He headed toward the wrought-iron fence. He couldn’t see the gate, but he knew eventually the fence would have to lead him to it if he just followed it long enough. But the gray tinge of morning seeped into the sky faster than he anticipated, and he quickened his pace. He had to get this done before Fedya noticed he was gone.
The fence stretched on, seemingly for miles in both directions, and he started following it to the left, where it circled out to the front of the manor.
“Come on,” he muttered, each word emitting a puff of white air, “I promise I’m not leaving.”
His legs ached from the cold, but he plodded on, staring down at the white ground ahead of him. He halted. A set of fresh footprints were set deep in the snow, and he looked up, heartbeat quickening.
“Hello?” he called out. “Is someone there?”
The thick snow instantly swallowed his voice, but he tried again, heart pounding in excitement. “Please answer, I won’t hurt you.”
The footprints were too small to be Fedya’s and obviously human, the soles of a boot clear. They followed along the fence in a perfect line, and Killian picked up his pace, hoping to catch up to whoever was ahead. A stitch formed in his side, but he ran faster, forgetting about the page crinkled inside his pocket.
He skidded to a halt. The once single set of footprints had now turned into two. He approached them with caution before kneeling down, inspecting them closer. He frowned. The two sets of footprints looked exactly alike, running right alongside each other. Killian glanced behind him, and then down at his own pair of boots.
He straightened up, still breathing hard, and scowled up at the mansion.
“Really?” he grumbled. “You’ve literally got me running around in circles now?”
A familiar light bell tinkled in response, and he swiped at the air, kicking the snow as he resisted the urge to scream.
“I’m just trying to find a rose,” he growled. “Is that alright with you?”
The bell didn’t respond this time. His forehead pulsed, and he brought his fists up to his temples, squeezing tight as he sucked in the frigid air. He still glared at the castle, and it somehow looked much closer to him than it should have been. With a final huff, he turned his back on it, trudging back to where he hoped the fence would eventually end.
Another icy blast whipped past him, and Killian squinted against it, gritting his teeth. But when he opened his eyes again, a large, lush green hedge jutted out from the snow.
Killian glanced around, but nothing else had changed, and he approached it carefully. Soon he noticed tiny white buds dotting the leaves, and as he neared, the buds began to sparkle and glimmer in the gray, early morning light. He pulled out one hand from his pocket and gently brushed against their tiny petals, and they sounded off like a million chimes. Killian almost laughed in spite of himself, trailing his hand along them as he walked beside the hedge.
A narrow pathway of flat rock emerged from the snow in front of him. Killian hesitated; he couldn’t see where the path led as it twisted out of sight, concealed by more of the tall, thick shrubbery. He forged ahead, keeping one hand trailing along the dainty petals, their high, thin melody strangely soothing as he walked. But soon the buds grew more and more sparse, and his finger snagged on a thorn.
“Ouch!” A fat droplet of red slid down his finger, splattering his feet. Killian grimaced, wiping it away, and he shoved his hands back in his pocket as he continued.
His footsteps slowed as the hedges grew taller, their thorny branches reaching for the sky and blocking out the last of the waning moonlight. Every so often the faint tinkling of chimes called back to him as the wind whispered through the path and shook the leaves around him.
The trail tapered off, and up ahead a soft, white light glimmered through the branches. Killian pressed in closer to the hedge, softening his steps, but he couldn’t look away, his gaze trapped by the softly pulsing glow.
He didn’t hear the flowers anymore, the whistling wind dead on the leaves. But he slowed to a stop, something warm brushing his cheek.
“Killian?”
Killian froze, the hairs on the back of his neck shooting straight up. He whipped around, eyes wide, staring down the path where’d he come. “Hello?”
“Killian, is that you?”
It didn’t sound like Fedya. Not really. But he couldn’t be sure as the voice whispered, hushed. Killian swallowed and eased a step forward, peering around. “Who are you?”
“It’s me.” With every word, another hot puff of wind tickled Killian’s cheek. “Killian, I need your help. Please.”
He tried not to recoil, refusing to blink as the voice pleaded. Maybe it was Fedya. Maybe the spell had altered his voice even more. “Where are you?”
“On the other side of the fence.”
Killian shook his head, slowly turning around. “What fence?”
“Look through the hedge. Please hurry, Killian. I need you.”
The voice sounded closer, louder, frantic. Killian looked back at the hedge he had been trailing with his fingers just a few minutes ago. Peering through the dense leaves, he eased in closer. Another hot puff of air. The branches trembled, and Killian carefully pulled them back, squinting. He saw the iron bars of the fence, then a shadowy figure on the other side.
“Fedya?” He leaned in closer. “Is that you?”
“Wrong.”
A clawed hand shot from the dark, latching around his throat. The air sliced from his lungs. Killian gasped, his whole body jerking in protest. The steely grip pulled him forward, thorns slashing his face. He collided into the fence. Two milky yellow eyes stared back at him, rimmed in bright red.
Killian grappled for his throat, digging his heels into the snow. The grip only tightened, and a small, strangled squeal rasped from his lips.
The Grimbeast grinned. “Found you.”
