He inclined his torso a few degrees when Yeva turned. “Good morning,” he greeted her, crossing the room to take her hand and lead her to one of the couches.
She thanked him and sat, then abruptly found that everything she’d planned to say on her walk here had vanished from her memory. She stared at Solmir dumbly.
He stood by the fire, leaning one elbow on the mantel and looking exactly like a painting, a single frame from a story of lost love and tragedy. When Yeva didn’t speak, his brows knit, concern coloring that grave face. “Yeva? Are you all right?” His eyes widened. “Is it your family? Is something wrong?”
“No,” Yeva was quick to reassure him, finding her tongue again. “No, everything’s fine.” She hesitated, then glanced around the expansive room. “I’ve never been in this part of the manor,” she said finally, “only in the baronessa’s wing and the grand hall. It’s . . . big.”
At that, Solmir grinned, some of his stiffness relaxing. “Coming from you, I’m pretty sure that’s not a compliment.”
Yeva’s smile came out in response, and she chuckled. “You know me too well.”
“Well, you are to be my wife,” Solmir replied, the grin softening and easing away. “I should know you well.”
Yeva’s throat tightened. “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
“The baron’s told me in confidence that I will be his heir.” Solmir said it without much surprise, or pleasure, and Yeva could see the grief there. The baron was dying, and Solmir truly did care for him—far more than for the riches he would inherit. “He wants me to marry before he announces it publicly. He feels the people will be most comfortable if the new baron is taking steps to produce an heir, so that this period of uncertainty won’t repeat itself.”
Though the words were mercenary, even callous, Solmir’s hollow voice said everything Yeva needed to know in order to be finally, utterly certain that she was right.
“Solmir,” she blurted, “I know you’re in love with Asenka.”
Solmir’s face froze, then drained of color as his lips thinned. “I’m not—that isn’t what—I won’t sit here and . . .”
Yeva wouldn’t look away, though he squirmed under her gaze like a schoolboy being taken to task for misbehavior. “Solmir, I’m glad. I’m glad, you understand? I want you to marry her.”
Solmir’s face tightened further, and his voice was strained. “Yeva, I made a promise to you.”
“And I to you.” Yeva got to her feet and crossed to the mantel. “But why hold to a promise that benefits no one?”
Solmir’s expression flickered, the boyishness peeking through his newfound gravity, before he shook his head and looked down. “It doesn’t matter.”
Yeva felt a flicker of annoyance. Asenka and Solmir were both so determined to be miserable—she shouldn’t have to fight this hard to make them see she wanted no part of standing between them. “If it doesn’t matter to you, then it certainly matters to me. I have no interest in being married to a man who’s in love with my sister.”
“I love you,” Solmir said fiercely, as if he could make it so by saying the words with enough force behind them.
Yeva took his hand. “And I love you.” She leaned forward, rising on her toes enough to press her lips to his cheek. “And want nothing more than to call you brother.”
Solmir’s face crumpled, and he pulled back, striding from the fireplace and shoving both hands into his hair. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “It doesn’t matter, because she won’t have me.”
Yeva stopped short. “What?”
“I asked her.” Solmir turned, and Yeva could see guilt in every line of his face. “I asked her to marry me, months ago, when we believed—” His voice caught.
“When you believed I was dead,” Yeva whispered.
Solmir nodded wordlessly.
“And she refused?”
Solmir cleared his throat, then cleared it again when the words still wouldn’t come. “She told me she wouldn’t marry me because she knew you were alive, and that you’d come back to us, and she wouldn’t betray you.”
Yeva’s eyes closed, heart swelling. She didn’t know whether she wanted to throw her arms around her sister or pinch her for being so stubborn. “You must ask her again.”
Solmir glanced at Yeva, face agonized, so moved by feeling that Yeva almost felt music in it. “I couldn’t bear to hear her refuse me a second time.”
“Solmir,” Yeva said gently. “Ask her again.”
