Seventy-Six
Espidra watched them, Arabella and Beau.
They were sitting at the dining table, cups and plates scattered about, heads bent together. They were feverishly poring over a revised drawing Arabella had made for the last section of the bridge.
Espidra had been informed about the little talk that had taken place a few days ago in Beau’s room. The dark blood that ran through her veins simmered as she saw other ladies of the court—ladies who had been banished to the shadows—reemerge: Compassion. Pride. Vulnerability.
The curse ended tomorrow night when the clock struck twelve, and the bridge was nearly finished. What if the thief truly managed to break the curse? It would spell the end of her.
No, it won’t happen, Espidra told herself. It can’t.
She knew the terms of the curse: Arabella must learn to love, and be loved in return. But the third wretched sister had not been found. Because she was not here; Espidra was certain of that. The thief was a mere crush, a passing fancy. Arabella did not love him. It was impossible.
Espidra leaned over to Iglut, who was reading a book, and whispered, “I need a few minutes with him. Alone.” She nodded at Arabella’s water glass, which had been pushed close to the edge of the table. “See what you can do.”
Iglut rose and closed her book. “It’s chilly this morning, Lady Espidra,” she said. “I’m going to fetch a shawl. I won’t be a moment.”
Iglut walked toward the table, stopped by Arabella, and gave her a quick curtsy, as was customary. As she rose, however, and continued on her way, she tripped. Her book went flying. Her body lurched forward. It looked as if she would fall to the floor, but at the last moment, she managed to catch herself on the edge of the table … and knock Arabella’s water glass into her lap.
Arabella gasped as the cold water soaked through her clothing.
Iglut gasped even louder. Her hands came up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace! I’m so clumsy. So hopeless. So bad at everything.”
“Enough, Lady Iglut,” Arabella said, standing. “It’s just water.” She looked at Beau. “I’m going to change. It’ll only take a minute. I’ll meet you at the gatehouse.”
Beau stood, too. He took one last bite of a roll and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. Then he put his jacket on.
Espidra joined him. “How fortunate that clumsy Lady Iglut did not ruin your drawing. Is it final?” she asked lightly.
“We hope so,” Beau replied, eyeing her mistrustfully.
Espidra’s gaze settled on the drawing. “My goodness, but that bridge is narrow.” She looked up at him. “Will it really be strong enough to hold you both?”
Beau started to roll the drawing up. “What, exactly, are you asking me, Lady Espidra?”
Espidra placed a hand on his arm. At her touch, the sparkling light in his beautiful eyes dimmed. The color in his cheeks faded. And his pulse, so strong and surging, weakened a little.
“I would like to see this marvelous bridge of yours,” Espidra said. “Come, let us walk to it together.” Her shawl had settled in the crooks of her elbows. She pulled it up around her neck, then threaded her arm through his.
The two proceeded through the great hall, out of the castle, and across the snow-covered courtyard. Espidra remarked on the chilly wind and the scudding clouds, and predicted a clear, sunny day, a good day for building.
They walked through the gatehouse, and as they reached the far threshold, she released Beau’s arm. Her eyes roved over the crossed pilings, marching in pairs halfway across the moat, the narrow walkway.
“I must say, it is ingenious. Well done, Monsieur Beauregard.” She turned her face to his. “I know the plan. Tomorrow you cross, no? Bright and early?”
“No, at midday,” said Beau. “So the sun can melt any ice on the planks.”
Espidra shook her head regretfully. “Ah, my hopeful young friend. You may think you can help her, but you cannot.”
“I have already helped her,” Beau said defiantly. “And she has helped me.”
Espidra’s eyes turned as hard as obsidian. “I will not relinquish Arabella to you, not without a fight. I know who she is. I know what she’s capable of. And despite that, I care for her. I’m the only one who truly ever has.”
“I care for her, too, Lady Espidra.”
“Do you?” Espidra turned her gaze to the far side of the moat. “Imagine for a moment that the two of you actually manage to break the curse and return her to her former state. Then what? A storybook ending?”
Beau’s jaw tightened. Espidra saw it and went for the kill.
“I don’t think so. And neither do you. Oh, you may want to be the knight in shining armor, riding in to save the damsel, but you can’t be. Because deep down, you know that you’re not good enough for her. She is learned, cultured, refined. A member of the aristocracy. And you?”
She laughed scornfully and as she did, her face changed, melting and morphing. And suddenly it wasn’t Espidra standing in front of him but the sheriff, after he’d just locked him inside a jail cell. Beau wanted to run, but horror froze him to the spot. Espidra opened her mouth to speak and the words came out in a man’s voice.
A beating’s too good for you, boy, you’re nothing but a thief …
Her face changed again, this time to the schoolmaster’s.
You have no place in my school, boy, you’re nothing but a thief …
And then the priest’s.
You’re not welcome in this holy church, boy, you’re nothing but a thief …
“N-no … no. It’s not true …” Beau stammered, shaking his head, but his protest was weak. Espidra’s words had drained the fight out of him.
“They were right, weren’t they?” Espidra murmured, assuming her own form again. “You really are nothing but a thief, Beauregard. A no-account boy from the slums. Your neck should’ve been broken by a noose years ago. I have no doubt that it soon will be.”
Beau’s eyes had dulled. His shoulders were slumped. Espidra squeezed his arm tightly, and led him closer to the threshold. One step, then another, steering him not toward the narrow plank walkway of the bridge but to the right of it, where there was nothing—except a sheer drop into the moat.
“Arabella needs love to break the curse, yes, the love of a good man. If you truly do care for her, be that good man. For once in your life, do the right thing. When tomorrow comes, and you get across that bridge, leave her.”
Beau’s gaze dropped to the ground. He tried to push back at the hopelessness that had immobilized him. “You … you’re …”
“Right,”Espidra finished, walking him closer to the edge. “I always am. I see you, Beau. I see the man you really are—sly, devious, selfish—and I know you’ll never escape that man, no matter how much you try. It’s too late. You’ve done too much damage. Caused too much harm.”
And then Beau caught his toe on something and stumbled. He looked down. It was a dead rabbit.
“What the devil is that doing here?” Espidra muttered, kicking it aside.
She tugged on Beau’s arm again; they were only two steps away from the edge now. But this time, Beau, still staring at the rabbit, didn’t move.
“Come along,” she coaxed silkily. “Just another step …”
Beau was resisting, struggling, trying to dredge up a few last scraps of strength. Espidra had seen it before, many times. Mortals often made one final, futile attempt to escape before they succumbed to her. It reminded her of a gazelle trying to pull free from the lion’s claws, a mouse running from the owl’s shadow. So noble. So brave. So absurd.
She waited for Beau to realize that it was hopeless, to give in. But he didn’t; he straightened his back and lifted his head. It took a great force of will. It cost him; she could see it did. Dread convulsed her shrunken heart. She waited, silently urging him to fail. Instead, there was a rush of blood to his cheeks. Fire ignited in his eyes. He shook her touch off like a dog shaking off mud.
“You’re right, Lady Espidra,” he said. “I’m no good. But Arabella is. And she deserves more than dead rodents, and this place, and you. She deserves a chance to prove it.” He picked up the rabbit, walked to the threshold, and threw it into the moat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a bridge to build,” he said in a voice granite-hard with determination.
Espidra backed away, aghast. Then she turned and hurried from the gatehouse to the castle. For the first time she saw the possibility of her own failure.
For Espidra had done something she rarely did; she’d made a mistake.
The thief was clever. He’d taught Arabella how to steal.
And the first thing the beastly girl had stolen was his heart.