Beauty's Beast (21 page)

“Enjoy your bath, Kristine,” he said.

“It will be all right,” she said reassuringly. “You'll see.”

He nodded, then went into the other room and closed the door. For a moment, he pictured her disrobing, slipping into the tub's scented water. He wished fleetingly that he could join her in the tub, that he could take the soap from her hand and—

He jerked his thoughts away from the images that rose in his mind. Though she did not appear repulsed by his appearance, he could not bring himself to let her see him unclothed, could not endure the pity in her eyes.

He undressed and slid into the tub, noting for the first time that there was no mirror in this room, nothing to reflect his image back to him.

He washed quickly and stepped out of the tub, shaking the way a dog shakes when it emerges from water. He swore when he realized what he was doing. Reaching for a strip of toweling, he dried off, then dressed in the trousers and tunic that had been left for him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew on a pair of soft leather boots that were cut to accommodate his changed feet, as well as a pair of gloves, the left one tailored to fit over his disfigured hand. There was also a mask made of fine black silk.

He picked it up and slipped it on, grateful for the mage's thoughtfulness. He had felt vulnerable, naked, without the mask.

Crossing the floor, he knocked softly on the connecting door. “Kristine?”

“Come in.”

She glanced over her shoulder as he stepped into the room. Erik's gaze ran over her. The mauve gown complemented her skin and eyes. Her hair framed her face like a golden nimbus. She looked beautiful, radiant with the bloom of motherhood.

She smiled at him, and then she frowned.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“The mask. Where did it come from?”

“The wizard provided it.”

“It isn't necessary, Erik. Your face does not frighten me.”

“It is not for you,” he replied quietly. “It is for me.”

She started to say something, but it was forgotten as a large covered tray appeared on the table.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. “Fires that burn without wood. Bathtubs that disappear. And now this.”

Erik glanced around the room, only now noticing that the bathtub was gone, that the fire did indeed burn without fuel of any kind. At least none that could be seen.

Kristine uncovered the tray, revealing two pewter plates heaped with food, and two goblets of sparkling red wine.

Erik stared at the meal provided—chicken and dumplings for Kristine, a slab of near-raw meat for him. The sight of it was a blatant reminder of what he was becoming.

Kristine said nothing, only looked up at him through eyes filled with sympathy and compassion and a quiet, desperate hope.

Erik turned away, his appetite gone. He knew his host had not meant to insult him, knew the venison, served very rare, was meant to be a token of hospitality. He did not stop to wonder how the mage knew his preference.

He paced the floor while Kristine ate her supper at his urging. He did not want or need her to refuse her meal because he refused his. She had the child to think of.

Kristine pushed away from the table, hiding a yawn behind her hand. She was often tired in the afternoon these days.

“You should rest,” Erik said, divining her thoughts.

“I could use a nap,” she agreed. Crossing the floor, she sat on the bed, patting the mattress beside her. “Will you not rest with me, my lord husband? You must be weary, as well.”

It was not exhaustion but the wish to be near her that propelled him to her side. She stretched out on the bed, and he lay beside her, drawing her against him. With a sigh, Kristine pillowed her head on his shoulder. Even now, when she had seen him without his mask, without covering of any kind, he was careful to keep her on his right, careful to keep his mask in place.

She gazed up at the ceiling, noticing the painting there for the first time. Clouds seemed to drift overhead. And there, amidst the clouds, was a full moon and countless bright stars. A moon that glowed with a silver light. Stars that twinkled.

“Erik, look.” She pointed upward. “'Tis the most amazing thing.”

He looked up, brow furrowed. It was, indeed, amazing. And as he watched, the sight grew even more astonishing. The moon and clouds drifted across the ceiling, the moon disappeared, to be replaced by a bright golden sun. After a time, the sun went down, and dark clouds scudded across the ceiling-sky, and then a rainbow stretched above them.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Kristine murmured.

Erik's gaze moved slowly over Kristine's face. Her deep green eyes were filled with wonder as she stared up at the ceiling. Her skin was soft and smooth, her cheeks the color of fresh peaches, her lips slightly parted.

“No,” Erik replied, his gaze still on her face. “I've never seen anything so lovely in my life.”

