Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ATLAS
Atlas jumped to his feet so quickly he nearly lost his balance and toppled over backwards. “What?”
“I cursed the princes. I turned them into swans. You should probably keep your distance, or who knows what will happen to you.”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out her features in the pale moonlight. Her words, though threatening, were spoken without any real malice. Rather, she sounded…tired.
Broken.
She reminded him of an injured animal, baring its teeth in pain but really just wanting to be left in peace.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Now that he was looking for it, he recognized her sarcasm for what it was—a defense mechanism.
“Why did you do it? You said the person who cast the curse wanted them to suffer.”
She laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “I wanted them to feel the same pain that I did.”
He shook his head slowly. “But why go to the effort of breaking it, then?”
“Because I didn’t mean to curse them. I was hurt, yes, and for a moment I wanted them to know what it was like, but I didn’t actually want to turn them into swans. I’m not that fond of birds.”
“Can’t you just explain that? If it was a mistake, surely they’ll take that into account.”
“Oh, that mountain must be nice.” Lindy’s words were steeped in false sweetness. “You really haven’t heard anything about me, have you? No. No one in court is going to believe that I didn’t mean for this to happen. My reputation took care of that.”
“What reputation?” He walked to the tree line in search of wood for a fire, both to give his body something to do and because he was tired of guessing what Lindy’s face was saying. “Are you saying you make a habit out of cursing princes?”
“Doing something twice hardly makes it a habit,” she answered drily. “But you curse one prince and suddenly everyone’s calling you a witch and then accusing you of regicide when their king dies—never mind, of course, the fact that he was nearly 80 years old.”
Atlas nearly dropped the armful of kindling he had collected. “You married an 80-year-old man?”
“I didn’t exactly have a lot of say in the matter.”
There was a weight to her words that indicated there was a lot she wasn’t saying now, as well.
“Anyway,” she continued, “the point is that if I want to be able to fix things, I can’t go back. I’m here until I either break the curse or die trying. What are you doing?”
He let the wood fall to the ground and crouched as he arranged it for a fire. “Doing my part to keep you from dying.” He pulled out a knife and flint from his pocket. It took a few tries, but soon a tiny flame was burning its way valiantly through the kindling.
“Why?” Her face, lines sharpened by the shadows cast by the firelight, twisted in confusion.
“I just admitted to voluntarily cursing someone. As far as the kingdom is concerned, I’m a criminal on the run.
Those boys,” she tossed her chin in the direction of the lake.
“Will probably have me arrested and tried for treason as soon as they don’t have feathers covering their bodies.
You could be labeled an accomplice, and then what would happen to poor Phoebe? ”
He shifted so that he was sitting and stretched his long legs out to the side. “I don’t think they could fit me in a prison cell.”
A bark of laughter escaped her, and she looked just as surprised by the sound as he was. “You probably get out of a lot of trouble by being bigger than the other guy, don’t you?”
“I get out of a lot of trouble by keeping to myself and staying far away from it,” he corrected her. “Until the trouble comes to me, that is.”
Lindy was quiet for a moment, and Atlas wished he could know what the emotions that flashed behind her cool and collected facade meant. “I’m sorry about your goose,” she finally whispered. “If I knew how to help you, I would.”
For some reason, he believed her. “I can knit,” he offered.
Her eyes widened as they met his over the fire, which was now a respectable, comfortable size. “You can?”
“Fiber arts aren’t exclusive to women. My mother taught me to make my own socks and gloves when I was eight.
If I want anything to be the right size, I have to make it myself.
” It was foolish to feel as proud of the fact as he did, but there was something about the gleam of impressed consideration in her eyes that made him want to puff out his chest and sit up even taller.
“Huh. I would never have guessed.”
“If you think that’s impressive, wait until I tell you about how I can sew on all my own buttons.”
Lindy’s laugh was awkward and rough, as if it hadn’t been used in a long while, and a ghost of a real smile appeared for only a fraction of a second before it was gone again.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if it will work.
