Thorny

by Lelia Eye

  “Is your name Antoinette?” she said suddenly, stopping to look at me. “Have you a girl’s name?”

  “No,” I growled, tempted to bite her ankles to see if I could wipe that smirk off her face. “I do not have a girl’s name! Why would you even ask that?” Infuriating female, I fumed. I should have found a nice male companion who wouldn’t go around insulting me all day. Men were much more decent than women when it came to that sort of thing. Except my father. He wouldn’t know “decent” if it bit him in the rear. Neither would my uncle, for that matter. All right, so maybe humans in general just weren’t decent folk. It was sort of a sobering thought.

  Elle went and spoke to the sheep, which were grazing in the large pen that never seemed to run out of grass. In particular, she cooed at a sheep that she had taken a shine to and named “Soleil.” The ewe was fat with pregnancy, and Elle had tied a large pink bow around its neck to make it stand out. The sheep looked ridiculous, and I had told Elle that ewes weren’t meant to be gift-wrapped, but the icy look and stony silence she had gifted me with afterward had made me remember that I might need to turn a blind eye on certain girlish quirks.

  “I don’t know if your shepherd beau would appreciate that ribbon around your sheep’s neck,” I said despite my resolution to ignore her girlishness. “Even if he is beautiful, he’s probably too manly to mess with something froufrou like that. Don’t forget he has to stand around all day in a bored stupor, looking after dumb animals.”

  “Someone has to watch the sheep,” she snapped.

  I jerked back, surprised at her vehemence. And then, as I thought about what she had said, something finally fell into place in my head, and I sobered. “You know . . . you’re right. There are evil things lurking about. That’s why I don’t want you going into the woods at night—or on foot, for that matter.”

  “The job of a shepherd is more important than you think,” she said, calmer but still irked with me. “The sheep here may be safe, but the ones elsewhere aren’t as lucky.”

  “Look, if your shepherd beau is so noble and strong and amazing, then I challenge him to come take you from me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t exactly summon someone whose name I don’t know to come rescue me from someone else whose name I don’t know, now can I?”

  “I guess it does make things a little difficult.” It felt like she had won some sort of fight, and I didn’t like it. “Look, you stay here and wait for your shepherd beau. I’m going to the stables.” It was one of the dumbest excuses I could have come up with, but I had spoken the words, and I was stuck doing what I had said I would.

  So with a litany of curses and grumbles, I went to visit Luna. She was eating oats and looking right at home, like she was a duke’s mare instead of a farmer’s.

  “I guess while some young folks are out sowing their wild oats, you’re stuck here eating tame ones, and I’m stuck here watching you,” I said to her. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I had just spoken to a horse like it was a dog. Or the fact that my wordplay had fallen so flat as to be nonexistent.

  I plopped onto the ground and sighed, looking up at Luna’s bare back and thinking of the times I had seen Elle riding her on the castle grounds. I was envious. Riding horses was something I really missed about being human.

  “I wish I could ride you,” I said out loud.

  “Then why don’t you?” asked a voice from behind me.

  I leaped to my feet—I hadn’t realized Elle had followed me—and stuttered, “Ex-excuse me?”

  “Why don’t you ride her?” She walked toward me and reached a hand up to pet Luna’s nose.

  I stared at her like she had sprouted wings. I was beginning to think I had brought a crazy girl to the castle. “And why don’t you fly?” I returned. “There are just some things our bodies aren’t made for doing.”

  She crossed her arms, and I had the feeling I was about to get some Feminine Attitude. “Like that stopped you from learning how to read, Claude.”

  I shook my head and muttered, “Not Claude.”

  “You may not find it as easy as I do, but you’re fully capable of doing it.” She raised her eyebrows. “That is, unless you’re scared.”

  She did not just pull the “chicken” card. “Oh, I’m not scared,” I assured her. “I simply don’t want to put you and your dainty human ego to shame. I can ride that horse all right, and I can ride it a thousand times better than you ever dreamed of riding it!”

