Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1)

by M. J. Haag

  Disappointment clearly on my face, I looked up at her. Her expression remained impassive.

  “Well, I tried. The cloth I had didn’t match, and you would have looked like a patchwork. Perhaps Father can save for a new one. Until then, you do have the dress.”

  I stared after her as she glided from the room and closed the door. The dress? In a disbelieving trance, I walked across the room to one of the compact chests sitting on the floor at the foot of the larger bed that Blye and Bryn shared. There was one chest for each of my sisters, gifts from our mother, who’d died before giving one to me. She’d meant them as a place for us to store the things we would collect for our own homes.

  Carefully lifting the lid of Blye’s chest, I gazed at the yards of folded fabrics stacked neatly on top of each other and the various lengths of ribbon lying on top of them. Threads of several colors twined around a thin spindle. Under the spindle, a simple bolt of roughly woven cream cotton material rested all but forgotten beside the prettily colored fine weaves. I would have liked to think Blye had overlooked the material; but wrapped in a bit of coarse thread, the section on my shirt she’d taken away sat beside it. She was right. The colors didn’t quite match, but she had enough of the other material to make me a whole new shirt if she chose to. It hurt knowing she couldn’t spare anything for me when I’d given so much to her.

  A clicking at the window distracted me; and I let the lid close softly, leaving the contents undisturbed. The crow opened and closed its beak several times without making any other sound and then took off from the sill, leaving me in peace.

  Shaking out the dress and brushing as much of the dirt from it as I could, I spread it on the bed and went to the kitchen to wash up. Two kettles rested on the stove in the vacant kitchen. I fetched a cloth and tested the water. Still cool. Frowning, I checked the stove. Bryn hadn’t even added wood to it to heat the water. Sighing, I set to washing in the cold water, wiping my skin, but foregoing rinsing my hair. Instead, after I finished and changed back into the dress, I ran a brush through it then braided it again.

  Tossing the water into the garden out back, I noticed the crow watching from the top of our tiny outbuilding that housed the goat and a few garden tools. It watched me closely, its quiet more disturbing than its previous cawing. I thoughtfully narrowed my eyes at it before going inside.

  Finally ready, I knocked on Father’s study door. He stood before the window, staring out at nothing when I entered, but quickly turned to hand me a sealed letter.

  “Try to be home before dark and save me from another night’s worry, Bini,” he said softly, kissing my cheek.

  I nodded and moved aside to let him pass. He’d obviously been waiting for me so he could leave for the school and ring the bell to call his pupils.

  * * * *

  The crow followed me as I walked away from the cottage, heading northwest toward the road. I wanted to angle north enough to miss any possibility of running into Tennen or Splane. I imagined by now, Tennen knew I’d returned home, thanks to Bryn, and wondered at his reaction.

  Lost in thought, I continued my journey until the crow flew at me from the left, making a racket and flapping in my face. Raising my arms for protection, I turned away, instinctively taking several large steps to put distance between us. So far, the crow had just followed me; the violence of its sudden attack left me with a racing heart and confused. I had no food with me to give it cause to chase me, even though the journey promised to be long and tiring.

  It retreated, and I tentatively lowered my arms to look for it. It had perched on a branch not far to my left. It cocked its head, studying me intensely. Warily, I gave it wide berth and tried striking out northwest again. Every time I veered even the slightest bit in a westerly direction, it flew at me.

  Scowling, I headed north to the estate. It followed me closely, herding me to the gate, which swung open at my approach. I stopped to look at the crow.

  “I truly feel I’ve tempted fate enough. I don’t suppose you’d leave me in peace if I went no further.”

  It cawed angrily, and I sighed, eyeing its sharp beak. Hoping the beast’s benevolent mood remained intact in the light of day, I stepped through the gate. As soon as it slammed closed behind me, the crow flew off north toward the center of the estate. Nervously, I lingered by the gate, unwilling to risk increasing the beast’s ire by going any further.

  After several long minutes the small, unidentifiable noises made by the wildlife in the surrounding area quieted. The typically blurred air grew murkier, making it hard to see more than a few feet beyond where I stood. A caw sounded nearby, the sharp ring of it dampened by the mist.

  “You returned.” The beast’s disembodied growl floated to me.

  Standing my ground, I slowly scanned the darkest areas in front of me.

  “Not by choice. I think your crow would have eagerly pecked out my eyes had I not abided by its direction.”

  Silence answered me. Had I misunderstood? Was the crow not his messenger? My stomach churned, and my gaze darted from one shadowy object to the next as I tried to discern which might be the beast. After a few moments of straining to see or hear any indication I wasn’t alone, I bravely spoke.

  “I’m very willing to leave you to your peace if you would kindly convince the gate to open.”

  “Before you leave, you may ask of me one thing you need that I can find within the walls of my estate,” he said with a low rumble.

  My mouth popped open. Generosity from the beast was the last thing I’d expected.

  “I...thank you for your offer,” I said slowly, “but I’ve taken so much from the estate already.”

  “You scorn my offer?”

  The roar of his rage momentarily deafened me and startled nearby birds from their roosts. Rubbing my ears, I hastily tried to assure him.

