Fourteen
It had been a week since Gabriel had been thrown out and I'd avoided Beast at every turn. My stomach growled in quivering protests. You eat with my or not at all, he'd commanded. Fine, I had thought. I could always lose the extra weight.
But who was I kidding? I had been skinnier than wire when we first arrived here. Not even a rat would bother to pick the shrivels of meat from my bones. But after weeks of being here I was starting to gain parts of a figure I never knew I had. And now, slowly but surely, I was losing it again. I hadn't eaten more than a morsel since Gabriel's failed rescue attempt, and I was starting to feel the effects of my intentional starvation. My body was sluggish and exhausted before I could even exert myself, my stomach constantly grasped at something to devour. It was maddening.
On the fourth day of my strike, Mrs. Potter sneaked a small bowl of stew into my room, much to the Master's displeasure. What angered him even more was that I actually enjoyed her presence, unlike his. She accompanied me on my short visits outside, and though I could sense her urge to bring up my reluctance to talk about him, she made me laugh again. I never strayed too far from her partly due to the lingering fear of the pack of hungry wolves coming back. The other reason was that I felt his eyes on me every step of the way. I once summoned up the courage to search the windows, only to find them all empty. But I wasn't making it up. I could feel him watching me. No other person could make my skin buzz like he could.
The days passed in fits of hunger and tiring strolls through the halls and, if the weather permitted it, outside. Lumea's visits had been twice as frequent as Mrs. Potter's, though she wasn't afraid to discuss the sensitive topic of her brother. She'd slip in through the door, toss me a stolen apple, and spread herself out on my unkempt bed. "He's angry," she'd say, picking at the strands of her white hair. I'd shrug. "Let him be angry," I said indifferently. "What do I care?" She'd drop the subject— for a while, at least.
We'd sit up through most of the night babbling on about nothing in particular. She told me of her life growing up here in the palace and what it was like to be raised in complete isolation. She envied me, she said one night. I couldn't help but sputter a snort.
"I'm serious," she whined. I'd suppressed my laughter and waved her to go on. "You grew up with other kids like you and had the freedom to do as you pleased. I never had that. Beast was all I knew growing up. Him and this godforsaken mountain."
In that moment I felt sorry for her, but she was wrong. Where she saw freedom, I saw hell. Always fighting, always begging for food on the one crowded street filled with other children pleading, or sifting through snow with frozen fingers on the small chance that someone had dropped a coin. Where she hated her seclusion, I lusted for it. In Kinnot, there was no such thing as privacy. People stood too close and talked too loud. And while it seemed easy enough to live without, the lack of personal space was how the blood rose had ravaged our village in the first place. Had we lived on the other side of the mountain, nobody would have contracted the disease. Mama would still be alive, Papa wouldn't have been sacrificed, and Hendric wouldn't be dying. None of this would have ever happened.
Tonight proceeded like any other night: Mrs. Potter stuffed a small roll of bread into my hands as she skated through my door. Her busty hips bounced as she walked over to the nightstand to collect the hoard of forbidden dishes. "I wish you would come out, dear," she moped dismally.
I gave her a thin smile and opened the door for her again. I muttered the same excuse I'd told her every night this week: "Maybe tomorrow."
She pouted, only half serious. Her lips tugged into a pout. "Maybe if you just talked to him."
Lumea floated in through the door before I could respond. "He's upset with you," she sang in an ominous tune, her head shaking at me. Mrs. Potter bent her knees in a wobbly curtsy and edged back out of the room, closing the door behing her. As soon as I turned back into the room, Lumea tossed something at my head. I shot out my hand and snatched it out of the air. The soft, violet skin of a plum squished under my tight grasp. I lifted it to my mouth and tried not to look like a starved savage as I eagerly devoured it. My stomach moaned for more. "How long are you planning to keep this up? My ears have reached their lifetime quota of abuse."
