by Deanna Chase
And just like that, the fuzzy feeling was gone. Maribel retreated to the bed and slumped down on the decadently deep mattress. He is a reptile, isn’t he? She clasped her hands firmly in her lap and studied the dirt permanently embedded beneath her fingernails. Does it matter?
“I had heard that in order to break the curse upon him, he must learn to love and trust another, and earn their love and trust in return.”
What if Mother Briar was right? What if Daman’s curse could be broken if Maribel would… Would what? Let these warm feelings bloom into something more? Into what? And what if Mother Briar was wrong? What if Daman would stay as he was forever no matter what feelings she held for him?
Does that matter?
Maribel bit her lip again, thinking of Daman. Silver eyes that glittered with every emotion, pale bluish skin that gave him the appearance of carved marble during those times he held so inhumanly still. Strong muscles that were as intriguing as they were frightening…
“You look asss though you’re thinking very hard about sssomething.”
Maribel shrieked and clutched the sheet to her again. The little silver snake she’d spoken to the other day was peering out at her from under her covers, its beady black eyes blinking sleepily.
“How long have you been in there?” she demanded.
The snake snuggled farther into the blankets. “It’sss very warm in here. Very niccce. And you ssslept in late.”
“How. Long?”
“You ssseem to be getting along well with Daman. Are you content here?”
Maribel opened her mouth, then closed it. “I— What do you care?”
The serpent curled into a tighter coil, tucking its head into the center as though it intended to have a nice nap. “Jussst trying to keep up. Want to make sssure you’re both getting along. The naga lord hasss a temper, he isss not easssy to be around. Wouldn’t want you to get upssset and leave prematurely.”
“Prematurely?” Maribel leaned forward, struggling to read any emotion in the serpentine intruder’s face. Excitement crackled along her nerves, urging her heart to beat faster in burgeoning expectation. “You make it sound as though I should be waiting for something. As if something is going to happen?”
The serpent’s eyelids drooped, its tongue flicking out. “Yesss.”
Maribel waited, but the creature didn’t offer anything more.
“Well?” she prodded, annoyance sharpening her tone.
The serpent opened one eye all the way, the other remaining closed. “Well what?”
“What is it I’m supposed to be waiting for? What’s supposed to happen?”
“I’m sssure I don’t know. It doesssn’t matter asss long asss it happensss.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Well,” the wardrobe broke in, “what do you expect to get from a conversation with a cuelebre? They aren’t the most helpful creatures.”
The cuelebre raised its head and eyed the wardrobe. “You ssshouldn’t be talking. You’re wood. Dead wood,” he added.
“I’ve as much right to talk as you do.” The wardrobe sniffed, a neat trick since it had no nose. “I’m sure I’m more helpful than you.”
“Do you know what’s supposed to happen?” Maribel turned a hopeful face to the wardrobe, wishing it had eyes so she knew where to look.
The wardrobe hesitated. “No. The master wants the witch to change him back, but I don’t know what that has to do with you. Or why you’re here.”
“You know who cursed him?” Maribel held her breath, her heart pounding as she fought the urge to shake the wardrobe.
“Of course, everyone knows that.”
“Who?” Maribel’s voice came out a whisper, the sheer magnitude of what she was about to learn threatening to steal her voice. If she could find out who had cursed Daman, perhaps she could find a way to make them undo it. And then…
“That isss not for you to tell her,” the cuelebre hissed. “Let her asssk Daman.”
The wardrobe creaked as though shifting to face the snake. “What difference does it make who tells her?”
“It makesss a differenccce.”
The wardrobe fluttered its doors. “Very well.”
“No!” Maribel glared at the cuelebre as if she could set the pest on fire with the strength of her fury. “Tell me now.”
“I won’t tell you, and neither will the wood,” the cuelebre said calmly.
Maribel whirled back to the wardrobe. “Tell me. Please,” she begged.
“It won’t tell you. It’sss too afraid I’ll burn it to assshesss if it doesss.”
“Well, actually, I hadn’t even considered that you’d do such a barbaric thing,” the wardrobe grumbled. It creaked again as though sagging in resignation. “But as that is the case… I’m sorry, Maribel, I can’t tell you. But I’m sure the master would share the information if you asked him.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
The words floated back to her from the dream, the man’s voice sliding over her skin like a phantom caress. Maribel shivered.
“It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”
“Do you know why the witch cursed him?” she asked, leaning closer.
The snake tilted its head. “Yesss. But ssso do you. He told you, didn’t he?”
Maribel bit her lip. “And what he told me was the truth? The witch wanted to marry him and he rejected her?”
“You doubt hisss ssstory?”
“I only want the truth,” Maribel moaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Someone isn’t being completely honest with me. Mother Briar told me that Daman was cursed by a witch that he scorned. The witch wanted to teach him a lesson about kindness and helping others. Mother Briar believed the fact that Daman fed and sheltered my father was some sign that Daman was changing, learning from his mistakes. She said to break the curse, Daman would have to prove he’d changed by falling in love and earning the love of someone else in return, that love was the most selfless act possible and only that would break the spell.”
