Beastly Beauty

Fifty-Eight

Arabella sat down on the edge of Beau’s bed.

So many questions were pushing at his tongue; she could see it. How could she answer them? As soon as she did, she would lose him. He would hate her when he found out, as all the others had. To see him pull away from her, to see his beautiful eyes fill with fury … it was more than she could bear.

“Secrets are secrets for a reason,” she said, breaking his gaze.

“I saw you turn into a beast. Right in front of my eyes. I saw you with fur and pointy ears and sharp teeth.” His voice rose as he spoke, his anger getting the better of him. “I kissed you, Arabella. Right before you tried to kill me. So enough with your secrets.”

Part of Arabella longed to tell him, longed to unburden herself to him. But a bigger part was afraid to, and the words stuck like burrs in her throat.

Just then, Lady Elge bounced into the room on the balls of her feet, her face painted with her customary clown’s makeup—red circles in the centers of her white-greasepaint cheeks, high black eyebrows, heart-shaped lips.

“Why, isn’t this a lovely gathering?” she exclaimed, looking all around at Beau, Arabella, and the members of the court.

“Oh hell no,” Faith said, stepping out from behind the drapes.

“Watch out for Elge, Beau, she’s a maniac,” Hope said, joining her sister.

Arabella heard the girls. She turned toward them as if turning toward an executioner.

“Be careful, mistress!” Rafe cried, cringing behind Lady Rega. “God only knows what they’ll do!”

Rega snarled at the two girls, advancing toward them.

Faith pulled a dagger out of the folds of her skirt and pointed it at her. “Make my day,” she said. Rega stepped back.

Glancing furtively at Beau, Lady Piconisus approached Arabella. She wore a gown the color of creeping ivy. Her hair was an oily black. Her skin was the bloated, translucent white of something that lived under a rock.

“It was him,” she whispered in Arabella’s ear. “He let them out. He stole the master key. I knew it. I knew it all along.”

Arabella turned to Beau, stricken. “You let them out?”

Beau’s own anger, smoldering, ignited. “Damn it, Arabella, I’m asking the questions now!”

Elge rushed to Beau’s bedside. She put an arm around his shoulders. He tried to pull away, but she held him fast. “Don’t. You. Worry! Not for one little-ittle-wittle second!” she said in a singsong voice, tapping Beau’s nose with her finger. “If she won’t answer you, I’ll find someone who will!”

She released him and grinned—with so much force, her cheeks fractured like a dropped vase. Beau blanched at the sight. Elge giggled at his reaction, then dashed off into the herd of court ladies.

“Hesma? Iglut? Where arrrrre you two?” she called out, disappearing into the crowd. “Come now, ladies, this is no time to be shy. Ah! Here we go!”

A moment later, the crowd of courtiers parted and Hesma stumbled forward, shoved by Elge. Like a rodent pulled from her den, she tried to burrow her way back to safety, but Elge wouldn’t let her.

“Ah, ah, ah!” she scolded, wagging a finger. She whirled Hesma around and gave her another shove.

Hesma was wearing a colorless sack of a dress, which made her look more like a prisoner than a lady of the court. Elge prodded her in the back, directing her toward Beau. When Hesma reached him, hunched over and wringing her hands, she started to talk, but her voice was so low and quavering, he had to lean in to hear her.

“No, Hesma. Stop,” Arabella demanded. She’d gotten to her feet; her fingernails were digging into her palms. “Stop.”

Elge turned to Arabella. “He has a right to know, don’t you think?” she asked, her lunatic’s grin hardening into something darker.

“You have no right to tell him. I’ve forbidden it.”

“I know that, but so what? I’m going to betray you! We all are. It’s what we do!” Elge trilled. She turned back to Hesma. “Come on, you silly! Speak up!”

“It’s all because of her!”

It was Iglut, not Hesma, who’d spoken. She was pointing at Arabella. As the court turned to her, she shrank into herself, lowering her head. She spoke again, but her words were muffled by her hair, which was hanging across her face.

Elge rushed to her. “Darling, we can’t hear you! We can’t see your pretty face!” She brushed Iglut’s greasy hair back and tucked it behind her ear, revealing a face that was anything but pretty. Iglut’s eyes were dull, their gaze darting and furtive. Her cheeks were dotted with scabs. Her lips were bitten raw.

“She did it,” Iglut said, staring balefully at Arabella. “She was always a beastly girl.”

“What are you talking about?” Beau asked.

“You are not to speak of it!” Arabella shouted.

Elge fixed her mistress with a bright, vicious gaze. “That’s not really fair to him, is it?” she said in a low, stagy voice, hooking her thumb at Beau. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to know if you were—”

“For God’s sake, stop,” Arabella cried, her voice breaking.

“As you wish,” purred Elge. “I won’t say another word.”

“But I will.”

Espidra walked to Arabella’s side and placed a withered hand on her shoulder. Arabella sagged at Espidra’s touch, helpless. Tears welled in her eyes.

“A hundred years ago,” Espidra said, “Arabella killed someone.”

“A young man,” said Hesma.

Espidra smiled. “Prince Constantine.”