That night Lena threw an elaborate dinner, conspiring with the cook to create a feast far beyond anything they’d eaten before, even at the height of their father’s wealth. Though she said it was to celebrate Asenka’s engagement to Solmir, Yeva suspected it was in no small part an attempt to keep her there. She’d promised Lena she would only stay this last night, but it was obvious they would be having the exact same argument all over again in the morning.
As it turned out, Lena was not the one she’d have to fight. Asenka and Solmir barely seemed to notice the rest of the family, or indeed the food. Solmir stared at her so dreamily that at one point he put his elbow into his bowl, and only noticed when soup soaked through his coat and burned his skin. And Asenka sat still as a statue, barely eating, flushing beet red each time she glanced up to meet his dreamy stare.
It was at the end of the meal, when Yeva was offering the last of her stew to Doe-Eyes under the table, that Asenka finally drew a breath and broke away from Solmir’s gaze. “We’re to be married in a week,” she said, interrupting a conversation about the spring planting to come after winter’s end.
Yeva started. She couldn’t think when they’d had time to decide upon the date, but there they were, Solmir nodding eagerly and Asenka beaming down the length of the table at her.
“The baron wants a swift marriage,” Asenka went on hurriedly, “so he can announce Solmir as his heir. Otherwise we wouldn’t be so hasty.”
“There’s no need to explain,” said Yeva, feeling a warmth inside her that hadn’t come from the stew.
“We all know why you’re pushing for a swift wedding,” Radak added, laughing and earning an elbow in the ribs from his wife.
Asenka ignored this, her gaze on her little sister. “You must stay,” she blurted, her normally soft voice peaking with urgency. “I know you planned to stay only one more night, but—Yeva, you have to be at my wedding.”
Yeva glanced from Asenka to Lena, whose wedding she had missed, and her heart ached. That itch in her feet, the hollow in her soul that called for the forest and the valley and the Beast’s song swelled. The animal ferocity of the Beast in her nightmare tugged at her heart. Autumn would soon become winter, and once winter came, it’d be too perilous a journey to attempt in the bitter cold and the waist-deep snow. But, gazing at her sisters, surrounded by her new brothers and the warmth of her old home and the dog at her feet, she found that the music seemed more distant than ever, more like a dream than a memory, and she found herself nodding.
“Of course,” she whispered, and Asenka’s eyes filled. “Of course I’ll stay.”
BEAST
He is gone forever now.
I am the WOLF.
TWENTY-THREE
THOUGH BOTH ASENKA AND her betrothed would have been most pleased with a small ceremony, Solmir’s new status as the baron’s heir required a certain degree of festival when it came to his wedding. Yeva found herself so occupied with preparations that she had little time to think of the Beast, nor his valley and how she could break his curse. There were holly branches to weave into garlands, dishes to arrange for the feast, gowns to fit, dignitaries to greet.
Yeva continued to dream, but each day kept her so busy that the nightmares seemed to vanish like morning mist in the sun. She still had time; the days were long, and though they grew gradually shorter, they hadn’t yet seen the first frost to herald the start of winter. And after her sister was married, she was so exhausted from all the preparations that she convinced hersel
f that she needed rest before she set out. Her sisters said nothing, though she knew it was on Lena’s mind, for her father’s bow had vanished from its corner, no doubt hidden away to avoid reminding Yeva of what she’d intended to do.
Asenka moved into Solmir’s quarters at the baron’s manor, and one week to the very hour after their wedding, the baron died. His funeral was a grand, solemn event, for he’d been a good landowner, and his people had prospered under his guidance. The last of the autumn leaves fell in a sorrowful shower of red and gold as Solmir spoke to the gathering across his predecessor’s coffin. The shower of color reminded Yeva of . . . something. Something she couldn’t quite pin down in her mind.
Though the baron’s young widow made motions to move out of the wing of the manor that had been her home, Asenka wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted that the former baronessa stay, and that as the new baronessa, she only needed a few small rooms for herself. Yeva came daily to visit her sister, and found the baron’s widow often at Asenka’s side, the two of them becoming fast friends. It was after such a visit that Asenka confessed to Yeva that she’d underestimated the baronessa, judging her from Yeva’s descriptions of lavish parties and court gossip, and that the baronessa had done much of the governing while her husband had been ill. She was proving to be a valuable advisor for Solmir, who was considering throwing tradition to the winds and adding her in an official capacity to his council.
