Roses (33 page)

“Beast?” she cried, but there was no answer and the forest seemed to swallow her voice.

An hour later, she saw a glint of dull silver through the trees and she rode Champ toward it at a lackluster trot. A pair of rusty, iron gates appeared and Beauty cried out, stumbling from Champ’s back in haste. She fell against them, for they would not open of their own accord and they creaked as she tripped into the grounds.

“Beast?” she called, but there was no one.

She saw broken fountains, dried and cracked. There were weeds in the flowerbeds and fractures in the paths. Trees bowed with fruitless, gnarled branches and meadows lay barren and black. The moonlight fell dimly on this dead place.

“Beast?”

She ran to the forbidden walled garden and peered around the archway. She gasped, for every rose had been destroyed. Their red petals lay like a crisp carpet across the ground and crackled beneath her feet. Bare heads withered on shrunken stems and brown leaves curled. At the center of the garden, the magnificent rose that had so awed her was gone. Its stem was cut clean.

“Beast?” she cried.

Champ hunched over by the gates, too tired to go on, and Beauty left him to rest. She ran through the grounds by herself, approaching the castle at a frustratingly slow pace, for she was weary and ill.

“Beast?”

The castle was dry and dead looking. Its silence was tomb-like and the roses covering it were black; they hung from the vines in rotten clusters that dripped to the ground.

Beauty ran to the great double doors and heaved at them with all her might. They shifted eventually, though she was forced to pause and catch her breath from the struggle. She allowed herself a moment of rest before she hurried into the dark, foreboding silence.

“Beast?”

She stumbled down a passage, opening the doors herself.

“Take me to the corridor of mirrors!” she said, but there was no one to hear her. “Take me to the corridor of mirrors!”

There was no sound.

She dragged herself up flights of stairs, across one bare quad and through various passageways, but she recognized nothing—every room looked the same. She could feel no presence in the castle, either good or bad. Just death.

“Beast!” she screamed. “I did not mean to be gone so long,” she shouted in a hall that echoed. “I always intended to return! I promised that I would return!”

She ran deeper into the castle, following different routes wildly with little success. At one point she fell to the floor and lay there for
a long time, sobbing into the embroidered carpet. It took all of her willpower to pull herself back up and go on.

She prayed as she searched, pressing her thumb and index finger together as she ran from room to room. Then, suddenly, she saw it. It was a passage that she faintly recognized and she cried out in surprise, hurrying through it to the flight of stairs at the end, hoping that this was it.

“Beast?”

She climbed the stairs and fell through the door at the top. A dark corridor opened before her and, peering through the gloom, she saw two walls of mirrors smashed to shards that glistened in the darkness. At the opposite end, a huge form lay on the floor, a dying red rose clutched to his chest.

“Beast!”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-N
INE

The Spell

B
eauty ran to Beast’s body and threw herself on the ground beside him. His features were set and stiff, his eyes shut tight, and there was a terrifying stillness to him.

“Beast? Please, wake up! Beast?”

She pressed the bristly fur of his cheek gently at first and then she stroked it, praying that he would awaken to feel her touch. But he did not. She took hold of his shoulders, bending over him, and tried to shake him, though he was heavy and she had no strength left. Shards of mirror fell from his fur and crunched on the floor, but he did not move. She stared at his dark lids longingly, wishing that she could see his familiar, hazel eyes. Sobs of despair tore at her throat and a great pain slashed her heart.

“I said I would come back! I was always going to come back.”

The rose across his chest was wilting and its fragile, blackened head rested upon his heart. Its petals curled at the edges and there were three purple thorns upon its dry stem. Beauty snatched it away.
The thorns bit into her palm, drawing beads of red blood that stained her silver skin, but she did not care.

“I have kept my promise!” she screamed, ripping the stem in half. “I have come back!”

She shredded the petals and threw them to the floor. Then suddenly, Beast stirred and she rushed to his side, holding him.

“Beauty?” he growled, his eyes opening weakly.

“Yes! Yes, it is me. Beast, what has happened? Why are you—”

“The roses . . . my army.” His eyes were flickering, his jaw going slack.

“No!” Beauty cried. “Stay with me!”