“Interesssting.”
“But Daman contradicts that story.” Maribel shoved herself off the bed and paced back and forth between the bed and the wardrobe. “He says it was the witch who was selfish, that the witch wanted his money and land and tried to seduce him to get it. He says she cursed him for rejecting her, and the only way to break the curse is for the witch to lift it herself.”
“Two different ssstories.”
“Exactly.” Maribel paused, drumming the fingers of one hand against the opposite arm. Words continued to bubble up inside her, flowing from her mouth in an unstoppable stream. It seemed like ages since she’d had someone to talk to, someone that didn’t…that wasn’t…Daman.
“I don’t like Mother Briar. She’s arrogant and condescending. However, I can’t deny that she’s been a savior to my family. She fed us when we were starving, and she always takes time out of her day to help Corrine with her magic and me with studying all sorts of plants and herbs.”
“Why don’t you ssstudy magic?”
Maribel shook her head. “I don’t have the gift for it like Corrine does. The only time I seem to be able to do anything extraordinary is if I’m working with plants and the land. Mother Briar says I speak to the earth and it listens to me.” She shrugged. She’d long ago given up childish dreams of doing grand magic.
“Do you trussst thisss witch?”
“I have no reason not to. Besides, Corrine spoke about the rumors before Mother Briar did, so I don’t think Mother Briar just made it all up.”
“And your sssissster?”
The snake’s tone didn’t change, but there was an inherent accusation in the words nonetheless. Maribel eyed the cuelebre. “Why would she make something like that up?”
“That’sss for you to tell me.”
“She wouldn’t.” Maribel paused. “Well, I suppose she really didn’t want me to leave,” she admitted hesitantly. �
�I guess it’s possible that she was trying to scare me away from coming. But that wouldn’t explain why Mother Briar would agree with her. Even if she was only agreeing to help Corrine keep me home, she ruined all that when she encouraged me to go. She’s the one who thought I could break Daman’s curse.”
“By falling in love with him?”
Maribel’s traitorous mind flew back to the feeling of being in Daman’s arms. In moments like those, he wasn’t strange or monstrous. He was a man. A strong, handsome man who loved her cooking and enjoyed sitting outside with her in the garden. She cleared her throat. “I suppose that’s what she meant.”
“Ssso if you don’t think your sssissster isss lying, then do you think that Daman isss the liar?”
Was it her imagination, or did the cuelebre give the wardrobe a pointed look as it asked that last question? “I don’t know.” Maribel paused as she realized she was twisting the sheet in her hands, the nervous gesture betraying her inner conflict to the room. She marched behind the dressing screen, snagging a discarded gown on the way.
“I’ve enjoyed my time here with Daman,” she admitted, finding it somewhat easier to voice her feelings now that she was behind the screen and protected from the snake’s unnerving stare. “But I haven’t known him long. How can I trust him more than my own sister?”
“Good quessstion.”
“It’s someone you trust. Only when that trust is broken will we be free.”
Did she trust Daman? If the dream referred to Daman, then what did that mean?
“Do you trussst your sssissster?”
The sibilant voice came from much closer than it had the last time. Startled, Maribel glared up at the snake. He’d left the bed and was hanging from the dressing screen, translucent wings she hadn’t noticed before open to give him balance.
“Of course I trust her. But even if I didn’t, she couldn’t be the witch who cursed Daman, if that’s what you’re thinking. She would have had no reason to seek him out while we still had money, and she hasn’t left the farm on her own since we’ve been there.” Maribel paused. “I suppose…Mother Briar could be the one. But that doesn’t make sense. I doubt she would come to Daman insisting he marry her so she could have all of his land and money. And if the other story is true and she cursed him for a lack of hospitality, then why wouldn’t she have said that instead of saying she’d heard the same rumors?”
She looked up at the snake, but it’d vanished. She searched around her, even peering out from behind the screen to scan the room, but it was gone.
“That’s getting beyond annoying,” Maribel muttered. She swept out from behind the dressing screen, pausing awkwardly in front of the wardrobe.
“Well, I’m going to get going then,” she told the furniture. She waited, feeling as though it would be rude to leave without…saying goodbye?
The wardrobe fluttered open a door in a wooden wave. “Have a nice day, Maribel.”
Maribel nodded, trying not to feel silly, then left the room. Her head spun with unanswered questions as she strode through the hallway and marched down the large staircase. Between the dreams and the cuelebre’s frustrating stream of half-information and loaded questions, she was left with the distinct feeling that she was being manipulated, but no idea as to why. She gritted her teeth, grinding them until her jaw ached. I hate being manipulated.
She stormed out the kitchen doors, heading for the gardens like a black cloud. Apparently, Daman was her only chance for answers, and by the gods, she intended to get them.
A sudden cloud of dirt rising into the air caught her attention. A flash of scales glittered in the sunlight, followed by a dull thud and a litany of cursing that raised her eyebrows. Maribel crept closer to the source of the sounds. Something thrashed around on the ground and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to avoid a squeak of surprise.
