Daimyon nodded. “Kiara is certainly balm for a weary, battle-scarred soul, but the lesson extends beyond her. Think of the first time this anger took form, think on the times anger was turned inward even before a faery’s curse gave it far more power than it should have. Perhaps His Highness should consider practicing this sort of kindness and gentleness on himself. To forgive and accept himself as well as others.”
It sounded right, reassuring even, the idea that I could defeat the beast with kindness toward myself a welcome alternative to the fierce and bloody battle I’d been waging until now. It was almost two years since the curse, almost ten since Adlard died, and I was tired, so tired of fighting. As much courage as I could squeeze from Kiara’s determination, as much hope for the future I dared to glimpse, it often felt like neither had come soon enough. The darkness dragged me back two steps for every one I gained, such that on nights when the battle exhausted me, I felt like a limp marionette vigorously yanked about by the beast as my brother’s ghost watched solemnly and my father’s voice condemned me to failure. Kiara could search all she wanted, but each time my anger overtook me, whatever progress she’d made was buried anew. She could persist until the end of time but would still lose, and I didn’t have that long to wait. I was sure of it.
An act of kindness could spark a bright flame in the world, but a spark lit in an abyss only sputters and dies, leaving no memory behind, not even a thin gray tendril of smoke to mark its passage. Any goodness I offered the beast would be consumed. Then it would take even more.
“I have a story for you,” I countered then. “About a porcupine that was once looking for a new home and found a nice warm cave with a family of snakes.
“‘Might I stay with you a while?’ he politely inquired.
“The snakes agreed, and the porcupine moved in. However, it was only a matter of time before it became clear that the cave was not big enough for all of them. Each time the porcupine turned and shifted, its sharp quills poked and stuck into the snakes’ skins so it became very painful for all of them to be together. Sleep was stolen, meals were ruined. One day, the snakes decided they had enough of such a life.
“‘We have enjoyed your stay with us,’ they told the porcupine politely, ‘but it’s time you were on your way.’
“The porcupine looked down on them without the least bit of compassion. ‘I rather like it here,’ he replied. ‘I think I shall stay for good.’
“The snakes had no choice but to find another home,” I finished with a meaningful look at Daimyon.
He responded with a deep chuckle. “His Highness is again switching one animal for another,” he pointed out.
“Does that change the nature of the beast?” I argued. “Does it weaken it, cover its ugliness, make it less than what it really is? If I give but one inch, it takes double and more. Let others treat it with kindness, I cannot risk it.”
“Why a porcupine?” Daimyon asked.
“For its design. Have you never done a kindness that was punished instead of repaid?” I challenged.
A palpable silence suddenly descended over Daimyon, something noticeable even without the firelight. After all this time, I had finally hit upon something, a truth buried within this man that few knew of. Of course, like most of the kingdoms, I would only find out the full truth of that silence much later on, only after his faery tale had taken shape and grown into a story to be retold for generations.
Then, he replied shortly, “I once saved a life I was meant to take and it cost me more than I had thought to pay.”
“So you understand,” I concluded, content not to push further.
“I understand,” he agreed, “but that is not the end of the matter.”
“Whatever more is there?” I wanted to know.
“The answer is rooted in the beginning of the prince’s curse,” Daimyon replied. “Be it porcupine or beast, be it cave or palace, His Highness gives leave to those who enter or leave. The prince could have locked the merchant out as easily as he let him in, he could have denied me a roof as quickly as he gave it. Only he can welcome Kiara into a castle and make her feel a mistress when in reality she is still his prisoner.”
Right as he was, that didn’t stop a cold frost from running through my veins at his implication. Daimyon immediately held up a hand to stay me, to show he meant no insult by his observations. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to wrestle back my anger, using every muscle of my giant frame to reel it in before it caused serious injury to either one of us.
“Just consider,” Daimyon said, his tone soft enough to hold a plea in it as well, “could His Highness ever let Kiara free? Has he not trapped her in the walls of his castle as surely as the darkness has caged him?”
