by Vivian Arend
Standing, she set her white linen napkin on the table and headed toward the floating female.
“Oh, and just so you know…” Rumpel’s drawl sounded smug. “Your first test begins at sunrise.”
She left him there but couldn’t help peeking back at him one final time. He sat like a lord atop his throne, staring at the space she’d just vacated, a pensive and dark look on his handsome face.
Dalia led Shayera up a long and winding staircase. Even though the castle itself was richly appointed with hand-woven tapestries that hung along the walls and depicted a variety of tableaus: bucolic scenes of nymphs and satyrs frolicking about, moonlit gardens rife with the lights of thousands of dancing fireflies, lovers gazing into one another’s eyes, there was something almost lifeless about it.
The imagery gradually gave way to battles and monsters, vicious creatures straight from the realms of nightmares, full of spit and horns and sickle-shaped fangs, each tapestry becoming slightly more macabre, just a tad more chilling. It all smacked of a man trying too hard to make others believe him to be this horrible fiend.
Not that he wasn’t horrid. He was. He’d ordered the death of her own father if she wouldn’t come with him, for reasons she still couldn’t quite fathom, but she also didn’t think he was the soulless creature he was thought to be.
He laughed and teased too easily for it to be unnatural to him. As gorgeous as he was, his looks were further enhanced by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Perhaps he’d developed them from finding delight in cruelty, but something about him, about the way he treated her, didn’t fit.
Dalia held a lantern high above her head as they glided down a long hallway with ceilings that seemed to reach up to the stars and walls lined with thick golden frames that held paintings of yet more haughty but beautiful people gazing down at her. All this was meant to intimidate her, from the grandeur of this place right down to the finery of his furnishings. It was a coordinated, brilliant attack on one’s psyche. It was meant to throw you off balance so you’d be a whimpering, blubbering mess by the end of it.
“Dalia,” she whispered.
The woman stopped and turned. “Yes, misss?”
She blinked brilliant ruby-colored eyes and Shayera was struck that apart from the fact the woman was made of smoke, she was really quite pretty.
As pretty as the rest of the faces staring sightlessly down at her.
Shayera smiled. “I’m not sure what I really mean to say right now.” She laughed self-consciously. “But if you’re not too busy to maybe hang out with me for a little while once you show me to my room, I’d really appreciate that.”
“Oh.” Dalia laid three fingers against her lips. “Okay, if you insissst.”
Her dark red lips stretched into a graceful smile and this time when they began walking, the woman did not walk ahead of Shayera.
They walked on for what seemed an eternity and very likely was. Rumpel had clearly spelled the inside of his castle to sail on into oblivion. Still, it wasn’t a chore. She enjoyed the dark, almost Gothic beauty of her surroundings. The dark tones and rich brocades, all of it was a wild contrast to her simple country home that she loved so much.
“Are you frightened, misss?”
Shayera looked at the servant and, judging by the firmness of her face, guessed the girl to be no older than her own nineteen years. “A little bit. I don’t have a clue what he plans to do with me.”
Dalia revealed even, white teeth. “The master ain’t so bad once ye get to know him. He’s just got a lot on hisss mind.”
Finally they arrived at a large, off-white door.
“My room?” she asked.
Nodding, Dalia turned the antique brass knob, and all Shayera could do was gasp at the beauty within.
An enormous four-poster bed took up the center of the room. The room was done up in creamy-white and velvety-blue tones, from the sheets to the fresco-style painting of a cloudy, brilliant morning adorning the ceiling above.
Twinkling lights threaded through the gauzy white fabric atop the frame, giving the room an indoor-outdoor feel to it. As if she’d just stepped foot into a hidden fairy garden, green ivy crept long fingers along the walls, bringing a richness of scent into the room.
She frowned. “Surely he doesn’t mean for me to have this room?”
Dalia laughed. “The master’s no monster. He’s never treated one of ye badly, you have my word on that. He prides himself on the care and upkeep of his ancestral home. You’re quite sssafe here, little human.”
