you, daughters," he said wearily, "but I'm afraid that won't much prolong my life. I will die as that rose does, slowly sapped of life."

  "Isn't there any way to break the curse?" Bella asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes were filling with tears. "I can't ... lose you. Not after Mother ..." She sniffed, wiping her sleeve against her nose.

  Cienzo looked at her gravely, and took her free hand in his once more. He offered his other hand to Fiorita, who grasped it a little hesitatingly as she sat on the edge of the seat next to Bella. His voice addressed them both, but Fiorita felt his eyes fixed on her as he said evenly, "There is one way to break the curse. The magician will free me if a girl will go to him in my place to be his bride."

  For a moment, they were silent as the girls registered this statement; then Fiorita gasped and pulled her hand back from her stepfather in surprise. Bella sat motionless, but the blood drained from her face and she swayed slightly in her seat. Fiorita was certain that her stepsister was on the verge of fainting, and she placed her hand on the older girl's back to hold her steady. With her other hand, she fanned Bella's face awkwardly.

  "Thank you ... I'm fine," Bella said after a moment, as the color slowly returned to her face. She placed her cold hands on Fiorita's own, and gently pushed the hand down to rest in Fiorita's lap. She looked sadly at Cienzo, and tears filled her eyes again. "Are you asking me to do this, Father?"

  He looked uncomfortable, and once again Fiorita saw him glance at her with a curious expression. He stared at her, even as he answered Bella with a slight stammer, "Well ... I can hardly ask you -- any of my daughters -- but you asked what could be done ..." his voice trailed off.

  Fiorita felt the older girl squeeze her hand, and she squeezed back, unsure what else to say or do. Bella was staring at Cienzo, her cheeks reddening in emotion. When she spoke, Fiorita was surprised to hear Bella's voice was low and angry. "How can you ask me to do this? How can you ask me to marry this dangerous man?" Her face flushed brighter, and her grip on Fiorita's hand tightened. Fiorita squirmed. "Where is Mama?" she wondered. "Where is Marchetta?" Gently, she tugged at Bella's fingers, wondering if she could disentangle herself in order to go and find them.

  Cienzo shifted his gaze from Fiorita to Bella. Color rose to his face as he snapped back at her, "You are my daughter. I've taken care of you all my life, and you owe me for that care," he said hotly. "When your mother died, I shielded you from the worst of it. I never sold you to pay my debts."

  "But now you'll sell me to save your life?" Bella cried angrily. She glared at him, but could
not sustain the emotion and crumpled into tears, her face buried in her free hand.

  "Bella ..." Fiorita mumbled softly, hoping her voice would soothe her stepsister. She wanted to hug her, but couldn't reach around her while her hand was twisted in Bella's. She wanted to tell her that she didn't need to cry, but she couldn't find the right words to say. "Bella--" she tried again, but Cienzo spoke over her.

  "I only picked the rose for you," he said pleadingly. He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat; Fiorita stared at him in shock as Bella sobbed desolately beside her. "I'll die for you, Bella," he offered quietly, "but you can save me if you want."

  The pale girl cried quietly for a few moments longer as Fiorita quietly shifted her weight from side to side in a mounting panic. This shouldn't be happening, and yet clearly it was; she glanced at Cienzo and his intense gaze frightened her. "Should I call for Mama?" Fiorita wondered, but she couldn't imagine how Mama could make this horror all better. "Would she ask me to give my life for Cienzo?" The thought seemed impossible, but then she had never imagined that her stepfather would make such a terrible request of Bella, either.

  Slowly, Bella straightened up and with her free hand brushed the tears from her face and eyes. Her hand moved deliberately, first one side of her red face was swept with her palm, then the other. She looked down at her other hand, her fingers laced so tightly with Fiorita's that the younger girl's hand had lost all feeling. Gently, Bella pulled her fingers away, leaving Fiorita to rub the circulation back into her numb fingers and to stare with intense concern at the older girl's downturned face. Fiorita craned her neck to catch Bella's eyes with her own, but the older girl turned and shrugged so that her hair fell between them, cutting her off. Bella turned her head up to look at her father, seated only a foot away, staring intensely at them.

  "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

  "No, Bella!" Fiorita grabbed at her stepsister's arm. "Please don't do this!" Her voice choked, and she felt tears coming.

  "Come, Bella," Cienzo said solemnly, standing and reaching out a hand to the girl. "We must go, the rose won't last much longer." He half-helped, half-pulled the silent girl to her feet with one hand. With his other hand, he reached out to brush Fiorita from her hold on the girl's arm.

  Fiorita yelped. She had imagined a full scream coming from her mouth but somehow her body had not drawn in enough breath, and the sound was a high squeaky thing that barely reached her own ears. She shrank back from her stepfather's touch, scrambling to the far end of the window seat and jumping to her feet. "Let her go," she cried angrily. He ignored her, leading Bella towards the door. The girl walked slowly, her face tilted forward and her eyes on the ground, as though she had only enough strength to watch where she stepped.

  Fiorita felt her breath coming in quick, panicky gasps. She drew in breath to scream, but her throat felt constricted and dry. She considered leaping on Cienzo and pounding his back with her fists, but Cienzo was older and bigger, and she was frightened to touch him. Would he drag her off to marry this strange magician? She couldn't leave Bella ... she shouldn't ... but after a moment's helpless indecision, she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs moaning a low guttural call for help.

  As she ran, she watched through her tears as Bella stepped out of the dark house and into the bright rays of the sunset, her father's arm gripped firmly around her shoulders.

