17. Chapter 17
17
BEATRICE
Realization dawned, and bitter disappointment flooded through me: I was back in the cave with Winifred, who was shouting again. Her hands snatched at but never quite touched the heavy object on my belly, and her words glanced off me.
I couldn’t think clearly of anything except Niel’s touch and voice and smile. I knew he wasn’t here in the cave, yet I looked around . . . and the first thing I saw was the unwrapped golden egg clasped between my hands. As I watched, its bright glow faded to a shimmer. Slowly sitting upright, I stared down at my egg, tuning out Win’s harangue. Maybe I really would die for touching a griffin egg, but just then I didn’t care.
My heart and thoughts were too wrapped up in Niel, who was gone, lost in the distant past.
The egg’s gentle vibration paused, and a sleepy voice spoke into my mind: Nee not lost.
I shook my head in disbelief. My egg could read my thoughts?
Winifred was still ranting. “You’ve killed it! You idiot know-it-all! You’ve killed me too! Vlad will pulverize us! Mirka will tear us to—”
I looked up to say, “You told me you were dead the last time I held it. Reports of your demise are losing their shock value. And the egg isn’t dead either.”
Her rant cut off. “What?”
I dipped my head toward my lap. “She’s fine.”
“She?” Win echoed in dismay. “You can’t possibly know its sex.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, Win, I didn’t touch the egg on purpose. When I fell asleep, she was still wrapped up inside my pack.” All true. However, we both knew the egg couldn’t move herself.
Or could she?
Seeing Win’s face screw into another ferocious scowl, I quickly asked, “Do griffins purr?”
“Of course not!” she snapped. “Lions don’t purr, and eagles obviously wouldn’t.”
Eagle head and wings, lion body. Like the statue I’d loved as a child. That’s what griffins were! “Huh.”
Smiling, I gently hefted my egg and made the effort to stand up gracefully. I was stiff in every limb, but Win didn’t need to know that. “My griffin egg sure feels and sounds like she’s purring.”
“It’s not your egg.” She looked as though her teeth were grinding. “It’s my egg! They’re both my eggs.”
I pondered her claim, then reached into my backpack to check on the second egg. His shell shimmered like moonlight on a lake when I stroked it with one finger, and I sensed drowsy pleasure from the fetal griffin. “Since we’re so far into the cave now, I’ll trust you to carry the silver egg for a while. He’s a sweet little guy.”
Her hopeful expression twisted into a scowl. “It’s a griffin. It—”
Her correction broke off when I raised a brow. “If you want to carry him, no more talk of being torn to shreds or any of the other dire fates you delight in describing. We need to focus on escaping from this horrid cave. Then we can worry about returning these eggs to their parents.”
To my surprise, she nodded. “Since we both slept already—”
“Nobody asked me to keep watch,” I observed.
“—we might as well start walking again.”
With minimal discussion, I shifted the swaddled silver egg into her sling, giving his shell another caress when the girl wasn’t watching, and we set off into the darkness. Winifred imitated my way of choosing a path, using her egg’s brightness as our guide.
I couldn’t really blame her for being angry—I’d broken almost every rule she’d laid out. She held no authority over me, but we might both pay a terrible price for my impulsive choices, which wasn’t fair to her. I really should repress the snark and behave like the adult in the room . . . cave . . . whatever.
I cradled my egg while we walked. Was she asleep? When I sneaked one hand beneath her wrappings, the glow instantly brightened, and her purring resumed.
“You’re touching it again. I hear the noise,” Win said, her voice like lead.
“We can’t possibly die more gruesomely than you’ve already predicted,” I pointed out. “And light is useful in a cave.”
She growled something unintelligible.
I deserved some snark. She’d interrupted my first kiss.
I couldn’t help wondering what had happened on Niel’s end when Win woke me up. Did I fade away or vanish suddenly? What would he do? He’d said he’d find a way to be with me . . .
Falling in love with a dream sounded crazy, or at best foolish. Yet he’d felt so . . . real.
We walked with only our footsteps and the music of running or dripping water to interrupt the deep silence. The tunnel was all uphill now. I couldn’t begin to guess which direction we traveled, but Win seemed confident. Was her egg brighter than before?
The breathless wonder of my dream gradually faded into sadness. No actual human could possibly compete with a romantic dream. And if Niel ever had been a real person, he’d be dead of old age. Even if he’d somehow managed to extend his life, he would be ancient.
Sudden curiosity gripped me. If I were to research Siegfried III, King of Adelboden, what might I learn?
