Riven: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 3)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  He shut his eyes. “I see.”

  “Do you? I doubt it,” she laughed bitterly. “Just leave me alone, Beast.” Turning her back on him, she hastened out the door.

  Up in her room, Rose stood staring out the window, glaring at the garden as the shadows stretched forth from the tree line to cover the rose bushes with their darkness. Shoulders shaking, she undid her hair so that the golden tresses fell free to her waist. The diamond and ruby pins she had removed glimmered in her hand like bloody tears. Folly, folly, they seemed to cry, reminding Rose of her earlier vanity and of the strange jealousy that had gripped her all day. Anger at the Beast blended with shame and confusion at her own actions . . . and fear. For one fleeting moment she had actually been tempted to say yes to the Beast . . . and not, the gems twinkled, merely been to see the fairy’s reaction.

  Unable to contain her turmoil any longer, Rose hurled the pins against the wall and then sank down onto the window seat, burying her face in her hands.

  * * * * *

  Liliath’s thundering heart slowly returned to normal as Ari turned away from the door. His thick shoulders were hunched and his green eyes downcast as he padded back to the table.

  “What did she say?” Liliath asked, unable to help herself.

  He looked at her, his eyes shining with desolate sadness. “That I am a beast and that she could never marry me.”

  Triumph flared within Liliath, but she managed to keep her voice level as she replied, “Perhaps it is just as well. She is not worthy of you.”

  Ari’s eyes flashed. “Worthy? It is I who am not worthy of her! My father exiled me to this lodge because he could not bear the sight of me—indeed, he made it abundantly clear the last time he saw me that in his eyes, I am the worst, most awful creature in the world! If the person who held me and taught me and knew me best of all now thinks of me that way, then what kind of monster must I truly be?”

  Liliath jumped to her feet and hastened to Ari, sweeping her hands over the fur on the top of his head so that his ears flattened back. He closed his eyes.

  “You are not a monster,” she said forcefully. “You are kind and good and have endured far more than any person ever should. Never denigrate yourself for something so far beyond your control.”

  His eyes squeezed tighter. “I have missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you too,” Liliath grinned, rifling his fur until he ducked away with a small laugh. The dog, which had been watching them intently as it ate Rose’s scraps, barked a warning as was forced to leap out of Ari’s way.

  “Sorry, Pesk,” Ari said, instantly contrite. “I seem to be misstepping a lot today.”

  Liliath shook her head. “Apologizing to a dog is hardly helpful. What you need to do is relax a bit. Why not take your mind off things by bringing back the toy room and letting me beat you in a game of chess?” she challenged.

  “I would like that,” Ari agreed, his expression thoughtful. “But first, there is that would be helpful that I need to do.”

  * * * * *

  Rose’s neck was stiff. She had fallen asleep sitting on the window seat, her head resting against the glass, but it was not the ache of that position which had awoke her—it had been the plink of a pebble striking the window.

  Another pebble hit the glass, and Rose looked out to see the Beast standing on the ground just beneath her window, carefully balanced on his hind feet so that his head reached almost to her sill. Moonlight turned his dark fur silver, and to her surprise, she saw he held a book in one paw.

  As soon as the Beast realized he had her attention, he began to read in a loud voice: “Oh, rose of the morning, bright ray of the sun, I—wait a moment! Stay right there!”

  Abruptly, he set the book down and bounded away, returning after a moment with a stem clenched between his teeth, the light pink bud of a rose just visible on one end. Rose rubbed her eyes, thinking she must be dreaming, as the Beast picked up the book and began again, he words comically distorted by the stem:

  “Oh, rose of the morning, bright ray of the sun, I beg thy forgiveness for all I have done. Thy beauty and grace, so fair and divine, are far too removed to ever make mine. Oh, rose of the evening, oh starlight, I wish, to be but thy servant and make thy life bliss—”

  Rose could only stare, her mouth gaping slightly in bemusement, as the Beast continue to recite bad poetry to her. As she continued to listen, her earlier anger began to melt away, replaced by the urge to giggle. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her eyes on rose stem in the Beast’s mouth, which was bobbing up and down with every word he spoke. At that bizarre sight, Rose lost the battle to restrain her giggles and broke into outright laugher. The Beast’s ears perked forward at the sound, but he continued to declaim until Rose unlatched her window and pushed it open.

