Gilded Rose: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Celestials Book 1)
Page 8
It was of old make. The filigree on the handle held a pattern from years ago. But there was still enough fabric at the top that it might light. She brought the end to her face and inhaled.
Still soaked in oil somehow.
Taking a deep breath, she drew one match out of the tinderbox, struck it against the side, and placed the flame against the torch. It burst with light, so bright it burned her eyes.
Amicia lifted it high above her head and illuminated the room in which the Dread had sent her. The sight beyond stole her breath. Not in beauty. Not in awe.
In fear.
She was in a tomb. Hand carved with the faces of those who had died, stretching higher than she could have reached. The faces on the walls stared down at her with clear disapproval, and their gazes burned her skin.
They didn’t want her here. They didn’t want some peasant woman marring their sacred place with her dirty feet, blood-stained clothes, and cobweb-covered hair. Amicia couldn’t blame them for that, but their ghosts touched her with cold fingers. Shivers shook her shoulders at each impossible touch.
The cold white marble floors chilled; she was surrounded by the dead who had lived in this chateau. Her voice disappeared, sticking in her throat like a gorge trying to rise out of her belly.
She should apologize for disturbing their rest, but she couldn’t when her gaze fell upon a stone sarcophagus in the center of the large tomb. Dust covered it in a fine blanket, but she could see it had been immaculately created. Meticulously carved, there was something magnetic about it. Something that drew her closer to the stone, holding her breath.
Amicia held the torch higher. The flickering light cast shadows that seemed to move more than they should. Imps made of darkness that followed her movements, each of them chattering. Wondering if she would touch it.
Would she? Would she lay her hands upon the stone that was so clearly cursed?
She circled the sarcophagus. Each side was carved with omens of death. Plague, famine, war, all the terrible things that might bring about the end of humanity. And yet the flat top was carved with something else.
Entranced, she leaned down and blew hard against the dust covering the top. Her breath stirred the dust. Sliding off the top like a blanket, it revealed carvings of a place she’d never seen before. A castle in the clouds with winged beings in flight all around it. Not the Dread, for their wings were leathery like demons. These creatures had feathered wings.
She’d never heard of such creatures. She’d never even seen something like this before.
What could it mean?
“Open it and see,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Amicia flinched, ducking as if someone were about to attack her. She held a hand up to catch whatever limb might be thrown in her direction. But nothing happened.
Slowly, she dropped her hand and stood. No one stood in the crypt with her. She turned in a slow circle, searching the shadows. There was nothing but dust motes and the dead.
A chill danced over her arms, lifting the hairs. She stared down at her forearm and swore she could see the perfect imprint of an icy hand.
“Open it,” the voice repeated.
“I shouldn’t,” Amicia whispered, her voice so low she barely heard it herself. The chills spread down her legs. “The dead should stay dead.”
“But what secrets might it hold?” The cold voice wavered, as if it were struggling to speak through the veil of the living. “What answers might it provide?”
She might have argued if her breath hadn’t frosted the moment it left her lips. Puffs of icy air floated in front of her. As if the ghost or spirit stood before her and she was breathing through it.
Ghosts were inevitable in a place like this. Amicia was frozen in place, fear pinning her floors to the ground as if someone had driven a spike through them. A spirit spoke to her. Impossible and yet… she could hear him.
And it was a him. The honeyed tones were familiar in a way. As if she had heard the voice her entire life.
As if she’d heard it here, in the walls of the chateau.
Warmth bubbled to life deep in her chest. She had imagined the voice, just as she had imagined her father’s voice before. She knew the tones of her father.
Of course she would imagine him speaking to her now. She was tired. Dehydrated. And though she had eaten some food, it wasn’t enough to keep her going. Her mind played tricks and tried to satisfy her need for someone to be with her.
Thus, she imagined the voice of her father telling her to touch the dead.
Amicia couldn’t imagine there was much the corpse of a royal could answer for her, and yet the argument festered. The logical part of her wondered why she would even consider opening what was a sealed tomb.
There could be nothing more than a rotting corpse within. She’d never seen a dead body before, and the mere idea made her stomach churn.
Logically, she knew this place hadn’t been inhabited by anything but the Dread for a very long time. It meant the body in the sarcophagus was no longer looking like a body. It was nothing more than a skeleton, and the grisly bits were gone.
But that somehow didn’t make it any easier. The body within was still a person. They had still walked this earth, spoken with family and friends, made children and lived a life that she didn’t know about. Although, her mind could wander enough to fill in the potential blanks.
The cold voice whispered in her ear again, “What if it’s not a body? What if there is something far more valuable locked within the tomb?”
Her hand moved on its own accord. An icy touch lingered beneath her wrist, lifting it without her permission. But ghosts weren’t real. The dead remained dead. Wasn’t that what she had said?
And yet, it felt very much as though the spirits who haunted this place were picking up her arm and placing it atop the tomb. Her palm fell flat against it. The carvings dug at her palms, scraping against them as she swept her hand from the top of the sarcophagus to the bottom.
