by A. W. Cross
“If you want to know the truth, get up. Otherwise, you can sleep there.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer then climbed to her feet, wincing as her hands pushed off from the floor. Once standing, she refused to look at him.
“What happened to your hands?”
“Why do you care?”
She was exasperating. “I don’t.” He turned from her and began walking toward the control room.
After a moment’s pause, she followed him. “I scalded them. When I—”
“Watch this.” He replayed the recording of Quinn and his visit the day before, watching Beauty’s face as Raphael, clearly intoxicated, stumbled down the corridor, his hands scrabbling at the wall for support. Blood darkened his head and hands, and he walked with a limp that wasn’t solely the result of alcohol.
It was only then that Beauty began to cry. The tears fell silently, her face still as she watched the man who’d raised her become fallible.
“He lied to us. To me.” The fight had gone out of her, replaced by an acceptance painful to see. He knew the feeling well, watching everything you thought to be true crumble before your eyes, thanks to the selfishness of those supposed to protect you.
“Come on.” He led her to what passed as their living room. After maneuvering her gently down, he retreated to the other side of the room to lean awkwardly against the wall.
“What happened?” Her voice was thin, as though she couldn’t draw in enough breath, despite the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“He got drunk on Demon’s Breath on his way here and was robbed.”
“But why would he— What he was carrying was so precious.”
“I—”
Her face turned hard a second time. “It’s your fault.”
What? Again? How was it his fault after what he’d just shown her?
“He’s terrified of you. We all are. No wonder he had to get drunk to come and see you. He thought you’d killed Stiles.”
“Well, I didn’t. Don’t believe everything you’re told.” Just go, Cillian. She doesn’t care about the truth. And why do you care what she thinks, anyway?
“But you hurt people. You make them fear you. You—”
He’d had enough. “Do you ever think for yourself?”
That took her aback. Her chin shot up and she scowled at him. “Of course I do. I—”
“It doesn’t seem like it. It seems to me you’re just parroting the same old crap as everyone else, with no evidence to prove it.”
“It’s true,” Cybel piped up. “I wouldn’t allow him to behave so badly.”
“You—” He rounded on Cybel. “You—” He gave up, throwing his hands in the air. This was pointless. All he was going to do was make himself feel worse. And like a fool, for trying to explain. “Think what you want. All I’ve done is try to tell you the truth.”
Or some of it, anyway. But what’s one less lie? Do you really think it makes a difference? You’re still a monster.
He turned to leave.
“Wait.”
He stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder.
This time, Beauty held his gaze. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It doesn’t matter. Get some sleep.” He turned away again. “Cybel will show you to your room.” It came out harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Not after she’d apologized. It was what he’d wanted, and yet it brought no relief. He almost wished she was angry again, or seething with resentment. Anything but the defeat he’d just read so clearly on her face.
He didn’t want to answer any of the questions he knew were coming. Why would he lie to me? Why would he take such a risk? How could he just give me away, like I’m nothing? The questions he’d have asked if he’d been in her position. Again, he cursed the war. What was the purpose of fighting if people had gotten to the point where they were now sacrificing their loved ones? Quinn clearly believed the hype about the Beast—even though his own punishment could’ve been much worse—yet, he’d still given Beauty, someone supposedly precious, up to him. He should’ve taken her place, protected her.
Where do you get off being so self-righteous? You’re no better than he is.
But he could be.
In that moment, something inside him changed, and the seed of a plan formed. From now on, there would be no looking back. For either of them.
“Oh, and Cybel? Give her something for her hands.” He shut the door behind him.
5
Why did he lie to me? How could he lie to me?
Beauty lay in the dark, in the strange bed in the unfamiliar room, filled with unwelcome thoughts. She hadn’t really believed that Raphael would leave her here, with the Beast.
The Beast wasn’t the one who lied to you.
She pushed the thought away…but in the dark and the silence, she eventually couldn’t avoid it any longer.
Why let me think the Beast had beaten him on a whim?
Surely, he knew the truth would come out sooner or later?
Of course he did. He doesn’t expect you to come back. He’s sent you into the lion’s den and left you for dead.
She’d thought she knew him. That he’d cared for her. Loved her like a father. But fathers weren’t supposed to discard their daughters.
And now she was alone, orphaned and abandoned. Again. Even if the Beast let her go, she couldn’t return to the Guild. She’d never be able to look at Raphael the same way, to hold her tongue and say nothing. What did the others think about her exile? Did they even care? Or were they glad the favorite was finally gone? She gave a bitter snort. Well, if she had been his favorite, the rest of them had better watch out.
So what could she do now? Surely she couldn’t stay here with the Beast. What if she made him angry? What would happen to her then?
When he’d opened the door, she hadn’t been able to stifle her gasp. All the rumors spoke about his metal face and covered hands… Many wondered if he was human at all. She shivered with revulsion. Any human augmentation but their issued chips was considered abomination in Heartcrown and had been as long as she could remember. So was the costume he wore—the gloves, the hood, the mask—just another way to provoke fear and obedience?