Winifred and I started taking shorter but more frequent breaks. I felt a growing sense of urgency. I suspect she did too, though she tried to hide it. We nibbled trail mix and protein bars along the way; I mostly ate to calm my nerves . . . with no success whatsoever. Once, when Winifred made a sharp turn, I glimpsed her hand tucked inside her sling. No wonder the egg’s silvery glow was so bright. A wry smile curled my lips.
Walking in darkness allowed my random thoughts far too much leeway. The Gamekeeper knew about my childhood visit to Othniel’s garden, but what would he think of my romantic interlude with the adult king? My face scrunched. I couldn’t imagine telling him about it. Not after he’d proposed marriage. My impressions of his form were hazy. But when I was with him, I felt understood and loved . . . and he never seemed to mind when I talked about myself.
Now that I thought about it, I did too much of that: talking about myself. When had I ever asked about his past or his feelings? Had he tried to talk about himself? If he ever did, I hadn’t listened well enough to remember. A blend of longing and guilt washed through me. If . . . When he came back, I needed to do more listening and less blathering about my insecurities and frustrations.
I couldn’t imagine talking to a man the one-sided way I’d talked at the Gamekeeper. I couldn’t imagine any man tolerating such self-absorbed blather. If I ever got the chance, I would listen for a change. He was my best friend ever.
I knew he was real—I wasn’t the only person at Faraway Castle who talked with him. But Niel? Men as perfect as Niel don’t exist. Apparently, I was the type of girl who had to dream up her ideal man. For that matter, the woman I’d been in my dream wasn’t real either. I could never be that self-confident and flirtatious.
If I didn’t stop moping, I would soon be sobbing as I walked . Not that it mattered. Win seemed lost in her own thoughts.
Until she stopped short, and I almost crashed into her.
Light from our two eggs revealed the rough tunnel walls ending at a large wooden door.
“Looks like we made it,” I observed.
“The door might be enspelled.” Win’s voice trembled. “There’s no latch.”
I sensed powerful magic emanating from the door, but it didn’t threaten us. It merely . . . waited. Which left everything to the imagination. Which was freaky.
I squared my aching shoulders. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
She shrugged. “Either we stand around here in the dark or we enter the Forbidden Palace. Thanks to you, either way, we’ll face the Beast.”
“My egg doesn’t seem worried.” Mustering my waning courage, I stepped past her, released a deep breath, then laid my hand on the door.
It creaked open. Light that seemed blinding after so many hours of near darkness made us both cringe. Win ducked behind me, gripping my arm with both hands.
When nothing else happened, we simultaneously heaved sighs of relief. “Well, go on,” Win ordered with an edge of impatience.
I wanted to protest, but since we seemed to have an unspoken truce and I was the adult in the room, I stepped through first, every sense on high alert.
A moment passed before I realized what I was seeing: rows of stacked barrels on one side, racks of corked bottles on the other. “It’s a wine cellar,” I whispered.
Win crowded in behind me. “Well, duh.”
I gave her a look. “If you’re ready to take the lead again, be my guest!” I swept my arm in mock invitation.
A flicker of what might pass for shame turned into a scowl. “Right,” she growled. “Let the kid go first and get eaten.”
I couldn’t help it: I burst out laughing. Nerves or sleep-deprivation most likely, but just then the situation struck me as hilarious.
Bad move. Win’s expression darkened. “Seriously? This place is packed full of magic. The Beast could lurk in any corner, ready to leap out and tear us to pieces, and you start cackling like a chicken.”
“Look,” I said, “the important thing is survival. Working as a team will double our individual chances. How about a truce? No more sarcasm or insults, and we work together to survive?” An attack of nervous hiccups made keeping a straight face challenging, but I did my best.
She twisted her face into a grimace but ended up nodding. “Truce.”
Noticing the soft glow of her egg in its sling, I suddenly wanted my egg closer to me—not so much for light as for comfort. Win didn’t say a word when I stopped to remove my backpack, wrap my egg in a spare thermal undershirt, and cradle it close to my heart. Baby girl was asleep, I knew, yet her soft golden glow blended with the silver glimmer of Win’s egg and bolstered our courage as we entered the cavernous cellar.
It was a creepy place, for sure, but I saw no cobwebs or even any dust. A flight of stone steps climbed the far wall, leading to another door reinforced by iron bands and bolts and a heavy lock.
I tried to ignore my sneaking fear that we were locked in, but Winifred lacked a filter. “I guess we can live for a while on wine and beer or whatever’s in those barrels,” she observed. “If we’re sloshed enough, being eaten by the Beast might not hurt so much.”
Rather than dignify this with a response, I jogged up the stairs. None of the bolts were locked, so I tried the latch and nearly fell through when the door swung out, almost as if someone had pulled it from the other side.
