Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories

by Kaycee Browning

  I felt as if she’d gut-punched me. Never in all my days would I have expected to hear these words from her mouth! Then the second half of her statement sank in, and I felt cold all over.

  “By the Never, he will eat me alive!” I exclaimed, horrified.

  “If he does, you would deserve it,” she said. I knew I could never refute her logic. I deserved that and worse. But as I looked at her, I realized she was not punishing me. She was laying out new ground rules. She intended to stay; I could see it in her eyes, in the way she looked at me without judgment or fear.

  My chest caught fire and I felt the weight of the ages easing off of me. I had not been forgotten, nor was I alone.

  “Well? Have you nothing to say? About . . . anything?” she asked, sounding brusque even though her expression seemed strangely anxious.

  “I love you,” I said, and I laughed when fire rushed to her ears. She punched me playfully on the arm and beamed at me. After a moment, she reached out and took my hand. We both stared at our intertwined fingers as if neither of us quite knew what to think about it.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. If possible, her ears burned even brighter. Some things had not changed.

  Just as the sun slipped through the windows, Bet looked up and smiled. It was a rare gift, the sweeter for its rarity.

  I embraced the change, clinging more tightly to her as she experienced her first transformation. But I sensed no unease in her, no fear. Her awareness joined with mine, startled at first, then awed. I sensed her curiosity as her mind immediately darted out to Briarstone, already exploring. I stilled her with my thoughts, knowing the Abbey would not welcome meddling at this moment. Bet drew back to me, sighing but obedient.

  I was no longer alone.

  For the first time in ages, I felt human again. Bet returned to me something I had thought lost forever. The journey had been difficult, but had I suffered less, I would not know how to fully appreciate the gift I now possessed. She was the greatest gift I had ever received.

  I knew the battle wasn’t over. The seams of reality were sewn back together, but the scent of the Underworld still lingered beyond them. Wraiths lurked there. Waiting. Yet whatever evils would come, we had this moment. This here, this now. Perhaps it wasn’t much, but it seemed like everything to me. I had not been forgotten after all, even though I had lost myself in the darkness.

  I had plenty of time to muse on this revelation. Evening was a long way off.

  Epilogue

  THE SPOOK FOLLOWED the blood trail the wolfhound had left behind, his steps slow as he moved through the old Abbey. He clutched a kerchief to the side of his head where he had been bludgeoned with a stone by the final ghoul. He had woken a short time ago, convinced that the wolfhound must be the only reason he still lived.

  His eyes widened slightly as he climbed a wide set of stone steps and found himself surrounded by statues. In the center of them the wolfhound lay panting beside two huddled stone gargoyles. One of them looked suspiciously like Bet Haverly.

  The scene was intimate. A great many things began to make sense.

  The dog growled at him, but it was half-hearted. Victor stepped back to calm the animal’s unease. He sensed no danger. Whatever had happened here was over, for the time being. Although he suspected Bet Haverly’s work was just beginning. She would not be rushing home anytime soon.

  “I suppose I’ll find your sister, then,” he said to the gargoyle that looked like the merchant’s daughter, although he had no idea as to where he would begin. He let his gaze return to the wolfhound. “Thanks for the help, old boy.” He saluted with two fingers.

  As if he understood, the dog wagged his tail.

  Victor left the Abbey. Although he searched, he found neither of his mounts. He could only hope they had made their way home and not into the belly of a ghoul. A warm rain streamed down his face, gently coating his skin.

  He wished he had a better understanding of how he was to save Bet’s sister. He was an expert on creepers and ghouls, not curses and Spinners and girls, but he had never balked at a challenge.

  Victor set his feet to the road and ambled back down the mountain, into the Neverway. Above him, the rain broke and sunlight filled the sky. Somewhere in the Abbey gardens a rose bloomed, its scarlet petals blossoming like the first rays of morning.

