BEAUTY

A Faery Story 3

 

SOPHIE OAK

Copyright © 2012

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

The Seelie plane

Thirteen years before

 

Bronwyn Finn looked down at the hole in her stomach and wondered how long it would take to die. She stumbled into her mother’s room, pushing back the ornate double doors. She held her hand to her gut, trying to stem the tide. Smoke and tears seemed to be her world now, obliterating her home. She’d grown up in the White Palace, the marbled floors always beneath her feet. Her father’s room had been off-limits to all but Beck, but her mother’s room had been a sanctuary.

It was why she’d run here when the world had exploded around her.

But her mother was nowhere to be found.

Her hands shook. She was losing control. Of course you are, Bron. You took a knife to the gut. Not much coming back from that.

Her uncle’s men. Torin had turned on them all. She made it to her mother’s big bed, pushing past the filmy curtains. As a child, she would pull them closed and pretend she was in a whole other world. A world where the friends from her dreams were real. Tears blurred her eyes. Her Dark Ones. They’d been with her for as long as she could remember, but she’d stopped speaking of them long ago. Her father had called her crazy when she spoke of their nightly visitations. Her mother had called in healers. Only Cian had listened without prejudice. Beck couldn’t listen. He didn’t have time, and he was almost never allowed out of their father’s sight. Still, he would catch her eyes and wink or ruffle her hair as he walked past. He was a king.

Bronwyn cried out. Was Beckett even alive? Had Torin killed them all?

When she died, would she see them? Her Dark Ones?

“You ain’t dead yet, girl.” The menacing voice pulled her from her misery. She looked up and saw the soldier who had attacked her. He was dressed in her uncle’s colors, black and gold, with the Finn family crest upon his breast. Her crest. Her kingdom. But it didn’t matter. It seemed it was her Uncle Torin’s world now.

Bron tried to move. There was a nasty gleam in the soldier’s eye that told her he was happy she hadn’t died yet. He wanted to play. She shook her head. She was dying and yet, in the moment, the thought of his bloodied hands on her body was more repugnant than death itself.

But she had no choice. None. So much of her life had been thus. Do your hair just so, Bronwyn. Stand up straight. A princess shouldn’t be friends with her servants. Don’t speak so freely to the brownies. Put that book down. A princess doesn’t need to know such things.

A princess hadn’t needed to know how to protect herself. A princess hadn’t needed to understand politics.

A princess died just as easily as her sweet brownie friend had.

His hand snaked out, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down the bed. She could see she’d soaked her mother’s pristine white sheets with bright red blood. Her blood.

Her mother had given birth to her in this bed. Bronwyn would die here.

“Don’t,” she begged. She wanted to close her eyes. Goddess, she wanted to see them one last time. She was shocked to find that in her last moments, all she wanted to do was sleep and be with them again. Her Dark Ones. Her friends. The shadow men who held her heart. She wanted their arms around her, their voices whispering. The dreams had changed recently, become more physical. She’d kissed them the night before, a soft touch of the lips, moving from one to the other because she couldn’t favor one. She loved them both.

No more phantom kisses. Just pain and humiliation and death.

She tried to kick out, but she was weak, so weak. Her legs wouldn’t move. It didn’t matter. The soldier could move them. He spread them wide, shoving her skirt up. Stupid skirt. She’d tripped over it. It was how he’d caught her in the first place, but a princess didn’t wear pants.

“I never had me a lady before.” His hands worked at the ties of his pants.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see him. She tried to bring her hands up, but it hurt. And then it didn’t. Not quite as much. And the voice in her head became different. Not her own.

Get me close, love. Get me close. Can you feel me? I am with you always. Always, love.

She knew that voice. The softer of the two. Why hadn’t she found out their names? In her dreams, they didn’t need names. Now she wanted to call out for him. She laughed a bit. She was going insane.

“Ain’t nothing going to save you, girl.” The soldier put his hands on her thighs, spreading her further.

Her hands tingled, warmth spreading where before there had been only cold. Her whole body felt warm again as though a fire had started somewhere deep inside her. She felt a little boost of energy enliven her veins, and she reached for him, ignoring her instinct to try to run. She knew in her head she should be trying to get away, but she grabbed him and felt the heat flare. Smoke began, and she would have sworn she felt fire lick from her hands. It was right there. All she had to do was focus it.

