Rose Bound Magic Read online

  “Did you… have you ever forgotten?” Bell’s voice was so small she couldn’t hear herself over her own pounding heart. She held her breath, scared of his answer. Deep in her heart, Bell feared one day she would wake up, and her memories would slip away from her, the life she’d led before gone. Her reason for choosing this path a mystery.

  “No.” His voice was hard. “No, I didn’t forget them. Not one freckle on their faces. But missing them does hurt less with time. It’s okay to miss them, Belladonna. It’s okay to cry. I know the sadness that seeps in all too well. But don’t let it consume you - you can go mad in here so easily. Don’t let this place take away who you are.”

  The air around Beast seemed to shimmer as he spoke, the force of his words carving the space with loneliness. Looking at the painted faces staring out at them, it hurt Bell to know that Beast understood the pain in her heart, but it was comforting to know she wasn’t alone in her misery.

  “Will you start telling me about these people?”

  Bell didn’t know how long she spent following Beast around as he recounted stories about the subjects of each painting. His eyes seemed far off, gazing into the past. No matter how many years he had been here, the people remained as vibrant in his memory as if they’d just walked out the door.

  They stopped before a portrait of a smiling woman whose golden eyes still sparkled with bright laughter. “She’s beautiful,” Bell whispered, taking in the woman’s flowing ebony hair.

  “That’s my mother.”

  Absorbing this information, it struck Bell that Beast had once had a family and life, just as she did at Flor Cottage.

  “Beast, why are you here?”

  He flinched and continued to stare at his mother, never lifting his eyes. “I made a mistake. A terrible, wretched mistake.”

  “No mistake could warrant such a punishment as this.”

  Beast shook his head in disagreement. “You think too highly of me, Belladonna. I was born a pampered and loved Prince in a kingdom older than living memory. My mother and father were just rulers, well-beloved by our people. I don’t think I was a cruel child, but I was an only child, and my parents were indiscriminate in their spoiling of me. I was surrounded by servants to fulfill my every wish.

  “When I was about 14 war broke out – we had never been a militant country, instead relying on diplomacy and trade routes to maintain peace. But now there was an antagonist we could not reason with. Always the selfless leader, my father left with the army, leaving only the women and children to continue life as best they could.

  “We had hoped that the dispute could be quickly resolved. Father did not have the heart of a warrior. We were unlucky, and the fighting stretched on for months and then years. Children grew and joined ranks with their fathers and died beside them.

  “Blinded by my entitlement, all I could see was that the longer the war continued, the less I had. I had never been told no in my life, and then in an instant, I couldn’t do as I pleased – a country in war doesn’t support frivolity well. As I approached manhood, the hatred and disgust I felt grew. I felt wronged.

  “My mother ruled the kingdom while Father was gone, but everyone knew she pined to be with him. Unlike many rulers, their marriage had been a love match, and their affection had not lessened through the years.

  “A messenger arrived in the dead of night, informing my mother that my father had been injured and couldn’t be moved. In over a decade of fighting, it was a miracle that he hadn’t been hurt before. I was a man at this point – young, true, but still a man. My mother rushed off to see my father, leaving me in charge of the kingdom in her absence. I received news several days later that both my parents had been killed.

  “Apparently, the messenger had betrayed us. Our enemy took my mother hostage to draw out my father, who hadn’t actually been injured. It worked, and both were slain. I was, in an instant, a spoiled boy in charge of a warring kingdom, blinded by rage and grief. I wanted revenge. Strategic planning wasn’t my specialty, but I knew enough to recognize the men I had could not eliminate the enemy.

  “We, too, had stories of the ancient ones, of magic deep within our forests. I left before dawn one morning and entered the darkest and most ancient trees. After a while, I found what I had been looking for; a clearing with a circle of flowers growing in the middle. Stepping into the ring, I called the Fae, asking them to come and help.

  “One came. I asked It to help me eliminate my enemy and avenge my parent’s death. It asked me if I was willing to pay the price, and I agreed without even asking what the price was. I wanted them all dead. I was given a battle plan to give to my men and told to return to the castle.

  “I followed the directions, and within days, I was informed of our victory. That night the Fae came to me in my bedroom, ready to collect It’s payment. I had already forgotten about my promise. Only then did I realize what actually happened and what the price for my actions were. My request had been for my army to destroy my enemy and to win the war. The Fae had done that – and then some. Every man, woman, and child from the other kingdom had been slaughtered, their country wiped entirely off the map. Even my men were punished – so many were killed in the battle, it seemed both our nations died out simultaneously.

  “I hadn’t meant for that to happen. I only wanted the people who had killed my parents to die, not the innocents. I have thousands of men’s blood on my hands.

  “Then the Fae delivered my sentence – I must bear the marks of what I had done. Every inch of my flesh bears the reminder of those I killed, if not by my own hand, then by my request. Fae enjoy human emotions, mostly because they cannot feel them on their own. The second half of my penance is staying here for them to feed off my anguish and hatred and sorrow. They gave me an immortalized lifetime imprisoned in the very Palace I grew up in. Alone. I cannot age, I cannot die. I am simply placed here, forever.”

