A Curse of Thorns

by Nicole Mainardi

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “I think it’s his bandages,” I explained. “They’ve likely stuck to the wounds by now.”

  Sophie nodded and lifted up the clean shirt she must’ve put on him earlier. Blood and puss had bled through the bandages and I reached for him without thinking, then pulled back as Sophie began unwrapping them. It looked bad, but I tried to keep the worry off my face. Luckily, Bastian had closed his eyes again, so he couldn’t see me.

  Once the bandages were gone, I saw that the gashes were deeply imbedded into his skin. His chest and stomach had miraculously begun to heal themselves, but it still looked gruesome.

  Now Bastian was watching me.

  “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed with your stupidity,” Sophie grumbled, and both Bastian and I cracked a smile at her curmudgeonly state.

  “Only with your permission, Soph,” Bastian replied, though his voice was still hoarse.

  Sophie scoffed. “Don’t try to charm your way out of this one, boy.” She began applying the salve and Bastian sighed in relief. “I’m still angry with you.”

  He laughed once, though it was more like a cough. “Fair enough.”

  Sophie paused for a moment, then looked at me. “Can you leave us for a moment?”

  I met her fuming gaze, then glanced at Bastian. He looked just as confused as I felt. But I nodded and got up from the bed, not taking my eyes off him until I’d closed the door. Then, I waited, refusing to move even though the chill from the night clung to the castle stones and swept deep underneath my skin.

  A little while later, I finally heard voices behind the door. Sophie was the first to speak, and her words came out like venom.

  “How could you have been so stupid?”

  Silence.

  “I lost focus,” Bastian said finally.

  “You could’ve been killed,” she practically growled.

  “But I wasn’t,” he argued.

  “Yes, thanks to Belle. Tell me the truth: would you have lived if she hadn’t killed that wolf?”

  How did she know about that? Had she been watching Bastian and I in the clearing? And if she’d been there and seen us, why hadn’t she come to help?

  There was a long pause before Bastian answered, defeated. “No.”

  Another silence. “Don’t ever risk yourself like that again, especially for some girl. I’ve seen you almost die too many times.”

  I heard footsteps coming toward the door and bolted to my room. But I couldn’t help wondering if that had been the end of the conversation.

  ~

  Another day passed while Bastian continued to heal. I kept to my room mostly; after overhearing the conversation between him and Sophie, I got the feeling I wasn’t wanted. And the old woman hadn’t come by once to contradict it, or to ask me to come see Bastian. Selfishly, I wondered if he was asking for me.

  It was the second night since the wolf attack, and I was getting restless. I wanted to check on Bastian, to make sure he was alright. But he was also the only way I was going to be able to see my sisters. If anyone could navigate the Black Forest, it was him.

  I knew he needed time, though. When he was feeling better, he’d come to me.

  The fireplace had lit itself after the sun went down a few hours ago, and I sat in front of it, staring into the flames but not really seeing them. Instead, I kept seeing the wolf on top of Bastian, tearing away a piece of his life with each slash of its claws. What if I hadn’t known how to shoot an arrow, or I’d frozen up from fear? Bastian would be dead.

  I shivered at the thought despite the warmth of the fire.

  A knock at my door made me flinch, the sound harsh on my ears after more than a day alone with only my thoughts. I picked myself off the ground stiffly, and opened the door, expecting to find Sophie.

  But to my surprise, it was Bastian. My face flushed—he’d never come to my door before.

  Slightly slumped, he stood in the threshold, gripping a silver tray with two plates of food. I quickly took the weight of it from him. He was wearing the black pants he always seemed to have on and a navy-blue sweater that was stretched out, probably from before he’d become the Beast. It also looked like Sophie had made him take a bath again, because his hair was wet and slicked back. His gaze was downcast—I had the urge to put my arms around him. It felt like it had been an eternity since I’d seen him last.

  “Come in,” I said.

  He barely lifted his head as he moved into the room, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I set the tray down by the fire. Looking back at him, I gestured towards the rug on the floor and sat. He came to sit beside me, and I peered at him in confusion, cocking my head to the side so that he would look at me. But he ignored me, pushing his food around with the long claw of one of his fingers.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He stopped playing with his dinner and finally looked up at me. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

  “Angry? Why would I be angry?” I wondered, picking up my fork, trying to prove to him that nothing was wrong. That everything was fine, even if I wasn’t sure that it was.

  Bastian stared at me. “I almost got you killed.”

  “No, you almost got yourself killed,” I amended. “In fact, I saved your sorry hide.”

  He eyed me like I had two heads. I laughed softly. “Look, Bastian, I’m not Sophie. She’s practically your mother the way she frets about you. I care about you,” I continued, and his eyes widened, as if he was seeing me for the first time tonight, “but I know that you can take care of yourself. If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve heard the second wolf and taken it down easily. But I was there, and I was able to kill the wolf that I’d distracted you from in the first place.” I shook my head. “Why would I be mad at you?”

  “Well,” he said, leaning back slightly, “when you say it like that, it sounds almost…logical.” He paused. “Thank you, for saving me.”