“What?” The soldier looked down at the place where she gripped him. He screamed a little and tried to move.

She just had to hold on. She could start the fire. She could envelop them all. Torin would get nothing. If the blaze she began didn’t kill him, at least the palace would go. Char and ruin would be all that Torin enjoyed of his bloody inheritance.

There was a grunt and the tip of a sword pierced the soldier’s torso from behind.

And then the soldier’s eyes went blank, unseeing. He slumped over, and the fire left her hands. She wanted to scream, to wail that he’d been her kill, but the energy she’d felt had fled as though a wall had come down, cutting her off from that strange power.

And from the familiar voice.

She sagged back on the bed even as she felt the soldier’s body being dragged away. Had another come to take his place? Her mind was so misty, filled with odd, disjointed memories. Her brother chasing her. Cousin Dante’s fangs popping out for the first time at the most inopportune moment. She laughed, remembering the vampire’s embarrassment. Dante. She would miss him. And her mother and Beck and Cian and Nola, the brownie who had been her constant companion, her servant, her friend.

She would miss them all.

She heard someone cry and felt herself being pulled into strong arms. She was so weak, but she still recognized her brother’s face. Cian. Cian was weeping, his handsome face covered with soot and dirt. Cian had killed the soldier. Beck was the warrior half, but Cian, her sweet, intellectual brother, had slain the man who would have raped her and taken her final dignity.

“Mama?” Bron asked. She didn’t know where her mother had gone. She’d lost her when the battle had begun. Battle? It had been a slaughter.

Cian’s head shook. Loss marked his face, aging him. His gray eyes were dulled by pain. “She’s gone, Bron. Father’s gone, too.”

Cian, her sweet playmate. He was older than her by several years, but he’d always made time for her. She didn’t know Beck as well, but Beck and Cian were halves of a whole, symbiotic twins who shared a soul. She knew that what one felt, the other did as well, no matter how cool he appeared. Beck loved her, too.

“Love you, brother.” Her lips felt dry. She wanted to say more, but darkness was coming.

“I love you, too.” Cian seemed to force the words out. He held her so tight, but it didn’t matter. She could feel herself slipping away. Darkness took her, and she heard a mighty roar. It seemed to take over her mind. That single shout filled the world, pushing everything else away. The sound had mass and motion, enveloping her, surrounding her. Goddess, she was only fourteen. She wanted to live. She wanted to wake up and find this had been a terrible dream. She didn’t want to lie here knowing her brothers were gone, her future dead. She didn’t want to die until she knew where her dreams would lead her. Just one more dream. Just one more moment with them.

But still the darkness came.

 

* * * *

 

Pain wracked her world as she came to consciousness. A hand moved across her mouth.

“Hush, child. If they discover us, they’ll bring us before Torin, and then we’ll both wish we were dead.”

Bron opened her eyes. What had happened? Where was she? The room was dark, and there was a hard, cold floor beneath her body.

Her body. She reached for her stomach. She could still feel the knife sliding in. It hadn’t hurt at first, as though her body wasn’t sure what to make of such evil, but then her whole being had lit with agony as her death had become real. Now she felt only smooth skin where there should be a hole.

A single candle illuminated the small space she was in. She shivered.

“You feel the cold. That’s a good thing.”

Gillian. Bron tried to get her brain working. The Unseelie princess had arrived a mere two days before. She was an envoy for the Unseelie king, come to discuss some sort of treaty between the two tribes. Bron hadn’t been surprised her father had taken the meeting, but she doubted there could be lasting peace between the Seelie and the Unseelie. Too much bad blood. Why was she here? Why hadn’t Gillian McIver run?

“Can you move? Don’t try to sit up. Just flex your hands at first. The magic I used was strong.”

Magic? Bron flexed both of her hands and was surprised at how strong she felt. She took a moment, flexing and moving each muscle.

Gillian nodded down at her. “You’re strong, Your Highness. Stronger than I would have given you credit for.”

She felt stronger. Something had taken root in her gut, some deep sense that she was changed.

“My parents are dead.” She knew it, but she needed to say it. The words would make it real. Her parents were gone, her home taken from her by that vile traitor. Torin. She would call him uncle no more.

