KALISTA
My fingers curl about the apple in my pocket and Arawn's horse nickers in excitement. I hold it out to him and his velvety lips brush against my palm as he bites up the treat.
"You are as bad as Abraxas." I smile and run a hand over his neck. "I wish I knew your name; it feels strange to call you nothing, and I do not want to call you horse. Do you think your master would tell me if I asked?" The horse shakes his head and I laugh. "You are right, he probably wouldn't."
With a final pat upon his withers, I slip out of the stable and head to the palace. Cedric is immediately at my side when I enter the atrium.
"My lady, my nerves cannot tolerate it any longer." He sounds absolutely peeved and he agitatedly fidgets with his watch.
"What did he do?" I ask, unpinning my hat and removing my riding gloves.
"H-he took the roses from his room and spread the petals everywhere—they are everywhere—and-and he took pictures off of the wall and chairs and benches are in the m-middle of the hall and... Well, it is an utter disaster."
I cannot help but smile in amusement. Arawn is intelligent. He likely tried to mark his path with rose petals and furniture which is a feat that would work in most other circumstances.
"But my lady, he also moved the statue."
I freeze with one foot upon the bottom stair. "Now that is interesting."
Does he understand that it is the statue which holds the spell? All he needs to do is turn it to face the wall and the illusion will be broken.
Suddenly excited, I hurry up the stairs and call over my shoulder, "Bear it a few more moments please, Cedric. I just need to change and then I will see to it."
He mumbles something, but I am too far away to hear what he says. This could be it. Arawn is intelligent and stubborn. Maybe, just maybe he will be the one. But what about his hatred of me? This thought tugs and twists at my stomach. Yet, I ignore it. Let my hope be greater than my fear.
In a frenzied rush, Beedy helps me out of my riding habit and into a day dress. She then arranges my hair in a loose bun at the nape of my neck. More nervous than excited, I leave my room and search for Arawn. Cedric was right, white rose petals are in a haphazard trail upon the floor and here and there furniture or decorations are out of place. While I walk, I pull magic to my fingertips and use it to gather the petals and straighten the furniture. It is nearly invisible but for a few tiny silver sparks which float about my fingertips.
I find him sitting upon the floor with one elbow upon the horse statue which is not where it is supposed to be. It is on the opposite side of the hall. He was so close to shattering the illusion.
"Will you allow me to give you a tour?" I ask, pausing just before light from the window can touch me.
He narrows his eyes at the opposite wall but does not look at me. "If you give me a tour, will I be able to find my way?"
"Maybe you should let me give you the tour and then you will find out," I reply, hiding my hands in the fabric of my dress; just in case a few sparks of magic linger.
He bites the inside of his lip and I can see on his expression that he is weighing the risks and benefits of accepting my invitation. Suddenly, he rises, and I am taken aback by his stature. He is at least four inches taller than me and clearly much stronger. It frightens me since without my magic, he could easily overpower me.
"This way," I direct, brushing past the horse statue.
He cautiously follows me, and I cannot help but notice the expression of wonder. It is because of me. He has never seen my features so plainly exposed. What was he expecting? Fangs, claws, maybe some fur and a tail? And what does he see? A woman with raven hair, grey eyes, and pale skin? I nearly want to ask him if I look like the beast he imagined me to be.
First, I show him the guest rooms, then I take him to the gallery and introduce him to the portraits of my ancestors. All the while he is silent, simply taking in my words. He also watches my every movement and it makes me tremendously uncomfortable. Although I pretend to ignore this tendency of his, I am always careful to keep some distance between us. I will not easily forget the incident with the dinner knives.
He spends a few seconds with each portrait, taking in the stern lines of the faces of the Lords and Ladies Vayliese. Each of them has a severe appearance as if they are made of marble, but I know differently. Great-aunt Veralisa had an expression that could turn anyone to a statue of ice and many suspected that she had an ice palace in the mountains where she kept the figurines of every person who crossed her. But I knew it was not true because at parties, I would hide in the alcoves and the ice queen would sneak me treats from the banquet table.
Moving on from the gallery, I take him through another series of guest rooms, including his own, then show him various drawing rooms. Next, I take him downstairs where we pass through the dining room which, with its twin chandeliers and elaborate wall panels, is much grander in the daylight, the largest drawing room, and finally, the ballroom.
He pauses in amazement as we enter the colossal room and he should. Across from us, a network of gold borders, windows, and glass doors sparkle in the sun. Beyond them is a grandiose terrace, and beyond that are the gardens. To our left is the wall of mirrors which reflects the cream and gold marble floor and above us rises the elaborate domed ceiling where a thousand tiny painted stars are arranged in a delicate constellation. It is a magnificent room and no doubt he has never seen anything like it. But I hate it. This is where everything ended, and everything began.
"Come, I will show you the gardens," I say curtly, turning on my heel and leaving the ballroom.
He hurries after me. "Wait. I first want to see my horse."
I pause in the atrium. "Very well."
A shawl and parasol approach. It is, of course, Cedric.
