“I don't think we've ever been this close.”
“I hope the shadows don't get her first.”
There is one day left before the full moon arrives. Thorn tries his best to distract me, but he is visibly agitated all day, restless and lethargic all in one. Even Bramble seems to sense that something is amiss. He sticks closely beside me all day, and far from Thorn.
I take a long walk through the gardens to occupy myself, but the fog is massing once again, and all I can think about is that's the statue I tried to climb, that's where I shot that wolf, that's where Thorn lay bleeding...
I tend to the garden, but there is little to be done. I try to teach Bramble to fetch, but he prefers to horde the sticks I throw for him. I go back inside, fidget with a tablecloth I am making for our parlour, tidy and sweep even though the room could not be clearer. Thorn joins me, reading out passages from his latest book, and we make polite and awkward conversation.
I try to while away the remaining hours by remarking that this is the one month anniversary of Bramble's arrival. I tease that we should start measuring him; he is growing so fast. I can no longer pick him up. But my jokes that we should throw him a party fall on deaf ears.
We retire early to our chambers.
Thorn begs me to lock my door. I beg him not to go outside. He says he cannot promise me this. “If I think you're in danger...” he says. “I may act rashly.”
“And what if I think you're in danger?”
The face he gives me is impossible to read. “No more taking on monsters for my sake,” he says. “You promised. Stay away from it, whatever you see. Whatever you hear.”
I nod slowly, and close the door softly behind him.
One of the little sprites hovers over my mantelpiece. She -for I feel certain that it is a she- dips a little and makes a sound more like a hiss than a hum.
“What?” I say, a little more sharply than I mean to. She buzzes around my face and disappears under the door.
My evening routine takes longer than ever tonight. I linger in the bath, ears alert for any noises from outside. The darkness swirling against my window seems alive, and I shut the curtains with some vigour, like barring a door.
I am glad of Bramble's presence this night. I haul him up on the bed with me and bury him under the covers.
Chapter Thirteen: The Beast Within
The shadows clash like the sound of steel, as if the darkness has become a tangible thing. I know I must have been dreaming, and for a moment, I think I still am. The room is filled with slippery smog, and yet the shadows have edges.
Bramble growls. Something hisses back.
My breath stills in my chest.
“Hello?” I whisper, “Who's there?”
I pray for the quiet tinkling of the castle sprites, but there is nothing but gloom. Swallowing, I creep out of bed. I can hear something, a buzzing, scratching sound. Not a pleasant hum, like the touch of the sprites, something more mechanical.
A horrid scrape pieces the darkness, like a nail on glass. Bramble snarls.
That's when I see her. The monstrous, pale face, the cruel mouth, wide open and laughing. Her laugh splinters silence, splinters the air, splinters against my spine. Her red lips cackle from the mirror.
A scream rips through the castle.
Thorn.
I dash for the door. The sprites appear out of nowhere, furiously tapping my hands as I yank at the handle and spill out into the corridor. The laugh carries on. She is everywhere, in all the mirrors, in every gleaming surface. I have to get away from her. I have to find Thorn.
He is not in his room, but this does not surprise me. I can hear him in the gardens. I know I shouldn't be able to, but the noise he is making is so loud, so awful, that it reverberates through the stone.
“Thorn!”
I wrench open the castle door and flee into the darkness. Moonlight dusts the surface of every statue. The shadows are silvery.
“Thorn!”
The screaming is closer. Oh God, what is happening to him? He sounds as if he is being ripped apart. I am going to need a weapon. There is a crypt nearby, suits of armour with swords of steel. I pry one loose, desperately trying to remember everything Freed ever taught me about wielding a blade.
Newly armed, the weight of the somewhat rusted weapon tugging at my arm, I follow the noise back into the grounds. “Thorn, where are you?”
There is a faint light from another tomb, one I have never been into. I think it used to be barred? I am drawn to it before he scream again.
It is not a tomb. It is a dungeon. Cells line the walls, filled with leaves, moss, tree roots. It has lain abandoned for some time. A glowing candlestick sits on a nearby table... underneath it lies a pile of clothes in a heap. They are unmistakably Thorn's.
The screams sound more like howls, now.
I grab the candlestick and head off down the passageway, the noises growing louder and louder, more and more wretched. Finally, I see a cell at end, wrapped in chains. Behind them, ever so faintly, I see a large, dark shape.
“Thorn?”
A low groan sounds back.
Who could have locked him in here? The monster? I do not stop to ask, I do not wait for a reply; I am already dropping the sword and tugging at the chains.
The little sprites return, beating furiously against my chest with feeble strength. I swat them away. “Leave me alone! I'm trying to help him!”
They do not stop. Their efforts increase as I see a set of keys lying nearby and slide them into the lock. Their buzzing gets louder.
I swing open the door and step into the cell.
“Thorn?”
No reply. There is another candle nearby. I stoop to light it, add a little more light to the chamber.
“Are you hurt?”
Slowly, the large form turns to face me.
