My mother is on the ground, half pinned under a part of the tomb that was recently broken off. She does not ask for rescue or even help. She asks for vengeance.
At first the dowager duchess seems not to notice me. She’s clawing at the stone of the tomb. Great furrows look as if the beast has dragged claws deep into the stone although the duchess still looks human. Her hands are bloodied in several places, and the wind from the sea rips at her hair and clothing.
I move toward my mother slowly, and the dowager duchess pivots. “Oh, the Hunter has come to call,” the dowager duchess says. “I see my daughter didn’t kill you.”
“Why would she? We are to be wed,” I say, glancing at my mother. The urge to run to her vies with my training. Impulsivity leads to mistakes, but she’s mymother.
The duchess pulls something from a pocket. “Bite this, and I’ll let Honora live.”
“A binding bargain?” I ask. I know that within Faerie are fruits that can trap a person, but this must simply be poison.
“Yes. Bite the fruit.” The Beast of Brimmond hurls it toward me.
I pluck it out of the air. “You will not hurt her?”
“Correct. Ifyoubite the fruit.” The dowager duchess points at the fruit in my hand and then she kicks the stone off my mother and jerks her to her feet. The distant splash of the stone hitting the sea below is swallowed under the sound of the crashing waves.
The dowager duchess’ hand shifts. Claws lengthen and stretch, and I can see exactly why she was so able to sever men’s heads. Those blade-sharp fingers are too near my mother’s delicate skin. I step closer, and the beastly part of the duchess comes fully to the surface. Hair sprouts all over her, and claws extend from the other hand.
“Bite it, or she goes over next.” The beast shakes my mother like a wolf shakes a small mammal.
My mother kicks at her. She may not be Hunter-strong or have a faery’s strength, but she is no meek bunny. Her attempt earns nothing more than a stronger shake.
I bite down on the green fruit. The juice floods my mouth, and I wonder how much poison I need to swallow before I die. I hold the fruit in my cheek and say, “Let her go.”
“Swallow it,” the beast orders as I toss the rest of the poisonous faery fruit behind me.
Mother squirms again to get free, ripping her gown in the process. “You’re unwell.”
“I amgrieving,” the beast growls. “I told Isabeau to let me stay with my husband in the tomb. She refused.”
Her face is a furrier, angrier version of Isabeau’s beastly visage. The Beast of Brimmond’s gaze is fixed on me as if I am an adder crossing her path—although she is the one insisting I eat poison.
I swallow the fruit as my mother shoves the beast with all her strength.
Mother falls to the ground, but the Beast of Brimmond stares at her. It doesn’t touch her or react in any way as I walk over and lift my mother from the ground. She simply stares at us.
And thegeascompels me totryto kill her before the poison ends me. I put myself between the beast and my mother, glance back, and say, “I am sorry for this. Tell Rylan.”
My mother looks at me with heartbreak in her expression. The sky darkens, and soon, the walk back will be treacherous.
“Go. Please.” I nudge her toward the path. “Let me ...” I don’t say the rest aloud. Declaring my intent to kill the Beast of Brimmond seems foolhardy at best. I am surely dying already since I ate the poisoned fruit. I simply hope I have time to kill the beast before I die.
Chapter 34
“She was spell-bound [by her elfin lover] ... Her whole inner being was changed. She felt that now, but never before, she knew what love—fiery, intense, passionate, consuming love—really was. It took possession of her whole soul.”
—The Phynodderree and Other Legends of the Isle of Manby Edward Callow [1882]
The beast watches me as I stand there, half at an angle to be sure my mother is safe as she walks along the path. I am grateful that the soldiers obeyed my order—still wishing someone would have followed me. If they had, she’d have help on the descent. I am unable to help Mother, and it pains me to see her flinch.
“How long until the poison takes hold?” I ask quietly, testing how keen the beast’s hearing is. The sky is brightened by only a sliver of moon, but I realize that neither of us needs the moon’s light now. I did when she first attacked me.
“The heart fruit is only poison if you are not in love,” the Beast of Brimmond says. “Your heart will turn to stone after one moon’s cycle.”
“And if I am in love?”
“You will be fine.” The beast’s voicesoundslike the dowager duchess’, and I wonder if my father had guessed. I wonder if he disliked herbefore that because he knew she was a faery that ought not walk in this world.