Marching into the room, Dalia went straightaway to the bed and began turning down the sheets. Shayera hung back by the door, because even from here she could see there were more rooms hidden within this very large one. Yes, she was intimidated by its size. What was the man trying to do? All she needed was a sturdy cot and a warm room, that was it. What was the purpose of all this?
“Well c’mon then.” Dalia waved her on impatiently. “Don’t just ssstand there like a Peeping Tom.”
Creeping into the room, Shayera hugged the walls, more than a little uncomfortable.
Patting the sheets down one final time, Dalia swung her fists onto her hips. “Well, then.” She eyed Shayera, starting at her bare feet and then moving up to her face. “Master was right—you’re much too pretty to be wearing such a ghastly frock as all that.”
Nervously twisting the rope belt at her waist, Shayera shook her head. “I don’t need a change of clothes; I’m comfortable enough as it is.”
Snorting as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, the dark-haired spirit woman tucked a strand of silky hair behind her smoky ear. “You’ve no need to worry about a man attacking your virtue here. Massster keeps any and all at bay.”
Brows dipping, Shayera stuttered, “M…men? I didn’t. Why would you even assume—”
Dalia held up a hand. “You’re not the first pretty thing to be shagged against her will. I know it when I see it.”
Releasing a disbelieving huff, Shayera lifted her jaw. “I was not raped, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Dalia shrugged. “Well, if not that, then you’ve been hurt mightily. And forgive me for the assumption, but generally if such a fine woman as yourself deigns to cover up as you have, it generally impliesss—”
“Not that!” She glowered, because while she’d not been raped, the maid had come very close to the truth of the matter.
Dropping her head, Dalia peered at the thickly woven snow-white rug. “Forgive me, miss, I spoke out of turn. As I’m clearly wont to do. I’ll bother you no more.” She made as if to go and Shayera jumped in her path, blocking the way and forcing the maid to look up, startled.
“I’m sorry. It’s just a sensitive topic for me. You’re right, something did happen, but it’s of no matter now. I’m fine. And… I’m sorry—it’s not your fault.”
Her lips pulled into a hint of a smile. “It’s all right, miss. Perhaps we should start over. My name is Dalia.” She held out her hand with an expectant grin.
Nibbling on the corner of her lip, Shayera tucked her fingers inside the voluminous folds of her dress. “I can’t… touch.”
With a merry twinkle lighting her ruby-red eyes, Dalia’s hand shot out quicker than Shayera could blink or cry out a warning and latched on to her hand.
Gasping at the first contact with a stranger she’d felt in eleven years, Shayera waited for the transference, the soul-sucking ripple of power that would drain the poor girl dry, but nothing happened.
“I know what you did to yourself, lovey.” Dalia winked. “But you’ll discover that at least here in Demone Hall your sting cannot hurt us.”
Shayera hadn’t been sure what to expect when Dalia grabbed her hand, a smoky marriage of fingers and flesh, but the grip was as firm as her own.
“How do you know?” she whispered beneath her breath, afraid that anyone might hear them.
“Because it happened to me sister too. You’ve the scent of the witch’s magic a
bout you—the smell of nightshade and mandrake.” She tapped her nose. “But a demone is immune to a witch’s spell.”
“Don’t tell anyone, Dalia, please. It’s the only thing that’s ever worked for me.”
The maid looked at her with a steady, studying gaze. “You’re more than merely a beauty, aren’t you? You’re a siren, and no wonder, born of the seed of Gerard Caron. That news must have devastated him.”
Narrowing her eyes, Shayera said, “You know an awful lot about me, Dalia.”
“Well, it helps that I’m a bit touched in the head.” She giggled and pressed her finger to her temple. “No one believes half of what I say anyway.”
Against her will, Shayera felt herself warming up to the strange girl. She laughed in return. Dropping her hands, she nodded at her room. “I can’t sleep here. It’s too big and…”
“Pft.” Dalia waved her hand. “Gaudy, I know it. But the massster always gets his way, he does. And it hurts nothing to stay. It’s just a place to rest your head. You’ll be here three months—never hurts to enjoy yourself a wee bit. Now.” She nodded before pointing to a large wardrobe. “There are your gowns. I hate to tell ya that master will force me to burn that sack, but he will. And if you don’t change, I’ll be forced to take it from you in your sleep. You stink, your hair needs to be washed—”
Shayera inhaled a sharp breath, ready to give the girl a tongue-lashing.