I shrugged, still flipping the fruit over in my hand and watching her from the corner of my eye. Since Gabriel's unexpected— and highly unwelcome— appearance on the palace doorstep, I had slowly warmed to the idea of calling her a friend, despite the fact that she'd almost killed me and she was closer to Hendric's age than mine. She visited me every night and as much as she could during the day. Not to mention that she brought me food and helped stave off going insane by staring at the same four walls. In her opinion, I was both brave and stupid, two traits she believed to be synonymous with each other. Although I'd looked offended when she had called me out so openly, I was beginning to see what she meant. What I was doing was idiotic, and from what she reported of her brother's rising temper, quite possibly suicidal. The last time I hadn't listened to him I had ended up back in the healing ward because of my own stupidity. And he hadn't even been mad at the time. I couldn't imagine what he would do if this went on any longer.
I ran my thumb over the puckered skin on my hip, shuddering at the memory of his claws digging into me. I remembered the sight of his back snapping in half, the fur that had ripped through his body and shredded his tan skin to bits like something out of a grotesque nightmare.
I shook off the thought and wandered over to the desk. I avoided my reflection in the mirror, not wanting to see how ragged I must've looked. "He said I had to stay here; he never actually specified the part where I had to go near him."
She shook her head. For a minute it seemed that she would get up and leave. She stared down at my duvet and picked at the peeling embroidery. "He wasn't always like this," she murmured, so low I had to lean closer to hear her correctly. "When we were children he used to be so sweet and kind. Nothing like how he is today. Now he's—"
"Cruel? Evil? Heartless?" I ticked each one on my fingers, wiggling them at her.
She scowled. "—Lost." She shifted to sit on her knees, her expression hardening. "At least he's trying to make this work, which is more than I can say for you. You're not even trying to start a friendship, you're just finding reasons to stay mad at him and judge."
I narrowed my eyes at her, slightly taken aback by her outburst. I stood from the edge of the desk and stepped closer. "Your brother almost killed my friend for simply trying to help me get away from him. Explain to me how that is supposed to win my trust."
Her jaw set, clenching. "There are things you don't understand that have to be a certain way. You can't judge what you don't know." She got to her feet and crossed her arms at me.
I seethed. "Then tell me."
"I can't!" she shouted, stomping her foot. She fell back onto the bed and swung her legs over the edge, her eyes narrowing. She breathed in several slow breaths and braced her arms out to steady herself. "It's not my place."
Of course it isn't. Why even bother? I had asked Mrs. Potter and Coggington the same question since I'd been here and never gotten a single answer out of them. Why did I expect she would be any different?
I nodded. "You can't tell me because he has to, right?" She turned away. "You know, I'm starting to think maybe your brother isn't the only one without a heart around here." Her shoulders jerked back as if I'd struck her. I strode over to the door and yanked it open. "Thanks for the food."
She stared at me, blue eyes wide, stunned. Then she pushed herself to her feet and rushed out.
I slammed the door behind her and stared at it for a moment. The minutes passed in silence. The more time passed, the more my stomach shriveled with guilt. Perhaps I'd been too harsh, too demanding of her when she was just as much a prisoner here as I was.
I cracked it back open and peered out into the hall. The coast clear, I scampered down the halls and wound my way up the stairs to the second level. I carefully peeked at Beast's black door, sealed shut in its eerier isolation. Dim light glowed from under the door. The sight of it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I tiptoed toward the library and quietly pushed at the doors, sliding inside.
The library was as cold as always, but somehow the icy chill in the air was more a comfort than a nuisance. I hurried over to the candelabra on the mahogany desk and picked up the matches beside it, striking and lighting each wick. I skated over to the shelves and ran my finger along each spine, scrutinizing each of them.
Tales of a Far Journey, Memoirs of Alabard III, History of Kin Pryah. My interest waned with each title I passed over. I dropped my hand and went to a different wall. The titles all resembled the same thing. History, mathematics, children's books, romance. The last one held my attention for a little longer than the others before I moved on. I plucked the copy of The Eternal Queen: A Complete Biography and sat on one of the reading chaises. I tucked several pillows behind me and popped the latch off the book. Dust wafted up from the pages and floated in front of my nose. I narrowed my eyes through the cloud and began to digest the first handful of pages.
My eyes began to strain on the words as the candles flickered. I moved to strike another when a shadow passed over me. My heart leapt into my throat on a frightened scream. "Holy—!" I clasped my hand over my chest and gasped. "You scared me half to death."
