Beauty & Cruelty Page 4

  Cruelty watched Odile dance for a while, but there was no point in waiting for a break. Left to her own devices, Odile would simply repeat her story over and over, as if the constant performance would improve her. Von Rothbart really left a mess there, Cruelty thought, and went over to her.

  Odile's eyes flew open as Cruelty's hands settled on her hips; she spun slowly in Cruelty's grasp. Cruelty assisted; she was no danseur, but Odile's lead wasn't hard to follow so long as she paid attention to her body. She moved hand over hand, lifted when she needed to, body straining as Odile arched over her head, all curved back and tight muscles and legs extended. Cruelty might not normally be able to do so, if it was not required of whomever was dancing with Odile. The dance had become the pas de deux, and although Cruelty was not tall, she permitted Odile to invite her in, to lift and catch and walk in a slow circle as Odile, en point, rotated, one leg extended back, body bent.

  You are not the only villain here, Cruelty told Odile silently, supported her and guided her, and finally wrapped her arms around Odile's torso, pulled her back and murmured, "It's been a while, Odile."

  "It's been too long, Cruelty," Odile agreed. They were never exactly friends, but they were never enemies either; friendly acquaintances, perhaps. They might look down on each other when it came to matters of pride, but would never say as much to each other's face. They both were Archetypes who had been scorned, after all, though for Cruelty it drove her to vengeance, and for Odile, to loss. Odile twisted to face Cruelty, one hand clasped in Cruelty's, leg still extended as she bowed over Cruelty's hand. "I did not expect to see you back in this place."

  "Ah, well," Cruelty said. "When Beauty starts trying to take things under her own power, I really need to come and see it. She's surprised me no matter how I look at it." Odile's fine features were cold, distant, neither acknowledging nor dismissing the comment. Cruelty cleared her throat. "And why are you still here? You could have left, you know. Dancers are dancers wherever they go."

  "It's not for me," Odile said. "Odette stays; I will not go where Odette cannot go." There was no warmth in her voice, just acknowledgment. It wasn't affection that bound her here but obsession, Cruelty thought. She was Odette's double, the black swan to her white.

  "Speaking of Odette," Cruelty said, "She might not be going or staying anywhere soon, from what I've heard. It certainly sounds like she's suffering."

  "We're all suffering," Odile said. "Yet she has a suitor."

  "The Sixth Son?"

  "He sits by her lake and watches her sing," Odile said. "I think he would dance with her, if either could as they are now."

  Laughing softly at the thought, Cruelty said, "A dance from a prince? I can see it. And you, Odile? Do you, as always, crave what Odette has?"

  "Both what she has and what she doesn't," Odile said, and pulled away. The loss of the solid warmth of Odile's body left Cruelty briefly cold; it had been a while since she had held anyone, danced with them like a partner, and her body missed it. At least a little. "Why have you come to dance with me, Cruelty?"

  Cruelty's lips quirked in a smile. Of course, Odile would think that there would be a reason for it. "I could use a touch of assistance," she said, "as a new arrival."

  *~*~*

  Odile gave Cruelty directions to where Talia had moved her castle, which didn't really fix the fact she'd moved it in the first place. The good news was that Talia seemed to have moved it closer to her own castle, so there wasn't too far to go. Cruelty thought about that unusual choice as she headed outside again; had Talia expected her to poke her nose in and planned accordingly? No; she almost chided herself for the thought of Talia scheming and calculating. Surely she couldn't have—more likely, it had just ended up a good place to be when Talia started to make the locations here more efficient. The two of them had an overlapping Tale, after all, and surely it would take less work to bring them together than keep them apart. Still, Cruelty couldn't quite shake the feeling that it had some sort of significance she hadn't been able to determine yet. Lingering discomfort brought by Talia actually showing initiative, perhaps—but regardless, she didn't enjoy the sense that Talia might have more power in this situation than she did. That wasn't the natural order of things at all.