The mask was the most curious of all. The rumors had described it as the face of a demon. In fact, it had almost no features at all, smooth, and inhuman, with only the suggestion of a nose, and a cruel, thin slit for a mouth. So yes, it was the face of a monster, but there was a man in there somewhere too.
“Are you okay?” a small voice asked beside her.
She rolled over. Cybel stood next to the bed. Non-humanoid robots were familiar in Heartcrown, but had been relatively uncommon in Wakelight, even before the war. And despite her misery, Beauty was fascinated by the little figure. Her paneled torso was vaguely human-shaped, but rather than legs, she sported a wider column flanked by two large wheels. Her head was a small white sphere encased in a wide black band from which two blue-glowing eyes peered curiously at Beauty. Her little arms were raised as though unsure whether to reach out and comfort Beauty, or show she meant no harm.
“I’m—” She began to cry again. She couldn’t help it. If Cybel had just left her alone, she would’ve made it through the night okay, overwhelmed into numbness. But that simple question, an act of kindness, was the last straw, and her chest heaved painfully as she gasped and sobbed.
When she finally stopped, Cybel still stood by the bed, watching her. “Did that help?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Beauty was drained, hollow.
“I have something for your hands.” The bot held up a small container.
“What is it?”
“A salve. Here, let me help you.” Before Beauty could speak, Cybel unwound the bandages, making oddly human sounds of sympathy as she went. “He’s not so bad, you know.”
“Who? Raphael or the Beast?”
“C— The Beast.”
Beauty hissed as the air hit her b
listered skin. “Why is he so horrible?”
“Is he?”
“Yes, he—” He what, exactly? The only firsthand account she’d had of his violent nature was from Raphael—and he’d lied.
Cybel waited patiently, her small fingers rubbing the salve so gently onto Beauty’s burns that it was almost soothing. The scent of the salve was from before the war, a deeply floral aroma.
“Okay, well, if he’s not so terrible, why does everyone think he is?”
“Because he has power over them.” She wrapped fresh white bandages over the salve-covered skin.
“And he’s never done anything violent?”
“I didn’t say that. But when he has, he’s had good reason. His position here isn’t easy. He’s sacrificed a lot.”
“Who hasn’t? That’s no excuse to dress like a monster and go around terrifying people.”
“He’s lost more than most.”
“What do you mean? In the war?”
“It’s not my story to tell. What I can tell you is to not be deceived by appearances. He may look monstrous, and at times he may even be monstrous, but his heart is anything but.”
Can it be true?
Beauty had never heard such sentiment from a robot before. What kind of robot was she? None of the other bots she’d seen in The Vault were so…articulate. Or seemingly sentient, for that matter. One more mystery. He probably programmed her to say that. That had to be it.
Cybel patted her arm. “I’ll change the bandages again tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?”
Beauty glanced down at her neatly wrapped hands. Whatever was in that salve was working its magic. The throbbing sting was gone, in its place only a comforting warmth. Drained and finally free of hours of pain, Beauty could no longer resist the desire to sleep creeping over her. Whatever mysteries the Beast and Cybel held, tomorrow would be soon enough to uncover them.
When Beauty woke the next morning, little metal fingers were still nestled between her bandaged hands. Had Cybel stayed with her all night? She peered over the edge of the bed to thank her and found an empty space.
The hand was just a hand. Beauty yelped in surprise and dropped it.
At the sound of the metal hitting the floor, Cybel rolled into the room. “Oh, sorry. Did that startle you? I needed to go finish up some jobs, but you’d held on so tightly all night long, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
So she’d taken off her hand? That was…weird. But sweet, too, in a way.
“Thank you.”
“What do young women eat for breakfast? We have a big day ahead of us, so you’ll need your energy.”
“Oh. Um, porridge, mostly.”
“One porridge coming up.” How was it possible for her to sound so cheerful?
“Will…the Beast be joining us?” After her conversation with Cybel last night, Beauty found herself curious to see him again.
“No. He’s already had his breakfast and gone to take care of some business.”
“What does he eat for breakfast?”
“Children, mostly, but today he just had some bread.”
Beauty stared at Cybel. Was she joking? The little robot bustled back and forth, and in only a few minutes, a steaming bowl of porridge was shoved under Beauty’s nose. “There you go.”
“Thank you.”
When Beauty had finished eating, Cybel took her on a tour of her new home.
“It’s huge.” It was the largest underground space Beauty had ever been in, a vast cavern with a high, curved ceiling hewn into the rock. Off the central room were wide corridors leading into further chambers. And each room was filled with some of the most incredible objects Beauty had ever seen.
“Go, have a look for yourself.” Cybel followed her, seemingly proud of the collection. And she should’ve been. The Guild rarely advertised the things they’d found, and Beauty could understand why. The items in these rooms represented a fortune. Statues, works of art, precious stones, and metals…
“I’m surprised so much of it’s kept here.” She traced her finger over the thigh of a particularly curvy statue. “I would’ve thought everything would be shipped out right away. I mean, wars are expensive, right?”