Coggington held up his hands in innocence, but I saw the smirk tugging at his crinkled mouth. "My apologies, Miss Young," he said calmly. I watched him for several long seconds, breathing into the darkness as his eyes scanned the room and the pile of books at the foot of my lounge. "A little bit of light reading, I see. Anything holding your interest?" I flashed the cover of the book at him. He grinned with a nod. "Ah, I remember that one. Such a sad story."
I sat up, folding my legs under me. "She doesn't get to return home?" I tried to keep my voice levelled; it failed miserably.
Coggington sat down in the chair opposite of me and sank into the groaning leather with a sigh. His eyes closed briefly as he inhaled the smell of paper and dust and knowledge. When he opened them again, he pressed his lips into a firm line of concentration. "I certainly wouldn't want to give away the ending, especially one so good, but I will say that I think you will find some similarities between the two of you." His crooked index finger pointed at the book in my lap. "She may not have gotten the happily ever after she expected, but she lived happily, and that's all any of us can ask for. Fairytales often portray fantasies that we search our whole lives for. This young woman's story was painful and bloody, but it was true."
I glanced down at the tome. "She was real?"
He nodded. "A historical account of what happened, written anonymously of course, but mostly accurate." He stretched out his legs. Several pops fired off as he straightened his knees. I grimaced with each one. "We try our hardest to learn from history so we don't repeat the same mistakes, but some are meant to be repeated and others are meant to be lessons. You just have to figure out which is which."
I curled against the arm of the chair. "Coggington, if I ask you something, will you answer as honestly as you can?" He pursed his lips, then nodded. I swallowed. "A while back Mrs. Potter said that I wasn't Beast's prisoner, that I was his last hope. What did she mean?"
I spotted a slight tic of the old man's face, a pinched nerve in his temple that made a vein bulge and his cheek twitch. He locked his hands together over his round gut and stared at me. I imagined the wheels in his head spinning, the cogs of an old, wise clock turning and turning until they found the right dials to tell the right time.
Finally, he breathed out a heavy sigh and fixed me with a resigned look. "The Master is a fine man, Miss Young," he began, and my heart sank. Here we go again with the same thing. I sat back and waited for him to say the same words I'd heard from both Mrs. Potter and Lumea. I didn't expect him to speak the truth. "When he was younger, near your age, he was very restless and always craved new things. His desires, though mostly reasonable for a man his age, had never gotten him into too much trouble. He was a curious boy back then." A ghost of a smile played on his mouth as if he were reliving his younger days.
"He fell in love often on a whim, like flipping a coin. So much so that he wasn't ready for the consequences of what happened when he didn't keep his promises."
My tongue darted over my dry lips. "What happened?"
He smiled. "Let's just say that he wasn't always a man in pain. What you saw that night in the cellar was his consequence."
"What did he do?"
Coggington shook his head. He took a moment to gather his footing and rocked himself to the edge of the chair, standing with a bit of difficulty. Bones popped and creaked as he did. "You will have to ask him yourself, which means you'll actually have to speak to him." He turned to me completely and bowed. Heat crept through the pale skin of my face. He stopped halfway out of the library and looked back at me. "I know it's hard to trust people and things you don't understand, and I know it's frightening. But if you gave both him and this place a chance, you'd see that things aren't always what they seem. Sometimes the best things happen in the most unimaginable ways." He pulled open the library doors and disappeared through them, leaving me with a head full of questions and a chest full of aches and pains.
I tried to go back to my book, but instead found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the words. After another hour of flipping through pages and wandering around the room in an occupied daze, I threw down the last of my pride and hurried out of the library before I could scare myself out of what I was about to do.
I hurried down the hall, nearly tripping over my stumbling feet, up to his door and held my fist over the black wood. It hovered there as thoughts began to run through my mind.
What if he was still upset? What if I say the wrong thing and make this worse? How can I trust that he'll listen to what I have to say?
I paused. What did I have to say?