“Why would I ever let her go?” I asked defiantly.
“To prove it is possible,” Daimyon replied fiercely. “To prove you can override want and desire to do what seems impossible. To prove that you are strong enough in a way that truly matters, not even for her, but for you. A man’s soul is surely dear enough to fight for at any cost.”
“Even at the expense of his heart?” I asked, only then allowing myself to admit what Kiara might mean to me.
I never would have voiced such a thought before, but that night we were in our own cocoon of forest, and our words and thoughts seemed well protected therein. Knowing that I wouldn’t see Daimyon for a while also loosened my tongue, because I would not have to look at him in shame when my actions contradicted my words, when the darkness moved my arms and legs against my inner will.
“One is not so far from the other,” he replied. “But as the soul is rooted deeper than the heart in man, it would be wiser to care for it first. The rest will follow.”
It was my turn to fall quiet, and Daimyon, having said his share, clammed up as well. I didn’t fall asleep for a while as my mind circled my thoughts, stalking them for any break that would allow me to pounce and utterly dismantle them. Daimyon had made me uneasy in his talk of letting Kiara go, especially remembering Yarrow’s warning that in the end I was the only one who could completely rid myself of this demon growing more powerful each day it lived.
I didn’t want to admit how much his words rang true, either, how despite Kiara’s desire to help me, it would be difficult to call her acceptance of me true if it was compelled by her imprisonment in my castle. Would she leave if she could? Being mistress of the castle, owning dresses and jewels her father couldn’t hope to afford even when he had worked for nobility, tasting of the dishes of royalty, seeing roses in full bloom, were these enough to persuade her to stay? Would she prefer being a favored prisoner in a castle to being the underappreciated youngest in her own home?
I certainly didn’t know because I’d never dared broach such topics. Why ask the questions I was afraid to hear the answers to? Why plant the seeds of any these ideas in her head if they weren’t already there? Why give her a way out if I was so desperate for her to stay?
These were not thoughts for a man to dwell on before sleep, so when I finally drifted off, my dreams were troubled. I saw myself as a jaguar lost in the desolation of the Dark Forest, the gnarled, twisting limbs of the trees reaching out for me, scratching my skin, and bloodying my black fur as they tried to drag me under into the ultimate, unreachable depths.
A shout propelled me away from them, the voice sounding too much like Kiara’s. I raced through the Forest, disregarding the branches that snapped against my face, cutting into me, until I found her, terrified and alone, shrinking into herself as a rabid pack of wolves slowly surrounded her, saliva dripping from their fanged jaws.
I hurtled into the center and tried to shield Kiara, that move enough to signal the wolves to attack and I fought them fiercely, flinging, snarling, batting them away, my paws flailing wildly, my hind legs kicking out again and again. After what felt like a lifetime, the wolves limped away, battered and whimpering in defeat. Only then could I collapse against the floor in exhaustion.
The same instant, Kiara
was beside me, cradling my head in her lap, stroking my fur, talking about the amount of blood I lost in words too jumbled for me to decipher.
“Are you all right?” I tried to ask her, my voice little more than a growl.
“Stay with me,” she said, but I could hear the catch in her voice, the desperation to keep me from fading away.
I reached a paw out to stroke her beautiful face, noticing the claw marks, the bites bloodying my hand. Red streaks painted Kiara’s cheek, marking where my fingers had lingered on her skin.
“It was the beast,” I whispered, suddenly human once more, the effort of forcing my voice out making it weak enough so I wasn’t sure she could hear me at all.
Small drops of water splashed onto me. I mistook it for rain until I saw just how many tears flowed from Kiara’s wonderful brown eyes. Her ringlets bobbed around her head as she shook it to force my words away.
“It wasn’t the beast,” she disagreed, proving she had heard me after all. “It was you.”