  Silence reigned between them once again. Bell gazed out of the window, wondering at how cruel the Fae were. They had preyed on a young man blinded by ignorance and grief, and for what? To trap him, allowing them to receive some kind of emotion that they, themselves, couldn’t feel?

  The slamming of the door made her turn. A confused frown on her lips, she saw that she was the only one in the room. Intending to follow Beast downstairs, she poked her head out the door. He wasn’t waiting on the landing for her, and she couldn’t even hear his footsteps on the stairs. With a shrug, she returned to the studio, not quite done looking at the paintings.

  Chapter Six

  After three days of having Beast avoid her like the plague, Bell’s bewilderment had turned into anger. Wracking her brain, she couldn’t figure out what she had done to offend him so much that he’d resort to imitating a phantom. Her only company was Fluffy, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t taken to whining at her constantly.

  The emptiness she had felt when she first arrived was slowly creeping back into her chest. The only true reprieve Bell had from the icy fingers of loneliness was the mirror Sidero had gifted her. Each morning she reached for it, checking on the inhabitants of Flor Cottage. Brief moments watching her family traverse through everyday life loosened the constriction of unshed tears. Belladonna refused to break down again; crying would do nothing.

  Bell’s anger boiled over on day four of Beast’s avoidance. Starting in the kitchen, Bell moved through the house and visited all the rooms on the first floor, followed by the second. Fluffy followed diligently, and by the second floor, she was so exasperated that she asked him to sniff out Beast. He either didn’t understand or ignored her – given how smart he was, it seemed more likely to be the latter.

  In the evening, Bell retired to the library, finding her favorite chair – no, Beast’s favorite chair as well – much less comfortable than usual. No matter how she wriggled, she could not sit long enough to concentrate. Annoyed at both the chair and Beast, she sprung up, aiming a solid kick at a pillow that had fallen, which hit Fluffy’s tail with
a soft “plop.” Fluffy lifted one eyelid and stared at her accusatorily.

  “Oh, hush you useless mutt! You haven’t been of any help today! Where is your master? Huh? I’m starting to get furious with this childish behavior of his.” Making her way to her bedroom, Bell made sure to stomp and grumble as loudly as possible. She knew Beast had to be around somewhere, and if he was near, she wanted him to hear how annoyed she was with him. At her door, she entered, slamming it behind her with all her force.

  Turning to rest her forehead against the cool wood, Bell sighed. She was lonelier now than she had been when she first arrived, convinced she was alone forever. Solitude had never seemed so oppressive to her – she had been abandoned in the final weeks in the Big City, and she had been lonely in her little town, but she had never felt smothered by the mere act of being alone.

  After roaming the halls with Beast, his absence in those same halls was achingly noticeable. Thoughtful and reflective, probably from being alone for so long, his loud bark of laughter that sometimes escaped lit up the rooms, surrounding Bell with warmth. Much like when they occasionally touched, she often didn’t realize how cold she had become until his heat reminded her. Now, the cold was unbearable.

  Turning to face her sitting-room, she saw her nightly pot of tea waiting for her on the side table. Puzzled, Bell frowned. Her tea was always waiting in her bedroom, not the sitting room. Why had the house decided to place it here?

  Plopping down on the settee, she picked up the mirror, which was placed next to the cup. Ignoring the tea, she mulled the situation over. Every morning she put the mirror in the top drawer of the nightstand with care once she was done checking on her family.

  Like the rest of the house, her rooms had a habit of fixing themselves when she was out of sight. They lit candles and emitted light from the ceiling as the sunset, they straightened her bedding and cleaned her clothing before hanging them back up for her. The tea that appeared nightly for her to drink was the house’s doing as well. She had asked Beast, and he had told her food had always appeared for him.

  But the room had never touched the mirror in her hands. On some level, she thought that the magic Sidero put into it was different than the magic the Palace possessed, and it couldn’t do anything to it. Now the room had moved the mirror and set it right next to the tea she always drank in the evening.

  Bell tried to stay away from watching her family at night because it made her room seem larger and emptier. Tonight, curiosity got the better of her. Bell tapped the mirror and asked to see her family.

  Papa and Poppy were frantically trying to get the kids back into bed. The chaos within Flor Cottage was punctuated by wailing on the other side of the front door. Someone was standing on the stoop in the middle of the night, screaming, asking for help.

  While Poppy was pushing the kids up the ladder to the upper loft, Papa opened the door. Framed in the moonlight was Geranium, almost unrecognizable. Her face was swollen to twice its size, and her left eye was red. Both fresh and dried blood drenched her bodice.

  “Papa,” she mumbled, blood dribbling down her chin as she spoke. Before anyone could react, she collapsed into a heap just inside the door, unconscious.

  Papa and Poppy stood rooted to the spot for several moments before jumping into action. Poppy ran over to her younger sister, struggling to lift her limp form and bring her to the cot by the fire. Papa stumbled over to the stove in an attempt to boil water.

  A small voice carried down from the upper loft. “Momma, let me go for the doctor in town. Aunty Geranium needs a doctor.”