“Push,” the voice whispered in her ear. “Push and see all that you desire.”
I desire nothing but the truth, Amicia replied.
“Then reveal it.”
She furrowed her brows, took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes. She didn’t want to do this. And yet her body was pushing against the stone top. Her biceps shook with the strain, and then the stone gave way.
The thick cover shifted then fell off the sarcophagus and struck the ground with a sound that made her very bones shiver. It was too loud. The Dread would know she was here. They would come running to find the human they hunted.
Her eyes snapped open in fear only to stare down into the sarcophagus and what lay within its four walls.
It wasn’t a dead body. Or at least, not one that she had ever heard of before. The body before her was perfectly preserved and handsome.
The man lay in a bed of white feathers. His face was carved from marble, a dream more than a man. Surely it was impossible to have such arched cheekbones, such a sharp jaw, and full lips, sinful on a man. Golden curls had been laid around his head, framing the angelic face that was almost painful to look at.
His broad shoulders touched either side of his tomb. His hands lay crossed on his chest. But they were not the hands of a noble. They were calloused.
He was beautiful and intense, a strange combination she didn’t know how to process. Her hands shook as she reached for him. Touching his cheek felt too forward. He was a man she didn’t know, and he wouldn’t appreciate someone touching his cheeks. His lips were too sensual, and she wasn’t certain she would survive that. But his hands… His hands were perfect to touch.
“Touch him,” the ghostly voice whispered once more. “Touch him and awaken the Celestial.”
“The what?” Amicia froze, holding her hand over his. “What is a Celestial?”
“You already know.”
“I don’t.”
Weight pressed against her hand, forcing it lower and lower until she couldn’t sto
p herself. She touched a single finger to his folded fist.
A great rumble rocked through the chateau. Amicia stumbled to the side, catching herself on the lip of the sarcophagus with both hands. Her eardrums popped following the earthquake, and she knew in that moment that something horrible had happened.
Something she couldn’t stop.
“Now I’ve found you, little girl,” the snarl echoed throughout the entire chateau, shaking through the tomb and into her soul. “Run, like the mouse you are! I am coming.”
Chapter 11
She ran through the walls, her breath heaving in her chest but never catching up. She couldn’t think. The beasts were after her, and the hunt had begun once more.
Their screams echoed throughout the halls. Where once there had been hundreds, now she swore there were thousands of creatures chasing after her. Over and over, the sounds reverberated around her.
There was very little time.
If she had thought they hunted her before, now they had caught her scent. They were a wild pack of dogs, howling at the winds, knowing this time they would capture their prey.
The pads of her feet struck the floor hard. It didn’t matter anymore if they knew where she was. They had already caught the scent.
She didn’t know what she had done. The body in the tomb… The beauty of the man’s face was seared into her memory. Touching him couldn’t possibly be enough to set the beasts off like this? How would they even know?
But it wasn’t the whooping calls of the Dread that made her head ache. It was the ever present roar, the sound of thunder cracking through the air and shaking the chateau’s very foundation. The king had awakened, and now he wanted her blood on his claws.
Faster, Amicia. She pressed her hands against her ears, trying to block out the noises. She could make it to her secret place with the stained glass windows that cast colored shadows onto the floor and onto her hands.
No logic supported that place would be safe. She had to make it up to the highest part of the chateau, and even then, she would be trapped if they found her. And they would. These would be her last few seconds as a human.
And if they were her last, then she would experience them in whatever way she wanted. It would be a lovely death to stare up at the stained glass windows and remember what beauty looked like.
A fist broke through the plaster just above her shoulder. Shards rained down upon her back and caught in her hair. She didn’t care about that, though, because claws raked through the strands, just missing her scalp as she twisted out of the way.
She ran faster, pushing her thigh muscles until she could feel them screaming. More clawed hands broke through the walls, spectral figures with gray skin and grasping hands.
Hands of demons, reaching through the walls to drag her into their personal hell.
Amicia sprinted through the walls, not caring if she hit the sides or what noise she might make. They had found her, so all she had to do was run. She had to reach the stairs. Just the stairs, and then she could hide from them.
Somehow.
One of the Dread caught her dress with a hooked claw. The sharp point dug into her bicep before she yanked it free. Blood sprayed from the wound, and the sleeve of her dress dipped down to her elbow.
Keep running, she told herself. It didn’t matter that her blood soaked the fabric. That she could smell the metallic scent in the air and so could they. It didn’t matter she was still human, although their claws had turned Remy into a monster.
The raucous calls that howled through the air made her blood freeze in her veins. They had scented her. They knew she was wounded.
Her world narrowed to the sound of her heart beating like a drum in her ears. The pounding echoed each step she took as she rounded the corner and caught herself against the wall where the stairs began.
