Something warmed between her palms. Bonnie opened her eyes and stared down at the last rose petals. Glowing with their own inner light, they drove back the darkness.
The wicked laughter turned to a furious scream even as Bonnie leapt to her feet and pushed into the forest, which no longer resisted her. Holding the gleaming petals high, she found the winding path and ran on, her heart beating with hope and fear and, most of all, with love.
She passed the cliffside falling down to the sea, and came upon the open gate. Beyond loomed the wulver’s castle, darker and more desolate than ever, without a single candle shining in its windows. Bonnie’s wilting rose cast the only light around, for the stars still feared to shine. The castle, what she could see of it, appeared to have aged a decade for every day she had been away.
Bonnie ran into the courtyard and across to the great front doors. Pushing them open, she shouted, “Beast? Beast, I am home!”
No candles flickered to life. No voice answered her. She sensed no sign of life, and her fears almost overwhelmed her in that moment. Holding high the rose, she ran through the great hall and into the winding passages of the castle, searching the rooms, to no avail. “Beast? Beast!” she cried.
The castle was in complete decay. What was left of the furniture was rotten, and the roof of the dining hall had collapsed into rubble. She couldn’t even get to her bedroom, for the stairs had begun to crumble.
Truth be told, she knew where to look. She couldn’t deny it, not for long. Even as she wandered the corridors, calling for the beast, desperately hoping he would answer her, she did not doubt where she must go to find him.
So she made her way out into the garden. And there he lay, prostrate on the ground before the dry and desolate rosebush.
Bonnie gave a cry and flew across the garden path, falling to her knees beside the wulver. She dropped the rose stem and clutched him by the shoulders with both hands. He was terribly heavy, but she hauled at him until she managed to roll him over. How still he was, and how cold! But when she pressed her ear to his chest, she could just discern a faint heartbeat.
“Beast!” She shook him then, her voice ringing through the night. “Beast, wake up! Please!”
His eyes fluttered opened. “Seònaid?” he asked faintly.
She almost sobbed in relief. “I’m here, Beast. I’m here.”
“Ye weren’t supposed to come back,” he said in confusion. There was a hint of something else in his voice, something Bonnie couldn’t quite name. It was almost annoyance. “Ye weren’t supposed to see this,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I sent ye away. It isn’t safe for ye—”
“I don’t care,” Bonnie said, wiping away her tears with one hand while she clutched his great clawed fingers with her other. “I don’t care if it’s safe or not. What is happening to you?”
“I am dying,” he said simply. Bonnie now realized how old he looked, as though he had aged a hundred years in those few days she had been gone. His muzzle was gray, his eyes faded and cloudy.
“Then why did you send me away?” Bonnie’s voice was pleading, the tears back in full force. “How could you do that? How could you send me away, knowing I’d never see you again? Knowing that when I returned I’d find you dead?”
His voice became agitated. “Because ye’ll die, Seònaid. Ye must leave! The castle is falling in. Any moment she’ll be here—”
“I won’t leave you!” Bonnie said stubbornly. And she knew then that she spoke the absolute truth. Nothing could frighten her away now. She had always been meant to come to this place, to kneel here beside him. Perhaps she was meant to die with him, and not even that could cause her fear. Not now.
“Oh Seònaid.” His voice was sad and loving and resigned. “Please let me fade out of your life as though I were never in it to begin with. I never should ha’ been in it at all.”
“How can you say that?” Bonnie’s tears dissipated, and she found suddenly that she was smiling and warm, as warm as the glowing light of the dying rose she had carried into the forest. “I cannot imagine not knowing you. Oh Beast,” she said, and the last of her fear vanished as she spoke, “I love you. Don’t you know that? In fact”—she tenderly stroked his forehead—“I wish to marry you.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the ground rumbled amidst the sound of a furious scream. Bonnie’s head jerked up and she turned swiftly to see the woman from the market running toward them, aging before their eyes with every step she took. Her legs began to blur into a ghostly mirage that rapidly moved upward until she had completely vanished. The echoes of her scream lingered a moment longer than her body did, and the beast shuddered beneath Bonnie’s touch.