  “Then prove it.” The words were a challenge.

  I looked at the horse, which suddenly seemed very tall, and my nerve nearly failed me. Everything I had just said was a downright lie . . . unless you tacked the words “as a wolf” on after it, and even then, it was suspect.

  “I’ll even saddle her up for you,” Elle said.

  That was something at least. I had no idea how much help a saddle would actually be for me in this form, but it gave me time to think. I could sit on the horse as one might expect a dog to, legs up underneath me. But my balance would surely be atrocious.

  If I took a more human approach and dangled my legs over the sides, maybe my rear would conform to the saddle and give me some stability when I squeezed my legs against the barrel of the horse. And I would place my forepaws at the front of the saddle. It was a brilliant plan. Now I just had to figure out how to get on the horse. Fortunately, Elle had already thought about that.

  “There are some steps available that are used to get women and children on horses,” she said. “We can use those to help you mount Luna.”

  Upon my command, the Invis brought the set of steps outside the stable while Elle led the saddled Luna to stand beside the stairs. After shedding my constricting cape, I slowly climbed the steps and stared at Luna’s saddle. What once would have instilled confidence in me was now making me feel the exact opposite.

  “I’ll go on the other side to help you in case you tumble,” Elle offered, like she didn’t weigh so little that a well-thrown stick could break her leg. I wanted to snap that I had no need for help and that I could get on Luna with all the grace of a champion horse-riding ghost, but I chewed the words and swallowed them despite their bitterness.

  I crouched slightly and gave a slight leap . . . and ended up draped over the horse like some kind of giant living throw rug.

  Elle burst out into giggles, her peals of laughter floating away on the air. I glared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Once she was able to control her mirth, she said amid a few unladylike snorts, “You look ridiculous!”

  “I’d like to see you try this in a body like mine,” I said, managing to sound disgruntled. If I had been human, though, my cheeks would have likely given away my embarrassment.

  Unsuccessfully fighting a grin, she asked, “Would you like some help?”

  “It would be nice.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Oh, never mind,” I said with a grunt. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  But she came toward my head anyway. As my back legs scrambled to find purchase on the saddle, my front legs failed to find any good support, and I toppled forward onto Elle, knocking her to the ground.

  For one brief instant, my shock was replaced by sheer bliss as my nose was buried in Elle’s soft, fragrant, luxurious tresses, and then it occurred to me what a few hundred pounds of wolf could do to a petite girl like her, and I started to panic.

  “Elle!” I cried, struggling to get up while doing as little damage to her as possible. I gazed down at her in horror . . . only to feel utterly bewildered when I realized she was laughing once again.

  “You’re a clumsy beast, aren’t you?” she said in between chuckles. “I thought wolves were supposed to be graceful.”

  “They also aren’t supposed to be on top of horses,” I grumbled, wilting a little in relief.

  She smiled at me, and it was hard to remain irritated. “Let’s try one more time.”

  “It’s your
funeral,” I muttered. Gingerly, I worked to extract myself from my awkward position above her. After I moved, she got up, and I watched her for a moment to make certain she was unhurt. Fortunately, she only seemed amused.

  When I climbed the stairs and prepared to get back on the horse, I told her: “Make sure you’re clear so I don’t hurt you.”

  “I’m clear. Now, get on with it.”

  I managed to mount the horse with a bit more grace this time, but I quickly realized my original seating plan would not work. After some thought, I modified it so that my head was on the horse’s neck and my forelegs were pressed against it.

  “You look terrified,” Elle commented.

  “I’d like to blazing see you try this,” I snapped.

  I heard her chuckle—my eyes were closed now—and she warned me: “I’m going to start leading Luna around.”

  I braced myself and felt the horse start to move. She laughed, and I opened my eyes to look at her.