"Thank you," I say, accepting them from him. If he were not invisible, I know I would see him bow. I then step outside with Arawn a safe distance away—it makes me nervous to have him too near.
As we walk parallel to the palace, toward the stables, Arawn's gaze fixates first upon my face, then my torso, then my face again.
I roll my eyes and huff, "What? Have you never seen a woman before?"
He averts his eyes and clasps his hands together behind his back. "Women, yes. But this is my first encounter with a sorceress."
"So, is there a great difference in our appearances?"
He does not respond, but it is an answer in itself.
We arrive at the stables and the two footmen, Johnathan and Mathew, usher us in. With their voices, they lead Arawn past the rows of empty stalls to where his horse is being kept. The animal nickers in greeting and I catch a glimpse of a smile upon Arawn's lips.
"Hello, Hector." Arawn lets himself into the stall and Johnathan and Mathew, visible only by a floating curry comb and a rag stained with leather polish, chatter away about how perfectly the horse has behaved.
After a few moments, Arawn's reunion is interrupted by an impatient stomping in the neighbouring stall. I roll my eyes and am tempted to scold Abraxas for his childish behaviour, but I keep to my safe, shadowy corner by the entrance.
"Whose horse is this?" Arawn asks. He has left his horse's stall and now stands before Abraxas who hangs his head over the door with a clear desire for attention. Arawn acquiesces by rubbing Abraxas beneath the chin.
"H-he belongs t-t-to Lady Kalista," stutters Johnathan.
Immediately, Arawn's eyes find my figure, but I ignore him and stare instead at the carving of roses which decorates the main doors. This revealing of something so dear to me makes me feel vulnerable. Abraxas is one of the few things I have that brighten this empty world and I will not have him taken from me.
"And does your lady ride?"
"Y-yes, sir. A-almost every day."
I relax my white-knuckle grip about my parasol and say, "Enough gossiping. I will show you the gardens now." With that, I leave the stables and begin toward the palace. Arawn is soon trailing behind me but at a safe distance. I lead him along the pebble drive that curls about the palace like a giant white snake. The pathway leads into the gardens where we are greeted by the heady scent of roses. Between the trees and shrubs, marble statues gleam in the sunlight and, here and there, a fountain spews water droplets into the air. And so many roses. Tucked between hydrangeas and lavender trees and peonies and cherry trees and many more flowers and shrubs. This is a different world than that of the shadowy palace. When I walk through the gardens, I sometimes forget and for a little while, it is pure bliss.
"Some of these should not be flowering yet," Arawn says suddenly, breaking the silence. "When I entered the forest, spring was just beginning."
I pluck a stem of lavender and twirl it between my fingertips. "The seasons do not work here like they do outside of the forest. Sometimes they are shorter, sometimes they are longer."
"But the world cannot survive like that. It needs balance and harmony," he states adamantly. I wonder if, for once, he has forgotten what brought him here.
"Sir, you are thinking like a scientist. Magic has its own rules."
"What kind of rules?" He hurries his step so that he is walking beside me.
I pause, then call the magic to my fingertips. It warms my skin till tiny sparks of light float into the air. "No magic is absolutely free; it must be tied to something." Before our eyes, the sprig of lavender transforms into a red rose in full bloom.
Arawn gasps, but quickly overcomes his surprise and narrows his eyes at the flower. "What is it tied to? It seems so real."
"It is tied to the sunlight." I hold it up to the sun, then bring it down beneath the shadow of a pear tree. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, it is no longer a rose but a sprig of lavender.
Arawn stares at it as if I turned the flower into a snake with wings and the mane of a lion. It is a mixture of horror and awe. "Is that difficult? Does it take energy?"
I adjust my parasol upon my shoulder and continue down the pathway. "It is a parlour trick, a trifle. I could do such things when I was seven."
He follows me. "How old are you now?"
"I do not remember," I reply stiffly, suddenly wanting him to go away.
"But you know that once you were seven years old. How? And why are there no clocks? Except, of course, Cedric's pocket watch which doesn't even work."
"Enough questions. It is time for tea," I announce briskly and sharply turn down a pathway that will return us to the palace.
I can feel his anger blossoming like a fire rose, but nonetheless, he trails behind me.
Waiting upon the terrace for us is an ornate, wrought-iron table laid out with a tea set and three-tier serving tray arranged with sweet delicacies. I take a seat upon one of the two chairs and Arawn tentatively sits across from me. He is confused and uncomfortable. This all seems so normal. If not for my little demonstration, it would be easy to forget his reasons for coming here and he hates that.
Years of living with invisible servants has trained me to sense when they are present, but as Cedric lifts the painted teapot into the air, Arawn nervously glances toward it.
Cedric first serves me a cup of tea, then fills Arawn's cup.
"Cream or sugar?" Cedric asks.
"No, thank you," Arawn replies and his eyes search for a glimpse of the servant. There is nothing, though, only a pocket watch that floats through the air as Cedric returns to the palace.
"Cedric is tied to his pocket watch," Arawn muses, watching Cedric depart.
