At the news of a talking beast, Astra had bemoaned that our forest was undoubtedly enchanted.
In return, I had bemoaned, “If only there had been some sign.”
My father’s eyes were on me, and his sadness was a weight I couldn’t carry. He might have apologized to me, but I couldn’t let that cycle begin, and the silence bore as much chance of a reprimand as an apology, so I had to fill it first. I rushed forward with questions, and the moment passed.
The castle had no shortage of rooms.
I peeked into a grand dining hall, an even grander ballroom, several sitting rooms and parlors, and a room that seemed to be devoted purely to portraits.
“Lovely castle,” I remarked quietly to no one. “The loveliest I’ve ever seen.” I smiled at my own wit. I was the only one who ever did, but wit was all I had left.
A descending staircase led me to a dungeon, which I was rather surprised to find as grand as the rest of the castle so far, a collection of cells with enough space to hold an invading army, or so it seemed at a glance. It would have been more foreboding in darkness, but every sconce lit at my approach. Callista would have been delighted at the idea of self-lighting candles but terrified to see it in action. From the time we were still in nursery rooms, she’d collected stories of magic and enchantment from any adult willing to indulge her in the telling, yet faced with our own enchanted forest, she gave it only longing side-glances and a wide berth.
Magic was overall a wistful thing in the kingdom. Fairies had once roamed wide and cast spells as they pleased, but perhaps they’d grown bored with us or come to prefer a life of seclusion. Now the sight of a fairy was rare, and they were notoriously grouchy at being seen. Only the bravest people would hunt them in hopes of receiving a granted wish. The rest of the kingdom contented itself with old stories and the dwindling magic found in family relics—a teapot that rattled in an attempt to pour itself or a vase that, once filled, always retained a teaspoon of water.
The beast’s castle had no such dwindling magic. It was all fresh and crisp and eager to serve. Even the cell door swung open at my approach.
Was I meant to spend days in captivity awaiting my sentence?
I licked my lips, glancing back up the stairs. Then I stepped into the cell. It closed after me, though I heard no click of the lock. Feeling foolish, I settled onto the straw pallet inside, back pressed to the wall. Even the cell of the beast’s castle had softer, cleaner surroundings than our cottage, but I was not pleased at the improvement.
In coming to the castle, I had expected a violent encounter. Father had been so certain his sentence for taking the rose was death that I had convinced myself the castle steps would run with my blood before I even reached the door. I had not even considered other possibilities. My instructors would have been disappointed in me.
But as great as my confusion was in that moment, it only increased in the next.
A slight rustle carried in the air, familiar from many afternoons in a schoolroom. I turned this way and that, impossibly expecting to see another prisoner reading a text, but I was alone. No one could have turned a page.
Then a flutter of movement—
I looked up just as a sheet of parchment sailed between the bars of my cell. While I held myself stiffly, it floated to my lap, gentle as a feather.
There was no writing on it, only a rough drawing. A few Ls with the feet elongated, all stacked crookedly, and an arrow beside them, parallel to the backs. I plucked at the edge of the page, rotated it on its side, but the drawing became no clearer.
“Hello?” I tilted my head, peering, but there was no one on the stairs.
Stairs.
I reexamined the stacked Ls. They could perhaps be representative of a staircase. And an arrow ...
“Was I not meant to come down here?”
My answer was the now-expected silence. But when I climbed to my feet, the cell door swung open as readily to permit my exit as it had my entrance. My cheeks burned.
“A communication with words would be appreciated.” I directed my own words at the cell door, and it swung a few inches forward and back, as if wishing it could escape but finding itself on a leash. As I walked through, I touched it briefly in reconciliation. It was unfair to blame a door for the games of its master, after all.
When I reached the landing, I found another sheet of parchment, this one with another staircase and arrow. I had seen a staircase previously but had limited myself to exploring the ground floor and below. If I was here to die, one floor was as good as another.
“See now,” I said, setting the sconces all atremble once more. “My father took refuge here in a storm. Before he exited the gate, he plucked a rose without permission and was told he must repay the theft with his life. My life for his—that is my bargain. I will pay the debt, but I will not be dragged about for sport.”
Dawn’s light spilled through the entry windows, brighter with every moment, creeping its way forward on the marble floor the way I felt the fire creep inside me.
“If I am to be devoured,” I said to a silent castle, “devour me.”
At the cottage, I’d had no parchment because Father’s writing desk had been sold along with all the rest. Had I been able, I would have left Father a letter. I’d composed it in my mind all the same, traced the letters, folded the parchment, and left it on the table, where it would never be read because it could not be seen. It said,Forgive me.A girl of so many words and yet I’d only managed two.
I wrote a letter for Stephan as well.
It said,I would rather die.