  “Never scorn. To the east, a portion of your wall has crumbled and often the area beyond offers a small harvest of edible roots no matter what time of year. Many times it’s helped feed me. And just the other day, a spider threw its fine webbing at me, strong enough to use as thread. To my shame, I’ve never scorned the bounty of your estate. I’ve repeatedly taken without asking until finally it stopped offering. So you see, I can’t possibly accept more.”

  An annoyed grunt sounded to my right, but when I turned in that direction, I saw nothing.

  “Regardless, ask of me one thing you need. Only then will the gate open.”

  I frowned at his stubborn insistence. Why did I need to ask for something? Perhaps it was a trick, and if I asked for the wrong thing I’d be trapped in the estate forever. He’d said something in the estate that I needed. Need must be the key. If Blye stood before him, she would say she needed something silly like thread or material, but I knew neither could be a need.

  “I can think of nothing I need. We always have enough food to keep from starving and a roof to keep us warm and dry.”

  “I don’t care about your family,” he said sharply. “Whatever you choose must be for you and you alone. You waste my time. This is no riddle to debate and stew. Just choose,” he bellowed, causing me to jump.

  Thoughtfully quiet, I nibbled at my lip. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for a man’s shirt. I even opened my mouth and made a small noise before snapping it shut as a surprising thought stopped me. I could hear his growing agitation in the increased volume of his growl.

  “Refuge,” I whispered.

  The growling stopped.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You want me to ask for one thing I need from within the estate. I’m asking for refuge when I need it.”

  Behind me, the gate creaked open. I spun and raced for the breach, not waiting for his answer. The crow’s cackling caw followed me through the trees until I reached the point where the mists faded.

  Near the road, I paused to bend and catch my breath. Four times I’d stood within the walls of the estate and escaped with my life; and now, with his offer, I’d ensured my safety
if I should ever find myself within those walls again.

  After a few moments, I wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on my brow and started my journey. The letter from my father rested within the bag that lay limp against my hip. I wished I had something with which to carry water, for I sorely needed a drink and my journey had just begun.

  Recalling Father’s request to return before dark, I lengthened my stride and followed the road from the estate northwest.

  * * * *

  The roar of rushing water announced the Deliichan River, which bordered the hilltop village of Water-On-The-Bridge. Eager to deliver the message, I strode forward around the last bend in the road and caught my first glimpse of the water-slicked bridge. In winter, the spray from the water that crashed upon the rocks below froze on the thick, wood planks to create a treacherous trek across.

  For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been water on the bridge, the reason for the village’s name. They’d tried moving the bridge, but the river didn’t tolerate additional bridges well, and they usually fell to ruin shortly after their completion. Only this one remained steadfast with very little repair needed.

  Because of the precariousness of the bridge, many merchants ended their routes at Water-On-The-Bridge, not bothering to trade with Konrall. The baker made the journey once a month for his flour from the mill while the tinker only rode this way when his supplies ran low. The seamstress and the candle maker dealt with the single traveling merchant who still traversed the bridge.

  My footsteps echoed hollowly on the planks and fine droplets settled on my cheeks as I crossed. The mill stood as a tall sentinel on the opposite side of the river, its elevated floors hovering a few feet above the water, steady on the thick stilts sunk deep into the riverbed. The waterwheel that turned the stone grinder spun slowly in the swift current, but I knew its power and the fine powder it turned out.

  The road on the other side of the river suffered deep ruts due to the constant traffic from the town to the mill. I took care to traverse the shoulder so I could view the bustling trade without fear of being run down by horse or wagon. There was much to observe.

  Water-On-The-Bridge presented a larger variety of trade than Konrall, including things a proper lady shouldn’t stare at. However, without my father accompanying me, I took the opportunity to watch the alehouse women, whom I knew if asked, would serve more than a drink.

  A tall brunette laughed loudly, throwing her head back to expose her neck. It made her look pretty, smoothing the lines of her loose skin and bringing a natural flush to her mottled complexion. Her customer, a man at ease while he sipped ale at a table, watched her chest with interest. Her dress pushed the tops of her pale breasts up on display much as my dress did. The man reached forward and pulled her close with a tug on her skirt. She leaned down to hear what he said, and he buried his face in her cleavage. She laughed harder as I passed from their view.

  The scene made me distinctly uncomfortable with my own display, but I persisted forward, knowing the house I sought was highly respectable. Mr. Jolen Pactel, the current Head, lived past the House of Whispering Sisters, which I found entertaining since his purpose was to maintain the peace and theirs was to bring peace, but in completely different ways. As Head, Mr. Pactel settled disputes and set down judgments in place of the Liege Lord, an absent fellow for near fifty years. The title of Head wasn’t an elected one, but an inherited one; and the Pactel family had held the position of Head for the last forty years with fair rulings. The House of Whispering Sisters brought peace, one client at a time, with their sweet smelling smoke, veiled faces, and unveiled bodies.

  With nothing to trade and no coin, I suffered the delicious aromas of simmering stews and baking pastries as I walked through the market district. The cloying smoke from the Whispering Sisters house fogged my head briefly as I caught a glimpse of a pale, slim torso and a grey veiled face through an open window.