By the time I regained my balance, Win was peering around me into a corridor. Down in the wine cellar I’d failed to notice what provided the ambient light—I’d been too focused on getting out. But once inside the Forbidden Palace, I noticed incandescent electric bulbs in the light fixtures. Funny. I would have expected candles or gas lamps. Something more gothic.
As we stepped into the corridor, Winifred breathed a long “Whoa!”
My first impression was of quiet elegance, but a closer look revealed evidence of age and use. The wallpaper was loose, even starting to peel in places. Occasional chips marred the painted wainscoting. The simple tile flooring and woven runners showed minor wear or fading.
The corridor was empty with the kind of emptiness that suggests complete abandonment, and yet . . . I didn’t believe it. After all, the lights were on. If not for the magic charging the very air we breathed, I might have been convinced we were in a museum or maybe a historic estate that was open for public tours during refurbishment. The doors on either side of the corridor were all shut, and I felt no inclination to go poking around even though there were no “Closed to the Public” or “Staff Only” signs.
Win’s pale eyes bulged like glassy marbles, and she gripped my sleeve with both white-knuckled hands. My egg had gone dim, but I knew that it . . .no, she . . . was somehow aware of our circumstances.
“So, what exactly is this Beast you keep talking about?” I muttered.
“Vlad told me it guards the Forbidden Palace grounds.”
“Yes, but what is it?”
She shrugged. “A Beast. You know, big sharp teeth, roars a lot. Eats stupid people who trespass.”
“A bear? A wolf? An ogre? A dragon?”
“How should I know?”
Right. Our next move was apparently up to me, so I led the way. We soon discovered a closed stairway leading upward, climbed it, and exited through a door at the top . . .
My jaw dropped.
Soooo, yes. Forbidden or otherwise, it really was a palace.
We craned our necks to stare in all directions, clutching at each other for moral support. From one end of a wide corridor with arched painted ceilings, we peered into what had to be the grand entry hall.
To our left, beneath the coffered ceiling high above, five wide steps led up to a set of huge double doors in a marble frame. The stained-glass windows framing those doors were dark, so either we’d arrived at night or we’d entered a land of perpetual darkness. Both options seemed plausible.
Everywhere I looked, I saw fabulous artwork—painted portraits in gilded frames, marble statuary, frescoes, and carvings. Each piece of furniture was a treasure, including the ebony grand piano with scenes painted on every flat surface. A huge fireplace, currently unlit, boasted a surround of polished carved wood depicting deer, eagles, unicorns, winged horses, and creatures I couldn’t name. Altogether, it was a glorious sight, and the floor, paved in intricate patterns of highly polished colored stone, doubled the glory by reflecting it like a mirror.
It was far too much to take in all at once. A glance at Winifred told me she felt much the same: her eyes were squeezed shut.
“So, we’ve found the Forbidden Palace,” I remarked, trying to lighten the mood. “I wonder if anyone’s home?” My voice was lost in the cavernous space.
“Don’t,” Win growled through clenched teeth. “Keep quiet. If the Beast hears us, we’re dead.”
I shook my head, looking around. “There’s no sign of any rampaging beast here. Maybe it only roams the palace grounds? Or maybe it’s a story invented to discourage trespassers.” I paused, frowning. “Why is this amazing palace empty? What if we’ve stumbled into some wealthy noble’s home on the far side of the mountains? The lights could be motion-sensored, or however they do that.”
Winifred snorted. “We didn’t walk that far, and nobles don’t live in these mountains anymore. I wonder . . .” Her scowl fading, she looked around with sudden interest. “What if—” She broke off. “Naw, that’s stupid.”
“What? What’s stupid?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing. Sometimes I get dumb ideas. This has to be the Forbidden Palace, so we’ve got to find a place to hide.”
I shook my head again. “First things first. We need something besides snack foods to eat and drink. Then . . . well, I don’t know about you, but I need sleep. Real sleep.” I noticed light falling through an archway in the far wall, bright enough that the lamps in the Great Hall seemed dimmer than before. Yet I couldn’t quite make out anything in the room beyond that opening.
Winifred’s grasp on my arm tightened like a vise. “Now what?”
“Something wants us to go that way.” I kept my voice steady, but she could probably feel my pulse racing. “So, let’s not. I didn’t see a kitchen when we were downstairs, but there must be one. Come on.” I turned back toward the service stair just a few steps behind us, dragging Winifred with me.
The corridor, which had lit up when we first entered, was now dark. Our eggs’ soft glow revealed a small watercolor landscape hanging where the door to the service stair had been not five minutes earlier.
Winifred moaned, her breathing ragged.
I was barely keeping it together.
Slowly I steered us back toward the Great Hall, which was now so dark that I couldn’t see as far as the piano. Only the light from that room beyond the archway remained. With our backs against the wall, we slid from the smaller hall into the immense space, clutching our bundled eggs and hyperventilating.