  Following Odile's directions, she walked; she could probably use magic to get there faster, but it seemed wasteful in the current crisis, and she'd learn the rearranged territory more easily if she took it all on foot. So she straightened her back and hiked, passing through brambles until they gave way to rocks and rolling hills, scrambled up a cliff with fingers and toes digging into the crumbling sandy face, stood on the grassy hill above and surveyed their land. It was still cast in that ambient glow of the semi-darkness. For a moment, it irritated her.

  The moon didn't seem like something one could lose so easily.

  She consoled herself with the thought that it should be day soon, considering how long it had been since she arrived; she'd be able to see then if there was still at least a sun, and what other parts of the world might be missing in the hypothetical daylight. Whether or not she could do anything about it, taking stock would at least prepare her for the worst.

  Turning, Cruelty kept walking; after the cliff, there was next a meadow of flowers with faces that called out to her as she walked (Cruelty, Cruelty's come home); she didn't bother to watch her step, and several of them cried out and begged her for mercy as she crushed them under her bare feet. They should have known better than to try, she thought. Then, after the field, there was a stream with water rushing by and fish dancing in it; there were stepping stones in it and she picked her way over it carefully, feet clinging to cold wet stone, arms outstretched for balance. The cold water lapping at her soles felt good after the walking she'd done, and she wriggled her toes in it before continuing on to the dark, dark woods.

  She had a sense that she was starting to understand the connections Talia had made to streamline things. This whole area felt not like it was her tale, but like connected tales; Sleeping Beauty to Snow White to Snow White and Rose Red and back to Briar Rose; light to light to dark to dark—sure enough, on the other side of the dark forest with its black twisted trees and reaching branches and calling owls, she finally came across brambles again. Cruelty relaxed, tilting her head up; saw, in the near distance, the two tall thin towers of her castle spiraling dark against a darker sky.

  Home again.

  Her moment of silent pleasure was interrupted by swearing nearby—pained, lost, scared. A male voice. It wasn't immediately familiar, but that wasn't necessarily significant. There were plenty of people she'd just never bothered to get familiar with, and she'd never liked what familiarity bred. Cruelty frowned, bit her lower lip and worried it between her teeth as she considered things, then moved towards the voice. She could always just leave whoever was there—that was more or less the purpose of the brambles, after all, her own spider's web—but the thought felt avoidant and tired. It was full of the wish to go home and make sure everything was okay there, brew some tea, take a bath. Talia's suggestion of her cowardice echoed in her head and she curled a lip.

  Cruelty pushed some brambles aside and found a man caught up in them. Dark-skinned, with tightly-curled short black hair and black eyes, he was probably quite attractive normally, but right now was stubbly, sweaty, bloodied, obviously in a state of exhausted terror, and completely and utterly human. He looked at her as if, for the moment, he didn't understand what he was seeing. A young woman, just a small slip of a thing, slipping through the brambles to stare at him.

  She smiled at him tightly. "Hi," she said.

  That alone seemed to crack something in him, his face crumpling. "Oh, thank God," he said, voice shaky. "Another person—oh thank God."

  He looked alarmingly like he was going to cry. She frowned at the sight and slid closer, putting on a sympathetic face and hoping to forestall the waterworks. "You've gotten yourself pretty tangled up," she said. Touching his arm, she urged the brambles to draw back. T
hey did, slow and subtle, and she tugged at them a little with her hands to aid in the impression that she was simply unhooking him. "Are you okay?"

  "Okay? Not… not really," he said, a little high-pitched. He might have been near tears, but it seemed as if he were mostly fighting off his hysteria. "I have no idea where I am. I didn't—I think it's been two days? I wandered until I got stuck here—I haven't seen anyone else this entire time–"

  "Oh, good, there are days," Cruelty said, relieved. She pondered him. She could walk away easily; he wasn't her business, not really. If she didn't want to leave him here, the easiest thing would be to give him directions to Talia's palace. It was her choice to draw in people like this poor sucker; she ought to be the one who'd have to deal with him.