“We ship them out as required.”
Required by whom? And where did they go? The Guilds never knew exactly what happened to their contributions. “Where—” They entered the next room.
It was full of books.
They lined the walls from floor to ceiling, more spilling out of boxes placed around the room. In the center of the small chamber was a low table and a big, shabby armchair.
Cybel peered up at her. “You like books?”
“I love books. I read all the time.”
As Beauty ran her fingers over the titles, reciting them in her head, a pattern emerged. “Hey…a lot of these are books I recovered. I’d have thought they’d be long gone by now.”
“Not much call for books these days.”
“But the soldiers… Don’t they—”
“Let’s keep moving.” As they walked past the low table, something shiny caught Beauty’s eye. On the glossy surface lay a golden locket, a delicate rose engraved on the front.
“It’s beautiful. Whose is this?” She held the jewelry out to Cybel.
The robot studied it. “Hmm. I’m not sure. But why don’t you just keep it? Think of it as a welcome gift.”
“Keep it? Really?”
“Yeah, why not? It won’t be missed.”
Beauty undid the clasp holding the locket closed. Inside was a picture of a young man, grinning confidently at the camera. His black hair was close-cropped, and his brown eyes glittered with mischief.
“Whose picture is this?” She turned it toward Cybel.
The robot barely glanced at it. “Who knows? Any one of the million who used to live in Wakelight.”
Whoever the young man was, Beauty was drawn to him and to the mystery of his identity. It was a tragic, romantic kind of mystery—just the sort she loved to read about.
“Thank you.” She tucked it away in her pocket.
It was the most valuable thing she’d ever owned. They’d never been allowed to keep anything they found in the ruins, Raphael even going so far as to scan them each night, just in case they’d forgotten to completely empty their pockets. It was for their own safety, he’d said. And anything her parents may have left her had disappeared before she’d even known about it.
The necklace felt heavy in her pocket as she followed Cybel through the rest of the Beast’s cave. She continued to marvel at all she saw, but her mind kept returning to her new secret. Still, she left it untouched until late that evening, when she’d finally gone to bed. Only once she’d assured Cybel that she was fine, that the robot didn’t need to stay with her another night, did she pull it out and unclasp it, peering at it in the dim light.
Who was he? She would never know. But she could pretend. He was a prince, she decided, of a faraway land. A prince of a country no one would dare to invade, too strong to fall to its enemies. Children were born, grew up with their families, played, went to school. They didn’t sacrifice their lives digging through ruins until their fingernails were splintered and their skin torn. They didn’t have to look over their shoulders every step of the way home. Their fathers hugged them close with love, not because of what they could scavenge. They didn’t give their children away to beasts.
He wasn’t a beast, this prince. He was kind and handsome. Very handsome. She touched his face with her pinkie finger. He smiled easily, and laughed, and read books, and…was probably dead.
And so was the one the locket had been intended for.
Beauty dropped the jewelry on the bed as though it had burned her. What was she doing? He wasn’t a prince. There was no such thing. And this locket was only yet another fragment of a life that would never again exist. Grief welled inside her for the young man, and for herself. Before today, Beauty had always looked forward, into the future that would one day come
when the war was over. But what if Violet was right, what if that day never came? This young man, whoever he was, would stay forgotten, as though he’d never existed.
Well, not if she could help it. She couldn’t save him, but she could bear witness. Even if no one else ever knew him or remembered him, she would. She put the locket around her neck. The chain was longer than normal, the oval pendant falling over her heart. She pressed it to her skin hard enough to make a mark and promised him: I see you. I will carry you with me always, and when this war is over, I will find out who you were, and I will remember you.
6
Slowly over the next week, Beauty began to relax. If she hadn’t been sent to live with a so-called monster to pay for the sins of her father, it would’ve been almost pleasant. The dread that had filled her on her arrival, that had dogged her through that first night and each night thereafter, faded, and she began to look forward to each day spent with Cybel.
They had fallen easily into a routine. Every morning after breakfast, the Beast would give them their daily task. Sometimes they were to sort the items that had been delivered to him the previous day. This was Beauty’s favorite task. A thrill of anticipation rushed up her spine every time he indicated, in his brusque way, a new shipment of crates draped with canvas tarping. It was like all the best parts of her old job, but without any of the risk—both of coming home empty-handed or being robbed on the way.
Every time, she held her breath as Cybel opened the cargo, trying to guess what treasures would be inside, and today’s shipment was no different. There were more crates than usual, so she decided to help Cybel out.
As her fingers grazed the studded wood, she found herself flat on her back, her skin tingling and her feet burning like she’d stood in a fire. Her hands, still healing, throbbed in sympathy.
“Beauty!” The bot tilted over her, the light of her eyes flashing with warning.
She coughed as she pushed herself onto her elbows. “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry. I shocked you.”
“You shocked me? Why would you do that?” She struggled to sit up, her joints seeming to crackle with energy.