  “What is that ridiculous book?” she gasped.

  The Beast held it up to her as he took the stem from his mouth. “Marty the Minstrel’s Poetical Guide of 500 Ways to Apologize to Fair Young Ladies.”

  Rose reached down and took the book from his paw, her fingers just able to clasp one corner of the guide.

  “I will keep this, thank you very much, lest you inflict its verses on anyone else’s ears,” she smiled.

  The Beast smiled back, but his golden gaze was tentative. “But did it work? Do you forgive me?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to look away. “Yes, Beast. I truly do.”

  * * * * *

  From the side window in the hall, Liliath watched Ari present his theatrical apology to Rose. The woman’s lilting laughter struck Liliath like a discordant bell, making her fingernails dig into her palms and her magic rile within her in response. Quickly, she turned away from the window before she could do anything she would regret.

  At least with the two of them so occupied, Liliath could accomplish her real purpose in returning to the lodge. Silently, she made her way to the trophy room and pushed open the door, revealing the glittering gaze of dozens of bizarre creatures whose heads adorned its walls. Shelves full of resplendent prizes lined the intervening space—Liliath recognized the iridescent gleam of a unicorn’s horn and the tail rattle of a basilisk—but it was the phoenix wings stretched across an unlit hearth that drew her attention. In the darkness, their feathers flamed as though filled with internal fire.

  Liliath reached out and plucked three phoenix feathers from the wings. The ghastly’s spell only called for one feather, but it was always best to get spare ingredients when she could.

  Tucking away her plunder, Liliath stole back into the hall. The low murmur of voices confirmed that Ari was still outside, but Liliath did not return to the window. Instead, she pulled a chair near the hearth, staring absently into the blaze. Rose’s dog was dozing nearby, and absently, Liliath stroked it.

  “Soon, my beauty,” she murmured. “Soon.”

  The oblivious dog slumbered on, but the flames in the hearth crackled and spat as if in response, bathing the fairy in flickering shadow. She smiled—a dark rictus of anticipation—as she waited for Ari to come inside.

  Let the woman laugh at his charm, she thought in dismissal, he will forget her soon enough. My wait is almost done. With the phoenix feathers in her possession, Liliath finally had everything Moraga needed to implement her plan . . . except for the Princess, but the curse would deliver her, too, before long. Then the ghastly would break Ari’s spell return for all of Liliath’s help, and she and Ari could finally be together like they had always belonged.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Mirror Room gleamed in welcome, almost as though it had been waiting for her to return. Like all the rooms in the lodge, it was enchanted, but whereas the others changed their décor and their contents, this chamber always possessed mirrors stretching from floor to ceiling and across even those, seemingly without end. If Rose stood in the very center of the room, the mirrors would appear to vanish and in their place she would see a scene with her family—sometimes one she remembered, sometimes one she understood to be h
appening right then—its sights and sounds surrounding her so completely it felt as if she were actually there.

  Driven by a desperate need to be with her loved ones, Rose had visited the Mirror Room nearly every day after she first discovered it, eager to reclaim even that much of her family The Beast had never tried to stop her from doing so, but he had warned her that obsessively viewing what was beyond her reach would only cause her pain. To Rose’s dismay, his words had proved true, and one day the Beast had found her standing outside the doorway, wiping tears of longing from her eyes.

  “Do you wish so much to be away from me?” he had asked, his voice wistful. Rose had not answered—merely cupped his face in her hands and laid her forehead against his brow for a few moments before leading him away.