Daman was lying in the dirt, staring intently at a hole in the ground. Something moved in the darkness and a creature she couldn’t identify leapt out and skittered across the garden. Daman snarled and tried to snatch the creature off the ground. His movements were too fast for Maribel to follow, but still the creature escaped him and disappeared down another hole.
“Daman?”
“What?” Daman snapped. He looked up then twitched backward as if his brain had only just registered her presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you. You surprised me, that’s all.”
A few days ago the very idea of apologizing for being short with her would have been ridiculous to Daman—knowledge she based on having suggested he apologize on more than one occasion. The fact that he’d offered it with no prompting on her part sucked a considerable amount of wind from her blustering sails of a moment ago.
He rose out of the dirt and approached her, the long sleek muscles of his lower body sliding easily through the loose earth. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Maribel gave up on the shouting she’d been prepared to do—temporarily—and gestured at the holes. “What’s going on here?”
Daman scowled. “Sprites. They’re popping out of the ground everywhere.”
Maribel’s eyebrows rose. “Sprites.”
“Yes. Annoying little pests.” He glared at the ground. “I haven’t seen one since I had to send my gardener away and tend the land myself. I thought I’d scared them off.”
Tiny glittering eyes peered at Maribel from the darkness of one of the holes and she could have sworn she heard something giggle. “But they’re not scared of you anymore?”
“Apparently not,” Daman said darkly. His gaze flicked over the ground as if he could see the sprites moving even through the earth. “But I shall rectify that situation forthwith.”
It took a bit of effort to keep the amusement from her face. The thought of Daman and all his gruffness throwing his weight around the garden chasing after the miniscule sprites did more than a little to leach some of the intimidation from Daman’s presence. Of course, Maribel reflected, it really wasn’t much different than a snake going after small rodents. A large predator waiting with deadly stillness, glossy black eyes unblinking as it waited for its prey. The small furry creatures venturing out into the light, never knowing that their death waited with the patience only a predator could manage…
Unease rolled through her stomach at the imagery her imagination was happily supplying her. Maribel blinked the pictures from her head. She cleared her throat and faced Daman with a weak smile. “Perhaps you’re considering the situation in the wrong light,” she offered. “Perhaps the return of the sprites is a good sign?”
“You have obviously never met a sprite. They are a plague, creatures who have nothing better to do than teach gofers how to steal food.” He glared at the ground again. “How could they possibly be a good sign?”
The end of his tail slid slowly side to side and then his entire body froze, taking on that unnatural stillness that used to unnerve her so terribly. Maribel bit the inside of her cheek, sternly warning her thoughts to stay away from the darker side of nature’s predators and concentrate on the man in front of her.
“Didn’t you tell me once that your temper made you drive people away?”
Daman’s silver eyes flicked to her, though the rest of his body didn’t move. “Yes.”
“Well, it sounds as though it was that same temper that frightened the sprites away. Perhaps the fact that they have returned is a sign that your temper is not as terrible as it once was.”
Daman tapped the end of his tail against the soil. The motion drew the attention of another sprite, and the skinny creature snickered and flew at the scaled limb glittering like precious gems in the sunlight. At the last second, the tip of Daman’s tail slashed through the air, smacking hard into the little fey and sending it sailing through the air like a falling star. A satisfied smirk twitched on Daman’s lips. Maribel chuckled in amusement, but the sound quickly died when she found herself once again the sole target of Daman’s intense gaze.
“You once to
ld me I make you nervous. Tell me, do you find that—like the sprites—you are less…nervous, in my presence now?”
Maribel’s mouth went dry, the rumbling bass of Daman’s voice drawing her attention to his bare chest. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed he’d removed his shirt—the clothing that he’d started wearing for her benefit—apparently to keep it from getting destroyed as he shot around on the ground after the invading sprites.
Now there was nothing to block Maribel’s searching gaze, nothing to hide the strange combination of unblemished human skin and glittering blue and green scales that traced the ridges decorating Daman’s face and chest before disappearing in the cascade of scales that composed his draconic lower half.
She followed the lines of sinewy muscle over his pectorals, up around his biceps and the sharp lines of his throat. The scales should have given him a monstrous appearance, but at some point in the last week or so, they’d become less foreign. Now they were familiar, a defining feature that only served to decorate the already handsome veneer of the isolated lord. She’d seen them shining in the sunlight during the long days he sat with her in the garden, seen candlelight play over them as they ate dinner together and she happily answered all of the naga’s questions about what ingredients she’d used, or what she was going to serve next.
The blue and green scales were warm, despite their icy appearance, slick under the pads of her fingers. She trailed a finger over one of the large ridges that traced Daman’s collar bone, turning sharply at the line it met and following it up his neck.
I’m touching him.
Every muscle in Maribel’s body seized at once, shocked and outraged at her own behavior. Tendons whiplashed, recoiling her hand with a speed surpassed only by creatures beyond the veil. She didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember reaching out to touch him. Dear gods, what had she been thinking?
His hand closed around her wrist, keeping her from retreating. She swallowed a squeak, her heart leaping into her throat.
“Maribel.”