Gilded Rose: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Celestials Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  Gilded Rose

  The Celestials

  Emma Hamm

  Copyright © 2019 by Emma Hamm

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  None of this would have been possible without the incredible support of the reading community. Thank you to EVERYONE who reached out to help make this book happen.

  I adore you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  The Story Continues…

  Also by Emma Hamm

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Claws scraped along the stone floor overhead. Amicia squeezed her hands against her mouth, holding in her screams. The sounds dug into her tongue like needles.

  The earthen scent of herbs and dirt emanated from underneath her nails. She’d been gardening, her hands buried in the ground from where she planted lettuce in the garden. Then they had attacked Little Marsh.

  One of the creatures, perhaps more, was above her head at this very moment. The talon-like claws on its feet clicked upon the stone floor above her head. The long slithering rasp of its tail followed the footsteps as it descended the spiral stairwell into the root cellar where she hid.

  Her hands shook against her mouth as the metal handle turned. Her father was a tinker. He’d created a complicated locking system that kept out thieves. But would it also keep out something as monstrous as one of the Dread?

  The handle turned again, then shook, and jerked out of the door with ease. A glimpse of gray, leathery skin filled the small hole where the handle had once been.

  Amicia shrank back. She pressed her spine against a wine barrel, trying to tuck herself far into the corner. It couldn’t see her if she made herself small enough. She could hide just a little longer, as her father had made her promise.

  Make yourself scarce, he had whispered before leaving to help defend their home. Stay where you are. I will find you.

  But he hadn’t returned. She reached forward and yanked her worn brown skirts tight against her leg as the door opened.

  She might be hidden in the darkness, but the creature was not. It stood next to one of the wall sconces with fire playing across its strong features. Red light highlighted the long length of its horns, the harsh angles of its face, and the broad muscles of its gray form. Little more than a loincloth covered its lower body, revealing more skin than she had ever seen before. It looked as though it were made of stone. Considering how difficult the soldiers claimed these creatures were to wound, perhaps they were.

  The beast tilted its head back, inhaling through its flattened nose. She was certain her scent would be impossible to isolate, even for hunting hounds. Herbs hung from the ceiling of the root cellar, drying next to this season’s meat. Barrels of wine and mead hid her from its view, and her scent wouldn’t overpower all that.

  The male, for it had to be male with shoulders like that, took a few more steps into the cellar. Grunting huffs of air chuffed from his nose, followed by the strange reverberation of a growl deep in his chest.

  Had he found her? Did he know she was hiding here?

  Be brave. That’s what her father would have said.

  Amicia glanced around one last time, hoping there was some hidden door in the root cellar she hadn’t ever known about. Hoping there was something that might help her.

  But all she could do was wait. No weapon rested nearby, and she was not a strong woman to begin with. She had not worked in the fields with the other peasants; she had helped her father in his endeavors, fixing locks, clocks, and any mechanical bits in the kingdom. Calluses had never settled into the fine lines of her hands, muscles had never formed in her arms. She couldn’t fight one of the Dread and hope to win.

  A clawed foot stomped the dirt-packed floor beside her. Another chuffing sound echoed, and its exhale brushed against her head.

  It must be able to hear her heart. The stubborn organ beat hard against her ribs, trying to convince her to bolt and run as far away from this place as she could. But running wouldn’t save her. It would only give the creature a better chance at catching her. Still, her heart wanted to flee this place. The fear turned her muscles to twitching fibers, ready to lunge at any moment.

  She squeezed her legs closer and stared at the pool of her dark hair tangled on her knees. Don’t make a sound, she told herself. Don’t even breathe.

  The Dread beside her gave one last huff and turned to leave. Amicia squeezed her eyes shut as the sounds retreated, her breath catching at the sight of the great, leathery wings attached to the creature’s back.

  The membranes stretched and flared open for a moment, the claws at the high joints brushing the ceiling and knocking a few of the herbs to the ground. Then, he started his way back up the stairs, his long tail lashing as it disappeared.

  Amicia counted her heartbeats, all the way to one hundred and then back down to zero. One of the Dread had already checked this cellar; she could stay here, wait it out.

  But her father was out there. Somewhere. Maybe he’d already been grabbed by one of the creatures and she would never see him again.

  Tears built in her eyes, and then terrified droplets fled her body as her heart had wished to. She might never see him again, and then what would she do? He was her only family. The only person who cared if she was alive or happy. The one who had bandaged her scraped knees and listened to her rambling stories of fairies in the garden.