Bonnie, still on the ground, felt the earth below her shift, and winds from every direction swept past her and around the wulver. Too startled and amazed even to scream, she moved backward, her hair whipped in every direction, as the twirling tower of wind enveloped the beast.
Then, all at once, the gust dissipated into a soft breeze. Even as Bonnie brushed the hair from her eyes, the darkness lifted like a curtain, revealing a sky pale with the touch of dawn. Bonnie found she could hear again, though the only noise was that of waves lapping at the base of the cliffs below.
Her wondering gaze fell upon a small object near her feet. It was the rose she had carried into the forest . . . only now it bloomed in golden perfection there upon the ground.
She bent and picked it up gently. As she stood upright again, she realized that the castle too had transformed into a splendor she had never before seen.
But where was her beast? Where was her dear wulver? And who . . . who was this man standing with his back to her?
Slowly, ever so slowly, the man turned. “Seònaid?”
Bonnie gasped. His voice . . .
As he faced her, Bonnie recognized the man from the portrait. Just as handsome, though perhaps older and wiser. Bonnie stepped closer. “I’m sorry—I don’t—that is . . .” She rubbed the heel of her hand against her temple. “Beast?” Her stomach felt as though it had jumped to her throat.
“‘Tis I, Seònaid.” The beautiful stranger with the familiar voice took a step toward her. “Ye broke the curse!” He seemed to scarcely believe it himself, and he looked down at his hands in wonder.
“Da!”
Both the man and Bonnie turned. The rosebush behind them was gone. In its place stood a small girl with curls as yellow as sunshine, a heart-shaped face, and bright blue eyes. Bonnie recognized her immediately.
“You!” Bonnie gasped. She had seen the girl many times, in both the portrait and her dreams. Breaking the tension of the adults, the girl flung herself at the man, who swept her up into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
“Róis,” he whispered, and when he looked up, Bonnie saw tears in his eyes.
The girl scrambled out of her father’s embrace and looked to Bonnie. “Ye saved us,” she said in wonder. “I kept calling, and ye heard me. Ye saved us!”
“Aye,” her father said. “She did save us.”
“You’re Lauchlan,” Bonnie said, stepping closer to the man. “It was your story the whole time. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t.” His jaw tightened. “’Twas one aspect of the curse. I could never tell ye; ye’d have to decipher it all yerself.”
So many things began to make sense. Bonnie looked into Lauchlan’s eyes and recognized them—the human eyes that had haunted and disturbed her so deeply in the face of a beast but felt so right in the face of the man before her. She desperately wanted to stare at him, but oh! What did he think of her, such an immature, gawky young woman? She looked away, feeling shy and uncomfortable.
Lauchlan seemed to understand. Tentatively he touched her arm, and she looked up. Something in his eyes set her fears at rest, and her nervousness abated. They stared at each other, unblinking, before Róis spoke up softly.
“Will ye be my new mither?” she asked, startling the two out of their reverie.
Lauchlan laughed. “If she will still have me.” He looked to Bonnie, a question in his eyes.
Bonnie felt the edges of her mouth begin to turn up, but she steadied herself. Or tried to, anyway. Her voice couldn’t quite keep from shaking with happiness and excitement and nerves. “There was one question you said you’d not ask again. But could you, one more time?”
Slowly Lauchlan sank to one knee. “Seònaid—my sweet, bonnie Seònaid—will ye marry me?”
Bonnie’s joyful laughter rang out as she answered. “Yes!”
Epilogue
A SINGLE ROSE in a glass vase sits by my window. It’s the same rose, the one that started it all. The one the merchant stole and gave to his beautiful youngest daughter.
Years ago, my children used to ask me about it and, carefully, when they were old enough, I told them the story behind it. The story I’ve told to my grandchildren, and one I know I will tell yet again.