“I tell you this as a potential friend, I hope.” Dalia beamed. “But if you don’t do it now, miss, rest assured you’ll be forced to it later. I’d much rather you retain your dignity.”
Shayera rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you said Rumpel was a decent guy.”
“And he is, for a prince anyway.”
Prince? That was news to Shayera. Very little was known of who Rumpelstiltskin actually was, other than what myth alluded to—a gremlin of a little man stealing away babes from their mother’s teats to enact unspeakable horrors upon them. Which kind of sounded silly now that she’d met the man in person. He didn’t seem to have the patience for a child, let alone a castle of many.
Those same tales had called her father a buffoon and Belle a perfect little doll. Neither of which was true. Belle and Beast were currently living in separate townhomes and last she’d heard, having one scandalous affair after the other.
Mother had said the truth would shock and horrify mortals so best never to talk about it, but Shayera had always had a difficult time understanding why the fairies twisted the telling of their stories so much. Wouldn’t a mortal prefer to know that Gerard adored his wife, that they’d had a beautiful daughter, that her Uncle Hook, was a decent and funny man and not the idiot he was often seen to be?
Mother had shown her the tales as a child, through movies and books, and they always made her laugh because of how fallacious they mostly were. Pan was definitely no angel and Tinker was one step shy of being a full-on sadist.
But then, truth was often distorted, which was why she hoped Rumpel really did mean to release her after the three months. All she had to do was pass the tests and she’d be free to go.
So she hoped, but she couldn’t deny the sick pit in her stomach that she was maybe being a little too naïve on that count.
“Fine.” With a shake of her head, she sighed. “If it means I get out quicker, then I’ll do it.”
“Every day there’ll be a new gown freshly made, just waitin’ for ya.”
The longer Dalia remained by Shayera’s side, the more corporeal she became. No longer was she floating. Instead, she walked to the closet and opened it up. The cedar scent filled the room, making her long for her home once again. Father had built the house entirely by hand and had used cedar planks on the walls and the floors; the house always seemed like you were walking through the woods. She smiled at the memory of home.
A long, silky green dress was the only thing inside. “Umm.” She touched the hem of it, delighted at its smooth feel. The thing looked like her size exactly too, which was kind of unnerving considering she’d never given her measurements out to anyone and always made sure the potato sack was a size too large on her. Shayera snorted. “I hope he doesn’t mean for me to wear this tomorrow?”
“No, miss.” Dalia swatted at her arm. “This is a nightshift. Meant to be worn to sleep in.” Plucking the gown from the closet, she draped it across her arm. “The bathroom is just through there.” She pointed at a darkened alcove to the right of them.
“Thank you.” When Shayera reached for the gown, Dalia jerked her arm away. “What?”
“I’m to wash you, miss, master’s orders.”
She laughed. “That’s funny. Because the answer is an absolute no.” She snatched the dress out of Dalia’s arm, but when the maid’s face turned crestfallen, she felt a little bad for her. “Look, it has nothing to do with you and I know you can touch me without feeling the effects of the curse, but I’m not comfortable with anyone viewing my body for reasons you must surely understand.”
“I’m a woman, your charms cannot—”
Her smile was grim. “Actually they can. I’m working like a fiend to keep myself muted in your presence. The truth is if I wanted to charm you, Dalia, I could. As I could most certainly charm your master.”
Dalia laughed. “Very doubtful, miss.”
Few had any true concept of just what a siren could do. The moment her parents had discovered her affliction, they’d tried to keep her as hidden and sheltered as possible. As a child, Shayera hadn’t been able to control her… needs. That failure had nearly cost her everything. But with the help of the witch and her own ability to mute her resonance, she’d learned to survive it.