  In spite of the obvious wound dealt to my male pride by her near-constant guffaws these past few minutes, I just stared at her. Her laughter brought out the perfect shade of pink in her cheeks to match the pink rose in her hair. Every day, she always had the original rose in her hair—which amazingly had not wilted even an iota, likely due to the magic of Silverthorn—but she also always had a second rose that matched her clothes.

  On this particular day, Elle was wearing a form-fitting pink dress trimmed with lace and showing a hint of bare shoulder. She looked stunning. And me? Well, I was just some hideous joke dangling over the sides of a horse. I told myself that at least she was mine. The shepherd beau could never come to take her; he already had her. She was here . . . and wasn’t that enough?

  Even if Elle’s laughter was at my expense, I didn’t want to undo the joy it brought her countenance. So often, she seemed sad or lost, but right now, at this moment, it looked like she could actually—just maybe—be happy with me.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I had no idea where the words came from; they had bubbled up from inside and spewed from my mouth before I had any indication that something was even brewing. Pretty though Elle was—all right, impossibly beautiful—I had only ever intended that she be my companion. I had wanted her specifically as my friend more than anyone else because she was the only person other than my mother who had ever seemed to show even the slightest interest in me as me.

  But now I had gone and done something foolish. I knew she would just as soon marry me as I would marry a dog. Girls didn’t marry animals. It wasn’t seemly . . . and there were all sorts of anatomical problems to deal with. I might have had the heart of a man, but all Elle would ever be able to see was that I had the body of a wolf.

  The joy was gone from her face now. She had appeared startled briefly when the words had first escaped my lips, but now she looked like someone trying to tread carefully near a roused lion. “No, Beast,” she said softly, “I cannot marry you.”

  I gave her what I hoped looked like a smile and not a snarl. “Of course you can’t,” I said, making it sound as if I were dismissing an apology for something silly, like not being able to fly. “We have learned one thing today, though. I can ride a horse, but very badly. From now on, I’m going to keep my fox hunts on the ground.”

  She gave a weak smile, but the jovial atmosphere was gone. She led Luna around briefly, but it was a formality, a way to help us finish what we had started so we could then go on with our lives.

  After I jumped—fine, tumbled—off the horse and watched Luna be properly stabled, Elle murmured that she was going to see the chickens, and I knew that meant she wanted to be alone.

  I put my black cape back on and went to the forest, where I roamed for hours, smelling and listening to the denizens of the forest, but without really seeing anything. My thoughts consumed me, and they were a troubled jumble that only seemed to get worse as the hours passed by. It wasn’t like me not to show up to keep Elle company while she ate, but the thought of food turned my stomach.

  Why had I gone and done an utterly foolish thing like ask Elle to marry me? What had I expected? And what would I have done if she had actually said yes?

  No priest would sanction a marriage between a maiden and an animal. It was completely ludicrous.

  I could not have asked her to marry me because of love. That wasn’t why I had her here. She was here to be my companion. That was it. I couldn’t press my lips against hers or caress her soft skin with my hand or shower her hair in kisses like some sort of sappy love rain. I couldn’t whisper her name in her ear and watch her shiver or “accidentally” brush against her while reaching for a book. The milky skin of her legs would remain a mystery to me; the words she cried into her pillow at night would be unheard by me.

  It wasn’t love. Love wasn’t friendship and pain; it was passion and joy. It was kissing in front of brilliant sunrises or embracing beneath waterfalls, not hobnobbing with horses and taking tea together. Love was grand gestures; it wasn’t quiet glances and private wishes.

  Eventually, the moon came out. I walked around and stared at it through holes in the canopy of branches above me. I found myself looking at the great white orb a lot since becoming a wolf. I wasn’t sure if it was that I felt a propensity toward the darkness or if there really was something in a wolf’s blood that tied it to the moon. Perhaps there has just always been something about this beautiful reflection of the sun’s light that has called at the souls of both man and beast.

