CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Chapel

After a lonely night of interrupted sleep and bad dreams, Beauty awoke miserable, and even riding Champ for several hours through the grounds did not improve her spirits. She ate lunch in her room and then sat on one of the large window seats, staring out through the crystal glass.

The grounds were a mismatch of melting snow and greenness. They were as beautiful and cheerless as ever, which only deepened her dark mood, and even the outline floating china teacups of syrupy sweetness into her hands could not raise her to a smile.

“One day I will die here and no one will know,” she said to the air, biting her thumb.

The tea tray clattered.

“Perhaps I am already dead.”

She thought of her last night in Imwane, though the memory was blurred with age. She remembered Eli in the temple and the rifle in her hands, but she could recall little else. She tried not to remember any of it, but it haunted her often.

I took a man’s life, she would sometimes remind herself, but surrounded by this enchanted place, it did not seem real. Nothing seemed real.

At mid-afternoon she found that she was chilled right through and she was forced to move to the armchair near the fire to warm herself. The room fussed over her numb fingers and blue lips, but she paid little attention. In her mind she could only see Beast’s expression as she ran from him. The hurt in his hazel eyes burned her with guilt.

After an hour she stood and walked to the door of her room.

“Take me to Beast,” she said to the air.

The door did not open.

“Take me to Beast, please.” She reached out her hand and pulled on the handle, but it would not budge.

“Take me to him! I demand it!”

After a long struggle, the door eventually gave way and an outline led her down a long corridor. It twisted around several passages and then guided her up and down various flights of stairs before trailing her through additional halls.

“Stop it!” she puffed at last. “I need to speak with him and I do not care what you think!”

Two double doors beside her creaked open and she was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. A long, thin hall stretched before her with black-and-white stone in kite-shaped tiles. Wooden seating lined either side and there was a golden dais at the opposite end with various statues and figures carved around it. Before the dais knelt the huge, dark form of Beast.

Beauty’s boots tapped on the floor as she approached him, and she glanced above at the painted ceiling and tall windows that looked over nothing. She waited for some time behind him, her hands clasped.

“Beast?”

She saw his shoulders twitch. He grunted quietly and then turned to her.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt. I came to find you—”

“What is it that you want?”

She paused. “This is a beautiful place, I have never seen it before.”

“If you wish to find places in the castle, you must ask to see them.”

“What is it?”

“A chapel. It is a place of worship made in the form of those in The Scarlet Isles.”

“Similar to a Pervoroccian temple?”

“I suppose.”

Beauty studied the carved walls that were set with jewels and the engraved plaques written in a language that she did not understand.

“They pray to the same gods?” she asked.

“Mostly.”

“I was taught that pomp and ceremony were unnecessary—you would be better praying by yourself in the hills.”

“It helps some people.”

“I did not mean . . .” She sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Beast, I am sorry about last night. I find it . . .” she trailed off. “It is difficult to . . .” she failed again.

“I know. I do not want to keep you here.”

He looked away.

“Do you come here often?” she asked.

“Every day.”

“I did not know.”

“I did not know that you cared.”

She approached the dais and then knelt on the floor, pressing her hands to the stone tiles. It was not the same as Imwane’s temple, but it was better than nothing. She had missed the soothing balm that the services there had brought her. Closing her eyes, she thought of Eli and she prayed.

“How did you find it?” Beast asked as she stood.

She shrugged and wrinkled her nose. “It was all right. It feels a little cold and impersonal to me.”

“I think the people of The Scarlet Isles would accuse you Hillanders of the opposite.”

She smiled, for it was the first time that anyone had called her a Hillander.

Beauty began to join Beast each day at the chapel before breakfast.

“You do not have to do this,” he said once. “I forgive you for that night, Beauty. You did nothing wrong.”

They were kneeling together before the dais.

“I am not doing it to please you.”

“If you wish it,” he muttered and they closed their eyes.

She truly did miss the temple on the hill and this was the closest that she could get to it at the castle. She often wondered as she knelt whether she would ever return to her temple at Imwane.