It is not Thorn. It is some monster, similar to him in size, shape. It has the same black fur, the same limbs, the same tail and teeth and claws. But its face belongs to a monster. Its face is twisted and ravenous, red-eyed. Hateful.
It is not Thorn. It cannot be.
The monster emits a low growl, and lunges forwards.
I scream, throwing the candlestick in its face as I break towards the door. I kick the bars closed, gather up the sword, and hurtle back up the passageway. I gained a few seconds with the candle and the door. I heard it howl when the wax hit its face, heard the scape of claws on metal. I gain a few more slamming the dungeon shut, but I cannot see a way to bar it. The castle is my only shelter, creature in the mirror or not.
I am still screaming for Thorn. He must have locked that thing away. He must be nearby. Why doesn't he answer me?
I reach the castle, the monster so close at my heels that when I turn around to slam the door, its arm gets trapped. In the commotion, I see something awful. Something impossible.
Spitting against the monster's chest is a rosewood thorn on a leather string.
No.
The sprites are back again, furiously pushing against the door with me. One of them goes straight into its face, stabbing its tiny body against its eyes. I hear it yowl in pain.
Him. I hear him yowl in pain.
“I don't want to hurt you!” I cry.
He continues to wrestle against the door.
I pick up the sword and swipe at his hand. Blood splatters the floor. He cries out again, withdraws his hand. I use the moment to dash for the stairs.
I have just reached the top when the doors fling upon. In three leaps, he is at the top, cutting across my path. I fling the sword in his direction and stream down the one way still left to me, knocking over suits of armour, stone busts, whatever I can.
A piece of debris catches my ankle and I slam against the floor, turning just in time to see him towering over me. Red eyes sink into skin. I raise my arms to cover the blow I'm sure is coming, when out of no where Bramble comes flying. His teeth clamp around his master's arms.
He barely registers the pai
n, flinging our dog aside as if he were little more nuisance than a fly.
“Bramble!” I scream.
He is up again with barely a whimper, this time going for the leg. One of the spites flies passed my cheek, I scramble up race down the corridor, hitting the door of the forbidden chamber. It is locked.
The sprite flees into keyhole, the other two still trying to delay him. They cut down a chandelier. Glass explodes onto the floor. Bramble is lying whimpering in the corner.
The lock clicks open. I rush inside, slamming it shut. The little sprite dashes back through, locking it again.
He pounds against the door. I am not sure it will hold him. A great big wardrobe stands a few feet away. It is leaden, but the sprites stream in and somehow the four of us manage to tip it. There's a table too. An armchair. I heave both across the room. The sprites are gone. The pounding gets lighter, quieter, less frequent. Perhaps they are distracting him. Perhaps he is getting tired. Perhaps I wounded him more than I thought.
Him.
Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't I know? I saw how similar they were, but the truth is as simple as it is shocking: I could not imagine Thorn as that thing. I stopped seeing him as anything but him a long time ago.
As my breath calms, and my heart subsides, I realise how cold it is in this chamber. There is an ice in the air, a frostiness that I had forgotten, that once inhabited every corner of the castle. I spot a hearth, unlit, and set to work making a fire. The embers only make the shadows more prominent, and I'm in no mood for shadows. I move around the room, lighting every candle I can find, vanquishing whatever darkness I can.
A luxurious suite peels out of the darkness, gold and white and marble. It is far grander than any of the other rooms in the castle. Far dustier, too. A large, full-length mirror stands beside the fireplace, and opposite is a painting of a beautiful woman. The brushwork is so exquisite that her gown almost ripples, and her dark hair shines as though caught in the sun. She is proud and flawless, but there is a kindness to her face. I have no doubt that this is the person Thorn was talking to several weeks ago, the person he claimed to have lost... but who is she? There is no name on the gilded frame.
There is one other curious thing about the room. Next to the bed is a broken cradle, one side of it completely torn away. The blankets, stiff with dust and age, have been ripped to shreds. What happened to this occupant?
Is this... is this woman someone Thorn loved and lost, a long time ago? Was it... was it possible they had a child together? And the claw marks...
No, it didn't bear thinking about. I couldn't imagine Thorn as a father, and I always imagined him as little older than me. This crib had been abandoned for years.
I am not so sure my theory about the woman is incorrect, however. I have heard him taking to her image. What had he said?
I'm not sure I could survive losing you both.
Thorn is still prowling outside. He has stopped pounding, but I can still hear him growling, the hot, angry spurts of breath, the clinking of claw on marble.
Beside the crib is a little music box. Not a magic one, like the one we used for our party, just a perfectly ordinary box. It plays a simple lullaby, one that reminds me of a tune my mother used to sing. I cannot quite remember the words. Something about home and the heart.
I place it on the table next to the fireplace. I am not sure I can hope to sleep, but the song is soothing. Even he sounds quieter than he was before.
I do not wish to disturb this bed, this shrine, more than I have already, so I find a blanket inside a dresser and wrap myself up in it.
The little sprites wander through the keyhole, skimming the floor like dying dragonflies. They are so faint, I can see them wavering. When I scoop them up, they are barely moving at all.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I know why you tried to stop me now. I'm sorry I didn't listen.”