If we’re going to get you your goose back as soon as possible, I think this is something I have to do myself. ”
His heart sank a little at the rejection, but he let none of it seep into his voice. “You’re the expert.”
“Hardly.” She chuckled darkly, and Atlas found himself wishing he could hear the other laugh instead. “I’m just the villain.”
The sun was far too enthusiastic for so early in the morning.
Atlas reached for his blanket to pull over his eyes, but instead his hand found nothing but pebbled sand and a few pieces of rotted driftwood. He sat up, blinking groggily, as the events of the night before came rushing back.
He had gone searching for a goose and instead found a queen.
Not that Lindy was anything like he would have expected a queen to be.
She was beautiful, yes, but also as prickly and guarded as the nettles she had been peeling.
And young. He could vaguely recall now something about the former queen dying a year or two before, but he had never given much thought to just how old the king was.
“I didn’t have much say in the matter.”
He frowned as a sour taste filled his mouth.
What kind of father marries off their daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather?
And why didn’t she refuse? Surely a princess would have some support from her people to back her up.
Even with as disengaged as I am from recent events, I know that our people would riot if someone tried to pull the same kind of stunt with one of the princes.
The sourness in his mouth turned to thirst, and he stood, stretching out his aching back.
Lindy’s spot on the other side of the fire was vacant, and he turned in a slow circle until he found her sitting on a large rock, with a pile of stripped nettles beside her.
He watched as she used a rock to bruise the square stems, then pulled them apart and peeled away the pithy inside.
The swans floated lazily on the surface of the lake.
She looked up and caught him staring, and he tried to cover his blunder with a greeting. “Good morning.” His throat felt dry and gravelly, and he cleared it as he approached her. “I didn’t realize people actually chose to interact with this hour of the day.”
Lindy rolled her eyes before returning to her task. Red welts covered her hands and the lower part of her arms, and he knew from experience that her skin must be burning and itching enough to drive a man mad.
“You know, if you soak them in the water for a few hours, it gets rid of the sting.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she bruised another long stem, but said nothing.
“Right.” He scrubbed a hand down the side of his tired face. “I forgot there’s no speaking between sunrise and sunset. But I’m serious—soaking the nettles makes them safe to handle.”
She shook her head stubbornly.
“Though I suppose if the point is to willingly allow yourself to suffer, that rather defeats the purpose.”
Lindy nodded.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten a proper meal since early the day before and that he had originally risen in search of water.
Lindy looked up at him, one brow raised and amusement dancing in her eyes.
He grinned. “I guess that’s my cue to get started on my job of keeping you alive. Are you hungry?”
She lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. The swans had slowly crowded her rock as he stood there, and one of the birds closest to them hissed, as if annoyed by her response. She leaned over and flicked water at it.
Atlas tilted his head as he watched the interaction. Last night they seemed completely uninterested in anything that was happening. I wonder what the difference is this morning?
“Well, I’m starving, and it’s just as easy to cook for two as it is one.” He gave the water a dubious glance. “And as beautiful as the lake is, I’m going to look for some cleaner water.”
Lindy pointed over his shoulder to the trees, then mimed drinking from her hands.
“You already found some?”
She drew her chin down in a short, sharp nod, causing some of her hair to fall over her eyes. Hands sticky with nettle juice, she blew out a puff of air in an attempt to move it away. Atlas reached his hand toward her face, intending to brush it back for her. She flinched.
He froze, and in his moment of hesitation, she used her arm to push the hair from her face. He swallowed, letting his arm fall back to his side, and spoke gruffly, “I’ll go see what I can do for breakfast.”
Dark thoughts followed him as he found the fresh, clear stream and drank his fill, then stained his hands purple as he filled a large piece of peeled bark with blackberries.
He kept replaying Lindy’s reaction in his mind, the way she had instinctively drawn away from him and into herself when his hand invaded her space.
It reminded him of the farm dog his father had come home with after a rare trip into the city.