“I notice that there are no books on scripture here,” she said to Beast one afternoon in the library.

She had been thinking recently of the chest of scripture and the words, Violet eyes . . . silver grasp . . . war weighed heavily on her mind.

“No, you will find nothing like that here,” said Beast.

“Why?”

“Because it is like Magic.”

He would say nothing more and she knew that she would not find that chest of scrolls again.

The days turned to moon-cycles and suddenly it was spring. Beauty had lost count of time by now and she would not have noticed the change of season had the grounds of the castle not completely cleared of snow. Whenever she broached the subject with Beast he became closed and secretive. He had said that there was always snow at the castle—that was part of the enchantment—yet now this was not the case. She knew that this had something to do with her presence, but she could not fathom what it was.

She was marveling at the bright, light grounds one day when she came across Beast quite suddenly, lying in a patch of sun before a pond.

“Oh! I am sorry,” she said. “I did not realize that you were here.”

It was funny to see him stretched out on the grass. He quickly scrambled to his feet when he heard her.

“Beauty, forgive me, I—”

“No, there is nothing to forgive.” She giggled and he looked down at his paws.

“The grounds are so lovely,” he said.

“Shall we walk about? It is too good to waste.”

He waited for her to lead the way as she usually did, but she stood still.

“Is something the matter—”

“I do not think that you move so horrifically as you believe that you do. You should not worry about upsetting me. I do not fear you.”

He tried to balance on his hind legs, but Beauty placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. It was the first time that she had touched him since the ball and they both shivered.

“You do not need to do that,” she said.

With her hand still resting on his shoulder, they followed the graveled paths around the gardens. Beast shuffled his paws at first, but gradually he relaxed and they walked side by side.

“Everything looks so much better!” she cried as they passed emerald lawns and blossoming fruit trees.

“Yes, you are right.”

As they came to one apple tree, he caught his elbow on a branch and sent a cascade of pink, feathery blossoms floating through the air. They caught on Beauty’s loose, white hair, almost making a crown about her head.

“It even smells different!”

She was right. The atmosphere was not so heavy or so thick. Beast bared his teeth at her in a smile and then suddenly they heard it: a sweet song that broke the silence.

It was the gentle chirping of a bird. They looked around but could not see anything, though they could still hear the lilting melody of its tune.

“I have missed that sound,” she whispered.

“And I.”

They waited until it faded to nothing and then they strolled on, marveling at the splendor of spring until it was time to go to the library. Thus, another ritual was added to Beauty’s days. She awoke to pray with Beast in the chapel, then rode Champ for several hours before strolling the grounds with Beast until they found their way to the library. They finished up their day together at dinner.

“I feel like a fine lady now,” she said to him once, and she was about to add that she wondered if she could ever return to the hard life of labor when she realized that she would never have to. The thought saddened her deeply, for she had seen the life of luxury in Sago and she had seen the life of work in Imwane and she knew which she preferred.

Beast asked her once if she would not prefer to spend more time alone. She was seated at the table, eating an exotic dish that she had asked for after reading about it in their latest travel volume and she had almost gulped the whole meal, it tasted so nice.

“Why do you ask?” she replied between mouthfuls.

There was silence and she paused, glancing over at him. He was crouched on a rug before the fire and his expression was pensive. Though his features were mostly covered with fur, she had learned to read his moods.

“Do you wish to spend more time alone?” she asked with a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach.

“Beauty,” he said at last. “You are not here to please me. You must not humor me with your company; you should do as you wish.”

“But I do wish to spend time with you!”

“You are sure?”

“Yes.”

He did not look completely convinced.

“Beast, you have taught me to read and you have lavished me with pretty things, but I am most grateful for your company in this lonely place—do not deny me of it, please.”

“I would never deny you anything.”

She glanced down at her plate.

“Beauty, I . . . I . . .”

“Yes?”

“I am very grateful for your company also.”

“I am glad that is settled,” she said with a smile, but Beast turned away and stared into the fire.