Asenka and Solmir set aside a suite of rooms for Yeva, asking her to come live with them, for Asenka had little interest in hunting and Solmir remembered his walks with Yeva as fondly as she did. Now the looming prospect of their marriage was gone, Yeva found her friendship with Solmir to be one of the closest she’d ever known.
Lena insisted that Yeva stay with them, in her old room, and Lena even stopped scolding Yeva for allowing the dogs up onto her bed. She said nothing when the laundrywomen complained of the difficulties of getting dog hair out of the linens.
Radak, surprising Yeva by showing her he knew her at least as well as her sisters did, quietly offered to purchase Yeva her own little cottage by the northern edge of town. It would ordinarily be an act of social suicide for a young, unmarried woman to live alone in her own home, but Yeva was such an odd figure in the town as a result of her time with the Beast that it wouldn’t cause too many ripples.
She’d so longed to come home, but now that she was here, and with a flood of different homes to choose among, Yeva could not banish the twinge of discontent inside her. She no longer dreamed of the Beast, having managed to train herself to wake at the start of the nightmares when they came. But the town had no song, not like the forest or the Beast or his castle. And she was restless.
Lena’s belly grew rounder each week, and Asenka’s happiness was so infectious that Yeva couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them. A few more weeks, she told herself, stubbornly watching the weather and telling herself winter was still far away. She had plenty of time to make it back to the Beast’s valley before the snows came and made travel impossible.
And so Yeva, choosing to remain in her old room in Radak and Lena’s house, threw herself into work. She helped prepare the baby’s room. She went out riding with Solmir. She managed the household staff so Lena could rest. She had Radak teach her how to understand the family’s finances.
Radak had gone on a spree when Lena first accepted his proposal, buying back the things Tvertko’s family had sold to pay their debts. Not all of it had found its way back into daily use. Some of it had been tucked up in the attic crawl space to be dealt with later, but later had never come. There were books, and flatware, and linens, and trunks of old dresses long out of fashion. Yeva decided to sort through it all, keeping what still held meaning for them, and giving away the rest.
The hour was late on a chilly, windy night when Yeva crept into the attic storage space to sort through the dust-covered piles of belongings. She’d found that if she wore herself out, it was easier to go back to sleep after dismissing one of the Beast’s nightmares, so she was awake long past the time the rest of the house had gone to sleep. She was rummaging through the trunks of clothes when she found a dusty roll of burlap tucked behind one of the chests. She tugged it free, choking on the dust and trying to stifle her coughs.
She unwrapped the cloth and discovered that it was concealing her father’s bow.
It rested unstrung in her hands, feeling heavier than she remembered, and unfamiliar. And yet as she closed her eyes and curled her fingers around the grip, she found that her hands remembered its shape well, and found the touch of its smooth wood to be a comfort.
Beauty.
A shiver ran down Yeva’s spine. The word had come to her mind so abruptly, and in the Beast’s voice, that for an instant she thought he was behind her and speaking her name aloud.
Startled, her hands let go of the bow. Before it hit the ground, Yeva opened her eyes and found herself standing in a snowy wood. It was the clearing where the Beast had first laid his trap for her, and he lay with his back to her where he’d been before, side rising and falling with each breath, the snow around him churned up and trampled.
Yeva shivered, for she was wearing only a thin wool dress, and the snow was soaking through her stockings. “Beast?” The breathing caught and halted, and Yeva knew he’d heard her. “Beast, did you call for me?”
He didn’t answer, and Yeva crept closer. The familiar sense that all this had happened before kept tingling at the back of her mind, along with alarm. It’s a trap, her memory told her. He’s hunting you. Run away.
But she knew the Beast now. And he knew her. She knew he wouldn’t harm her. She reached out until she could bury her hand up to the wrist in his fur, the soft gray fur that smelled like spices.