  After that, she had visited the room less often, and the last time had been several months ago. As Rose shut the door, she felt a guilty twinge for giving into the urge now. Yet ever since Liliath’s departure, the need to see her family again had become nearly unbearable. She longed to confide in her sisters the way she had once done—to share the turbulent thoughts and emotions that were plaguing her and to receive Adara’s careful wisdom and Chase’s spirited suggestions in return. That was impossible, of course, but at least the Mirror Room could show Rose her family and let her hear their voices again, even though she would not be able speak to them or make them realize she was there.

  With a sigh, Rose walked toward the center of the room. The instant her feet reached the middle of the room, her reflections vanished and the image of her family’s sitting room replaced them.

  With a small leap of her heart, Rose looked around. Aunt Tess was slumbering at the kitchen table, her head resting upon her arms, her expression creased and careworn even in sleep. Rose stared. What could have so exhausted her aunt—her energetic and bustling aunt—that she would take a nap in the middle of the day, and at a hard wooden table, no less?

  The door to the front of the house creaked open, and Rose’s stare turned to an open-mouthed gape as Chase cautiously edged her way inside. Her belly was distended with advanced pregnancy, and her normally cheerful expression was grim as she surveyed the room. Her eyes passed right over Rose but did not see her—the mirrors only worked one way.

  As quietly as her awkward bulk would allow, Chase tiptoed over to their father’s bedroom. With the tips of her fingers, she tapped lightly on the door. It opened, but it was Adara, not Mercer, who stepped out.

  It was clear Adara had been weeping, and anxiety settled over Rose’s heart like a sheath of ice. What could have happened?

  “How much longer?” Chase whispered.

  “Not long,” Adara grieved. “I already told Jon I would stay here until—until—”

  “I will stay with you,” Chase said, wrapping her arms around her sister and drawing her into an embrace. Adara’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Chase stroked her sister’s head, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  “How can this be happening?” she asked Adara in a thick voice. “He has always been so strong.”

  “He was never the same after Rose left,” Adara admitted. Agony pierced Rose to the core. They were talking about her father! What was wrong with him? What had she done?

  “Adara?” a weak voice called, and Adara hastily wiped away her tears and opened the bedroom door. Chase followed her inside, and the scene the mirrors showed did, too.

  Rose’s father was lying in his bed, looking pale and drawn. Deep lines were etched upon his face, and his hair was gray and lank. Still, he managed to give her sisters a tremulous smile. Looking at him, Rose thought her heart would break.

  “Ah, Chase, you are here, too. I am glad,” he murmured, reaching out a hand—but before Chase could take it, his strength failed and it dropped back onto the coverlet. Settling down heavily onto his bedside, Chase picked up his hand and kissed the back of his calloused fingers.

  “I spoke with the physicker,” she murmured. “He says there is nothing ailing your body. You should be well right now—you could be, if you would only try to get better.”

  Mercer’s mouth flickered wanly. “My soul ails me, and there is no cure for my guilt. My health is as it should be.”

  “Father, please—”

  “No, Chase,” he murmured. “I have yearned for this day for a long time. I only wanted to see you both provided for first, and now that you are wed, you do not need me anymore. I am ready to rejoin your sister. She is waiting for me, I know she is.”

  “We do need you, Father!” Adara protested, falling to her knees and taking up Mercer’s other hand. Rose put out her own, desperate to touch him . . . but encountered only the cold, unyielding surface of a mirror.

  “Will you not even try to live for your grandchild’s sake?” Chase inquired, her voice breaking.

  Mercer shook his head. “I do not deserve such grace. I have . . . so many regrets . . . .” His voice faded away and his eyes closed. Chase and Adara looked at each other, their faces white.

  “Is he—?” Chase asked.

  Rose could scarcely breathe as Adara placed her hand on their father’s chest. After what seemed like an eternity, she removed her hand and shook her head. “Just sleeping,” she announced.