  Chapter 9 - Bella

  Bella squinted into the setting sun as her father led her out of the house. She felt disconnected from reality, and stared blankly at the ground, watching her feet move towards her father's cart. The servants were unloading the goods and tending to the mule; from a distance she heard her father's voice waving them away, and felt his trembling arm guiding her into the cart. Then he was climbing into the seat beside her and shouting for the mule to start the journey, and they were off.

  It occurred to her as they rattled down the dirt road that this might be the last time she would see her home again. The realization didn't immediately bother her, and Bella wondered if her lack of reaction was normal. She felt she ought to look back one last time at the retreating house; she was born there, after all, as was her own mother. Bella turned her head to her home, and through her wet eyes the house seemed more vivid than ever before. The green grasses in the yard swayed in the evening breeze and the sun rebounded from the windows with blinding force.

  As she watched the house, she saw her stepmother and stepsisters spill out of the house on to the front steps. At this distance, she could see Venizia cast up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunset, but she could not read the woman's facial expression as she ran uselessly after the cart. She heard Venizia shout, her voice panicked and angry, but Cienzo merely tightened his grip on the rein and urged the mule on faster. Bella thought she could hear Fiorita crying, but couldn't be certain she hadn't imagined it.

  Looking back at them, Bella realized that waving goodbye to her sisters might be the most polite thing to do. She raised her hand and waved slowly, and hoped they would see the smile she forced to her face. "I won't be able to finish teaching Fiorita the organ," Bella thought sadly. And now she would never have the chance to thank Marchetta. Bella suddenly realized that all her belongings -- her dresses, her hair ornaments, her childhood toys -- had been left at the house. Her mother's old clothes, except the favorite blue gown she now wore, were lost to her. She felt a stab of dizziness and gripped the side of the cart for support.

  Father must have noticed the movement, for he shifted the reins to a single hand and reached over with his free hand to pat her knee reassuringly. Bella looked up at him, and the mixture of sadness and determination on his face threatened to send her into tears again.

  Her whispered voice struggled to rise over the clatter of the cart on the dirt road. "Father, are you really doing this?" He frowned at her, and she thought he looked almost frustrated. "What more does he want from me?" she thought, her heart sinking within her chest.

  "Bella ..." he said quietly, and then he turned his attention back to the road. "These things have a way of working out, you'll see," he said briskly. "You hear these rumors all the time: a lonely magician in a desolate castle, seeking a bride. You're so lovely that he's sure to be kind to you, and he will give you a life of security and luxury." He patted her knee. "It will be a blessing in disguise, mark my words."

  He hesitated for a long moment, and then added with a sideways glance at her, "I ... I didn't think you would volunteer."

  Bella stared at him in astonishment, but he kept his eyes firmly on the road and refused to meet her gaze. Emotions churned within her -- sadness, that he hadn't believed she would love him enough to save him; anger, that he wouldn't now apologize for misjudging her -- but more than anything else she simply felt tired and drained. "I wish Mother was here," she thought, and then lapsed into dull silence, lulled by the rhythm of the cart.

  The stars were out and the moon was high in the sky when they reached the end of the road. The heavy fatigue that had allowed Bella to doze on the road fled from her, and she sat up straight in her seat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and staring at the sight that greeted her eyes.

  A delicate silver gate towered over them and shimmered ethereally in the moonlight that streamed through the forest around them. Behind the gate was a tall hedge, a vivid green-gray mass of thorns and thick branches in the moonlight, but covered with the brightest, reddest rose blooms she had ever seen. Each rose was at full bloom, even at this late hour, and each shimmered wetly with dew where the moonbeams struck it, though the rest of the forest was quite dry.

  Bella shivered as the night seemed to close in around her. The hedge was lovely, but its radiance was unnatural. The gate was beautiful, but it gleamed like a silver cage waiting to trap her. "Is it there to keep people out, or in?" she thought grimly.

  Cienzo climbed down from the cart seat and tied the reins to a nearby tree. The mule seemed skittish, despite being dead tired on its feet. Be
lla spared a moment of sympathy for the creature before Father was there at her side, reaching up for her hand so that he might help her down. The numbness that had accompanied her for most of the trip was gone; she trembled in her seat and stared down at him in shock.

  "Father ..." she pleaded, but she couldn't think of any words to follow it. "Please don't ask me to do this? Please love me enough to take me home? Please don't make me have to ask you this -- that if I have to ask, I already know the answer?" She didn't have the courage to speak. Better to go to her death as a willing sacrifice, Bella thought sadly, than as an unloved bargaining chip. Bitterly, she placed her hand in her father's and allowed herself to be helped down from the cart.

  "Bella ..." Cienzo said, almost tentatively, and she looked at him expectantly.

  "Yes, Father?"

  "Try ... not to look frightened," he said, his eyes sliding away from hers. "You don't want to ... create the wrong impression."

  She stared at him in disbelief. "Of course not, Father," she said sharply. Seized with a strong desire to be as far from him as possible, she stepped towards the gate, placed her hand tentatively on the silver bars, and pushed slightly. The gate opened inwardly, moving on silent hinges, and she walked apprehensively inside. Her heart beat furiously inside her chest and she could hear Father walking behind her. Bella almost felt impatient to get whatever this was over with -- let the worst happen now so that she could stop dreading it.

  "Hello?" The voice that came behind her was her father's, but was so soft she could barely hear it. "Sir ... my lord?" There was no answer, save for a chill breeze that fluttered the rose petals on either side of them.