Its green slitted pupils dilated in excitement.
Killian gritted his teeth and strained, but the muscles on the Grimbeast’s arms bulged, and his grip tightened. Killian couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t look away as the creature pressed in even closer. The growling faded away, replaced by something low and eerie. The Grimbeast was laughing at him.
The rotting breath filled Killian’s senses, thick and hot. He pushed against the bars, his strength rapidly seeping away as his eyes stung, his vision bursting with spots of white. A current of tingling numbness spread down his legs, exploding in a million piercing needles.
“Did you think I’d forget you?” The Grimbeast chuckled, though its words were laced with poison. “After you stole my prey?”
“Stop…” Killian wheezed. The last of his vision went black.
A murderous roar threatened to burst Killian’s eardrums, rattling the bars on the fence. The Grimbeast’s hold tore from his neck and Killian slammed to the ground, his cheek exploding with frozen pain. Killian nearly retched, sucking in a deep, throbbing breath as a second black shadow moved in front of him.
Coughing, he scrambled to his hands and knees, the right side of his body heavy. He tried to stand, but the creature swung its paw, nearly colliding with his chest. The force swung him back into the hedges, tiny thorns stabbing his arms and neck.
Then he saw the cloak and those familiar legs, paws like a lion, but standing like a man. This was no Grimbeast.
Fedya grasped through bars, latched on to the Grimbeast, and slammed it into the fence so hard its head snapped back. The Grimbeast squealed, its breathing suddenly quick and labored. Killian lifted his head and watched, his mouth coated with liquid—thick and sharp.
“Fedya…” He blinked slowly, the words slurring. “Stop.”
The Grimbeast squealed one more time, sharp. Then it fell silent.
Killian closed his eyes, panting hard. Blood oozed from his lips, staining the snow in front of him. He heard Fedya take a step, and he tilted his head all the way back, staring up. The early light dawn shone down on two
inhuman blue eyes.
“Killian?”
For a moment everything felt still. Then Fedya snarled and grabbed Killian’s shoulders, forcing him to stand. Killian staggered back into the hedges, the ground veering beneath his feet. He doubled over as his lungs clawed for air and he coughed again.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was only…” Killian sputtered between strained gasps, and he clutched his stomach tight. “I was looking…”
“Looking for what?”
Killian squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. The frozen air stabbed his throat, but he didn’t care. He forced himself to straighten up, one hand still on his chest. A low, deep growl still rumbled from Fedya, and behind him Killian could see where the hedges had been torn away, a pool of crimson staining the snow. But whether the blood came from him or the Grimbeast, Killian didn’t know. Still, relief flooded him as he noticed that the Grimbeast was nowhere in sight.
“I was looking for help,” Killian said flatly. “For you.”
Fedya’s eyes widened and he pulled himself even taller. His shadow loomed over Killian, casting him back into darkness, and Killian didn’t know how he had ever thought Fedya looked human.
He sucked in another shaky breath. “You can’t stay like this, Fedya.”
Fedya openly winced and looked away, glaring at the ground.
Killian tried to take a step forward, but his knees instantly buckled. “What about your family?” he said quietly. “Your country?”
“You don’t know anything about my country.”
“I know you’re all it has left.” Killian shook his head. “And you’re just going to stay here and abandon it?”
A bone-shaking roar erupted in Killian’s face, but this time Killian didn’t flinch back. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, and he stared unblinking as Fedya closed the distance between them. The heat of his breath soaked him, his long, white fangs glinting with saliva. Killian remained rooted to the spot.
“You think you know me?” Fedya snarled.
Killian couldn’t answer. He wanted to find him again, that glimpse of a man inside the beast, those soft brown eyes and alluring voice. But Fedya only roared again and grabbed Killian by the wrist, yanking him forward.
“Fedya!” Killian stumbled. “Stop!”
It didn’t matter. Killian staggered as Fedya forced him down the path, back toward the mansion. They kicked up snow as Fedya shoved Killian in front of him and steered him faster than his legs could go.
“Don’t ever go into the gardens again,” Fedya ordered as they crossed the frozen grounds. The sun had peaked on the horizon, but it wasn’t beautiful. Not today.
Killian twisted in Fedya’s grasp, wincing as his iron grip sent bolts of pain shooting up his forearm. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”
Fedya’s entire body seized, and his hand instantly loosened on Killian’s wrist. They had reached the back door, and for a moment Fedya faltered, his anger slipping away. Then he shook his head and wrenched open the door so hard, the bolts groaned in protest. “Stay away from magic!”
Fedya shoved Killian inside so fast he nearly crashed into the opposite wall. He spun around just as Fedya slammed the door in his face. Killian didn’t move, panting, numb. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears and he shivered as the melting snow seeped against his skin.
Finally he coughed, his throat raw, and he clenched his teeth. Fedya’s roar still lingered in his ears. He was at the bottom of a stairwell, and he stomped up them without care as to where they led.
He was gasping for air as he reached the top, spots still lingering in his vision, his neck coated with sweat. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes before sliding down to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. He reached up, tenderly touching the spot on his neck where the Grimbeast had strangled him, and winced. But slowly his ragged gasps began to subside, replaced only with silence. His temples pulsed and he swallowed as his fingers trailed back down to the front of his coat. The fabric was shredded where Fedya had grabbed him.