“Surely a wizard who can conjure such a wondrous thing will be able to help us.”

Erik grunted softly. He didn't want to ruin her hopes, but there was a vast difference between creating an illusion and curing a spell cast by a vindictive witch.

 

 

It was an hour past sundown when the mage summoned them. Hand in hand, Erik and Kristine followed Fidella up the winding stairway that led to the mage's private quarters.

With a smile, Fidella opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

Kristine clung to Erik's hand as they stepped into the room. It was round and devoid of furnishings of any kind.

“Welcome.”

Kristine glanced around, but saw no one. She looked up at Erik, who was staring at the far side of the chamber.

“What do you see?” she whispered.

“I'm not sure.”

A low chuckle floated in the air. There was a shower of red sparks, and a man dressed in a flowing black robe materialized before them. He was tall and lean, with thick silver-gray hair, a short gray beard, and mild blue eyes beneath bushy black brows.

“I bid you welcome,” he said. A chair covered in red velvet appeared behind him and he sat down. A wave of his hand conjured a pair of similar chairs for his guests. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Kristine put one hand on the back of the chair, as if to ascertain its solidity before she sat down. Erik remained standing.

“Is it cold in here?” the mage asked. Before either of his guests could answer, a fireplace appeared, complete with a cozy fire. “Wine?”

Another wave of his hand produced a small white lacquer table and a silver tray bearing three crystal goblets. “Please,” the wizard said, “help yourselves.”

Erik picked up the goblet nearest him and took a drink. It was honey wine, warm and sweet.

“Now,” the mage said, sitting back in his chair, “what is it you wish of me?”

“Don't you know?” Erik asked.

The wizard smiled. “But of course. However, tiresome as it might be, I cannot grant your boon until you ask it of me.”

“I want to know if you can break a curse cast by another.”

“Perhaps.” The wizard gestured at Erik's mask. “Take that off, please.”

Erik hesitated; he took a step back so that Kristine could not see his face and then removed the mask, clutching it tightly in his right hand.

The wizard's eyes narrowed. Rising, he approached Erik, ran his fingertips over the left side of Erik's face and neck. “Is this the full extent of the affliction?”

“No. It covers my left side and most of my right.”

The wizard grunted softly, a wave of his hand indicating Erik should disrobe.

With a sigh, Erik removed his garments, his heart pounding as he stood naked to the wizard's gaze.

“Did this come upon you all at once, or little by little?”

“Little by little,” Erik replied. He stared at the back of Kristine's head, praying she would not turn around. She had seen him as he was in the dungeon, he mused, he should have been used to it, but he could not bear for her to look at him, to see what he had become.

The mage grunted again. Rising, he walked slowly around Erik, one hand reaching out to touch the thick, dark pelt that covered his back and shoulders. “I've not seen a spell quite like this one before,” he remarked. “'Tis most . . . interesting. Did she say there was a way to reverse the spell?”

Erik shook his head. “She said the spell could not be broken until her daughter forgave me.”

“And where is her daughter?”

“Dead these last five years.”

The wizard let out a sigh, then returned to his chair and sat down. “You may dress.”

Erik quickly donned his clothing and mask. Only then did he sit down in the chair beside Kristine. “Can you help me?”

“I will make you no promises. Should I be able to break this spell, what price are you willing to pay?”

“Whatever you ask,” Kristine said quickly.

The mage looked at her, a speculative gleam in his mild blue eyes. “Indeed?” His gaze moved over her, resting a moment on her swollen belly. “Anything I ask?”

“Yes,” she said. “Anything.”

“What have you to offer?”

“I have lands and wealth,” Erik said. “All are yours if you can remove this curse.”

“I have lands and wealth of my own,” the wizard replied.

“What is it you want, then?” Erik asked, though he feared he knew the answer.

“Your child.”

Kristine gasped. “Our child?” She stared at the wizard, mouth agape. “You are jesting.”

The mage shook his head. “Is it a price you are willing to pay?”

“No.” Erik stood up, reaching for Kristine's hand.

“Erik, wait.” Kristine looked at the wizard. “Why would you want our child?”

“I am a wizard of great repute, yet I am unable to father a child of my own. Are you willing to sacrifice your child to save your husband from the ultimate fate that awaits him?”