  I finally decided to return to the castle, and as I emerged from the forest, I saw Elle sitting at the fountain. She looked strangely sad yet ethereal in the moonlight, like a sorrowful ghost of a maiden wondering what fate had befallen the love of her life. She bent down, dipped her fingers in the water, and sang softly:

  “In the morn, the sun will surely rise,

  But for now, it’s just the moon in the sky.

  A fragrant storm drifts on the breeze,

  Singing a lullaby to the trees.

  The world is right, nature is pure,

  So why am I just not so sure?”

  It wasn’t a song I was familiar with, and the words were not the prettiest I had ever heard, but I was entranced by Elle’s voice. It was a soft and untrained soprano, yet I thought it was beautiful despite her sadness.

  And then she slid off the fountain and started dancing with an invisible partner, the moonbeams falling onto her hair and starlight softening her face. I knew that she was dancing with her invisible shepherd beau, and though that knowledge made something inside me feel heavy, all I could really think about was how beautiful she was . . . and how much I hated being the cause of her sorrow.

  She began humming as she twirled around, merely increasing her allure and causing a whine to stick in my throat. Her feet moved across the ground with such grace that part of me was glad I was not her dancing partner. She moved into a waltz, and her shoes almost seemed to float above the stones beneath her, so fluid were her movements.

  In spite of the wondrous picture she made, I left her there, floating with her invisible suitor. After a brief answer of nature’s call, I went into the castle and then into my room, where I had the Invis shut the door.

  Pressing against the wooden chest, which was decorated in swirls and flowers, I managed to open it, and I took out the mirror tucked inside with my teeth and then set it down on the floor. Before I looked into it, I stared at my hideous paws. They were massive and ugly, so unlike the delicate feet that had carried Elle across the cobblestones surrounding the fountain.

  My pulse pounding dully in my ears, I moved my eyes to the handheld mirror. A monstrous wolf’s face stared back at me, with unblinking yellow eyes that once I had not known . . . but now I felt I owned.

  Normally, I would ask to see my human face, but this time I did not. This was just what I was. I was a beast.

  I might have possessed Elle’s beauty, but I would never possess her heart.

  Chapter 10: A Rose and Thorns />
  In spite of my foolhardy proposal and the sorrow Elle felt toward her situation, life at Silverthorn continued without much change. We stopped trying to put me on a horse, and Elle went back to reading out loud to pass the time. I still enjoyed it, but now there was a small part of me that was saddened by it. Elle read out loud because I was unable to hold a book; that was the simple fact of the matter. I started privately obsessing over how that was not the way it was supposed to be, and my joy for reading became diminished somewhat.

  One morning while Elle was at the table finishing her breakfast, she said: “You know, Beech—”

  “No,” I inserted.

  “—I am always reading stories to you. Will you tell me one?”

  I would have lifted an eyebrow had I been human, but instead, I had to settle for a snort. “What makes you think I even know any stories?”

  She gave me a look. Today, I had placed a yellow rose on the stairs, and she had it in her hair. While the color of the rose clashed a little with the orange dress she was wearing, I thought anything on her looked wonderful.

  “I’m not sure you’d like to hear any stories I know,” I told her after a moment’s thought.

  Elle gave a slight pout. “Come on. With as many books as you seem to know, you must have some sort of story for me.”

  “Fine, fine, fine. I might have one tale for you,” I grumbled. “Once upon a time—”

  “You’re really going to start with an introduction like that?”

  I let out a light growl. “Who’s telling the story here? Me. Now, be quiet.” Clearing my throat, I started over.

  “Once upon a time, on his fifteenth birthday, a prince accustomed to lavish parties and balls and to rich food and golden cutlery was sent out among the common people to learn about their lives and live as one of them for three years.

  “He was told to work with a blacksmith, and one day while doing so, he met a young apothecary. Her great beauty was renown, and he fell in love with her.”