Beautiful Beast

Chapter 7

There she is, standing next to a shaft of sunlight. It nearly touches the hem of her dress, but just barely falls short. Today her hair is fastened in a low bun, revealing a slender neck. It would be so simple to wrap my hands about it and...

"Good afternoon," she says, turning toward me. There is an almost-smile on her lips, and it transforms her face; there is a warmth there that has slowly crept forward and begun to melt the ice.

"Good day." I draw nearer to her and my palms begin to sweat. She must be guilty, but she has not admitted to it. That does not matter. She is a wicked thing who is a danger to everyone nearby.

She gives me a questioning expression, no doubt noticing my discomfort, but then simply turns and steps outside. I follow her into the sun, clenching and unclenching my fists in an attempt to regain composure.

First, we circle about the palace, then we enter the east garden where rose trees supported by ornamental rods bloom in soft yellows. We then pass through the lower gardens where various ponds sparkle in the sun. The beauty and peace of it all threatens to dissuade me from my resolve. I must not be weak. I must do what needs to be done.

While we walk, the beast occasionally asks me questions about the books she gave me to read. They have been the primary topic of our conversation over the past days and have filled the gulf of silence which often looms between us.

"Are you alright?" The beast asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Yes, fine." I stiffen at her voice—I have lost focus again.

"You seem unwell today," she presses, searching me with her bottomless grey eyes. Who else have those eyes looked upon? My brother? As he lay lifeless and cold in a pool of his own blood? And, so easily, the embers of hate and anger burst into flame again.

"No, no. I'm fine."

She shifts uncomfortably as if she can feel the heat of my fury. "Perhaps we should go in. I am feeling rather tired."

We follow the white pebble pathway to the palace and as we go, I allow the grief to manifest itself into an angry, roaring lion. This creature is a beast and she murdered my brother, but if only she would admit it. I feel as if that would make this easier. Perhaps I can draw it out of her.

We enter the atrium and my tongue speaks quickly, afraid that this opportunity will be lost. "What are the creatures in the forest? They sound similar to wolves, but they are different." The stories could be true. Perhaps the beast changes shape at night.

The beast casts me an expression of stone. There is nothing upon her features, there is merely emptiness.

Resentment makes me bold. "Are they wolves? Or are the stories true? Do you haunt the forest?"

Her voice is soft, but now there is a hint of amusement as if my questions are ridiculous to her. "Every story is born from something."

Is that not as good as a confession? Oh, how I hate the beast and her inability to directly answer a question. But what does she have to say to this? "And my brother? Did you kill my brother?"

Suddenly the marble expression becomes animated with ire and her words are sharp daggers. "Your brother was a fool. Everyone knows the forest is dangerous, but he was impatient. He was reckless."

"Do not call my brother a fool. He only wanted to shorten his journey," I fire back furiously.

She turns her back to me as if wanting to block out the truth. "I will not argue with you about this. It is over."

"Yes, it is over." In one swift movement, I pull the knife from my boot and in another breath, I am behind her. As she turns, the knife slips into her torso, tearing her gown and breaking skin.

She cries out in shock and confusion and her eyes go wide. For a moment, I believe I can see the truth: years of loneliness and pain. Then she sinks to the ground and her hands clutch at the knife.

I step away, stunned by the guilt which suddenly threatens to choke me. She won't survive this. She can't. It is a fatal wound. I should feel overjoyed—I have finally avenged my brother. But I don't. I feel like a criminal.

KALISTA

Betrayal.

Pain.

Deception

Blood.

"Idiot. Moron."

Pierre's voice cleaves me from the ice of shock and slowly, I pull the dagger from my side. In response, blood pours from the wound and drips onto the marble floor.

"Imbecile. If I could, I would slap you silly." From the corner of my eye, I see Arawn's shirt being forcefully pulled toward the staircase by an invisible hand.

I try to push myself up from the floor, but my hand slips in the blood. And my side... It screams in agony. Momentarily, my vision blurs, but when it clears, a cotton sheet is thrust toward me. I take it from the invisible servant and press it against the wound.

"Oh, my lady. Are you alright?"

A soft breeze brushes my cheeks as Beedy hovers about me, wanting to help, but unable to touch me.

"He stabbed me," I say lamely, attempting again to stand, but my legs give out beneath me. The movement causes my head to spin and the burning in my side roars furiously. It twists through my body, causing my limbs to tremble. Darkness also begins to border my vision and suddenly, I find my cheek resting against the cold marble floor. I fight against the darkness, but its thorns sink into my consciousness and choke it until it surrenders.

*****

Any thoughts on this chapter?? Do you think they'll ever be friends? Will Arawn ever see Kalista as something other than a Beast?