  But he'd gotten himself trapped outside Cruelty's castle, and running into him on her way to assess the situation didn't seem without its significance. Besides, she thought, finders keepers. If they were really going to try this absurd 'use humans to expose themselves to the world and demand attention' plan, then she'd like to get her fingers in that pie as soon as possible. It would be a good idea to find a place or two where she could have power over where this story went. At least, enough power that it wasn't all in Talia's hands.

  Thus decided, she gave him a crooked smile and beckoned. "There's shelter nearby. C'mon, come with me."

  He exhaled, the sound wet and tired, and rubbed at his scraped-up arms; she saw blood soaked into his torn white business shirt. "You–" he began. "Do you really know where you're going? There's actually something… you can actually get me out of this?"

  "Yes," she said. Then, because she wasn't really extracting him from his circumstances despite how easy it would be to show him the way home, "More or less, anyway. Let's go to the nearby castle." She offered him a hand. "I'm Rue."

  "Martin," he said hoarsely. He took her hand and shook it, his own soft compared to the gardener's calluses on her own. Slowly, he managed an awkward, tired smile. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

  "I really don't," she said, amused; he was assuming she was human. He was assuming this was still a human place, and she strongly suspected he was only happy to see what he thought she was. Once she was no longer an 'us', she'd become a 'them'. "Come on, then."

  She tugged him with the hand she was still holding; the brambles separated, formed a narrow path under her feet, though there hadn't been one before, and she led him through it. He was shakenly exhausted, too much to notice the change. He'd been here two days, but how many of those had he been trapped in those vines? Even an hour or two of struggle could wear him out so thoroughly. Humans didn't take well to being captured. He followed her, calming down considerably now that he wasn't alone; she could feel his hand slowly start to relax in hers. It shifted, his soft, warm skin finding a better hold.

  "So, Martin," she asked, tone casual and interested, "how did you end up in this situation?"

  "I don't… I don't know," he said. He shook his head, shuddered as thorns brushed his neck and shoulders, drew thin lines of blood from them. The question seemed to break something in him, words flowing out of him as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask. "I was having—I thought I was having a really shitty day. You know? It was one of those days. Actually, the worst sort of one of those days. I woke up to an empty house and a letter. My partner left me; he'd found someone else. I had to go in to work anyway. The station I work at isn't—this isn't not the sort of thing I can talk about at my job, you know?"

  Interested—yes, as bad days went, that was one—she made an encouraging noise.

  "I just... all day, pretending to be okay, trying to keep track of numbers and listening to the broadcasters discussing shitty news. And then I got off work, and I didn't want to go back to an empty home," Martin said. "You know, there was that sense like, if I can just put it off maybe it won't be real? So I went for a walk—went to a park. I go there lots, and there was a new garden there, and a gate, and I thought, you know what, this is going to sound lame, but there it is. I thought, maybe I can see something beautiful, and this day won't be a total waste. When I wandered out of—when I wandered into this place—I was thinking at first maybe there was just more there than I'd noticed before, rose gardens or something. I must have gotten lost, but I've been trying to find my way back for days..." He was on the edge of tears again, voice choked, miserable.

  "I imagine you've had your fill of rose gardens," Cruelty said, smiling, and with perfect timing, they emerged from the briar onto her stone drawbridge. "Ah, here we are."

  Her castle was ominous; obsidian brick, the briars that had blocked off the path sending vines and tendrils up the sides, flowers blossoming at all heights. The whole thing was made of thin, sharp points, the towers twisting into tall spikes, the doors and windows with strong angles and edges. She dropped his hand and began to walk towards the front gate, a heavy rosewood construct covered in silver metalwork.

  "A castle…?" Martin drew a shuddering breath. "This can't… Do you know the people who live here?"

  "Hmm, yes, definitely," Cruelty said distractedly. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and gestured at him to follow. After a moment's hesitation and uncertainty, he did, coming to stand behind her shoulder again. She smiled at him in reward. "Come on in. Let's get you cleaned up and get a meal into you, and then we can decide what we're going to do with you."