  I grinned. “I guess we’re even now.”

  He grinned back toothily, and I looked down at my food. I was starving, but my stomach was in knots. At first, I couldn’t understand why…then I realized Bastian and I were alone in my room. I glanced back up at him, and saw that he’d come to the same conclusion. He reached a paw to grip the back of his furry neck.

  “I brought you something,” he said, pulling out a thick book from his back pants pocket.

  I smiled, biting my lip. “Which book is it?”

  “Hamlet,” he answered softly, and I drew in a breath.

  I loved Hamlet more than any of the bard’s other plays; it was the first Shakespearean work Alinder had read to me. While my mother had always enjoyed the love-sick tale of Romeo and Juliet, I’d wanted to read more about murder and betrayal and lost love.

  “Hamlet is one of my favorites,” I said instead.

  He deflated. “Oh, you’ve already read it,” he replied, and then grumbled, “Of course you have.”

  I touched his arm. “Please read to me.”

  He looked down at my hand on his arm, and when I didn’t move it, he swallowed. “Alright.”

  I scooted beside him as he took the play in his hands. “Do you have a favorite part?” he asked.

  I smiled, remembering Alinder reading it to me in all the different voices. “Yes, the graveyard scene.”

  He scoffed. “That’s the only scene people know. ‘Alas, poor Yorick!—I knew him, Heratio’,” he mimicked in a high voice. Or, at least as high as his voice could go, which made it sound even more ridiculous.

  I laughed outright. “Not that speech, the one just after it. Go to that scene and I’ll show you.”

  He flipped almost directly to the page, as if he’d done it a million times. I moved closer and my fingers skimmed the small font until I found it. “There,” I pointed.

  He read silently to where I’d shown him, a smile forming on his lips when he spoke the words aloud. “‘No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, an
d likelihood to lead it: as thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth: of earth we make loam; and why of that loam whereto he was converted might they not stop a beer-barrel? Imperious Ceasar, dead and turn’d to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: O, that’ that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall t‘expel the winter’s flaw!— ’”

  Bastian stopped, and chuckled. “Hamlet can never just say anything simply, can he?”

  I was about to agree, but the memory of why that passage spoke to me so deeply came into my head, and I sobered. “I read that passage just after my mother died. She would’ve wanted to be with the dust and dirt. That’s where she always was anyway…”

  I dropped my head to Bastian’s shoulder as I trailed off. His warmth comforted me. He tentatively brought his arm around me, draping it across my shoulders, and placing his hand on my arm. I shivered and moved closer to him. A single tear slipped down my cheek and onto his sweater, but I didn’t wipe it away.

  “What’s your favorite part?” I asked, trying to hide my tears. But the thickness in my voice gave it away.

  Bastian didn’t speak at first, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “On the next page.”

  I closed my eyes. “Read it to me,” I whispered.

  I heard him turn the page and clear his throat, “‘I loved Ophelia: forty-thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.—What wilt thou do for her?’” He paused skipping over the quick lines of the king and queen. It comforted me that he understood the play well enough to know that those lines didn’t matter. That Hamlet wouldn’t have heard them anyway. “‘’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do: Woo’t weep? woo’t fight? woo’t fast? woo’t tear thyself? Woo’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? I’ll do’t.—Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I.’” He stopped there, though I knew that wasn’t the end of the speech.

  I opened my eyes and sat up slightly to see him looking at me. His blue eyes were burning into mine, but I didn’t look away. “I was always fascinated by that passage because I’ve never known that feeling—to love someone so completely that you’d be willing to die a thousand agonizing deaths for them.” He paused, glancing away. “But…I think I’m beginning to understand what Hamlet meant.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I moved away from him, unable to take the emotion that had overcome me. He was practically telling me that he loved me and I just… I didn’t know to say. I didn’t even know how I felt.

  We were silent for a heartbreaking moment before he spoke, “I want to show you something.”

  I swallowed hard, nodding for him to continue, though I still couldn’t look at him.

  He cleared his throat again, and the awkwardness in the room was nearly tangible. “Sophie told me not to do any more surprises with you, but I couldn’t resist this time.”

  Fighting back a smile, I turned to him. “We’re not taking a trip into the forest at night, are we? Due to previous experience, I’m going to have to turn down such an offer.”

  Bastian chuckled in a husky voice, the moment when I’d pulled away seemingly forgotten. “Nothing like that,” he assured me. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation this time.

  Bastian stood up and held out his hand for me. “Then come with me.”

  Leaving the food and Hamlet on the floor, I took his paw. I felt his eyes on me as we walked out of my room, and I couldn’t help glancing over to meet them before turning away. There was something different about tonight, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

  Quickly, we passed through the dining room and into another part of the castle, coming to the entrance of a large, high-ceilinged room. It was circular and lit by candlelight, with a piano and several other instruments stuffed into one of the shadowy corners. The walls around us were trimmed in gold and…mirrors. The entire bottom quarter of the room was lined with them. They were a bit dusty and faded, but they were there. I let go of his hand, stepping closer to one of the mirrors to get a look at myself. I hadn’t seen my reflection in days, though it felt like months. I never realized before how often I looked at my appearance despite always trying to avoid it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me how awful I look?” I asked, only half-joking. I really did look terrible. My hair was greasy, my face ghostly-pale, and somehow I’d gotten even thinner despite the food tray trying to feed me every hour.