My hand crashed down to my side. Nothing. Coggington had given me more riddles and questions than answers and it still wasn't enough. I was still as lost and confused as I had been on the first day here. I wanted to know the truth but was scared of what it would be. What you saw that night in the cellar was his consequence. What had he done? Who had he wronged? How? Why was he tender and gentle one day and then heartless and cruel the next? Why did he need me here? What did he— they— want from me?
With a dejected sigh, I spun on my heel and slouched down the hallway to the stairwell. A part of me hoped he would open his door like he had that night and force me to speak, blurt out everything running wild inside of me so that he could fix it with the answers. But he didn't. Aside from my feet hitting the ground, the hall was silent. I stared at them as I walked. Torches flickered and gleamed, paintings smiled and beamed, but the cloud around me grew bigger, darker. How much longer could I do this? My stomach moaned in assent.
"Adaira?"
My head snapped up. I hadn't realized I'd sat down on the steps until I was craning my neck to look up at him in all of his dark grace. My heart leapt inside my chest. I swallowed. "Hi." I wiped my sweaty palms on my knees.
"Are you alright?" His brow deepened in such genuine concern that it made my insides clench. Before I could stand, he dropped to sit on the step below mine. He didn't seem mad. Why wasn't he mad? Why wasn't he screaming at me like I half expected him to?
I nodded, then paused. "No, actually." I felt my pulse racing in my chest and wondered if he could hear it. He lifted a dressed knee and locked his slender fingers around it, leaning back against the cold stone wall. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth and closed my eyes, forcing myself to blurt out the words I was scared of saying aloud. "You scare me, Beast. You and the others— you're not human. And it terrifies me to be around you. I'm scared that you'll kill Kenji and Hendric, or that you'll kill me because I'm rude or I have a bad temper. I'm scared that I'll be a prisoner here forever and I'll never see my family again. But mostly I'm just scared of you."
I opened my eyes, slowly peeking at him. His jaw was set in a hard lock, his knuckles white around his knee, but his face was completely relaxed. He wasn't upset. I pushed on.
"You say that I'm not a prisoner but I'm not allowed to leave. You say you want to be friends, but then you go and do things that make you look like the monster you say you're not. You say things that confuse the hell out of me and I don't know which half of you to believe: the tame Beast or the dangerous one."
You frighten me, I'd said the morning he found me near the greenhouse. My body recalled the way he'd stood so near, leaning in to whisper, Frighten, or excite? The way I'd felt after his question had my mind racing with a million more and I still hadn't arrived at a complete answer yet. My breath lodged in my throat.
"I've always been able to know the direction things are going. I can pin the trajectory of a bullet and decide if it'll give me a clean shot or a lousy one. I do things I can control the outcome of, but I can't do that with you. I don't know where this leads or where you're hoping it will." I shifted under his gaze. "I've never been good at puzzles, especially when I don't have all the pieces. Please... No more lies."
His silver eyes swirled with a churning storm behind them. Would it bring lightning and thunder, or just the cold? "I've never lied to you, Adaira. Everything I've ever told you has been the truth. You just don't want to hear it."
I shook my head. "I do now. Please."
The way his eyes bored into mine made my stomach flutter and my heart ricochet inside its cage with painful blasts. He dropped his hand away from his knee and stood. I fought back the disappointment as I felt my heart sink. "Have dinner with me," he said suddenly. I opened my mouth to protest. "I'll answer all your questions then, I promise. Just sit with me. That's all I ask." He held out his hand for me. I hesitated. His lips curved into a smirk. "I could hear your stomach growling from the cellar, Adaira. You can lie to me, but your body can't."
Something about his words sent a shiver down my spine and ripples along my skin. Slowly, I slid my cold hand into his warm fingers and let him lift me to my feet. He closed around my hand and stared at the two of them intertwined for a moment, his face a combination of uncertainty and peace. He ran his thumb along the long white scar in the center of my palm, sending warm shivers down my spine. I bit my lip to hold back another shudder at his touch. He lifted his head to watch me squirm at the sensation.
I pulled my hand from his grasp with alarming reluctance to let go of him. His lips twitched, but he held out his arm to let me walk in front of him. I led the way to the dining hall, my heart lodged in my throat the entire way. What the hell was he doing to me?