I felt a smile at the tip of my lips, but didn’t get the chance to tell her that was only because she had saved me first, had pulled me out of the beast’s jaws long enough to get my feet under me and fight back.
Instead, a low hiss began to overtake the scene, persistent enough so I was sure the Dark Forest was about to send the next manner of evil against us. I struggled to sit up even as Kiara firmly, but gently, pressed me back down.
What would it be time this? I wondered. Poisonous snakes? Venomous scorpions? Wisps of dark demons embodying the worst of the evil within me? I thrashed and struggled against Kiara’s grip as the hissing grew more and more pronounced.
I jerked awake to the hiss of steam as Daimyon drowned our fire then kicked at the burning remnants under the still dark morning sky.
We found the stag later that morning, or rather, Daimyon tracked it down and I followed close behind. A few paces before he revealed it burrowing its nose in the base of a tree, he stopped and turned toward me.
“Your Highness is aware he may need more than weapons to bring down a creature of this size,” he said.
I nodded.
“I’ll do what I must if the beast gets out of control,” he assured me.
I nodded again, but only because I didn’t want to ask him what that meant, or which beast he was talking about. Kiara and the rest of the servants knew we were off hunting together, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t just kill me and disappear into the mist. He was already a fugitive from his own kingdom, it surely mattered little to him to add another to the list. Besides, I doubted Father would exert himself in hunting him down. He’d possibly instigate a paper-heavy investigation for show, then give my crown to Amellia, as he obviously intended in changing the law and naming her “Heir Presumptive” so she could one day rule in my stead. The slight breeze in the trees almost sounded like the gentle sigh of relief that would be exhaled the moment word was out that the troubled crown prince was dead. He’d even be doing a kindness of sorts, for the beast would never let me take my own life, and I’d rather forfeit it than give in forever.
Daimyon signaled he would sneak around to the other side, where he and his bat would watch and only interfere if necessary. As such, he would be facing the deer, whereas I was to surprise attack it from the side. I would’ve welcomed more help than that, but I also knew this was the way it had to be. This was my conquest, my prize, my message to my father.
I nodded my understanding and Daimyon stealthily took off. He moved so quietly and fluidly, he hardly stirred the air around him. Not even the brush rustled as he passed through.
I watched until I couldn’t see him anymore, then turned inward, focusing on steadying the beast before it manifested. Already it flexed its claws into my soul, knowing the time had come. The prey was near.
I ducked the last few steps toward the deer then crept forward in a low crouch to assess the animal we’d tracked and determine the best angle of attack. As soon as I saw it, my heart tripped within me, followed by a loud rushing in my ears then sudden silence. Time froze. No doubt this was the mightiest stag ever seen. Its brown fur sparked red in the sun. Its antlers were a glorious crown branching upward, the ends wider apart than my arms could stretch.
It was perfect.
I only fully appreciated Daimyon’s warning then, because there was no way, no matter how much I wanted it, that the human part of me could ever rise up against such a creature. A prince among men facing off against a prince among animals. Had I stumbled across it during a regular hunting party, I would have called off the dogs and let it be, respectfully stepping away before it even had a chance to run from me.
But the beast was there now and it knew how deeply I desired to make this wondrous creature mine. For just one brief moment, I was tempted to snap a stick, allow it to speed away before I could bring it down.
Then the beast took over, my hand selecting an arrow from my quiver and my stone heart aiming it with cool calculation.
The arrow thumped into the deer’s shoulder but it only took a step back, absorbing the impact. It met my eyes and, seeing the deadly intent of a predator gleaming, lowered its head, and charged.
I dove out of the way just in time, the beast in full command as it now fought to survive and dominate.
Knowing it had missed, the stag slammed to a halt and whipped around instantly, heading for me again, head lowered, ground rumbling, small pebbles bouncing into the air as it stampeded once more to skewer me on its antlers.
The beast waited longer to move this time, hoping to get in at least one swipe with my knife before jumping up to catch a low tree branch, just soon enough to avoid losing my legs to the antlers that scratched through the material of my pants. I swung up and over, landing with a jerk on the back of the deer.