They are absolutely mute.
I do not know what good it will do, but I lie them down on the rug beside the glowing fire. I wind up the music box again, douse the other lights, before crawling onto the hearth beside them. I try to remember the words to the tune.
“Home is the sweetest of places...” I forget the next bit, forget most but the last line. I sing it to the darkness, praying that he can hear me to, wherever he is. “You are safe, I am here, this is home.”
Chapter Fourteen: Revelations
The stars are talking again.
“Six others have come before her, and not a single one has ever ventured out of their room for any of the nights,” the childlike voice squeaks.
“Which either makes her very brave, or very stupid.” The matronly one retorts.
The third -my favourite- is succinct, matter-of-fact. “She left because she cared.”
“Silly girl doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
“Whose side are you on, exactly?”
“I’d just rather see her gone than dead.”
“You know what will happen if she goes.”
“It’s never happened so far.”
“He has never loved any of them before.”
The door clicks open, and I awaken on the rug in front of the fire. I have no confusion about how I came here. I remember everything about the night with perfect, frightening clarity.
The furniture has already been pulled away, and I can see Thorn curled up right outside the door. Bramble is curled up beside him, licking the wounds he inflicted the night before. Thorn says nothing as I exit the room, does not move or even acknowledge me, until I am standing beside him.
“Please tell me I didn't hurt you,” he begs, not looking at me. “Just tell me that.”
I take the blanket from my shoulders and drape it over him. He is completely naked.
I know I should be angry at him. He has lied to me. He has unconsciously put me in danger. But in this moment, I completely understand. He was ashamed. He was afraid. I cannot do anything but pity him. I crouch down beside him and he stiffens at the closeness, then begins to tremble. He curls inwards, and I think he might be crying.
“I'm not hurt,” I say, as solidly as I can. I touch the back of his hand, where last night's wound pulses angrily. “I am sorry about your hand. You'll have to let me bandage it.”
“All long as you're all right-”
“I am not all right,” I say firmly. “I said I was unhurt, not all right.”
Thorn slowly moves into a sitting position. He still avoids my gaze, but I see his cheeks are damp.
“I would sooner die than let any harm come to you.”
“I know. I know you would.”
“If you had only stayed in your room-”
“No! No, Thorn, I am not a child! You cannot shut me away! I came out looking for you because I did not know. If you had only told me-”
“I did not want you to know that I was a monster-”
“You are not a monster!”
“There is an equal measure of despair and delight I feel at your utterance of those words, but I assure you Rose, once a month I truly do shed any semblance of humanity.”
“Well, once a month I'm not that much fun to be around either.”
Thorn looks at me like he wants to laugh, but is either too exhausted or too frightened to. “Why... why did you come out last night?”
Now it is my turn to be frightened.
“There... there was a face in the mirror,” I admit. “The same face from the lake. Horrible, twisted face. I ran out to find you and... I heard you screaming.”
“You can't possibly have heard me from all the way-”
“But I did.”
Thorn looks at me blankly, taking this in.
“This face I saw...” I continue. “She's the dark fairy, isn't she? The one who started the war, brought ruin on the fairy people, and was trapped here as a result.”
Thorn prickles. “She ought to be dead by now,” he says. “Or as powerless as a ghost. But somehow she still clings to life. A dark remnant of her former se
lf, imprisoned in this castle. Just like me.”
He whispers the last part, and suddenly I have a horrible idea. “Are you... are you like her?” the words cut against my throat. It cannot be. “Is that why you look-”
Thorn cannot look me in the eyes. “I am one of her creations,” he admits. “A monster she made to inflict misery on her enemies. I should be... what you saw last night. That is the way I am supposed to be, but for the mercy of the fairy queen.”
“The lady in the portrait,” I realise, my eyes drifting back through the chamber door. I do not ask why I was not allowed to go in there, why he treats the place like a shrine. I am afraid too. “All right.”
“You don't seem... surprised by all this.”
“I live in an enchanted castle.”
“Yes, quite. Well, the castle is under a curse.”
“Oh my, do you really think so?”
Thorn glares. “I am trying to be serious here, Rose.”
“Sorry.”
“I told you once that this place was a prison,” he continues. “I don't think I explained for whom. You see, after the great battle was fought, the Queen of the Fairies, fearing for the lives of her people, cast them out into the realm of men, and imprisoned those who fought against her within the walls of the castle. She then gave up her own life to ensure that was where they remained. But over the years, her endeavours drained all magic from all lands, and placed a curse upon the place she once called home.”
“What... what happens when the curse is broken?”
“Life returns to castle. The lights regain their forms. Magic is free to walk the world once more.”
“And... the shadows?”
“They die, hopefully.”
“And... you?”
“What about me?”
“You turn into a monster once a month,” I say placidly. “We haven't yet talked about why that is.”
Thorn sighs. “The Queen, she... she made me what I am. Human on the inside, save for one night a month when dark magic is at its peak.”
“Why?”
“Sorry?”
“Why did she save you, if you were one of the dark fairy's creations?”
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