“It is not her decision to make,” Erik said. “The child is mine. The woman is mine. I will not see them separated.”

“Wait.” Kristine glanced from Erik to the wizard and back again. “Erik,” she said quietly. “If he can end this awful curse, we must let him do it. We can have other children. As many as you wish.” Had her own mother experienced this same heart-wrenching grief when she'd chosen her lover over her daughter?

“No! How can you even consider such a thing?”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “It would break my heart to give up our child. The child of our love. But I love you with all that I am, Erik. I would do anything to help you, anything to end your pain. Anything to allow us to have a life together. After all we have been through, I cannot bear to lose you now.”

“No, Kristine.”

“Calm yourselves,” the mage said. “I wondered only how deep your love for the woman ran, and hers for you. Sometimes love is the best magic of all.” He stood up, the hem of his black robe flowing like water around his ankles. “Make my home yours. I must study on this. I must confess, I find this spell most intriguing. I myself have transformed people, but never anything like this, and never a spell that could only be broken by one who is dead.” He stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “If I cannot help, you may need to seek out a necromancer.”

“There may not be time for that,” Kristine said anxiously. “Please help us.”

“I shall do my best, my dear,” the wizard replied kindly and then, amidst a swirl of twinkling red sparks, he vanished from their sight.

It was an awesome display, but Erik had eyes only for Kristine. “Would you truly have given him our child?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You care for my babe so little, then?”

“No, Erik, 'tis only that I care for you so very much.”

“Kristine . . .” Heart aching, he drew her into his arms and held her close.

He felt the pain moving through his right shoulder, slowly, insidiously, spreading down his arm. And knew that his time was almost gone.

It was midmorning the following day when the wizard again summoned them to the tower room. The chairs, table, and fireplace of the night before were gone. The wizard sat on a high stool in the middle of the floor, hunched over a high table upon which were spread dozens of scrolls and manuscripts. A white raven with amber eyes perched on a corner of the table.

The wizard looked up as Erik and Kristine entered the room.

“Have you found anything?” Kristine asked anxiously.

The wizard stroked his beard. “I have found a few incantations that look promising but, in all honesty, I must warn you that I doubt any of them will be effective.” He glanced at Erik. “Know you the name of the witch who cast this spell upon you?”

“Charmion du Lac.”

“Ah.”

“You know her, then?” Erik asked.

“I have seen the results of her magic in times past. Much of what I know, I learned at her hand.”

“You are friends, then?”

A myriad of emotions flickered in the wizard's eyes. “Not exactly.”

“What, exactly?” Erik asked.

“We once explored the ancient arts together. During that time, we became friends, but we found it difficult to maintain that relationship, so we became . . . ah . . . more than friends. I'm afraid that liaison did not work out well, either.”

Kristine clutched Erik's hand, unsettled by the wizard's disclosure. “And now?”

“We are, at best, congenial enemies.”

For a moment, Erik considered telling the mage that Charmion was dead, but quickly decided against it, thinking that, if the mage still had feelings for the witch, he might send them away. “Can you help me or not?”

“I shall do my best.” In a fluid motion, the wizard stood. “Disrobe.”

“Again?”

“Please.”

Erik glanced at Kristine, then turned so that his left side was away from her. Jaw clenched, he shed his clothing. It was humiliating to stand naked before the mage, to stand exposed as if he had no more feelings than the beast he was all too rapidly becoming.

The wizard smiled at Kristine. “Stand away, my dear.”

Kristine moved to the far side of the room, her hands clasped at her breast. Slowly, the wizard circled Erik. Three times to the left. Three times to the right. With a wave of his hand, he sprinkled a handful of what looked like crushed dandelion fluff over Erik's head and shoulders. And then he began to chant softly. He had a most pleasant voice.

Kristine tried to understand the words of the incantation, but they were in a language she had never heard before.

The wizard circled Erik again, three times to the right, three times to the left, his voice rising, becoming higher and more intense. A hail of multicolored sparks flew from his fingertips; golden lights danced around the two men, enclosing them in a shimmering circle of brilliant amber fire.

