FAIRYTALE

by Rodriguez, Rebeccah

  He watched her walk away, whispering something tersely to the other healer before casting him another look, her eyes sharp. She hurried out of the room. The moment she disappeared, Killian leapt from his chair, ducking his head as the other healer called out after him.

  He raced out the door, and a thick crowd instantly consumed him. The endless hall of the infirmary stretched out on either side of him, rows of doors all open as healers and nurses rushed back and forth, their concerned chatter floating around.

  His head still pounded, but at least he could think clearly. He rushed down the hall, opening any door that wasn’t already ajar and peering inside. Frantic figures rushed inside, beds and tables filled with wide-eyed men and women. Every so often a flash of blond hair made his heart skip, but neither Annette nor Melchior were in sight.

  He raced down the hall, keeping his head low. He turned a corner and skidded to a halt. The crowd melted away and the harsh, bright lights seemed to grow dim. The dozens of open doors were gone, making way for a single door at the very end of the aisle with a heavy brass knob and a fogged glass window.

  A sheen of sweat prickled over Killian’s skin. The knob stung like ice against his fingers as he peered inside.

  Three healers huddled around a table, their faces concealed in long, black masks. A pale, unmoving body lay between them, and a surge of bile rose to Killian’s throat as one of the healers stepped away, a wad of blood-soaked towels in his gloved hands. He couldn’t hear them speak, but he could see the masks quiver above their lips.

  He tightened his grip on the knob, his knuckles white. The healers motioned to Melchior’s body a few more times and shook their heads before filing out to an adjoining room, their masks still shuddering as they spoke.

  The moment they disappeared, Killian burst inside. He didn’t bother being quiet, certain that everyone could hear his heart colliding against his ribcage anyway. A strangled gasp ripped through his throat as he raced to the bedside, a sob welling to his chest.

  Melchior lay still, his pale skin gray and waxy beneath the bright lights. His fingertips and lips were tinged blue. Dry blood slathered the front of his suit and arms, his face caked in Cosette’s dried tears. They hadn’t even the time to clean him.

  With trembling fingers Killian reached for him, but his hand lingered midair. He couldn’t touch him. “Melchior…”

  Melchior flinched at Killian’s voice, and his eyelids fluttered open with a gasp. His normally clear blue eyes were almost cloudy, his pupils lined with yellow. For a moment he looked around, lost. Then his gaze settled on Killian and he smiled. His teeth were stained crimson.

  “About time.”

  Melchior’s raspy voice clawed Killian’s mind. Killian trembled. He couldn’t catch his breath. How could he possibly be breathing so fast when Melchior struggled to take even one mangled gasp?

  “I need to tell you,” Killian said. “Annette. It’s Annette, she…”

  He stopped. Melchior stared at him, his sunken eyes widening. His forehead prickled with beads of sweat, and his hollow cheeks caught dark shadows beneath the bright light. Killian clenched his teeth. Even now, fear and concern etched on Melchior’s face upon hearing his sister’s name. All he wanted was her safety.

  Killian drew in a breath and forced out the words. “She’s alright. She wasn’t hurt.”

  A flicker of relief passed across Melchior’s face, and Killian swallowed again. A low, strained sigh passed through Melchior’s lips, and he closed his eyes as he turned his head away.

  “I’m going to die.”

  Killian’s heart clenched. “What?”

  “I’ve been poisoned with Dark Magic; their magic is useless against it.”

  Killian’s knees buckled. He fought for air, and he shook his head as he struggled to steady his voice. “There has to be something. Every magic has its weakness, they can’t just give up.” His grip shook on the bedframe. “They can’t just let you…”

  His throat closed up, and Melchior’s eyes slowly opened again. For a moment he almost looked like he wanted to smile, and his face said it all. He had accepted death. “Not by anything they can do.”

  Killian paused, a heavy clamp of dread burrowing in the pit of his stomach. “What is it?”

  “Dark Magic counters Dark Magic.”

  “So, what does that mean? Why…” Killian bit his tongue. “What is it they need?”