A tiny noise pricked his ear. Killian cracked his eyes back open and glanced down the hall. He noticed the door that led to the music room, and beside it, the stained glass window of the rose. He stared at it and frowned. It looked different.
He hoisted himself to his feet, legs still shaking, and walked over to it. His boot crunched down on something hard, and when he pulled his foot away he found a piece of green glass crushed into the plush carpet. Killian looked at the window again, and noticed a small section—a thorn from the rose—had broken off.
Killian leaned down, peering at the crushed pieces. Then another thorn rattled from the window and fell to the ground.
B
lack and purple bruises blossomed on Killian’s neck by nightfall. Every swallow flourished new bursts of tingling agony, and Killian grimaced as he stared at their reflection in the tiny, round pocket mirror. He knew he had more important things to worry about—after all, he was still alive and that’s what mattered. Still. He couldn’t help it. He clasped the mirror shut, trying to block the images from his mind. They were so ugly.
The metal surface of the mirror felt warm and comforting against Killian’s skin. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across its engraved surface as he lay back on his bed. He glared at the canopy and fiddled with the clasp. He clicked it open and it slipped from his fingers, tumbling over the side of the bed. Killian sighed but didn’t bother reaching for it, turning his head to the side.
The spell book still lay on the desk, exactly where he’d left it. But staring at it now, his stomach gave an unexpected twist and he pulled himself out of bed.
Killian snatched up the mirror as he walked over to the book. He gently traced his fingers across its charred, black cover before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled page he’d torn from it before. It was covered in droplets of dried blood and even more brittle from melted snow, but he smoothed it out as best as he could anyway and gently slid it in between the cover. Fedya was right. Magic was what caused all of this in the first place, and neither of them even knew how to use it.
Sighing, Killian tucked the mirror away in his jacket, beside the letter he’d written to Melchior that he’d probably never send, and hoisted the book under his arm. He hardly had to step out of his room before the library unfolded in front of him. But when he stepped inside, he stopped short.
“Oh...”
Fedya was sitting at one of the desks in the middle of the room, staring down at an open volume. He looked so much like a human, sitting with his legs tucked in, his cloak wrapped around his neck like a scarf and his mane brushed back into a small ponytail between his ears. He lifted his head as Killian walked in, and when he did, Killian’s heart ached.
Fedya didn’t say anything, but he watched Killian as he slowly stepped into the room. Then his eyes landed on the book and he flicked his eyes to the side, a peculiar expression seeping onto his face, and there was a strange softness to his features that Killian couldn’t be certain if it had been there before.
Killian tightened his grip on the book. Even though Fedya no longer looked at him, he still nodded and spoke evenly. “Good evening.”
Fedya kept his head turned down. Killian dug his nails into the binding and hurried up the staircase. He didn’t care where the book was supposed to go anymore, and he shoved it into the first open spot on the shelf he could find. It looked odd among the others, its scorched edges still making his stomach tumble, and he quickly turned away, overlooking the balcony to the floor below.
He could just barely see the tips of Fedya’s horns, still sitting at his desk. Quietly, Killian eased onto his toes, leaning over the railing to peer over Fedya’s shoulder.
The book on the desk was open to a large map, scrawled out across both its pages. He recognized the Stoiwana Ocean, and he leaned down a little bit more, trying to place the rest of the contin
ents and islands. Fedya’s finger trailed along the bumpy coastline and Killian grinned.
“Do you like to travel?”
Fedya’s shoulders jerked as though he’d forgotten Killian was still there. “No, I don’t,” he said, scowling. “Why would I?”
A smile tugged Killian’s lips, and he pulled away from the banister, starting back down the steps with a small shrug. “Because it’s amazing? Don’t you want to see new places? Meet new people or do the kinds of things you’d never get to do if you just stayed home?”
“I like my home.”
“Well, yes,” Killian sidled up on the other side of the desk, “I do too. But that doesn’t mean I want to be there all the time.”
Fedya grunted in response. Killian hesitated, licked his lips, leaned in just a little bit closer. “I love traveling. If I could, it’s what I’d do with the rest of my life. There’s so much out there: jungles, and mountains, and cities. Things to explore and see—”
“And what exactly are you doing with all of this exploration?”
Fedya slammed the book shut, the sound bouncing off the ceiling. He pushed his chair from the desk and stood. But as his eyes flicked to Killian’s neck he faltered, and he quickly glared back down at the book instead. “What have you learned from these experiences? From all this travel?”
Killian pulled back. “I…learned?”
Fedya kept staring at the book, but his voice was hushed. “These aren’t just places, Killian. They’re not some other world for your amusement, that you can forget about as soon as you’ve taken everything you need from it. These are people’s homes.”
Killian couldn’t answer. He swallowed hard and his throat began to throb. But he couldn’t pull away or even try to speak. As Fedya spoke, the anger in his voice had given away more and more, until there was nothing left but a longing sadness.
FAIRYTALE Page 14