Kristine folded her arms over her stomach, felt all the hair on her body rise as the wizard's power filled the room.

Erik's head fell back and a long, low groan rose from deep inside his chest.

Kristine leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the man she loved, the words
please, please, please
pounding in her head as the golden lights grew brighter, changed to swirling silver flecked with blue. The air pulsed with energy. There was a sharp crack that sounded like lightning, a sudden
whoosh
as a ribbon of rainbow fire engulfed Erik.

Her breath caught in her throat as, for the space of a half dozen heartbeats, Erik stood before her, tall and straight, his body whole, perfect, and beautiful.

The spell was broken! Relief gushed through her. And then, between one breath and the next, the rainbow fire turned black as pitch. The air filled with the acrid odor of smoke and ash.

The wizard stumbled backward, as if pushed by an invisible hand.

A cry of pain was torn from Erik's throat as his body changed back to what it had been. Fighting for breath, he dropped to his hands and knees.

For every tear my daughter wept! For every drop of blood she shed.

The words, filled with unrelenting hatred, echoed from the floor, the ceiling, the very walls of the room.

Kristine covered her ears in a vain effort to shut out that horrible, vengeful voice. She looked at Erik. He was writhing on the floor, his body convulsing beneath a hideous greenish-black aura.

“No!” She screamed the words. “Leave him alone! He's suffered enough!”

For every tear my daughter wept! For every drop of blood she shed!

The words vibrated through the air, exploded off the walls, shattered the windows.

Erik curled into a tight ball as waves of excruciating pain ripped through him.

“Lady Trevayne!” the wizard shouted. “Come to me, now!”

The urgency in his tone compelled her to his side. He put one arm around her shoulders and held her tightly against him. A wave of his hand enclosed them in a shimmering silver cloud.

“My curse cannot be broken.” Charmion's voice, brimming with evil, slammed into Erik.

“Please,” Kristine begged. She shook off the wizard's grip on her arm and took a step forward, intending to go to Erik, only to find that she could not move through the cloud that surrounded her. “Please. He's suffered enough.”

“Not yet,” the voice said. “Not yet.” Hideous laughter filled the air. Power slithered through the room like a living entity. The force of it pressed against the shimmering silver cloud protecting Kristine and the wizard. She held her breath, afraid the witch's power would strike them down, but nothing happened.

An angry wail echoed off the walls, and then there was a great silence, broken only by the sound of Erik's labored breathing.

“She is gone,” the wizard said.

“It can't be Charmion,” Kristine said, confused. “I . . . I hit her. I killed her.”

“Apparently you did not,” the wizard remarked. A wave of his arm dissolved the shimmering cloud.

Kristine hurried to Erik's side, one hand reaching out for him.

“No!” He backed away from her. “Don't touch me.”

“Why?”

“I can feel her power crawling over me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm afraid for you, afraid you'll feel what I'm feeling if you touch me.”

“What do you feel?”

“You don't want to know.” He closed his eyes, fighting the sharp, stabbing pains that grew more intense with every breath. “She's punishing me,” he said. “Punishing me for coming here, for trying to cheat her of her victory.”

Kristine stared at Erik. “How can she be alive?”

He shook his head. It didn't matter how. It was enough to know Charmion still lived, that Kristine and his child were still in danger, and he was helpless to protect them.

“Erik . . .”

“Leave me.”

“No.”

“Please, Kristine.”

“Come, child,” the wizard said, “I believe he needs to be alone.”

“I just want to help.”

“I know,” Caddaric said, his voice laced with sympathy. “I know.” Draping his arm around Kristine's shoulders, he led her from the room.

Left alone, Erik collapsed on the floor, surrendering to the pain that lanced through him with his every breath, every heartbeat. They had come here seeking help. He knew now that no help would be forthcoming.

It will be less painful if you stop fighting
. Valaree's words rose in the back of his mind. Was that the answer, to simply give in? If he stopped fighting the transformation, would it take place more quickly? It would be so easy to give in, to stop fighting and accept the inevitable. So easy . . .

Closing his eyes, he sank into the velvet blackness that waited for him.