  Melchior didn’t answer, his eyes starting to fade. His hoarse breathing started to shudder, and he closed his eyes again. His lips twitched, the words barely scratching out. “The blood of the Cursed.”

  An icy chill pierced Killian’s spine. “Fedya’s blood.”

  Melchior reached out and rested his hand atop Killian’s. His fingers were already stiff, and cold as snow. “Stop her, Killian. Fight for her.” His body jerked, tight; he winced, his breathing becoming labored. “Cosette is going to kill him.”

  His words plunged into Killian’s soul. He wavered, the air disappearing. But then Melchior’s frozen grip tightened on his hand and his voice hardened. “Please stop her. Don’t let her destroy herself.”

  A burst of violent coughs seized Melchior’s body, and the murmur of voices sent shivers through Killian’s bones. The healers. They were coming back.

  “Bring her back.”

  Melchior’s hand fell away.

  The world faded to gray. Killian’s fingers trembled as he brushed them a final time across Melchior’s hand. This time Melchior’s eyes stayed closed. Killian watched the shallow rising and falling of Melchior’s chest, each breath growing more and more strained until even his choking gasps faded away. Slowly Killian pulled back, and though Melchior could no longer see him, he nodded.

  “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll find her.”

  F

  lecks of ice pierced Killian’s eyes. He leaned in close, urging his horse faster through the trees. The thunder of hooves boomed, and a scar of lightning split the sky. Killian winced, peering through the dark forest. A squeal of metal and the familiar iron fence appeared up ahead, the gates swinging open wide.

  In the dark shadows, clawing branches reached out, snagging and pulling. His horse reared back, whinnying in wild-eyed terror. Killian tumbled from its back, splitting his cheek on a stone. Warm blood dribbled down his chin, but he jumped to his feet, barely avoiding flailing hooves as he grasped for the reins.

  Another bolt of lightning lit up the forest, and the manor loomed ahead of them, black as ink. Cosette was nowhere in sight. Killian grasped the reins, heaving the horse toward it. The moment the iron gates clanged shut, the safety of the bars locking them in, he released his hold and sprinted toward the double doors—both splayed wide open.

  The walls consumed all sound. The screeching wind halted, aching silence ringing in his ears. Shadows seeped into the walls, cloaking everything in pure darkness. Killian pulled to a stop. Soon his pounding heartbeat filled the quiet, and he sucked in a breath, creeping forward on his toes.

  The long halls snaked in front of him, and he kept one hand pressed into the wall. The windows rattled, the glass quivering as the chandeliers up above began to sway.

  “Come on,” Killian pleaded. “Bring me to him. Let me help him just one more time.”

  He edged toward a narrow staircase, and burst into a sprint up the steps, his chest constricting with ragged gasps as he reached the top. He recognized his bedroom door, but sprinted past it, his legs wavering. He turned a corner and jolted to a halt. The shattered remains of the stained-glass window littered the floor, scattered like diamond dust atop Fedya’s motionless body that lay on the floor.

  “Fedya…”

  Killian fell to his knees, brushing away the broken bits of glass from Fedya’s mane, his fingers slicing open with bright ribbons of red. Fedya’s eyes remained closed, no trace of humanity left on his face.

  “Fedya, you have to get up.”

  Slowly, achingly, Fedya’s ey
es split open. Their once soft brown hue was now watery and pale, his black mane turned gray and worn. He could barely lift his head.

  “Why did you come back?” Fedya whispered.

  Killian forced a smile, but he couldn’t hold it. He brushed Fedya’s hair back from his eyes, ignoring the droplets of blood squeezing from his fingertips.

  “I would never leave you behind.”

  He hoisted Fedya’s arm across his shoulders, grimacing, struggling to stand. Fedya’s weight pulled him down, his thick limbs dragging across the floor. The glow of the ruby moon cast through the broken window on them like a beacon.

  A loud crash echoed up the hall. Killian froze.

  “She’s already here.”

  Fedya’s hoarse voice rumbled in Killian’s ear and his eyes widened. His heartbeat doubled, nerves crackled, and he shook out of his trance, shaking his head as he heaved Fedya after him, gritting his teeth. “Hurry up, she can’t find you like this.”