She took a single moment to press a hand against the wound on her arm. Blood gushed between her fingers. The Dread had cut her down to the bone, flesh splayed open, muscle and fat sliced through like a butcher’s knife. She should have felt the pain, but instead, she was numb.
Another fist pounded through the plaster across from the stairs. This one, instead of the frenzied bluster the others exhibited, stared through the hole it had made. She made eye contact with the beast who lifted its hand and pointed a claw at her.
She understood what it meant. This was the one who would take her. This was the one who would catch her, no matter how fast she tried to run.
Teeth chattering, she forced herself to break through the fear and snarl back at the beast who thought he had bested her. She wasn’t giving up yet.
She turned and raced up the stairs. Faster than she’d ever traveled before, circling up and up until she burst out of the servants’ quarters and into the hidden alcove of glass trees. This was a sanctuary. She could feel it in her soul. They wouldn’t dare touch her here.
And yet, now that she stood in the center of the room, she understood her own folly. She would die here.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” she whispered, tilting her head back to let the moonlight dance across her face in muted pastels. “I tried.”
The Dread burst through the door behind her. The blood on her body summoned them, like the animals they were. She had known this from the first moment she’d stepped into the chateau.
They might read books and cook in the kitchens. Perhaps there were a few who still clung to the limited memories of their humanity. But the rest were nothing more than slavering monsters, and they would destroy her.
An arm wrapped around her waist. But instead of carrying her backward as she had expected, she was propelled forward. She let out a shriek of surprise and lifted her arms just in time to protect her face as she was flung through the glass windows and out onto the roof beyond.
She hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. Coughing, she rolled away from the Dread who had tackled her through the stained glass. A shard stuck in her side, digging into her ribs.
A whimper escaped her lips as she stopped in the snow. Was this what death was supposed to feel like? Cold, lonely, and so damn tiring. She’d been running and fighting for so long, and they still made her fight more?
She could hear the Dread behind her shifting. It would stand, wings spread wide and face twisted in anger. Soon, it would reach her prone form and it would grab her again. This time, maybe it would drag her back to its king. Maybe it would bring her to the throne room where she would receive the same treatment as Remy.
Poor Remy, he never stood a chance. She swallowed. Poor Amicia. She tried and failed.
Footsteps approached, each crunching thud in the hard-packed snow was one step closer to her demise. She kept her gaze fixed on the powder in front of her. It had once been pristine, untouched. Now, shards of glass littered its surface and blood splatter ruined the spotless white. The nearest droplets burned through the snow, still hot with life.
Her face crumpled for a single second, just long enough for her to indulge the feelings of fear. Her lips twisted, her eyes squeezed shut, and her heart skipped a beat. But then she pulled herself together. She would go to her death with bravery and nothing else.
A shadow fell over the snow. Clawed fingers became enlarged, stretching farther and farther away from her.
The shadow paused, and then a roar split through the air. The same roar that sounded like thunder, like the crack of lightning and the grumble of stone deep in the mountains.
The shadow retreated. The sound of footsteps left her side.
Were they going to let her run away? She couldn’t. She was on the rooftop that was little more than a balcony without railings. Where would she go?
She used her good arm to leverage herself up in the snow, balancing on one hand while she caught her breath. She stared out into the dark night. It was clear skies, although she had thought the storm would continue. Instead, it seemed they were in the storm’s eye and that she would be spared a few moments to stare out at the grounds.
She was three stories up, but it was still everything she had ever wanted. Finally, she could see the beauty of this place surrounded by a lake. Finally, she could see how lovely the chateau could be.
The snow cracked behind her, not crunched like the last Dread. This time, even the roof shook under the weight of the beast who approached her.
She would not greet a king on her knees. She shifted, pulling her legs closer and then wobbling as she stood up. Her future awaited her, and yet she allowed herself to stare at the beauty of the land for just a few more moments before she turned around.
Like a demon summoned out of the pits, the King of the Dread stared at her. His wings spread at least fifteen feet around him, yet they were still folded. The leathery lengths weren’t gray like all the others, but tinged with red.
The horns stretching back from his head curled as they struck up at the sky, their wicked ends sharpened into deadly points. His yellow eyes gleamed underneath a heavy brow furrowed in a snarl as he stared back at her.
She met his gaze, knowing she was less than impressive in this moment. She was covered in dirt, blood, and cobwebs. One sleeve of her dress was down at her elbow and her bare toes curled in the snow.
Blood slid down her arm, pooling between her fingers, and dripping down onto the snow. The wet plops were the only sound on the rooftop.
Some Dread were pressed against the glass behind him, watching the proceedings with wicked grins on their stone faces.
The King of the Dread took one more step forward. Aggressive, monolithic, he approached her, like a man trying to tame a wild horse, but she knew he wasn’t interested in taming her.
She answered by taking a step backward. The lip of the roof was a few feet behind her, so she could afford to give him back the ground he took. And maybe it was prolonging the inevitable, but she had to fight somehow.