The instant she touched him, the Beast leaped. He whirled, snarling with rage and bloodlust, and his eyes locked on Yeva. She scrambled back but then stopped herself, fighting the instinct to flee. “Beast, it’s me!” she cried. “It’s Beauty. You know me.”
There was no response, not the tiniest flicker of recognition in the red, empty eyes. He took a step closer, his body moving like that of a predator stalking its prey. His lips curled back to bare his teeth in a wet, slavering growl.
Beauty felt a sudden stab of fear. This was not her Beast. This . . . this was a monster.
The Beast’s muscles bunched, rippling under his long coat as he crouched. He launched himself and Yeva screamed, clasping her arms over her head and dropping into the snow.
Her knees struck wood and her eyes flew open. She was in the attic again. A heartbeat later, the bow she’d dropped clattered to the floor. Her stockings were dry, and though her body shivered with the memory of cold, she found she had no gooseflesh, no reddened fingers, nothing to suggest she’d left the warmth of the attic at all.
Her breath came like a sob as she staggered to her feet. The attic had no windows, only a vent at either end of the house to allow the air to circulate in summer. Yeva stumbled to one of the vents and tore the shutters loose, too rattled to work the clasp. The night air poured in, wrapping Yeva in cold and leaving her shivering in her autumn dress. Her nose tingled with the bite of frost, the first frost.
It was only after she’d been standing there for some time that her eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, and she saw that it had begun to snow.
Yeva threw the necessities she’d chosen all those weeks ago into her pack, hands trembling with urgency. Doe-Eyes jumped down from the foot of Yeva’s bed, where she’d been waiting hopefully for her mistress, pretending to sleep while listening as she moved from room to room. More than ever, Yeva could read the dog’s heart in her movements, and Yeva paused to grasp at Doe-Eyes’s chin. “Yes,” she whispered. “We’re going.” Doe-Eyes gave a sideways prance and then stuck her nose into the pack, smelling dried meat.
Yeva considered leaving a note for her sisters, but told herself she couldn’t waste those few precious moments. In truth, she had no idea what to write. That she’d
had a vision of the Beast, showing him as the monster they feared him to be, and for that reason she had to return? That finding him and breaking his curse was what she’d been born for, what she’d been yearning for all her life? That she’d never feel content here, in the home full of people who loved her?
No. Better to slip out now. They would wake to discover her room empty, and Lena would run to the attic where she’d hidden their father’s bow. She’d find it missing, and see that Doe-Eyes was missing too, and she’d know Yeva was gone.
She put on her old leather leggings that Asenka had made for her at the hunting cabin, and then two woolen dresses overtop, and then her cloak for warmth. She strung the bow, bracing it across her leg and trying not to flinch at how her muscles shook at the effort. She strapped her supplies to her back and slipped the bow over one shoulder.
Yeva paused, bracing against the inside of the door as she stared down the entry hall into the sitting room. She could see her father there, in the claw-footed stuffed chair by the hearth that still bore the worn indentation he’d made over so many long years of sitting in the same spot. She could see him doubled over, his head in his hands. She heard his voice the night he learned of his caravan’s fate, the voice that had become so sad, so broken. “Oh, Beauty.”
She closed her eyes, groped for the latch at her back, and then slipped out into the night.
TWENTY-FOUR
THOUGH YEVA NEVER WOULD have been able to pinpoint the location of the Beast’s valley on a map, nor describe to someone how they might find it, her heart knew exactly where to take her. She thought about renting a horse in one of the villages she passed after dawn, but decided against it. She’d found her way out of the valley on foot, and some part of her, the part that knew the rules of fairy tales like she knew down from up, was certain that she must be on foot to find her way back.
Doe-Eyes, too, seemed to know the way. For all she’d been wary, even frightened, of the Beast at first, she’d grown accustomed to living near a predator, and Yeva had the strangest feeling that the dog was excited to be returning. Though Doe-Eyes had spent every evening with Yeva’s family stretched out in front of the fire with her head upside down and beaming in the heat of the coals, there was a spark to her now, a sort of life that had been missing in town.
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