“The Duergar are described as being of low stature, with short legs and long arms, reaching almost down to the ground when they stand erect. [c] They are skilful and expert workmen in gold, silver, iron, and the other metals.”
—The Fairy Mythology Illustrative of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countriesby Thomas Keightley [1870]
After searching Brimmond Woods for hours and stopping in the village of Fleuriste three separate times, I return to the manor unsuccessful. I am pondering if I can station the soldiers at the manor and ride to Maudite Castle. Perhaps Isabeau went there in search of her tonic. Knowing it has an addictive nature makes that a real possibility. I could ride there and—
Isabeau is sleeping in her horse’s stall, curled up like a child in a calm dream. The sun is spilling across the sky, and the duke is nestled in the hay alongside her fearsome horse.
“Isa?” I walk closer to her. “Isabeau!”
Her eyes open as she jumps to her feet. She looks around. “You can’t be here. Where is the door? If anyone sees you in my room—”
“Stable,” I interrupt. “You are sleeping in the stable, not your room.”
For a long moment, Isabeau looks around again. This time, her face is a mask of confusion. “Why? How?” She backs away from me.“How did I gethere? I went to the room, locked the door, and paced. I don’t know why I was awake so long.” A beatific smile blooms on her face. “I saw the stars.”
“Where were you?”
“I walked to the window and opened it to see the stars.” Isabeau frowns. “Then I opened the door and ...” Her eyes widened. “How did I get here?”
“Do you rememberanythingelse?” I step closer, wanting to comfort her.
Isabeau shakes her head. “I saw the stars and opened the window to taste the night air. The next thing I know I am in the stable. Did not having my tonic—”
“It’s asleepingtonic. Poppy juice, valerian, Saint-John’s-wort ...” I take her hand. “I need to speak to the dowager duchess, Isabeau. The tonic is poison. I want to know where she gets it, why she gives it to you, and who cursed you. If there evenisa curse ... because the tonic is why you sleep.”
In a very quiet voice, Isabeau asks, “Am I not cursed then?”
“I suppose we can find out tonight.”
“But if the tonic is why I sleep, what is the curse?” Isabeau’s voice increases in volume. “The queenandmy mother have said I was cursed.”
“I know.”
“What is my curse if not that I sleep like the quiet dead?” Isabeau looks at me. “What could be so horrific that they insist I sleep through it?”
I do not want to add to her fears, but when she says, “The murders started when I was cursed.”
“Yes.”
“Did the Beast of Brimmond curse me in some horrible way?” Her eyes are wide in panic. “What curses do we know? There was the one where everyone in the castle slept. Transfiguring everything you touch so you starve. Become a frog or toad or ...” She looks at me, but her words die.
“There are as many curses as there are imaginations. We will know more about your situation when the sun falls.” I lace our fingers together. “I will stay with you. You will not take this new version of your tonic. That way you’ll stay awake, and we’ll see what happens.”
After a deep sigh, Isabeau says, “Ride with me to Maudite Castle?”
“I want to bring my family. The soldiers can come and watch them, but if I have no answers from the duchess, I need to go to the city. The queen knows more than she’s admitting. If all else fails, I will go to Faerie and demand to speak to their queen about the beast and about whatever afflicts you. I cannot allow the Beast of Brimmond to terrorize people, but the people with answers are not sharing them.”
Isabeau nods. Her voice is rough as she declares, “I will accompany you or guard my future mother-in-law. Your choice, Hunter.”
I cannot believe she might be a monster. She is still the person I knew as a child, wandering off staring at the nighttime sky. My fears are getting the best of me. Isabeau being missing from her bed is not reason to think she is a beast. I was missing from mine, and I am not the Beast of Brimmond. Humans do not turn into beasts, and even if they did, I’ve known Isabeau my whole life. She holds steel weapons in hand. No faery in Alveus can do that.
She might not even be cursed at all,my heart adds. The whole thing could be a ruse to control her. I would not be surprised if the dowager duchess did such a thing.
Gently I tell Isabeau, “There will be pains if you don’t take the tonic. It’s addictive.”
“That’s probably why I wandered to the stable, seeking comfort or maybe thinking about trying to find you,” Isabeau muses. “I can’t believe that my tonic has sleeping medicine! Can you imagine if the curse is a lie some physician told my mother? I was grieving and the additives to my tonic made me sleep.”
I squeeze her hand. Although I have my suspicions, I cannot suggest that her mother is likely complicit in whatever duplicity this is—either to control Isabeau or to hide her secret. For now, I keep my silence.
