Roses

  “Easy, boy,” she whispered as the double doors of a stable were pushed open.

  Beauty led Champ inside a tall brick building with row upon row of wide, empty stalls. It was the largest stable she had ever seen; bigger even than those at Rose Herm. The half door of the nearest stall was swung open to reveal a thick bedding of straw and a full net of hay, which perked Champ up considerably.

  Beauty tried hanging around to settle him in, but once he had begun chomping hay, he seemed at peace. She petted and stroked him until the doors of the stable were opened again and she knew that the outlines were calling her.

  “All right,” she hissed. She turned to Champ and kissed his white blaze. “I’ll be back, boy,” she whispered.

  She heard him snort as she stepped out of the stables and the double doors swung shut behind her.

  “Where do I go now?”

  She wondered if the outlines could speak. If they could, they did not answer her.

  Instead, one opened a gate ahead and Beauty followed her invisible guides to a side door of the castle. Side door it may be, but it was ornate nonetheless, with a marbled arch of carved cherubs that danced continuously from one end to the next, playing harps, horns, and trumpets. Just before she stepped inside, she noticed that the roses of the castle had turned dark blue.

  Rose Herm had been excessively grand, but the interior of this castle was more so. There were thick fur rugs, carved stone staircases, dark sculptures, golden tables, gilded paintings, courtyards of lush green grass, balconies, wide quads, and tapestries. Beauty could not take it all in, and the decor flitted before her eyes like a mirage that seemed to evaporate as she passed.

  She was led through long, twisting corridors, tall halls, wide galleries, and up a tower. Finally, she came to a sturdy oak door that opened slowly, as if in anticipation, and inside was a huge, tall room that she assumed was hers. Everything was a shade of pink, from the rugs on the floor to the curtains on the bed to the wall-sized wardrobe. It made her feel slightly nauseated.

  A few items of furniture trembled as she entered and the door clicked shut. There was too much for her to take in all at once, but a splash of water drew her attention to a tin bathtub set before a fireplace. A china jug hovered just above it, in the hold of some outlined creature, pouring steaming water. After it had finished, the figure set it down neatly on a side table and then flowed through the air toward her.

  Beauty yelped and stumbled backward.

  “Get away!” she cried. “What are you? Get away!”

  She ran to the door and yanked on the handle, wondering what place of the under-realm this must be, but the door would not open.

  “Let me out!” She pulled harder, the twisted gold of the handle slipping in her sweaty grasp. “Let me out, please!”

  She banged on the wooden panels with her fists, terrified tears falling from her eyes. She wanted to change her mind—she wanted to be away from this dark place.

  “Let me out, I beg!” she screamed. “Let me go!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Enchanted Castle

  Beauty lay curled beside the door until she could cry no more. Sobs had racked her body and her hands ached from beating the wooden boards. She was sore, confused, and her silver cheeks were stiff from tears.

  Is this a punishment? she wondered.

  She looked to the high pink ceiling and felt a long way from the temple and the gods. She thought of Eli, clutching the spurting wound in his leg, and she thought of Owaine, dying pale and weak in the cottage. She felt a long way from all of them.

  A sweet perfume wafted through the air and she looked over at the bath. She had not bathed in that way since she had left Sago. The Hillanders washed in rivers and it was always cold, and therefore quick. She realized that she missed the days of soaking in a bathtub.

  Glancing about her warily, she saw that the outline creatures had disappeared, so she began to undress. As she peeled off her homemade dress and undergarments, she realized how dirty they were. It was difficult to keep things clean in Imwane, and the outdoor lifestyle of the Hillanders did not allow for mud-free petticoats. Leaving her clothes and boots in a pile on the floor, she stepped into the tub, sighing at the blissful warmth of the scented water.

  She soaked for a long time, cleaning her body three times over for the luxury of it. When the water began to cool, she found a pile of fluffy, enveloping towels by her elbow and she reluctantly climbed out and dried herself.

  There were bejeweled ivory brushes on a dressing table nearby and she combed the tangles from her hair, peering about the room.

  “Where are my clothes?” she asked, noticing that her pile was gone.

  An outline creature hovered back into view and she jumped away from it. It whirled over to the doors of an enormous wardrobe and took out a velvet, emerald-colored gown, placing it on the bed. There were jewels about its low neckline that glinted in the light and tiny, neat patterns embroidered across its tight waist.

  “I want my dress.”

  The outline did not move.

  “Give me back my clothes!”

  In a flash, the dress was gone and her homemade, brown muslin dress with its uneven hem and worn buttons was bundled in a pile beside her.

  Beauty changed quickly, regarding the outlined creature suspiciously as it stood on the opposite side of the room.

  “Will I be allowed out now?” she snapped.

  The door to her room opened very slowly and she stormed through it.

  When Beauty marched into an ornate dining room, the beast was already there, lurking in the shadows. At the sight of him, she momentarily lost her breath, but she forced herself to have courage.

  “Is it necessary to lock me in my room?”

  There was a pause.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You locked me in my room! I could not get out!”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” he snarled and his fangs glittered in the firelight.

  Beauty folded her fingers into fists to stop them from trembling. “Well, I could not leave.”