  No, she couldn’t stay here. But if she left, then she’d be out in the open, and they could grab her, drag her back to their castle, and turn her into one of their own kind. But she couldn’t remain frozen in the same corner she’d hidden in as a little girl, while all the people she loved faced the monsters of their nightmares.

  Amicia rolled onto her hands and knees, then crawled out of her hidden spot between barrels. Every movement sounded as though she were banging pots and pans together. Here I am, Dread! Come and find me.

  She ground her teeth. Be braver. Her father hadn’t raised a daughter frightened of the world. He’d raised her to think through issues, to solve problems and to fix them. Not to remain frozen in fear.

  Standing, she dusted off her long skirts and righted the white apron that had twisted around her hips. She’d lost the kerchief which should have held her hair away from her face.

  Amicia rubbed her hands down her arms and surveyed the r
oot cellar for anything she might take with her. Something that would give her some kind of protection. The only thing that might work was a frying pan hanging on the side wall. Her mother’s trusted pan that had cooked many a meal before she’d fallen ill.

  With the frying pan securely in her hand, she felt a little better. Almost as though her mother’s spirit was guiding her. The weight pulled her arm down, but that didn’t matter. She could swing a frying pan and perhaps knock one creature out. At least she’d get one before they changed her into a monster.

  She made her way to the spiral stone staircase, peering around the corner before stepping up. So there would be no sound, she carefully placed each step. Her soft slippers whispered against the floor, the hushed sound barely audible to her own ears.

  When she reached the door leading upstairs into her home, she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against the caramel-colored wood.

  “Careful now,” she whispered to herself. “Quiet.”

  Amicia leaned into her hand, easing the door open. The small sliver revealed the room beyond had been torn apart.

  The table where she and her father ate breakfast every morning was split in half and laid on its side. Chair legs were scattered across the floor, haphazardly tossed aside. The fire in the hearth was long dead, leaving the entire room gray and cold.

  How long had she been hiding? The sun had already gone down, but it felt as though she had only been hiding for moments. Or perhaps forever.

  Swallowing hard, she nudged the door open the rest of the way. Her home was empty and ruined. The small bed in the corner where she slept was nothing more than feathers and torn scraps of fabric. The tapestry of her mother rested in shreds beside her bed. Broken plates and cups decorated the floor like pieces of her history all smashed at her feet.

  Her home was gone.

  She stood in the wreckage and let her eyes drift shut. She remembered the room as it used to be. A warm, crackling fire in the corner, beside it her father working on his newest invention. The soft clinking of gears and his chuckle when something worked the way he had planned it to. The savoriness of soup on the stove and bread in the oven. No monster could take those memories from her.

  Shifting her grip on the frying pan, she picked her way to the window and pulled aside a tattered curtain. The stone streets were empty and eerily silent outside her small home. No people. No laughter floating down the cobblestone steps. Just murky silence.

  There were so many people in this city; the Dread couldn’t have taken everyone in the span of a single day.

  Could they have?

  Amicia opened the door and eased out onto the narrow street, shaded by four-story buildings pressed tightly together.

  She kept her back against the wall of her house for a moment. The Dread had a sound, the soft hush of wings and heartbeat of leathery pounds. She would hear them if they came for her.

  The sky above her deepened in color as the night took over. Dim, silver-fletched light cast dark shadows over the laundry stretched above her head. The fabric snapped in the slight wind, the only sound that echoed through the deserted street.

  Amicia stared down the labyrinthine alleyways leading into homes and saw only more pain and heartbreak. The Dread had destroyed not only people and homes, but their livelihoods as well. She climbed over a wagon that had been rendered to pieces. On the side of the street, a fruit stall had its end ripped off, the precious lemons and grapes spilling over the edge and onto the ground. Broken glass littered the street from windows and storefronts.

  She didn’t know where to go other than the center of Little Marsh. Surely, that was where most people would hide? The fortress at the center was for the marquis, but he wouldn’t turn people away in their hour of need. Her father would be there, likely waiting for her to arrive. He’d know what to do once she found him.

  Air beat above her head, the whoosh of wings making her heart stutter. Amicia stepped into a doorway, hiding herself from anything that might see her from above. She was getting close to the center of the city and found her hypothesis was correct.

  Long after the Dread flew past, she kept her back pressed against the door. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine. Her clothing stuck to her, brown skirts helping her blend into the wood. She was safe, for now. But that didn’t mean she would stay safe for long.