“It is the curse,” he croaked. “No one may leave.”

Beauty bunched her hands into fists around his fur.

“You took my place?” she said. “You took my place in the curse?”

“Beauty . . . I love you.”

“I will not let you die for me.”

“I wish it,” he sighed and fell back against the marble floor, his eyes dim.

“No!”

Tears trickled down Beauty’s cheeks, washing away the blood and the dirt of the journey. She sniffed, her lips trembling and her heart breaking.

“You cannot leave me! I will not let you!” She shook him, but he did not stir.

“Please,” she whispered. “You do not understand what you have done for me—what you have taught me.”

She rested her head against his chest and held him tightly.

“You cannot leave me, for I love you too.”

She sobbed into his fur, drenching it with her tears, and then she felt something pushing against her collarbone. Looking down she saw her amulet and she touched the engraved rose at its center. She un-looped it from her neck and placed it on Beast’s chest, tears coursing down her cheeks.

“You cannot leave, for I love you too,” she repeated. “I give you my life, for I love you too.”

An explosion cracked the air and she was knocked back. White light rushed around her and she screamed, shielding her eyes from the brightness.

“Beast!”

But she could see nothing. Magic surged over her, touching her cheeks and hands with its warmth, and the ground shuddered. Above her, at the top of the room, Beauty could just make out a ball of light that was sometimes gold, sometimes silver, and sometimes violet.

“Beast?” she cried again and then there was a thunderous roar. Shards of glass and red rose petals swirled through the spinning air and there was an almighty crash before a ripple of light poured through the room. The mirrors reformed themselves and the windows before her were thrown open to reveal a balcony, upon which stood a man.

Beauty climbed to her feet, clutching the wall for support. Her fingers were no longer broken and her body no longer ached. She looked around the corridor fervently and she called out: “Beast?”

“Beauty.”

She looked at the man standing on the balcony and she caught her breath. He was tall with broad shoulders and brown hair. He wore a white shirt with loose, velvet trousers and he had hazel eyes.

“It is me, Beauty,” he said, leaning against the stone balcony for support since his legs trembled and buckled. “It is me.”

She stared. Then he staggered and she rushed to his side, steadying him. She felt the heat of his skin, smelled the musty scent of his body, and saw the gentle hazel of his eyes, the left of which was slashed with a scar.

“It is you,” she whispered.

She glanced at her hands and they were shimmering silver—her whole body was radiating with glittering light and she appeared so strange against the olive tint of his skin. Beast tried to take her fingers in his own, but she pulled them away.

“Beauty?”

She would not look at him for shame. She felt as if she had been called down to the drawing room at Rose Herm once more for the handsome guests to gawk at.

“Beauty, I am the same,” he said and his voice rumbled with familiar inflections.

“You are not. You are a . . . man.”

He stroked her silvery cheek and drew her to him. She tried to turn her head away, but he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Bending his head, he pressed his lips to her forehead and smoothed her white hair.

“I meant what I said before,” he growled. “I love you.”

A shrill whinny sounded and they leaned over the balcony, hands entwined. Champ was rearing below, his bay coat shinning, and behind him stood an army, shaking and flexing themselves as if after a long sleep. There were red rose petals at their feet, and over the horizon, gold, silver, and violet light seeped into the sky, rushing to the corners of the Hillands and settling over the villages as the dawn came.

“I believe this is yours.” Beast took the amulet from beneath his shirt and placed it around Beauty’s neck. It felt warm against her skin.

“I gave it to you,” she said. “It is ancient Magic. I believe that it holds my life.”

“But you are still living and I think you will need it for the times ahead.”

Beauty thought of the scripture. “I am to fight for the freedom of Magics.”

Beast pressed his cheek to her own.

“Wherever you go,” he said, “I shall be by your side.”

Acknowledgments

A
huge thank you to everyone at Sky Pony Press, particularly my lovely editor, Julie Matysik. Massive thank you, as always, to my wonderful agent, Isabel Atherton, for her dedication, support, and insight. Hugs and kisses to every one of my friends and family who were subjected to first drafts and tears: Mum, Dad, and James. Lastly, special thanks to Lydia—there are no unicorns, as promised.