  “That would be the outlines.”

  Beauty thought of the unformed creatures that guided her about the castle. “They are your servants. Tell them I may do as I wish—”

  “They are not my servants! I command nothing in this place!”

  The hairs on the back of her arms rose at his roar, and it took all of her effort to stop herself from turning and fleeing. The beast was only partially visible in this long, shadowed room, but she could see the faint shaggy outline of his form and his hooded hazel eyes.

  “If they are proving trouble, I suggest you try to reason with them,” he grunted. “If that does not work, then I have no further advice. They may do as they wish—we are all prisoners here.”

  Beauty wanted to ask him what the outlines were, but she was scared of the answer.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Well, eat then.”

  She noticed the mahogany table spanning the opposite end of the room with one chair and one place set. Upon the golden cloth sat pies, bowls of vegetables, pans of stew, pastries, casseroles, breads, a whole roasted pig, sauces, and oils. Her stomach rumbled as she approached the chair, her boots tapping on the tiled floor, and she seated herself, staring at the sea of food before her. It was like the Imwane harvest one hundred times over.

  “Are you eating?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She moved to take a leg of chicken, but it jumped onto her plate of its own accord and some peas and cauliflower followed it. Too tired to protest, she began eating.

  The only sound was the clanging of her silverware, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable with his eyes upon her.

  “Do you have to watch me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He growled and she kept her eyes down after that, concentrating instead on the exquisite taste of the food. The huge fire in the cavernous fireplace kept the room
warm despite its massive scale, and she endeavored to calm herself, though with that shadow hunched in the opposite corner of the room it was not easy.

  “What is your name?” it asked her.

  She had just moved onto her third course, and his voice took her so by surprise that she almost dropped her gilded glass of juice.

  “M-my name is Beauty.”

  There was a long pause.

  “You may call me Beast,” he said. “For that is what I am.”

  “Beast, how came you to live in this castle?”

  “Beauty, how came you to think that you may ask such questions?”

  Ignoring the rumbling snarl of his voice, his words were surprisingly smooth. He did not have the mind of an animal, clearly, and it made him all the more unnerving.

  “I deserve to know if I am to spend the rest of my life like this.”

  “You deserve nothing! You are a prisoner here!”

  She stood, pushing back her chair.

  “I cannot spend eternity this way!” she cried. “I should sooner die!”

  “You chose this!”

  He stepped out of the shadows with one clawed paw and the light revealed his bent, crooked shape.

  “No!” she screeched, her hands flying to her mouth. “Stay back!”

  “Do I scare you so? Am I such a terrifying, horrifying beast?”

  He advanced, the stamp of his paws making the floor shake, and Beauty stumbled away, knocking over the chair in her haste.

  “You run!” he growled. “You must run from me!”

  He grabbed the tablecloth and tore it away, sending the china, pots, and pans smashing to the floor. The food splattered over the tiles, and he seized a candelabra and hurled it across the room so that it shattered against the wall.

  “Run!”

  She fled to the door and yanked the handle, but it would not give. “Please! Please let me out, I beg!”

  He prowled towards her.

  “Please!”

  The door opened and she staggered through it. Beast roared a dark, painful moan and she ran blindly down the corridor, praying that he would not follow her. Outlines opened doors for her, leading her down a certain path and finally, she came panting to her room.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and said, “Please, lock! Do not let him in,” before collapsing on the pink rug. She gasped into it, waiting for her heartbeat and the ache in her chest to lessen.

  “I must leave,” she sobbed. “I must leave this place! I cannot bear to stay!”

  She felt something touching her hair, and she looked up to see an outline edging closer to her with an ivory comb in its grasp. She found that she was actually glad of it after the events in the dining room. Sitting up, she let it brush and braid her hair and then she let herself be dressed in a white nightgown with ribbons and frills.

  “I am so tired,” she whispered at nothing, and the outline turned the sheets and the quilts of her bed down for her.

  She climbed the steps to her colossal bed and slid inside the soft, pink covers. Resting her head on satin pillows, she closed her eyes and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

  She dreamt of Imwane. She saw the cottage and Owaine lying on the floor in a sickbed while Isole bustled in the kitchen.

  “I be better, my child,” Owaine muttered. “I feel much better.”

  “Yur gone and got a chill, Papa. That girl left yur dying.”

  “No . . . no . . . yur don’t understand.”

  “Hush up and rest.”

  “I must go and get her.”

  “Get her?” snapped Isole. “We be better without her. Them soldiers come for her and the best thing she could of done is disappear. We should be glad she’s gone.”

  “Oh, my Beauty.”

  “She be here looking after yur? She be here tending to yur while her husband and children home?”

  Owaine groaned.

  “No, Papa. She ain’t. Something strange went on with them soldiers. They come for her, then she go and then . . .” Isole glanced out of the window at the churned, muddy snow. “Then Hally said there be blood on the temple floor and they gone.”

  “At least they didn’t get her.”

  “Well, she ran, Papa, that’s why. Them soldiers could of attacked us, they be so angry that she left and then suddenly, they leave. Like a miracle. As quick as they came. I arrived here from Dousal running all the way for fear for yur, and she’s gone.”