  They managed a few more steps before the ground shuddered and a familiar silhouette stepped out in front of them. Cosette’s pale complexion burned red with snow-whipped iciness, her thick dark hair damp with sweat, coating her round face. In her right hand, a long, iron hatchet. In her left, an empty bottle for blood.

  Their eyes locked and she tilted her head back. “Get out of my way, Killian.”

  She hardly sounded human, her voice devoid of all emotion. The laughter that always bounced in her eyes was gone, the perpetual smile stolen from her lips.

  Killian’s nails dug deeper in Fedya’s fur, straining as his body seemed to grow even heavier. She completely blocked the path to the staircase, and he searched for any other paths in his peripheral vision.

  “Cosette, you don’t have to do this. This is still Fedya, we can still save him too.”

  “Fedya is dead!” Cosette plunged the blade of the hatchet into the wall, shards of fractured wood scattering to the floor. “He died, just like his brother died, and I will not allow Melchior to die along with them.”

  Her nails dug into the handle of the hatchet, her body coiling. Her slender arm bulged with tight muscle as she yanked the hatched back out, casting out a spray of splinters at her feet.

  “Wait!” Killian’s knees buckled as his entire body threatened to turn itself inside out. “Let me help you, we can save them both.”

  “It’s too late!”

  Cosette screamed as she raised the hatchet high and raced toward them. Killian grasped at the wall behind him, desperate. His fingers clasped around a doorknob and he slammed his shoulder into it. The door swung open and they toppled backward, crashing to the floor inside. Killian dove back to the door, banging it shut just as Cosette’s blade smashed into the wood.

  Killian jumped back, narrowly avoiding flying splinters of wood. The door flung back beneath the force, and as Cosette drew back for another swing, Killian leapt at it, jamming the lock into place. Another powerful crash of the hatchet sent him stumbling back, nearly tripping over Fedya.

  “Killian!”

  Cosette’s shrieks mingled with his booming heartbeat. He grasped Fedya’s arm, yanking him to stand. His eyes flicked across the room, and his stomach curdled.

  Severed deer heads jutted out from the walls, wide, lifeless eyes staring down at them. Their antlers clawed at the ceiling where gutted and stuffed fowl hung from their necks and wings. He’d never seen this room before. Sickened chills crawled up his arms as he scanned the death-strewn walls for anything that might help.

  The large round room gave way to a second, lower floor; a coiled staircase led the way down. Cosette’s screams grew louder, rattling his bones. He wrenched Fedya’s arm again.

  “You have to get up!” Killian begged. “Please!”

  He could feel Fedya’s strength seeping out from beneath his fingers. He gritted his teeth and pulled up even harder. Finally, slowly, Fedya began to stand.

  “Killian! Stop!”

  A pang of agony sliced through Cosette’s screams, and Killian’s heart tightened. Her face peered through the cracked door, a flash of pleading in her eyes. Killian tore his gaze from her, back to Fedya. Each step stole more breath from his lungs, ragged gasps shuddering his chest as the last of his fur shifted to gray, the final remnants of his humanity fading away.

  They reached the top of a staircase just as Cosette’s blade smashed through the rest of the door. Killian spun around as she stepped inside.

  “I will not let you kill Melchior,” she said, and for the first time Killian noticed the streaks of tears staining her cheeks. She lifted the hatchet back up again, high above her head. Through her arms, Killian saw the hunting machete displayed on the wall behind her.

  His breath stole away. Cosette screamed and raced toward them. Killian caught her arm before she could swing down. She strained against his grip, far stronger than her frail body implied. Her arms were coated in sweat, and his fingers slipped against her icy flesh.

  Their eyes met, only for a moment. White-hot heat colliding with frigid chills. She looked past him, at Fedya still trying to escape down the twisting steps. She screamed again and thrust Killian off her with powerful force. He stumbled, colliding into the opposite wall.

  The animal carcasses rattled against the force, but he zeroed in on the machete. He snatched it without thinking and spun back around.

  “Stop!”