They were always curious about it, this rose, and why it never wilted. It has been a constant presence in my life, taken with me on all my wanderings across the cities of Europe and the sands of the Mediterranean.
I carried it down the aisle on my wedding day.
I’ve traveled often over the years, to countries as varied as the stories they tell. Stories of poisoned apples, trails of breadcrumbs, and slippers made of glass. And yet the element that binds many of them together is the exact opposite of my own story, for my stepmother is not the villain of my tale but the heroine.
I gaze again at the rose, unchanged for so many years, but now wilting. Drooping.
As I am.
“It won’t be long,” I whisper to myself. I, like the rose, have little time left on this earth. But what a glorious time it has been!
“Gramma Róis?”
A small voice calls to me, and I see my oldest great-grandchild, a tiny wisp of a thing with curls as blonde as my own once were.
“You said you’d tell about the rose. I want to hear about the rose.” She tilts her head and stares at me intently.
I smile. “And you will hear it, Little One.”
HAYDEN WAND is a Christian and a homeschool graduate who has loved the classic story of Beauty and the Beast since the age of three, when she saw the Disney movie for the first time. When she’s not writing, reading, or bribing her siblings to read the classics, you can find her baking, crafting, practicing her archery skills, or watching her favorite shows on the BBC. She lives in South Carolina with her parents and four energetic younger siblings.
You can find out more about Hayden and her writing on her blog:
www.everystory-storygirl.blogspot.com
Did you enjoy Five Enchanted Roses? Continue to read Five Magic Spindles, a collection of Sleeping Beauty stories!
SPINDLE CURSED
by Michelle Pennington
Chapter 1
BRIAR FEN CASTLE LAY shrouded in thorns and silence. Lona didn’t know which was worse, though both were her own doing. The thorns grew in a dense tangle around the castle grounds, creeping over battlements and towers, and squeezing through cracks in the crumbling walls. Over a hundred years ago, Lona had enchanted them and trained their spreading arms into a living fortress to keep people away, but now they encroached where they weren’t invited.
They snagged her cloak as she walked past them in the courtyard. “Cheeky thorns,” Lona muttered. She tapped them with her wand and they quivered and fell away. “If I weren’t vigilant, they would swallow us whole.” Then realizing that she was talking to the length of red fur in her hand, a squirrel she’d caught in a snare, she laughed. “Not that you care. You’re dead. And on your way to my soup pot.”
Lona proceeded through the crumbling ruin, remembering its glory days. It had never been as magnificent as White Thorn Castle, Timber Vale’s royal seat, but it had been grand. Now it held only rotting tapestries, tarnished suits of armor, and rooms long ago abandoned to dust and spiders.
Birds and small animals that took shelter in the ruins flew and scampered about as her presence disturbed them. She huffed at their distrust, forgetting that she dangled one of their fellows in her hand.
In early years she had wondered if the lack of companionship would affect her sanity. Sacrificing a bit of magic, she had enchanted some of the animals, giving them speech. However, even with human words on their tongues, the animals’ thoughts seldom strayed from finding food or a mate. Finally, she gave up trying. Indeed, she’d stopped worrying about her sanity altogether, for what did it matter?
She entered the large, dark kitchen and stepped surely to the worktable, though the red coals on the hearth provided little light. With gentle care she laid the squirrel down to rest while she stoked the fire and set a pot of water on to boil. Then, by flickering firelight, she prepared the squirrel and gently lowered it into the steaming water.
“There, isn’t that lovely?” She paused, frowned, and then added ingredients to the pot. “Here are some carrots and turnips to keep you company while I check on the princess.”
Princess Arabella’s chamber was in the west tower, on the same side of the castle but down a dark, narrow passage and up a winding, uneven staircase. Upon reaching the top tower room, she scanned the chamber for any sign of change.
Upon reaching the top tower room, she scanned the chamber for any sign of distress or change. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she placed her torch in an iron ring on the wall and said, “Well, Your Highness, and how are you this evening?”
