Beastly Beauty

Prologue

Once upon a time and ever since, a key turned in a rusted lock, and a woman stepped into a small and dismal cell.

Her gown, the color of ashes, hung off her shoulders like a shroud. Her hair, styled high on her head, was as black as ebony. Her dark eyes glittered; their gaze pulled at whomever it fell upon, sucking them in like a whirlpool.

Across the room, a high window, shaped like a half-moon, was filled with midnight, yet the room was not without light. A wan glow suffused it, like that of a single candle.

It came from a child.

She was gazing up at the window, her hands clasped behind her back. “Lady Espidra, always a pleasure,” she said at length, turning to face the woman.

Her pink dress, once pretty, was dirty and torn. Her hair, so blond it was almost white, was wild. Her face was open and frank. Anyone glimpsing it would guess she was nine or ten years of age, except for her eyes, which were as ancient as the stars.

Lady Espidra set her lantern down on a table. She opened the small wooden box she was carrying. “Shall we play? To pass a bit of time?” she asked, taking out a deck of cards. “How long has it been since we last chatted, you and I? A year? Two?”

“Twenty-five.”

Lady Espidra laughed. It was an ugly, jangling sound, like shattered glass raining down. “Ah, it’s true what mortals say—the days are long and the years are short.”

She placed the deck faceup on the table, then fanned it expertly. The cards were yellowed at their edges but beautifully illustrated. The kings, queens, and jacks were framed by a thin line of black. Rich pigments colored their robes. Their golden crowns sparkled; their silver swords gleamed.

The queen of hearts blinked and stretched. Then she glimpsed the queen of spades, who was next to her, and waved excitedly. The queen of spades gasped, then laughed. She reached a hand to the frame surrounding her and pushed at it. Gently at first. Then harder. Until she was beating her fists against it.

The king of diamonds placed a hand over his heart and gazed with anguished longing at his queen. The queen of clubs, stuck between two numbered cards, stared listlessly ahead of herself.

Espidra seemed not to notice their distress. She briskly gathered the cards, shuffled them, and dealt two hands.

But the child noticed.

“Poor things,” she said, picking up her cards. “Imprisoned in their boxes, just like the mortals who drew them.”

“A box is the best place for mortals,” Espidra retorted. “It keeps them out of trouble.”

Espidra looked at her cards and smiled; she’d dealt herself an excellent hand. As she arranged them in order of rank, the queen of clubs blew a fervent kiss to the handsome jack of hearts. The king of clubs saw her do it. His smile crumpled. He gripped his sword in both hands and, with an anguished cry, plunged it into his heart. The queen turned at the sound, then screamed when she saw what he’d done. Blood flowed from the king’s wound. It pattered onto the bottom of the frame, spilled out of a crack in the corner, and dripped onto Espidra’s withered fingers. She slapped the cards down on the table, scowling, and wiped the blood off on her skirt.

“Such a lovely way you have about you,” the child said. “Why have you come? Surely it wasn’t to play cards.”

“Of course it was,” Espidra said. “I like a challenge when I play, and no one bluffs like you do.”

“Liar.”

Espidra shot the girl a baleful look. “All right, then. I wish to offer you a deal.”

“Ah, now we have the truth. What kind of a deal?” the child asked.

“Leave this place. Do not come back.”

“What do you offer me in return?”

“Your life.”

A slow smile spread across the child’s face. “Why, Lady Espidra, you are afraid.”

Espidra flapped a hand at her. “Me, afraid? Of you? Don’t be absurd.”

“You would not offer me this deal otherwise.”

“Yes, I would. Because I wish to be rid of you, and you would be wise to accept my offer. The girl is beaten. She has given up. She merely bides her time now, waiting for the end.”

Pain sliced across the child’s features at the mention of the girl. Espidra saw it. She leaned forward. “You cannot win. The clock winds down. The story is over.”

The child lifted her chin. “Almost, but not quite.”

Her words were like a torch to straw. Espidra smacked the cards off the table. She shot up out of her chair; the legs screeched over the stone floor.

“You are nothing but a trickster,” she hissed, jabbing a bony finger at the child. “You come and go, as careless as the wind, leaving a trail of broken mortals in your wake. But I stay. I am here for them after you abandon them, with my arms wide open, my embrace as deep—”

“As a freshly dug grave.”

Lady Espidra looked as if she would like to wrap her hands around the child’s thin neck and snap it. “You will be sorry you did not take my offer,” she said.

“This cell will not hold me forever.”

“Big words from a small girl. I hope you enjoy the darkness.”

The door clanged shut. The key turned in the lock.

Espidra’s footsteps receded, and silence descended once more, suffocating and cruel.

The child sat, motionless and alone, her head bent, her fists clenched.

Trying to remember the light.