  If the monsters were here, then the townsfolk were hiding within the fortress. And the beasts would tear it apart to get to her people.

  Her breathing ragged, she tried to think like her father. He wouldn’t risk himself in finding her, because he was too smart for that. How could she find him without revealing herself to the Dread?

  She couldn’t go to the fortress on the main roads. The Dread would see her, which meant she had to find another way. A hidden way.

  She reached behind her and opened the door into the house. The Duchamps lived here and the door was always unlocked. Madame Duchamps sewed most of the plain clothing in the city, and her prices were affordable. Amicia had only been inside a few times, but she knew her way to the garden, where she could slip out into the back alley. These alleys had covered walkways between the apartments on the second and third floors. It would be difficult for the Dread to see her.

  The wet earth in the garden seeped through her soft slippers. Cold and wet, she curled her toes and kept on.

  She clambered over the fence at the far end. Her skirts caught between the slats, and she yanked on them. She dropped her mother’s skillet to pull with both hands.

  The fabric ripped loudly.

  A howl answered from somewhere else in the city. A chilling bray of hunting animals.

  “Cursed thing,” she whispered under her breath.

  A gurgled response made her freeze. Had one of the Dread found her? Had she already foolishly ruined a chance to save her people?

  She turned around to see a fallen walkway trapping a man beneath its weight. His silver flecked beard gleamed in the thin moonlight. A curling mustache drooped to his chin. But it was his eyes she would have known anywhere. Those vivid blue eyes had rocked her to sleep every night.

  “Father?” she whispered in horror.

  The boards pressed against his chest, pinning him to earth that had turned to mud in his attempts to escape. Deep furrows surrounded his hips and shoulders. He must have been digging for gods know how long.

  Her frozen body burst into movement. She sprinted to his side, then fell to her knees in the muck. She plunged her hand into the dirt, not caring that stones bit at her sensitive fingers.

  “Father, help me,” she cried out. “We can get you out. Please.”

  He reached for her, his hand smeared with dirt and blood. “Stop, my girl.”

  “No, there’s a way. We can do this.”

  “Amicia—”

  “Please,” she cried out. The word was ragged and raw, tearing out of her chest with more emotion than she’d ever felt in her life.

  She couldn’t look at him without an ache spreading through her chest. His strong form was crushed, and his face so pale. She paused in her digging and then let her hands fall to her sides. She knew the look in his eyes. He’d already decided.

  Amicia laced her fingers in her lap, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “What would you have me do, Father? Leave you here?”

  “The city has fallen.” He pulled her hand to his own, holding it so much weaker than he had in the past. Slick blood coated her palm, mixed with soil and mud. “Sacrifices must be made. In our home, there is a lever behind the bookshelf in my room. Pull it.”

  She hadn’t ever seen a lever in his room, and she’d read every book on that bookcase. “Father?”

  “Move the bookcase. You’re strong enough to do that. Pull the lever and save the city from this fate.”

  “How? How will it save the city?”

  “All I ask is that you run once it’s done. Run as far as you can, through the hidden door I showed you when you were a child.” He tugged her hand, forcing her to
bend down so he could press his cheek against hers. “I am a selfish man, for I will not know you suffered the same fate as the rest of us. I love you, mon ange.”

  Tears filled her eyes, dripping down her cheeks to land on her father’s forehead. “What are you asking me to do?”

  “Save all of us from the darkest of fate, dear one.”

  She could not deny him this. Not now. “I love you, Father.”

  “And I you, my daughter.”

  There was nothing she could do for him. The planks were too heavy for her to lift, and she could see the blood pooling around his body, far too much blood.

  Time was ticking. She could feel every second passing like a sledgehammer against her back. Hundreds of people needed her to help, and she had to weigh her father’s life against theirs. The longer she stayed with him, the more people died.

  A single heartbeat thudded against her ribs.

  She remembered him tucking her into bed every night. He never gave her a kiss on the forehead like other parents. Instead, he reached out and touched their pointer fingers together. A tinker’s promise, he called it. That they would always solve each other’s problems.

  Another heartbeat, this one weaker and quiet.

  She used to sneak out of her bedroom when her mother was still alive, just to watch them dancing. They would twirl until her mother’s skirts were nothing more than a blur and she had to press her laughter against her father’s shoulder. They never knew Amicia was awake, watching them from the stairwell.