Confused and uncertain, the stag reared back and tried to throw me off. The beast scrambled to hold on by the antlers, losing my knife and cutting my decidedly ill-protected not-paws on the sharp, pointed edges. It held on tightly as the animal bucked and pranced, trying to be rid of me.
Just when it seemed the stag would succeed, and pound the beast into the ground with its powerful hooves, Daimyon leaped from his spot and faced down the deer, one hand raised either to calm or corral it.
“Easy boy,” he soothed, “steady now.”
The deer stopped moving, I think more from surprise than anything else. Surely, it noticed that the man before it smelled nothing like the one who had attacked it just a moment before. Daimyon didn’t give the deer time to consider, he kept talking to it in his calming voice, crowding out its senses, easing back its fear so even I could feel how its heartbeat slowed beneath me.
His gaze locked with the stag’s as he spoke, but in a motion so brief I almost missed it, he nodded his head once to me. The beast was ready for it.
I felt my body lunge forward and duck down so the beast could dig my bare fingers into the soft fur of the stag’s thick neck, a neck powerful enough to hold up those marvelous antlers. I heard but barely knew the source of the fierce and violent snarl that escaped my lips as the stag’s throat was savagely, mercilessly torn into again and again, until it yielded and split open beneath my fingers and teeth. There was blood everywhere. The creature toppled to the ground. Yet still my hands tore at flesh and sinew, mincing it to pieces until the head separated from the body. All the while, I watched myself, and felt nothing.
“Easy now, steady.”
Daimyon’s voice filtered in from a far-off place. At some point, I had found one of my knives, and it shook in my hand.
“Easy, easy,” he said softly, patiently, again and again.
Finally, I looked up and around, trying to figure out which animal he was talking to as I was now aware the one beneath my hands was dead. I startled at its blood soaking my shirtsleeves, dripping from my palms, and muddying the grass. I felt it on my face, staining my skin.
The Huntsman’s gaze was fixed on me, purple rings glowing around eyes sharp enough to have
been forged from the steel they so closely resembled.
“Come back, Highness,” he urged quietly. “Come back.”
He held a knife in either hand and his body was too tense to be off guard. He looked ready to attack, though there was no animal in sight. None, I realized as my mind cleared, but me.
Daimyon must have seen the shift in my eyes, must have seen them melt from the icy glare of the beast to the reflective alpine lakes of the man. I could feel my heartbeat slow as he continued to watch me carefully, as the slow understanding dawned that he had just been talking me down from the beast’s control.
I was exhausted and fell to my knees, spent. I couldn’t have lifted the knife in my hand even if I’d wanted to.
Daimyon crept closet and bent over the neck to inspect the damage I’d inflicted on the once awe-inspiring animal. Even as he examined it, his back to me, his knives remained in his hands. I could feel his attention on me, watching me carefully should the beast reemerge without warning.
Knowing what he did about me, having seen glimpses of the beast before, I wasn’t sure what Daimyon thought of what had just occurred. His face gave nothing away, and even as he looked at me, even as he cautiously approached and offered a hand up, his expression never changed.
Without saying a word, he led me to a stream of water, where I stripped off my shirt and pants, then left them to soak. I wouldn’t get all the blood out but hoped to dull the color enough to hide the viciousness of what I’d done. Everyone would know I had brought the animal down, but no one needed to know just how brutal I had been.
I tried to scrub under my fingernails, cleaning away bits of furry flesh and rusting blood. Each piece I loosed was akin to sending away a small part of me, the part that would have never allowed so beautiful an animal to be so violently killed.
By the time, I turned back, carrying my still-too-wet clothes, Daimyon was working at the stag’s neck, seeking to straighten the edges and get rid of all evidence of my savagery. I put on my pants, then left the shirt to finish drying on a nearby tree branch, watching him work and feeling too drained to even offer help.
Human Again Page 17