  SAVANNAH JEZOWSKI lives in a drafty farmhouse in Amish country with her Knight in Shining Armor, who is no less shiny after eight years of matrimony, and a loyal brigade of kitties, who may or may not sleep on the job. Her work has been published in Ray Gun Revival, Mindflights, and in the student publication of Fountains at Pensacola Christian College. She likes books, faeries, writing hats, and having tea with her imaginary friends.

  You can find out more about Savannah and her writing on her blog: www.SavannahJaysWorkshop.blogspot.com

  For Leiana, Nathalie, and Brantland

  Chapter 1

  THE LONG STONE hallways of Thorndale Castle stood empty and silent. On this overcast afternoon, only gray light fell through the high windows to bathe the castle in gloom. Once-brilliant tapestries, their colors now muted by dust, lined the walls and deadened the sound of Karyna’s footsteps as she made her way to Princess Bellenya’s vacant chambers. In one hand she carried a basket of dried roses, their heady perfume filling the air and disturbing the castle’s eerie aura.

  Karyna hummed as she walked, slightly swinging her basket so that it brushed against the skirts of her blue overdress in rhythm with the tune. The surrounding silence caused her no concern; she was used to it now. To be sure, when the curse first fell she had cried. And when most of the other servants left the castle, she had wept again in anger and despair. But her tears had dried up long ago; they served no purpose and solved no problems.

  On the way to Bellenya’s chambers she passed the great doors of the Throne Room and cast only a glance in their direction, being long accustomed to avoiding that room whenever possible. But three paces further down the passage she stopped short, her mind suddenly realizing what she had just seen.

  Her skin prickling in sudden horror, she turned to look again, hoping she was mistaken. The basket dropped from her suddenly nerveless hand. Roses spilled out onto the floor. Petals scattered across the tile like drops of dried blood.

  For the massive mahogany Throne Room doors, always so carefully closed and locked, were open.

  Oh no! No, no, no, no! she thought desperately, though she was uncertain where the desperation came from. What did it matter that the doors were open? The curse could not spread. And yet Karyna’s heart pounded wildly, and fear gripped her by the throat.

  The darkness within the room oozed out into the hall like a physical being, carrying with it a musty scent of stale air and decaying flowers, nothing like the sweet aroma of her dried roses. This was the cloying stench of evil. Heart hammering with trepidation, Karyna peered inside. At the far end of the room a cautious glow of pale light lurked around the edges of the heavy purple curtains that covered the huge windows and forbade the sun entrance to this place.

  Karyna rubbed her arms briskly and squinted into the shadows. Who would dare open these doors? She had no desire to venture inside. Just standing in the doorway brought painful memories crowding to the forefront of her mind. But she also had no wish to inadvertently lock someone into this room. This horrible room.

  The moment of indecision passed, and Karyna crossed the threshold, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The expanse beyond the door was large, with high ceilings and tall white columns lining the perimeter. At the far end, two gilded thrones stood on a dais, ornate in their splendor, dusty from disuse. One throne held the statue of a crowned man wearing a startled expression, and before the other, a stone woman posed as if she had just sprung to her feet, her mouth open, her graceful hands raised in apparent distress. Even the folds of her sumptuous gown appeared as if frozen in motion. And scattered across the floor before the thrones stood more statues, hundreds more, all dressed in elegan
ce and finery, all frozen in various postures of merrymaking.

  Karyna averted her eyes. She had gazed upon them once before, and that had been enough.

  She continued wending her way through the statues, trying to ignore the way her skin crawled and her every instinct screamed at her to run from the room and bar the doors. She could almost hear the swish of the elegant skirts, the echoes of laughter as couples joined each other on the dance floor, the chatter of a hundred voices making light conversation. And the terrible screams right before . . .

  Karyna shook her head to dispel her morbid thoughts and instantly regretted it. Her unwary gaze fell upon one of the frozen faces. She averted her eyes, but the image lingered, refreshed as if she were seeing it for the first time. Every statue told the same story. No matter in what pose they were frozen, every face held an identical look of merriment turned to sudden terror.