  His voice echoed, and Cosette glanced over her shoulder. She stopped, staring at the weapon in his hand. Her hatchet lowered and she turned to face him.

  “You would use that on me?”

  Her quiet voice sent chills spinning across his skin. Beads of sweat stung his eyes and he swallowed hard as the blade quivered in his grip. He stared down at his hands, a pulse of bile rising in his throat. He’d never carried a weapon before.

  “I just want you to stop. Nobody else has to die.”

  She stared at him, cheeks flushed with crimson. The room fell silent and for a moment time stood still.

  Cosette took a step forward.

  “I know you care about Fedya,” she said. “Just as I care for Melchior.”

  Her grip never wavered on the hatchet.

  “We must do what is necessary to protect the ones we love,” she whispered. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  In one fell swoop she swung the hatchet and leapt toward him. Killian froze. He snapped out of it instantly, dodging to the side one second too late. The blade lodged into his right shoulder, colliding with bone.

  Killian screamed and dropped to the ground, the machete flying from his hands. Thick blood flowed freely down his arm, pooling onto the floor as he writhed and clutched his burning arm. Flashes of white filled his vision, and his heart threatened to burst from his chest.

  Cosette stared at him, the hatchet in her hand dripping freely. Her grip held steady, but she didn’t lift the weapon again.

  “Please,” she hissed. “Stay down.”

  She turned on her heel, swiftly turning down the stairs after Fedya. Killian shuddered, his mouth open as he tried to call for her, but only choked gasps managed to escape his lips. Cosette disappeared down the steps.

  Killian clenched his jaw, trying not to scream again as he squeezed the wound tighter. Blood seeped between his fingers, and his right arm rapidly grew completely numb. He struggled to sit up, and the motion left him panting for air, his head light. The machete lay within an arm’s length from him. He could still reach Cosette in time. He could still save Fedya.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Killian bit his tongue and focused on his legs. The floor was slick with blood, and he turned to crawl on his knees. Sweat dripped down his temples as he crept toward the knife, focusing on nothing else but the luminous metal.

  A thunderous roar echoed up from below, and Killian’s head shot up. Cosette screamed, but she didn’t sound afraid.

  Pushing the pain away, Killian snatched up the machete. His numb fingers fumbled around the hilt,
but he only tightened his grip and pushed himself toward the balcony railing. His feet slid on the slippery marble, but he managed to stand, out of breath as his head spun faster.

  Down below, Fedya lay on the ground, unmoving. Deep gashes of bright red littered his back, soaking through his ashen fur. A few steps away Cosette remained shakily on her feet, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, the hatchet still firm in her grasp.

  “Cosette!” Killian gripped the edge of the railing. “Stop!”

  Her eyes shot up to him, wild and gleaming with tears. But she turned back to Fedya, and she stepped back over to him. She swung the hatchet high above his neck.

  Cosette’s body went rigid. She froze. Then slowly she looked down, staring at the tip of the arrow that jutted out from her ribcage. She coughed once, and a bubble of blood burst from her lips.

  Killian stared in horror as she lifted her head back up. She’d stopped crying. The hatchet fell from her hands, landing beside her with a loud thud. For a moment she wavered, until her entire body gave a final shudder and she fell to her knees, slumped over.

  The end of the arrow protruded from her back, still quivering from Cosette’s final breath. Killian stared at it, unable to move. He wanted to scream. To cry. Anything. Instead, he heard the sound of a bowstring twang, and he tore his eyes from Cosette’s huddled body.

  Annette stood on the opposite end of the balcony. She already had another arrow in her hand, and she set it into place.

  Killian’s knees weakened, his voice a hoarse whisper. “What did you do?”

  Annette looked at Killian as if she were noticing him for the first time. Her face split into a wide smile. “God, she was annoying.”

  Killian’s stomach turned. “You killed her.”

  “Well, I knew you wouldn’t.” Annette rolled her eyes, her smirk widening as she glanced at the machete still clutched in Killian’s hand. “Put that thing down, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Her smile sent icy prickles cascading down Killian’s spine, and he knew he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not for Cosette. Not even for Fedya.