“Well, be that as it may, I’d really rather do this myself. And what happened to your sibilance anyway?” she asked, scrunching her nose, only just realizing the girl no longer hissed her s’s.
Dalia reached out her hand as if wanting to pat her on the back before curling her fingers in and nodding grimly. “Aye, then. Just call me if you need me. I’m here to see to whatever needs you may have. And I only hiss when in shade form.”
“Oh, well then.” She smiled, twirled on her heel, and then paused. “Thank you, Dalia. It’s good to have a friend.”
Nodding, with the tiniest of smiles, Dalia turned to leave, but when she grabbed the doorknob she hesitated for just a moment.
“Yes?” Shayera asked, sensing she wished to say something.
Dalia turned, and jeweled eyes gleamed. Her face was as serious as Shayera had seen yet. “A word of caution, miss—the master is handsome and excessively charming…”
Her face screwed up and Shayera knew she did not wish to say the rest, but now she was intensely curious to find out what she was hiding.
“Yes?” She leaned forward on tiptoes.
“Protect your heart from him. And because I like you, I’ll give you advice I’ve given no other—do all in your power to lose.” Then, straightening her shoulders, Dalia inhaled. “G’night, miss.”
And with those strange, final words, Dalia disappeared, leaving Shayera to wonder just what it all might mean.
CHAPTER SIX
Rumpel sat on his chaise, staring at the snapping, crackling red flame in his hearth, his face pensive. He was obviously lost in thought.
Dalia’s sulfur manifested before her soft voice whispered, “She has been seen to.”
His eyes narrowed as her gaze obviously avoided his. “What did you say to her, girl?”
Pulling her lips together, she shook her head. “Nothing, master. Only what ye told me to say.”
He didn’t believe her. Something about Shayera Caron disturbed him, the way she drew people to her, even himself. The flash of her skin had done strange things to his insides, made his palms sweat and his heart thunder. She was a mystery and he’d always loved riddles, especially ones as lovely as she.
“You mind your tongue, girl. Your only job is to keep her content during her stay.”
She swallowed and he thought she’d curtsy and disappear as was her usual manner, but instead she showed a bit of bravery. “Master, I like this one.”
“I like her too.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I do not think you should do these things to her. She’s been through enough.”
He hissed and Dalia trembled. “And what would you know of her, eh? She’s a stranger to this castle. Do not interfere in my business, chit! You are dismissed.”
Tracing a finger along his lip, he stared back at the flame, sensing she still wished to speak, but he knew Dalia would leave well enough alone. He was master and she would obey him.
“As you wish, master,” she murmured softly and then faded from sight.
Scoffing, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at her temerity, then reached toward the small bar beside him and poured a dram of whiskey into a tumbler. Tomorrow the games would begin in earnest, and just as Dalia said, he felt deep in his bones that perhaps he’d finally found the one. As much as he enjoyed the sight of the redheaded beauty, nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted.
With a smile, he took a sip of his aromatic drink, and for the first time in centuries felt a peace in his soul that the end was finally near.
Rumpel couldn’t be accused of being anything less than a gracious host. Shayera shot up out of bed when the first faint rays of sunlight crept through her bay windows. Stretching her arms high above her head, she yawned, realizing she’d slept more peacefully than she had in a good long while.
The bath last night had been divine. When Dalia had referred to it as a bathroom, she hadn’t expected much more than a tub and showerhead. No, the tub was actually more of a Roman-style bath. The water had already been run and floating atop it had been hundreds of lotus flowers. It’d been a moment of wow for sure.
Staring out the large, lattice-framed window, she wondered what in the world was in store for her. To say she had to run a gauntlet could mean so many different things, it might be physical, mental, both.
She couldn’t believe she’d actually managed to fall asleep, but somehow she had, and now she was so full of energy she hopped out of the bed, raced to her closet, and swung it open, fully expecting it to be empty. Either Dalia had been hiding in plain sight or invisible when she’d bathed, because the moment she’d disrobed her sackcloth dress had vanished, never to be seen again she was quite sure.