Which accomplished exactly nothing.
Gradually, our terror faded. Nothing threatened us. That beckoning light might lead us into a doom straight out of a horror flick . . . or it might be only a light. Although I sensed oodles of magic around us, none of it felt particularly evil. In fact . . . No. With a little growl, I shoved all flights of fancy into the back of my mind. We couldn’t stand there in suspended animation forever.
“It’s eat or be eaten,” I stated, setting my jaw. “I’m going to check out that room.” I took a step.
“You’re crazy,” Winifred muttered. While following me.
“Makes two of us,” I retorted in the same tone.
She snorted, and I almost smiled. We were a matched set of hapless idiots, for certain.
The hall seemed even vaster when it was all around us. The fireplace carvings were nearly life size, I realized as our direct path brought us near the hearth. The stone floor amplified our every footstep, and I felt as if the eyes of every portrait in the infinite darkness above followed us with scorn. Our pace had increased to speed-walking by the time we passed beneath the arch.
Just inside, I stopped short. Winifred crashed into me, and I stumbled forward. We stood on a hardwood floor painted in lovely swirling designs. Before us waited a table set for at least a dozen. The profusion of gold and silver beneath glittering chandeliers dazzled my eyes, but even more compelling were the delicious aromas wafting from somewhere.
“Oh!” Win’s voice sounded pained. “I want a hot sandwich and chips. But anything we eat here is bound to be enchanted.”
“Right about now, I don’t care,” I admitted, pulling out one of the side chairs. “We’re being treated like guests, and if whatever I’m offered sends me into a hundred-year sleep or turns me to stone, at least I won’t be a starved zombie anymore.” I settled into the seat, set my backpack at my feet, and tucked my griffin egg into it. I scarcely flinched when a linen serviette spread itself over my lap and a carafe poured wine into one of the crystal goblets at my place. The lid lifted from a silver tureen, and an equally ornate ladle dipped steaming soup into a bowl, which then floated over to land before me. I glanced around uncertainly. “Thank you.”
I sensed . . . approval.
Quite the opposite opinion emanated from Win, who seated herself beside me with her egg in its sling on her lap. Nevertheless, when a sandwich stuffed with paper-thin slices of meat and dripping with melted cheese appeared on her plate, and beside it, a basket piled high with hot salted pomfritz , her eyes went wide.
“Now, that is service,” I observed. “You got exactly what you asked for.”
Her scowl returned. “What about malt vinegar?”
A sparkling cruet of brown liquid appeared beside the basket.
Win’s jaw went slack.
“How about if I say grace?” I offered.
Her stare lifted to my face. “You are weird.”
“Point granted.” I bowed my head, then asked aloud for protection and guidance, and gave thanks for the food and for those who’d provided it. When I looked up, Winifred’s gaze was lowered.
Aware of our invisible audience, I picked up my soup spoon and partook as I’d been taught by my etiquette tutor back in the day.
Winifred sprinkled vinegar over her fries, picked up half her sandwich with both hands, and ate without further ceremony. She even mopped her face now and then with her serviette.
My meal was mouth-watering, especially after days of processed sugar and oats. Courses presented themselves to me in succession, each excellent in its way, and after indulging in an exquisite custard tart and a tiny cup of rich coffee, I sat back in my chair with a sense of satisfaction, feeling not overly stuffed. “That was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
I felt oddly certain that the message would be delivered, but Win gave me a cockeyed look. “The Beast wants us fat and tender, no doubt.”
My brows barely twitched. If she was determined to be rude and ungrateful, so be it.
She could be right.
But I didn’t think so. Rising, I carefully shrugged into my backpack, then strolled about the room. A sculpture displayed between two windows had been blocked from my view by the table’s magnificent floral centerpiece. I approached it to find a marble man and woman dancing. They were beautiful, more lifelike than most, gazing deep into each other’s eyes.
I knew it was only a piece of stone, yet my cheeks warmed as I remembered how I’d felt when I danced with Niel. No other man had ever made me feel that way.
My egg gave a jolt and lit up in a golden flash. At the same instant, I sensed . . . him.
“Gamekeeper? I whispered.
“Beatrice.” He was, as usual, shrouded in shadow, and I knew that only I could hear his dear voice. “You are welcome here.”
“You’re safe!” But my brain struggled to make sense of this. Why would the Gamekeeper be at the Forbidden Palace? Might he help us escape? Or was he trapped here too?
“Are you talking to yourself again?”
The instant Win spoke, I knew he was gone. I turned to see her sopping up vinegar with the last of her chips while squinting at me.
Without warning, the chandeliers dimmed and light from the hall beckoned.