  “I hope they never find her.”

  “They be hunting her for sure, Papa.”

  “I hope she is safe.”

  Beauty awoke suddenly, and it dawned on her that in her hurry to leave Imwane, she had left her amulet behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Prisoner

  Beauty lay in bed the next morning, contemplating her future. A breakfast tray of buttered toast and sweet tea clattered up to her, but she rolled over.

  “I cannot stay here,” she said. “He will kill me.”

  The outline tried to cajole her with some clanging of cups, and eventually the delicious smell of toast encouraged her to take a few bites, but she only nibbled on the crust before casting it aside.

  Pale light sifted through the pink curtains and laced blush patterns on the carpet. Beauty climbed out of bed and went over to one of her wide bay windows. She peered out at the snowy, empty grounds with a sense of dread. In the distance, at the castle’s boundaries, she could see nothing but the void of the moat and a blurred edge. It was the darkness of the forest mixed with a haze of gray.

  “I am a prisoner and this is my cell.”

  She turned away and slumped back onto the bed. The outline floated over to her with a comb and she tried to ignore it, but then it opened the doors of the wardrobe and pulled out a black riding habit with ermine trim. Beauty glanced at it and a little of the color came back to her face.

  “Give me my peasant dress,” she said. “I have no need of such a fine garment.”

  The outline reluctantly replaced the habit and brought out a plain, gray dress. It was plain by the standards of the castle, though Beauty still thought it quite fine, but she decided it would do.

  She was apprehensive to leave her room at first, worried that Beast would be waiting in the corridor outside, but the bright light of morning had washed away most of her fears, and though she was still a little frightened, she decided not to spend the rest of the day cooped up.

  Outlines led her through the castle’s corridors and halls once more and out a side entrance. She briskly walked to the stable, keen to see a familiar face, and Champ whinnied as she entered. There were tufts of hay sticking from his mouth as he chomped on a fresh net, and he looked as though he had enjoyed a peaceful night.

  She hugged his nose and nuzzled into his broad chest, glad that he was safe. He snorted in return and chewed at her hair.

  “I want to groom him.”

  By the look of his polished coat, someone already had, but she did not care. A full grooming kit appeared by her side and she set to work. She barely had time in Imwane to run a currycomb through his mane and to brush the mud from his belly, but here she spent as long as she could rubbing his coat to a gleaming bay.

  She turned to take a hoof pick and saw a sidesaddle flop over the door. She smiled.

  “He does not take a saddle, let alone a sidesaddle.”

  The stirrups jingled.

  “I do not ride on the side. I ride like a man.”

  The saddle slipped away in what Beauty took to be horror.

  “But that is not a bad idea,” she added to herself.

  She had not thought to ride Champ here, but he would need exercising. She remembered when they used to ride the hills and run freely across the acres of undulating green.

  “Come on, boy,” she said, slapping his flank.

  He raised his head and flicked his ears.

  Unbolting the half door, Beauty guided him out of the stables and into the courtyard where they found a mounting block.
Once seated, she trotted him away from the castle and pushed him into a canter over the grassy meadows. They raced toward the front gates, pulling up sharply in a cloud of snow before the edge of the moat. The drawbridge was nowhere to be seen and below was a hazy, swirling mist of black water. Beauty stared at the blurry trees on the other side until her eyes ached, then she turned Champ away and they galloped off in the opposite direction.

  Snow scattered in clumps as they cantered and Champ never lost his footing. The wind rushed through them and Beauty let go of Champ’s mane, stretching her arms wide to feel the surge of air. They galloped for a long time, the meadows going on and on—some covered in snow and some full of fresh green grass—until she finally slowed him down. She thought that she would have reached the boundaries by now. She glanced over her shoulder and she was shocked to see the castle but half a mile away. They had been riding a long time and with Champ’s huge strides, they must have covered over double that distance.

  “On, boy.”

  They galloped on and on for half an hour before stopping again. Beauty looked over her shoulder and groaned to see the castle just as near as before. It was all an illusion—they were running and going nowhere. She reached down and patted Champ’s neck.

  “At least we shall never be lost,” she muttered, but she did not feel particularly grateful.

  After two more hours of riding, Beauty returned Champ to the stable, fussing over him for as long as possible. Once she had groomed him three times over and it was well past noon, she was forced to leave him in peace and wander back through the castle. She was idly passing a gallery when she stopped to look at a tapestry.

  There were many ornaments and embellishments in the castle that washed over the eye, but Beauty had found that if she tried to stop and look at them closely they became hazy. The tapestry had caught her attention, for it seemed to be the first solid decoration she had found. She halted in front of it, expecting it to blur or grow faint, but it remained crisp.

  She stepped closer and reached out a hand to touch it. She could feel the bumps of the tiny stitches beneath her fingers and it smelled of old, musty material. The scene showed a great battle being fought. There were figures with axes lodged in their heads and horses pierced with arrows; there were men wielding swords and soldiers lying dead on the ground. The tapestry was as tall as the wall and the breadth of Beauty’s arm span. It was faded a little as if from age and torn in places as if it had been scratched.