  Karyna made a soft sound deep in her throat and hastened her step. She hated this room.

  “Hello?” she called out, her voice resounding in the deathlike stillness. “Your Highness? Is someone in here?”

  She listened but heard no response. She crept through the maze of statues, careful not to allow even her skirts to touch them. It was a silly notion, thinking they might be disturbed, but Karyna couldn’t help it. They were so lifelike, so perfect in every way despite their lack of color. It was hard to remember they were made of cold gray stone.

  “Prince Barend? Hello?”

  Karyna paused, drawing long breaths to calm her racing heart. Prince Barend was powerful and, at times, dangerous. It was best not to startle him. She peered through the gloom. Nothing stirred.

  She paused, torn. Part of her wanted to leave immediately, but she had already ventured this far. Raising her chin, Karyna proceeded to the far end of the room. She bowed her head in a respectful gesture to the frozen king and queen in passing, then stopped before a statue positioned near the thrones.

  It was not so splendid or grand as the others, just a baron unused to such finery. He had been a humble baronet before the queen chose Karyna to be Princess Bellenya’s lady-in-waiting twelve years prior. Karyna had been only seven years old at the time. Her mother, a childhood friend of the queen, had just passed away, and Karyna did not know how she would have survived without Bellenya’s friendship.

  Her appointment had been a great honor for her and her family. Besides her father’s new title, which effectively raised him from a commoner to a noble, Karyna was brought to live at the palace and be Bellenya’s constant companion. She received an education alongside the princess and traveled with her. She also gained prospects of a more advantageous marriage—not that she had heeded that, being so young. She cared only that Bellenya was just a year older than she was, and that they shared many common interests. Once the initial shyness wore off, the two girls became closer than sisters and were inseparable ever after.

  Karyna reached up and touched the statue’s cold stone visage with gentle fingers. “Papa,” she whispered. “I miss you.” She gazed at him intently, as if the power of her stare could restore life and color to those cheeks, breath to those lungs, sparkle to those familiar eyes. Guilt clenched its fingers around her heart. “I’m sorry, Papa, so sorry. You wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for me.”

  He did not respond, but Karyna had not expected him to. Breathing one quick sigh, she wound her way out of the room, secured the doors, retrieved the fallen roses, and continued on down the hall toward the princess’s chambers.

  She entered Bellenya’s apartments and halted, surprised by the sight that greeted her. A lovely young woman several years older than Karyna sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin. She wore a rumpled satin gown, and her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves. Sniveling, she dabbed at her puffy, soulful eyes with a soggy handkerchief.

  “Lady Ahren?” Karyna recovered from her surprise and felt suspicion flicker across her thoughts. “You’re not supposed to be in here; you were told to stay out of this wing of the castle. Why aren’t you in your own chambers?”

  Lady Ahren looked up, her eyes filled with fear. “I was curious.” She spoke defensively, but her tone lacked conviction. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  Karyna noted the heavy ring of keys clutched in Lady Ahren’s hand, and her eyes flashed. “What have you done?”

  “He . . . he got so angry.”

  “Who? Prince Barend?” Karyna crossed the room and gripped the girl by the shoulder. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded.

  “I just wanted to see them,” Lady Ahren whimpered. “I’ve heard the stories. I wanted to see them. I didn’t think it would hurt anything. But then the beast . . . he came up behind me as I opened the door and he . . .” The lady’s eyes widened. “He got so angry! He went mad!”

  A stone weight sank in Karyna’s gut. With an effort she kept her voice calm. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he leave the palace grounds?” Surely he wouldn’t. Oh, how she hoped he wouldn’t! He knew all too well what would happen. But Lady Ahren’s story filled Karyna with foreboding.

  “I don’t know!” the lady whispered. “He disappeared and I ran in here to hide. Nobody told me he was like that. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known how horrid and ugly he is! No wonder Bellenya cursed him and ran away.”