The canine was sweet with the animals and adored his mother, but he shied away any time Atlas or his father tried to approach.
It turned out its previous owner had a habit of beating the poor thing, and he had learned to fear men.
“What happened to you?” Atlas muttered, looking through the trees to where Lindy was still hard at work, splitting and peeling the nettles.
Every once in a while, she would pause and shake out her hands, or else curl them into tight fists and release them several times.
Her discomfort was obvious, and the fact that she was willingly putting herself through that kind of torture when she had so clearly been abused herself made him angry.
“I wanted them to feel the same pain that I did.”
Lindy’s voice echoed in his mind as his attention drifted to the princes. Most of them had moved out to deeper waters, but there were still two sticking close to Lindy’s rock. His eyes narrowed, and he worked his jaw back and forth as he stomped toward her with the makeshift plate of berries.
“Lindy.”
She jumped at the sound of her name, which had come out harsher than he intended, and dropped the stem she had been splitting. It rolled off the rock and into the water, and she turned to glare at him.
“Sorry.” He gentled his tone and held out the berries. “I brought food. I’ll try to catch some fish later, but this should tide us over for now.”
There wasn’t room for both of them on her rock, so she gathered up her nettles and moved to the sand.
Atlas sat beside her, putting the berries between them.
Lindy ate while she worked, and Atlas watched her for a long moment before stating, “You said you wanted the princes to feel the same pain that you did. If you’re telling me they laid a hand on you, I’m taking those nettles and throwing them into the lake, and they can stay swans forever. ”
She stilled and turned her head slowly toward him, eyes wide.
“Did they hurt you?” he repeated, curling his hands into fists.
Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the swans. She carefully shook her head.
That’s something of a relief, at least. But it also clearly wasn’t the whole story. Someone has taught her to brace herself for pain when she sees a hand, and even if it wasn’t them, they certainly weren’t protecting her.
“But they did cause you pain,” he confirmed.
She bit her lip and turned back to the nettles.
Tears gathered on her lashes, and it was all the confirmation he needed.
With a muttered curse that would make Ms. Fumley smack him in the back of the head, he pushed himself to his feet and stormed to the water’s edge.
Lindy scrambled to her feet and once again tried to throw herself between them.
Atlas stopped and looked down at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin defiantly. Guilt pooled in his stomach, heavy and nauseating, as he recalled how roughly he had treated her the day before when she stood in his way.
“I’m not going to hurt them.” His voice shook with barely controlled emotion, but he could at least make her that promise as he stepped around her. “But you don’t need to protect them. Not from this.”
The swans had congregated, staying just far enough out on the water to be out of reach.
Atlas fixed them with the fiercest glare he could muster, one that he knew from experience could make men turn tail and run.
“Hey, knuckleheads—and especially whichever one of you is the fool that thought it would be a good idea to climb up the Beanstalk and steal my goose—listen up. If it were up to me, your curse would be permanent. You’re of more use to the world as swans than you were as men, if you could be called that.
” One of them hissed and tried to bite his legs, and Atlas crouched down, keeping his voice low and dangerously calm.
“A real man wouldn’t treat a woman, especially one in his own family, so poorly that she would end up cursing him by mistake.
It took me less than 24 hours to look at that woman and realize that she carries scars from wounds deeper than you or I could even imagine.
You had months. Months to protect her, months to help her learn that she doesn’t need to expect pain whenever a man gets too close.
But you didn’t, because you’re a bunch of bird-brained knuckleheads, and now she’s willingly putting herself through pain to atone for a mistake that’s just as much your responsibility as it is hers.
And what are you doing? Absolutely nothing.
” He shook his head slowly, letting his disgust show plainly on his face.
“If this is how you are as men, our country is better off with you as swans.”
He turned on his heel and marched away, muttering and shaking his head. “I’m giving lectures to birds now. I should have stayed on the mountain.”
And yet, when he caught Lindy’s eyes, full of watery, wide-eyed appreciation, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret climbing down the Beanstalk.