  Bastian took my hand in his. I looked at his reflection in the mirror, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he told me. “So beautiful that it hurts sometimes to look at you.”

  I sucked in a quick breath, too stunned to reply. Then his other hand reached for my waist.

  “Dance with me?” he asked, and I looked around.

  “But there’s no music.” I reasoned breathlessly.

  Bastian smiled before the soft sound of piano keys broke through the silence, followed by a bow floating across the strings of a violin. I peered around Bastian, seeing that the instruments that had been lifeless moments ago were now playing on their own, breathing life into the place with a haunting melody.

  My gaze returned to Bastian, and he began to move with the music, taking a step back and then twirling me with his paw. As I spun, I found that I was laughing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d danced, though I was fairly certain that it had been with my father when I was a child and mother had still been alive.

  “You dance so well,” I told him breathlessly, the sweeping music moving us across the floor as if we were made of air.

  “Despite my appearance,” he said as he spun me again, “I’m a very good dancer. The best that gold can buy, in fact. One of the duties of being a prince.”

  “It wasn’t all bad, then,” I said, taking his hand back in mine.

  “No, not all of it. But,” he continued, and I moved closer to him when his paw flexed slightly at my waist, “nothing could’ve taught me what it would be like to lose my father. Or to become the Beast. Some things you just can never be prepared for.”

  Thinking of my mother, and my father and sisters, I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Then the music stopped, and so did we. Standing there, inches apart, a strange kind of current passed between us, and I started to grow lightheaded.

  “Come outside with me,” Bastian said softly, and I followed him toward one of the other mirrors, hoping fresh air would suffocate the butterflies in my stomach.

  It was a strange contrast, the two of us in the reflection. Bastian looked like, well, a beast, and I wasn’t much better. Granted, I enjoyed not having as much hair as Bastian did, but the silver veins of my scars seemed to jump out at me from the candlelight. I noticed that Bastian still wouldn’t look in the mirror at all.

  There was a handle on one of the mirrors that was so small I didn’t notice it until Bastian reached out and turned it, bringing me through a door.

  Cold winter air enveloped me as we stepped outside onto a stone balcony that reached around the corners of the castle and out of sight. In the distance, I could see the Black Forest, and then the snow-covered hills of the abandoned farm land beyond that. And there, in the blackness of the night sky, was the moon, surrounded by bright, twinkling stars, bathing the world in a soft white.

  “I used to come here all the time to look out at Briar—it has the best views in the entire castle,” he told me, peering out into the night. “When my father was still the king, I’d climb down the trellises and escape to the barn where the horses were. Brushing their manes calmed me more than anything else would.” He looked down. “But when I became the Beast, they were all frightened of me. Except for Hross; she’s in the stables now. She’s the only one that stuck around after. Besides Sophie, of course.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to feel bad for who Bastian had been in the past, but I
wasn’t sure I could, knowing the tyrant he would become when he was king. Looking away, I saw that there was an ornate bench that lined the balcony, framed by potted plants that had blooming in them roses of all different shades, even though it was the dead of winter and they were covered in snow. Some of the petals even looked like they were made of glass.

  He picked one off its stem—a red one.

  “My lady,” he said, offering it to me.

  “Much obliged, good sir,” I said, taking it from him, smiling despite myself.

  Bastian sat down and waited for me to take the spot next to him. When I did, I crossed my ankles, regarding him.

  “Why didn’t you destroy the mirrors in the ballroom?” I asked.

  “That was my parent’s ballroom,” he explained. “Sophie once told me that they used to go in there when they’d ordered most of the staff to retire for the night, and dance alone together. They hadn’t had any music, but they didn’t need it. Sophie says she’d never seen two people more in love than my parents.”

  I took his hand and nodded, knowing there was nothing I could really say to fill that void, but I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. That I could understand some of his pain. My parents had been in love once, I was sure, but I never knew the kind of love that Bastian talked about.

  “Right after my mother died,” I began, realizing he didn’t know much about my past, and yet I felt like I knew more than enough about his, “I used to sleep in her garden to see if she would show up and surprise me. That it had been some grand joke, and she’d come back to us. But I never looked at that garden again once I understood that she was never coming back, and without her there to tend it,” I looked away, “her plants withered and died until there was nothing left. I just wish I’d been able to keep it alive for her, you know?”

  Bastian put a gentle paw beneath my chin, and I looked up into his eyes. They weren’t full of pity like I’d been expecting, but understanding.

  “I’m sorry,” he told me, “about your mother. I wish I could’ve met her.”

  I nodded, steeling myself, and he dropped my chin. “I think she would’ve liked you,” I told him, pausing carefully before I continued. “I had more time with mine than I could’ve hoped for. I feel awful that you never got to meet yours.”