  Poppy paused, the scissors she was using to cut away her sister’s clothing glinting in the flame’s light. Her oldest son Frank was looking down on the scene, his eyes wide and face pale, a determined grimace twisting his small mouth.

  “Frank, you can’t. You’re only eight, you’re too young to go all the way into town yourself, especially at this time of night.”

  He looked at his mother and then at his aunt. “I can do it, Momma. Aunty needs a doctor, and you and Grandpapa need to stay.”

  Before her sister could argue further, Papa spoke up. “Let him go, sweetie. This is an emergency. I can’t go, and you can't go because there isn’t much I can do on my own. Geranium needs you here. He’ll be okay. But your sister needs a doctor as soon as possible. There is no time to waste.”

  Anguished, Poppy glared at her father and then her son. “Fine,” she bit out. “Fine. But Frank, you better be careful. Take the horse, it’s too late for you to walk and we need the doctor immediately. If you break your neck, I swear…”

  Frank was scrambling down the ladder before his mother had finished giving her permission. Straightening his shoulders, he stood in front of her like a soldier before his commander. “I can do this, Momma.” He turned towards the cot. “I’ll be right back with help Aunty.” His voice broke on the last word, and he started trembling. Turning, he ran out the door before his mother could have second thoughts.

  Poppy stared at the closed door before her sister’s moan brought her back to the critical issue at hand. Throughout the entire time Poppy tended to her sister, Geranium did not regain consciousness. Papa flitted back and forth clumsily, grabbing different herbs with shaking hands to add to the steaming water, unable to do anything more helpful. Both wore identical furrowed lines of worry, each glancing at the door every other minute.

  An eon later hoofbeats sounded down the lane, and Poppy jumped up, running to the door and flinging it open. The young Dr. Jayr entered and scanned the room, finding Geranium on the cot. In a flash, he was at her side, pulling medical instrument after instrument out of his bag.

  Poppy grabbed Frank and pulled him back into the cottage, holding him in a crushing embrace. “You did good, baby. You did so well,” she whispered with him still clasped to her chest.

  His face still pale, he fixed his eyes on Geranium. The boy whispered, “Is Aunty going to die, Momma?”

  Releasing him, Poppy sighed. “I don’t know. But I do know you were right – a doctor was needed.”

  Frank and Papa sat at the kitchen table, watching Dr. Jayr tend to Geranium with Poppy’s silent help. The other kids kept peeking over the edge to see the progress, their mother too preoccupied to admonish them. After far too long, Dr. Jayr rose and sighed. “That’s all I can do. Do you know what happened to her?”

  Poppy and Papa exchanged an uneasy glance.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Poppy answered. “But it has seemed in the past that my brother-in-law can have quite the temper.”

  A sad light entered Dr. Jayr’s eyes. “Ahhhh. I see. That would explain it.” He glanced at Geranium’s prone figure. “I don’t know if or when she’ll wake up. There was significant trauma to her head, along with significant injuries internally. The heavy bruising on her stomach and side make me uneasy. You will need to watch her closely for signs of fever – it could kill her in her current condition. Keep giving her Elderflower and White Willow Bark tea. You have those, correct?” He glanced at Poppy for confirmation, who nodded. “I stitched up her head wound and applied a paste of yarrow and witch hazel. I’ll leave more with you – wash off the wound every other day and apply more paste.”

  He crouched down next to Geranium and brushed a lock of hair off her abused forehead. “There’s nothing left to do now besides wait.” Standing, he sighed. “Fetch me the moment she awakens.”

  Papa grabbed his hand. “Thank you, Doctor. We can pay part of the bill now, but I doubt we can settle our total debt to you tonight.”

  An odd emotion flickered across Doctor Jayr’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “No, don’t worry about paying me. I couldn’t in good conscience accept payment in this situation.”

  The room stared at him in stunned silence, both Poppy’s and Papa’s mouth agape.

  “We – we – we can’t do that,” Poppy stammered.

  Stepping past her towards the door, he said, “No, really, it’s fine. I won’t accept any
thing you try to give me.”

  Papa chimed in, “Then let us offer you a place to stay for the night! It’s quite a way back to town.”

  Pausing, Dr. Jayr smile held no humor. “The sun is starting to rise. I think I’ll be okay.” He shut the door behind him.

  Bell looked up from the mirror, dazed. Her brain seemed to be stuck, the image of her sister entering the cottage and then collapsing playing on a loop in her head. A cold nose nudged her hand, breaking the vicious cycle of images.

  Fluffy stood next to the settee, nudging her hand carefully. All at once, exhaustion washed over her, making her bones feel unbearably heavy. Standing only when the dog began to whine gently at her, she headed towards her bed, leaving the mirror and her untouched tea on the table. Somehow, she managed to change into her nightgown before collapsing into bed. As she was drifting off to sleep, she realized that she had closed the door to the hall, and Fluffy wasn’t in her rooms when she had entered. Before she could contemplate the mystery of the dog’s appearance, she was asleep.

  Bell was wrenched awake by the screaming. Only half-conscious, it took her several moments to process that the sound wasn’t coming from her room. Standing and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she was knocked back against her mattress as Fluffy ran into her. He started whining at her, distress evident in his cries.