Arabella’s golden curls lay over her shoulders, gleaming in the torchlight, and the pink of her lips and cheeks cast shame on the roses that bloomed among the briars climbing around the chamber walls.
“Such beauty, and none to see it but me.” Lona tsked and shook her head. “But there is dust on your face, and I know you hate that.” She blew along the length of her wand, and a ribbon of wind swirled, fluttering Arabella’s gown and hair as it whirled away the dust and carried it out the small window.
A distant thud sounded from somewhere deep in the castle, startling Lona into stillness. “Someone opened the passage. It must be Lady Rhoswen. Surely it is, for who else knows of it? I must go.”
Lona took the torch and scurried down the tower steps, along the passageway in the outer wall, across the courtyard, and into the great hall built against the craggy cliff that guarded the rear of the castle. Behind the hall was the royal chamber, where a secret passage opened into a tunnel that led to a natural cave overlooking the Sage River. But Lona didn’t make it that far.
Lady Rhoswen walked across the throne room, her face illuminated by a torch in the grasp of a tall, broad man whose face was lost in shadows. Only his ear and a sliver of his face caught the glow of the torch, but Lona knew it was John, Rhoswen’s personal guard.
As Lady Rhoswen drew near, Lona dropped into a curtsy. “My lady. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“No. I did not know that I’d be coming myself. But we must talk. Do you have a fire lit anywhere?”
“Yes, my lady. In the kitchen.”
“Excellent. Take me there. I am chilled from the caves.”
Lady Rhoswen was a petite creature whose delicate air of fragility was deceiving, Lona knew. The woman was made of iron. Still, Lona led the way without hesitation.
Lona glanced around the kitchen as she entered, trying to see it as Lady Rhoswen would, and felt uncomfortable about entertaining such a grand lady there. The wall around the hearth was blackened by soot, bundles of drying herbs dangled from the ceiling beams, and there was nothing but a stool to sit on.
But Lady Rhoswen’s face revealed no disdain as she looked around the room and crossed to the hearth. The gold roses embroidered around the hem of her forest-green riding habit glinted in the firelight, as did the bright red ringlets falling over her shoulder.
“What is this you have simmering?”
“Squirrel soup.”
The lady shuddered. “How can you? I cannot understand why y
ou scavenge for food when you can simply wave your wand and have anything you want to eat.”
“But at what cost? You know that I drain my well of life with each bit of magic I use. It is far more practical to eat real food and spare my magic for important things.”
Lady Rhoswen rolled her eyes. “My dear, you are overly cautious. A pleasant meal would not cost you much.”
“My sisters were less careful with their magic, and they are gone. So much wasted, so much lost.”
“They used their magic to protect the princess,” Lady Rhoswen said, her voice measured but sharp. “Do you consider that a waste?”
Lona refused to let her eyes drop. “No, never that. But that was not all they were asked to do.”
“Without their help, I never could have spared my people from the worst of my father’s ravages upon this kingdom.”
“But at what cost to my people?”
With shaking fingers pressed to her face, Lady Rhoswen turned away. “Stop speaking of what cannot be undone.”
Boots scuffed against the stone floor behind Lona, and she spun around. She had forgotten about the guard.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked.
Lady Rhoswen turned slowly, visibly struggling to compose herself. “Yes, John. Wait for me in the passage.”
The man hesitated, but bowed and strode from the room.
With weary steps Rhoswen moved to the stool and sank down on it. “I must not tarry. I have come because of my father. He is dead.”
This was astounding news, but Lona was not surprised to see no sorrow on Lady Rhoswen’s face. She had been at war with her father for a century. “How did he die?”
“He had a fitting end for one who poisoned his own brother. His supply of the Elixir of Abeyance ran out, and in desperation he tried to make more.”
“And poisoned himself as a result,” Lona finished for her, nodding.
“The youth it gave was hard for him to relinquish, aside from his ambitions to take the throne. I expected this to happen, now that no one but you was left to provide him with the potion.”
Five Enchanted Roses: A Collection of Beauty and the Beast Stories Page 40