  Away from the noise of commerce, I stepped under the arched stone wall that bordered the two-story house of the Head. After a single knock, the dense oak door swung open, and a thick-armed man greeted me with an impassive look.

  “Good day. I have a message for the Head from Mr. Benard Hovtel of Konrall.”

  The man stepped aside and bid me to enter. I willingly stepped into the spacious entry and admired the smooth sanded plank floor covered with a pretty, woven rug. Spring flowers adorned the side table, scenting the air sweetly.

  “This way,” the man murmured, leading me toward a small room near the back of the house.

  A smaller man sat behind a desk there. Sitting in a chair in the corner near the door through which we walked was another thick-armed man. I understood the business of the Head and knew men strong enough to help keep the peace were needed.

  “She has a message for the Head,” the man announced behind me once I entered the room. Without waiting for a response from the man behind the desk, my escort left.

  The short, thin man at the desk looked up from his papers, and with a pleasant smile, he stood when he saw me.

  “Good day, dear lady,” he greeted me. “Mr. Pactel is currently occupied elsewhere in the Water. May I be of assistance?”

  “I’m not certain,” I said hesitantly. “My father sent me here to deliver this message to Mr. Pactel.” I reached into my bag, heard the man in the corner shift behind me, and quickly withdrew the sealed letter. When I glanced over my shoulder, the man was just settling back into his chair, eyeing me critically.

  “And you are?”

  “Sorry,” I said, remembering myself. “Benella.”

  “I am Tibit. Would you mind if I read the letter?” He didn’t reach for the letter I held out, letting me decide first. Since I had no idea what it contained, I didn’t know what to say. Though my father trusted me, at least I thought he did, he knew to what extent I could protect his letter and surely wouldn’t write anything of significant importance.

  “I think that would be fine, Mr. Tibit.”

  “Just Tibit will do,” he said politely, reaching for the letter. He broke the seal and scanned the contents. “Ah, yes. The school master.”

  “My father,” I clarified.

  Tibit looked up at me with a half-smile.

  “Tell your father the offer still stands, and we are pleased to hear he is finally considering it.”

  With that, he moved back to his desk, effectively dismissing me with not one offer of refreshment or further explanation. I kept my disappointment from my face and thanked him for his time before taking my leave. A hint about the offer after which my father had inquired would have been nice, but a drink much more welcomed.

  * * * *

  After some time on the road, the rattle and clink of a wagon sounded ahead. Cautiously, I moved aside. Traffic from Konrall was rare, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps the baker was heading toward the mill for his flour. I quickly fled the road. The mist welcomed me as I slipped through the trees in the direction of the wall. The rattle of the wagon grew louder as it neared.

  Peeking through the trees, I sighed in relief when I spotted the traveling merchant’s wagon but didn’t step out to greet him. I didn’t want to startle the horses. Exhausted, I trudged the rest of the way home to arrive before dinner and Father’s return.

  “Where did Father send you?” Bryn asked, opening the cottage door before I could knock.

  “Please, sister,” I said. “I’m tired, thirsty, and hungry. Let me in so I can sit.”

  She scowled at me but moved aside so I could shuffle into the dim cottage. The sky had grown increasingly dark during my journey home, and now a thick, light grey blanket of clouds covered the sun. With no candles to spare, Bryn had lit a fire in the hearth to try to brighten the kitchen. I sat in a chair and sighed when she sat across from me.

  “Well?”

  It wasn’t that I expected my sister to wait on me. I’d just thought she would have the courtesy to offer to get me a drink after knowing I’d been go
ne all day. Tiredly, I stood and fetched myself a cup of water.

  “Benella. Really, where are your manners? I’m asking you a question,” she said.

  “Water-On-The-Bridge,” I managed to say between gulps.

  “How unfair,” Bryn cried.

  Blye stepped into the room from our bedroom, two panels of fabric in her hands and pins in her mouth. Bryn spotted the question in her eyes and explained.

  “Father sent Benella to Water-On-The-Bridge.” Bryn turned back to me. “We’re both older. We should have been allowed to go.”

  I set down the cup with a laugh.

  “You would have walked twelve miles and back in a single day without any food or water? I doubt not.”

  Bryn had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “I thought Father sent you in a wagon.”

  “With what coin?” I said, exasperated. Her face took on a flushed hue, and Blye’s eyes rounded. “I’m tired,” I said quickly before she could respond. I turned to head to our room.

  Blye spit the pins out into one of her hands.

  “You can’t go in there. I’m using your bed to lay out my dress pattern.” I stared at her. Using my bed to make another new dress for herself? Perhaps, if I hadn’t been so tired, my temper would have sparked, but I couldn’t find the energy.

  Instead of answering, I turned and let myself into Father’s study, closing the door behind me. His chair wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in, but the rug before his hearth would suit me fine. I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes.

  Five

  “Bini, child, wake up,” Father said softly, touching my hair.

  The shoulder pressing into the rug ached with cold, and my eyes felt hot and gritty as I blinked them open. Outside, the wind blew, rattling the branches, and a slight breeze came down the unlit chimney in Father’s study.