  Rose sighed in relief, her breath momentarily fogging the image. When it cleared, Adara had risen and was holding Chase close; in her eyes, Rose could read the devastating words she had left unsaid:

  For now.

  * * * * *

  Ari washed his face and his paws in the pond’s cold water, scrubbing away the last traces of his meal. His belly was sated, his spirit was cheerful, and he walked with a buoyant step as he headed back toward the lodge.

  As he neared the front entrance, the door slammed open, and Rose came dashing out to meet him. Ari grinned at what seemed to be an exuberant welcome—but his smile faded as he caught sight of the panic on her face.

  “Rose, what is it? What happened?” he demanded, bounding forward.

  She met his eyes briefly with her luminous gaze, and then abruptly dropped to her knees, bowing her head and laying one hand on his paw.

  “Rose!” Ari exclaimed, aghast. “Rose, get up, please—”

  “I have kept my word to you, Beast, have I not?” she asked, her voice low and urgent. “I have stayed with you all these years and have never once tried to leave. But now I must go! I promise I will return, but I have to see my father again before he—before he—”

  “Before he what?”

  “I looked into the mirrors, Beast,” she continued, unheeding, “and I saw my father—he was sick—dying! I have to go to him. Please, you must let me!” Finally, she looked up at him, her blue eyes pleading.

  Ari was stunned. Leave—she wanted to leave?

  “Perhaps it was an image from the past,” he offered. “You have been gone a long time. Your father may have been ill and recovered.”

  And if he did not, Ari reasoned, there is no need now for you to go.

  Rose shook her head. “No, the mirrors have shown me how time has changed my family, and what I witnessed in them today was new. This illness cannot have happened before—it must be occurring now!”

  “Then perhaps you saw into the future,” Ari offered in growing desperation. “You cannot know—”

  “Oh, do you still have no understanding of human suffering?” she cried. “I may not know, but I cannot stay here, happy and sheltered, while my father might lie dying! Not when it is my fault that he has given up his will to live . . . .” Her voice cracked off as she began to sob.

  Ari felt as though his world was crumbling down around him. The sky seemed to darken, though the sun blazed as brightly as ever, and his legs trembled as they fought to hold him up.

  “What of Pesk?” he asked frantically, his voice pitched much too high. “Would you leave him? He is surely too old to follow you now.”

  Rose’s reply was a whisper. “I know.”

  “I—” Ari began, but he choked on the words he was abo
ut to say. He knew what he had to do—it was what he should have done five years ago when Rose first arrived at his door. But he had been weak, desperate for company, and clinging to the thin thread of hope that one day, she might break his curse.

  What a fool he had been.

  Ari closed his eyes. “Of course, you may go,” he told her, trying to steady his voice by drawing deep breaths through his nose. It did not help. “However, you do not have to make me another promise. You have kept your word all these years, and now I give it back to you. Your oath is fulfilled, Rose. I return to you your ability to choose.” He opened his eyes, drinking in the sight of her face while he still could—this exquisite Rose who could never—would never—be his. “Go back to your family. You have seen what I can offer you, and what I cannot. If you choose to remain with them, then I bless you and hope you will be happy. If you choose to return . . . . Do not think you have to return. I will not keep you here any longer against your will.”

  Even if it means I should die of loneliness.

  Rose stared at Ari, her eyes sparkling through her tears. “Do you truly mean it?” she quavered.

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Oh, Beast!” she flung her arms around his neck and embraced him hard. “You have been a good friend,” she said. “Thank you for letting me go home. Even if I choose to stay there, I will return often to visit. That I do promise!”

  “Of course,” he said, trying to smile for her sake but feeling the corner of his mouth rebel against the motion. “When will you go?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  He flinched, her words piercing him like a dagger. She was going—truly going—and in spite of her claim, most likely forever. Just like with his mother, life would distract Rose and she would soon forget about him. He could not blame her. Nor could he keep her. Not even for another day.