 

 

“What are we to do now?” Kristine asked. They were sitting in the wizard's chambers. It was a large, square room, the walls lined with bookshelves crowded with books, scrolls, and manuscripts. Plush gray carpets covered the floor. Several flowering plants added splashes of color. The white raven regarded them from a perch in the corner.

Kristine stared into the cup of green tea the wizard had conjured for her. “It's useless to fight her, isn't it?”

“Fighting evil is never useless,” Caddaric replied.

“But you can't help Erik, can you?”

The wizard blew out a deep sigh. “I'm afraid not, my child. But I might be able to help you.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I cannot reverse the curse Charmion has put upon Erik, but she has no power over me. She cannot enter my keep, nor can she harm those in my protection.”

“She hurt Erik.”

“Only because she had power over him already.”

“It's hopeless, isn't it?”

“For Erik? I am afraid so. You are welcome to stay here, within the protection of these walls, until your child is delivered.”

“I had hoped my daughter would be born at Hawksbridge.”

The wizard sighed. “If you wish, I shall see you safely back to Hawksbridge. I can seal the castle against her evil. You and all who dwell there will be safe from Charmion's power so long as you do not admit her to the castle.”

Kristine nodded. There was no hope for Erik. She must think now of their child. His child. “Thank you.”

“I am sorry, Lady Trevayne. I wish I could do more.”

“Kristine. Call me Kristine.”

“And you must call me Caddaric.”

She smiled faintly. “For a moment, I thought the spell had been broken. For just a moment, he looked as I had always imagined him to be, as he must have been before Charmion's evil curse.”

“You have never seen him as he was?”

“No. I wish . . .” She fought back a wave of hopelessness, blinked back the tears that were ever close to the surface. “You and Charmion, you're so different, it's little wonder you did not get on well together.”

Caddaric nodded. “Her magic has always been as dark as the place she calls home. Did you know we are the only two witches left in the land? I was the light to balance her darkness.”

“Has she always been so . . . so evil?”

“Sadly, yes, though I thought there was hope for her when first we met. She could have done so much good, yet she preferred the dark arts. I fear they will yet be her downfall.”

Kristine thought about Charmion's castle, shrouded in mist and darkness, so different from Caddaric's home. It was hard for Kristine to comprehend evil, harder still to understand why a witch as powerful as Charmion—a witch who could, with a word, surround herself with beauty—chose to live in the darkness of Cimmerian Crag.

She closed her eyes, suddenly weary.

“You should rest,” Caddaric suggested.

“Yes, I think I will. Thank you for everything.”

Rising, Kristine made her way to her chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, the drapes were shut against the sun. With a sigh, she sat down in the chair beside the hearth and removed her shoes. When she stood up, she saw that the bed had been turned down, the pillows plumped.

Magic
, she thought. She'd had enough of magic, both black and white.

Erik woke with a cry, the images of his nightmare all too vivid. He had been fully a beast in his dream, and yet he had been capable of human thought. He had seen himself running with Valaree, killing a deer, fighting over the fresh meat, and all the while what little humanity he still possessed had been appalled by his actions. He had run through the night, had howled his anguish at an uncaring moon. And then he had seen himself lying at Kristine's feet, his tongue licking her palm, his tail wagging as she stroked his head. . ..

Rising, he glanced around, noting that he was still in the tower room and that night had fallen. He padded toward the window, only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw himself reflected in a shard of broken glass. Nothing remained of Erik Trevayne save for the right side of his face and his right arm. The curse had swallowed up the rest of him, clothing him in coarse black fur.

Why was he fighting it?

He took a deep breath, and Kristine's scent flooded his nostrils. Kristine. She was worth the pain each breath cost him. He would endure anything to have one more day with her, one more hour.

Charmion would win the fight. He knew it, knew it was futile to resist. But he would not surrender. He might be beaten, but he would not give up.

He was reaching for his trousers when there was a rap on the door. “Lord Trevayne?”

“Enter.”

Caddaric stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him. “I am most truly sorry that I am unable to break the curse.”

Erik nodded. Back turned to the wizard, he drew on his trousers and reached for his shirt.

“Kristine tells me she wishes to return to Hawksbridge. If it is agreeable, I shall take you there. As I told her, I can cast a spell that will protect your castle and all who dwell within its walls from Charmion's magic.”