I lift my teacup and blow softly on the mahogany liquid. "In a way." In this place everything is tied to everything, but also everything is tied to me. It is a complex and dark magic that even I barely understand.
There is silence between us as Arawn considers what I have told him, and I take the moment to really look at him. His hair is the colour of honey or perhaps a touch darker and his eyes are hazel, but near to golden brown. I also notice that his nose is slightly crooked as if it was once broken. Did he fight someone? Perhaps he is a soldier.
"Do you eat?"
"I beg your pardon?" I ask, caught off guard by such a random question.
"Do you ever eat?" He says again with more clarity.
I raise a disdainful brow. "Of course I do."
Prove it, his eyes say.
I glare at him for a breath, then pluck a tiny chocolate éclair off of the tray and bite it in half. The pastry melts in my mouth, covering my palate with sugar. He watches closely as I chew and swallow before placing the remainder of the pastry in my mouth.
"Why didn't you eat last night or the night before?" He asks, continuing his inquisition.
"Why so many questions today?" I flick a crumb of pastry off of my dress and it skitters across the terrace.
He takes a sip of tea and shrugs. "Curiosity? Perhaps you don't frighten me as much in daylight?"
Is he mocking me? Or is this true? He didn't seem afraid of me, only angry. But maybe it is true. Maybe this is the beginning of something. Otherwise, it is him attempting to clarify certain myths that I know are connected with the beast.
"I was not hungry," I reply, standing and looking down at him. "Contrary to popular belief, I do not drink the blood of my victims."
His expression momentarily cracks and beneath, there is a visage of anger. I suspected this was so.
Tucking my parasol once again upon my shoulder, I say, "Excuse me, I will retire now, but you are welcome to explore the gardens some more." With that, I leave him on the terrace to ponder the question of who the beast really is.
For the first time since his arrival, Arawn is on time for the evening meal. He sits across the table from me and immediately pulls a lacy cravat from around his neck and drops it upon the floor next to him. A blue brocade coat follows, after which he loosens the first two buttons of his waistcoat.
"Would you terribly mind telling Pierre to stop dressing me up like a royal courtier? I feel like his pet," Arawn says exasperatedly, picking at the frilly sleeves which cover his wrists.
"Not your cup of tea?" I say, mildly amused at his ordeal.
"No, I hate fashion," he replies with a shudder.
"You have never wished to be royalty?" I ask as Cedric sets a bowl of creamed broccoli soup before me.
Another footman serves Arawn, who eyes his bowl with an expression of curiosity. "I would choose a simple life over a royal one any day." He dips his spoon into the soup. "How can you tell it's seven o'clock when there are no clocks?"
Why was he so eager to change the subject?
"I just can," I reply curtly, not wanting to address that subject. Although, the truth is that I have become an expert at using the sun as my clock. Eventually, he will learn to do the same.
We finish our soup in silence and continue on to an arrangement of smoked salmon, roast potatoes, and creamed corn. When we have nearly emptied our plates for a second time, Arawn speaks again. "You have a horse. Do you ride?"
I raise a brow. "Why would I have a horse if I don't ride?"
He shrugs. "How would I know? I don't know how magic works."
"Abraxas is not a magical horse and yes, I ride."
"Wonderful, that's what I asked."
If my mother had not taught me better, I would roll my eyes and throw my hands up in frustration.
"Well anyway, I ride, and my poor horse has been standing in his stall for the past three days. I'd like to take him out."
My fork clatters to the plate. "Is that a very roundabout way of asking me to go riding with you?" Should I be flattered or worried? Is he simply curious?
"No...I... Not at all." He fidgets uncomfortably with a button on his waistcoat.
"Tomorrow morning. When the sun touches the treetops."
He nods and there is once again silence. I want to pepper him with questions, to know all about his life and what the world is like outside of my prison, but I hesitate to do so. My curiosity can be patient—let him learn to trust me first.
After dessert, I take my leave and retreat to my room where Beedy excitedly hovers about. For once, I can tell her that it went well and that perhaps, just perhaps there is hope.
ARAWN
For hours, I twist and turn, unable to drag myself into slumber. My mind plays, then replays, then replays again the conversations I had with the beast. Her velvety voice rings in my ears and haunts me.
Magic has its own rules.
No magic is absolutely free, it must be tied to something.
Contrary to popular belief, I do not drink the blood of my victims.
Sighing in frustration, I push the blankets off of myself and move to the windows. To my surprise, I find that latches and hinges have appeared upon them. Eagerly I crack open the windows and cool night air kisses my cheeks. But also sound. From the lurid shadows of the forest comes the howling of wolves. Wolves? That is what they seem to be, but they are different than any wolves I have heard before. The shrill howls bite into my eardrums in a nearly painful way so that after a few moments, I close the windows again; however, not before noticing that my windows are too high up to act as an effective escape route.
I return to my bed where I attempt to settle, but my body refuses. Then the music begins again. This time, I am wide awake, and I know it is not my dreams. I walk about my room and briefly open the windows again in my search for the source of such beauty, but my efforts are in vain and I once more lie down. This time, my racing conscience is swiftly soothed by the music.