I follow Isabeau from the room in silence.
At first, she says nothing, and when she does, her words are about the security of the castle. “I will order Alain to close the gate. No one can approach from the sea. The beach there is too rocky, and anyone that tries would be spotted well in advance. Our families will be safe here.”
“That will ease my worries,” I admit. “Are you able to ride to the city yet today? If not, we can wait here for the night. I can stay with you here, too. I’d rather ride but ...”
Isabeau glances at the sky. “There’s enough light to make Regina Centrum tonight. That way we can consult the queen at dawn’s break.”
I feel relief that I am taking Isabeau away from my mother and sister. If she is the beast, if her curse has made her into a murderous creature, I will not rest well if she is near my family. This is the best path left to me. By morning, I will have an answer.
After a few short orders to soldiers and staff, Isabeau and I are on the road. The sound of the heavy castle door dropping down behind us feels comforting rather than ominous. We are on fresh horses, leaving Woede and Clatterbuck behind. No soldiers join us. No family. We are alone as we ride toward the city.
Soon I will know if my love is the killer.
Chapter 31
“[There] lies a vast and dismal peat bog known as the Yeun, which has long been regarded by the Breton folk as the portal to the infernal regions ... In summer it seems a vast moor carpeted by glowing purple heather, which one can traverse up to a certain point, but woe betide him who would advance farther ...”
—Legends and Romances of Brittanyby Lewis Spence [1917]
I feel lost in my thoughts as we ride into Regina Centrum, and I guiltily allow Isabeau to think my grief over Girard and worry over my duty are the reasons. In truth, I suspect she also knows that the possibility of her curse being tied to the beast is not insignificant. Either way, she has stopped trying to convince me to talk long before we arrive to find the Maudite town house empty. Inside, the house is cold. No servants are here waiting. We walk in the front door to sheet-draped furniture and a temperature not much warmer than outside. The air is stuffy from recent dampness outside and carries a hint of cleaning oils and vinegar.
“I had not expected to be here, so I gave the servants a two-week holiday. I was trying to conserve my finances.” Isabeau looks sheepish, as if embarrassed by her revelation. “Perhaps you ought to stay at your house. I can tell you come morning if I stay awake.”
“I thought you wanted to be with me.”
“I do, but I’ll probably be unconscious or sick come nightfall.” Isabeau secures the door of the town house even as she is arguing that I ought to leave. “I cannot protect you.”
“I am the blade that monsters fear, Isa, or have you forgotten? No human stands a chance against me, and I need no servants to undress me,” I say. I have been injured and ill often enough that I am expecting to be ready for night sweats and vomit, and I am hoping that sickness is the worst thing I will face tonight. “I think I will see the queen in the morning. I want to be here with you.”
“I am glad,” she admits. “I’m nervous.”
Isabeau leads me up the staircase and pushes open a door. The center of the room is dominated by a bed with four strong oak posts; atop it is a lace-edged white canopy. At the foot of the bed sits a matching oak trunk with ornate carved wooden spirals, and to the far side are a wardrobe, a valet stand, and a blue velvet chaise. The chaise is faded and partially hidden by an excess of pillows. Next to it is a low shelf overflowing with books.
In all, the room is a standard setup, but the excess of pillows on the chaise hints at a bit of indulgence. And the books hint at Isabeau’s continued love of reading.
“I want to not be cursed,” Isabeau says, voice seeming loud in the silent house. “I want to be awake to talk to you and stare at the constellations and sleep with you in my arms.”
I wrap my arms around her. “I want that, too, but if youareasleep, I’ll read. Perhaps you should pick your favorite book for me.”
“I can do that.”
As Isabeau pulls away and begins to get undressed, she gestures at the bed. “I will be here, sleeping next to you or perhaps cursed.” She pauses, hand on her stomach yet again. “You will not change your mind about marrying me if I am still cursed? You will still love me?”
“I will always love you,” I assure her.
That will not change, even if she is the monster I have sworn to kill. I briefly wonder if on some level she knows that sheisthe monsterand she has employed me to stop her. The thought makes me unable to move for a moment.
She cannot be the monster,my heart insists.
My mind lists reasons she can: the sudden curse, the tonic, the way the monster declared me its possession.
“Is your cycle near?” I ask Isabeau as she bends over in obvious pain.
Her cheeks pink slightly. “No. I feel wrong, as if I am both ravenous and need to purge everything I have ever eaten. I have felt this way in the past when the physician said my tonic needed adjusting.”
“When did your mother become so listless?” I say mildly, walking to the window casement. It feels odd to be here with her.
“When Father died.” Isabeau lifts a nightdress and clutches it in her fist. “I want to hold you, love, and kiss you. I hate this.”