  Outrage roared through Karyna’s veins, growing hotter with every word from Lady Ahren’s mouth. “How dare you!” she said, her voice thin and tense with anger. “Princess Bellenya could never do such a thing!”

  “If she didn’t do it, why isn’t she in there?” Lady Ahren demanded, her chin rising as she glared defensively at Karyna.

  “Because she was carried off by the same person who cursed the castle.” Karyna clenched her teeth together to refrain from saying more. It would not do to insult Lord Worvenson’s daughter out of hand.

  She removed the key ring from Ahren’s lifeless grasp and, taking her by the arm, marched her out of Bellenya’s chambers and across the castle to the guest suite. Once there, Karyna told the girl in no uncertain terms to pack her things. “You were warned to stay away from the Throne Room.” From the doorway she couldn’t help adding, “Thorndale Castle is no place for fools.”

  With those words left ringing through the passage, Karyna turned on heel and marched down to the kitchens. Her frustration overtook her anger with every step she made. Lady Ahren was the latest in a long line of young women from the lesser nobility who had been sent to the palace in an attempt to break the curse. Nobody knew why the curse had been cast, or even if it was possible to break it, but that didn’t stop the viscounts, barons, and even baronets and knights in every corner of Suvall from sending their daughters, sisters, cousins, and various other female relations. Karyna could not blame them: If true love were the answer like in the tales of old, the prize would be marriage to a prince and restoration of the kingdom.

  So far their efforts had been in vain. Not one of the girls had lasted more than a month, and the curse remained unbroken.

  Two years had passed since the curse fell, and the flood of prospective curse-breakers had slowed to a trickle. Few eligible young women remained to make the attempt: most members of the higher nobility stood frozen in stone in the Throne Room.

  The situation beyond the castle walls was dire, Karyna knew. The minor nobles were not yet at all-out war, but the infighting and raids between counties had escalated in recent days. After two years without a leader, the country was slipping into chaos and its people lived in fear and uncertainty. Karyna believed it was only a matter of time before larger countries on Suvall’s borders began eyeing it as a potential addition to their own kingdoms.

  As she reached the final stair leading to the kitchen, delicious smells of baking bread wafted up to greet and comfort her. Setella, who was scrubbing the dinner vegetables clean in a bucket of cold water, looked up as Karyna descended the steps, and her tired eyes lit with a smile. But then, tak
ing in the angry flush of Karyna’s cheeks and the grim look in her eyes, the older woman pursed her lips in concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Karyna crossed her arms and leaned against the doorpost. “I found Lady Ahren in the princess’s chambers.”

  “What was she doing there?” Setella asked, mystified.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Uncrossing her arms, Karyna held out the key ring accusingly. “How could you be so careless?”

  Setella wiped her withered hands on her apron and took the keys. With one forearm she brushed a few wisps of white hair away from her face, then sighed. “That one was looking to get kicked out.”

  “And I’m happy to oblige. But she may have been our last hope of breaking the curse.”

  “We don’t even know if it can be broken.” Her voice heavy with resignation, Setella tucked the keys into a pocket of the apron she wore over her drab gray dress.

  Karyna crossed her arms again, as though fortifying herself against all the disappointments of the last two years. “I have to believe it can. And until it is, we must keep strangers from poking their noses where they don’t belong.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” Setella asked. “I cannot be everywhere at once.” She returned to the vegetables. Despite her age, Setella’s hands did not shake as she attended to her work. “Look around,” she said. “We used to have an entire kitchen staff; now there is just me. We once had gardeners, tree surgeons, and pruners; now there is only old Willem, and he refuses to go near the Queen’s Garden. We had scores of maids; they have all left. Henry isn’t much help, hiding out in the stables with the horses as he does, and refusing to set foot inside the castle. We’re barely keeping our home together. We don’t have time to be nursemaids to scheming viscounts’ daughters.”