  "Thank you," Martin said, tone almost lost. "I... Thank you so much."

  She ignored his gratitude and put a hand to the door. Underneath it, she could feel the locking spell winding through the wood. It hadn't been disturbed; she felt it as the same part of her blood and her body that this whole place was. She drew a slow breath in and broke the spell; it cracked like thunder, loud and ominous; behind her Martin flinched, covering his ears. The shards of her spell shot out from the wood, sucked back into her body through her hand and she shivered in delight as energy rushed back into her.

  The door swung open for its master, and she turned back halfway, looking at Martin with a heavy-lidded half smile. "Well," she said. "Come on in. Be it ever so humble, etcetera."

  Cruelty entered without really waiting for an answer, her bare feet touching the obsidian floors and feeling them warm in response to her touch. All around the great hall, candles flared and lit up; they were held in red glass lanterns shaped like roses, and as such they lit the hall in splashes of colored light. Everything was as she'd left it, her spell undisrupted and sanctuary undisturbed. She strode into the center of the room and tilted her head up, gazing at her chandeliers and lighting those as well.

  "This is your home?" Martin asked. He sounded stunned, as if the reality of his situation had finally truly sunk in after two days of struggling to disbelieve it. He took a few steps in, his scratched leather shoes loud on the floor.

  Behind him, the door slammed shut. He jumped again, and Cruelty covered her mouth, amused. It had been a long time.

  "This is my home," Cruelty agreed. She strode across the floor to the great throne at the end, settled into it. It shifted around her, the deer pelt draped over its surface cradling her. "Don't stand in the entry, Martin," she said, and gestured languidly, kicking her feet up over the other arm of the throne in a comfortable sprawl. "Come a bit closer."

  Hesitant, clearly afraid, Martin did. It felt good; there was little better than being in her own home, feeling a supplicant come to her in fear. She felt active and alive, out of stasis, air throbbing around her with the potential of her power. She mustn't, she thought, forget the purpose of what she was trying to do here. She shouldn't go overboard; she must, at least, show him kindness to start. Where it went from there, who could say?

  "Are you—" Martin licked his lips uncertainly. "Are you a princess?"

  He'd slowly come to believe that he wasn't in the proverbial Kansas anymore, and that was the reality he saw? She tossed her head back and laughed, feeling it flow through her; she cut it out abruptly when the echoes picked it up and re
fracted it piercingly, almost a weapon. She mustn't. "No," she said. "I'm not a princess."

  He shook his head slowly, exhausted and confused.

  Any child could tell you, she thought, or should be able to tell you in a proper world, what the opposite of a princess was. She was the witch, the enchantress, the bad fairy. When a princess suffered at the hands of a spell, she suffered because she'd become the target for the torment of her opposite, of that cruelest of Archetypes. Still, it had been a few decades since Martin had been a child, so it might not jump right to mind. Adults had lost that awareness of identity.

  So she just said, smiling carefully, "I told you already. I'm just Rue."

  She'd picked the name when she first fled this world; picked it because she had always brought regret to her targets, picked it because it was a human name, an exotic enough one to capture the imagination (and, of all things, she needed very badly to capture the imagination). She'd picked it because you couldn't spell Cruelty without it, so it was something which was always a part of her. She'd never imagined using it here, but presenting herself as Cruelty wouldn't help her win any human's trust. That too was something she hadn't imagined needing to do here.

  "Rue," he repeated, and swayed a little on his feet.

  Well, one thing at a time. She rose again, caught his elbow and began to steer him toward a wall. "First," she said, as she pushed back a decorative tapestry and led him down the corridor behind it, "you must eat something. Two days is far too long. Then, you must take a bath because I will not be having you sleeping in any of my beds looking like that. And then you can rest."

  His fear melted into gratitude again; she felt it wash over her and avoided shying away from it through sheer force of will.