Gillian’s dark hair touched the floor, and she gazed down at her. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“No. I’m not a princess now. I’m a…what is the word? Fugitive. I’m a fugitive.”

Gillian’s eyes went hard. “You are the Princess of the Seelie Fae. They can take your crown. They can take your palace. But you never let them take your name, Bronwyn Finn.”

There it was again—that odd strength surged in her. She sat up. “Are my brothers alive?”

“I think so. Beckett Finn had a chance to kill the pretender, but he chose to save his other half. It was necessary. I believe they ran. It’s why I was able to move your body. Torin set everyone on the twins. He believes you’re dead.”

“He won’t once he can’t find my body.” She needed to run.

Gillian’s nose wrinkled. She was a lovely woman, but now she looked full of mischief. “Oh, he’ll find your body. I switched it with one of the servant girls. I didn’t kill her. She was already dead. I figured she wouldn’t mind. It rather was her duty to protect you. It seems everyone was a bit derelict today.”

“You can’t blame the servants. They’re supposed to serve dinner not fight off a coup.”

“Unseelie servants know a coup can come at any moment.”

“Well, I don’t see your guards here.” Bron felt an inexplicable need to defend her house. She sat up.

“My guards are dead. They did their duty, but we were overrun once the battle began. As far as I can tell, your father was killed almost instantly. Torin seems to have bribed some of your father’s guards to his side. Or perhaps he’s been playing a long game and he had them placed here. It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is getting you away from here.”

“How am I alive?” She took a deep breath, her lungs filling, the very act pleasurable in that she’d never expected to do it again. Her feet felt steady beneath her. She’d died. She knew she had. “Magic isn’t strong enough to bring back the dead.”

Gillian smiled, but even Bron could see the ruthless will behind it. She could remember her father warning her that the Unseelie princess might look like them, but she was and would always be Unseelie. The blood of goblins and trolls and all the dark creatures of the world ran through her veins. “Perhaps Seelie magic isn’t strong enough, but mine is. Well, mine combined with my brothers’.”

“Are they really symbiotic, like Beck and Cian?” She’d heard the rumor that the Unseelie king’s vampire wife had born a set of symbiotic twins just as her own mother had. Symbiotic twins were born with one soul and two bodies. They were extremely powerful when they found the right bondmate, a woman who could bridge their rendered soul. At least that was what legend said.

“You’re going to find out for yourself.” Gillian stood and pulled a small pack from the table in the corner. Bron noticed she was dressed in soft leather pants and a man’s shirt. It made her curvy body look a bit round, but with her hair tucked into a cap, she might pass as a peasant man if no one looked too closely.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have to find a way off this plane and back to my own before that jackass Torin seals the exits. My father will take care of you, youngling.” Her eyes took on a serious air. “And so will my brothers.”

“What about Beck and Ci?” She had to find them.

Gillian shook her head. “We have to make sure you’re safe before we go looking for your brothers. They would want it that way. Now get changed. We need to leave while the troops are preoccupied. It’s very chaotic out there, Your Highness. We have to be careful to not stand out.”

Bron looked down at the clothes Gillian had laid out for her. They were very much like Gillian’s, though she didn’t have Gillian’s womanly form. No one would question she was a peasant boy once her hair was dealt with. She dressed quickly, her hand skimming over her now perfectly smooth stomach.

They were quiet as they stole from the palace. They reached a hill, hiding themselves among the fleeing peasants, but Bron turned to look at the White Palace one more time. In the moonlight it looked like a ruin, a place that once had stood but now crumbled, leaving only memories of the world it once represented.

“I can’t go back.” She wouldn’t go home again. She wouldn’t run through the palace or swim in the river. She would never again sneak into her mother’s bed when the thunder frightened her. She wouldn’t play with her friends. She had no home.

Gillian took her by the shoulders, spinning her around. “Don’t you talk like that. You will go back.” She pressed an object into Bron’s hand. It was small and cold. “That’s yours. I found it next to your body. It’s the weapon that they tried to kill you with. Never let it go. When the time comes for vengeance, this knife will be in your hand. The world has changed, Bronwyn. That does not mean your life is at an end. Dark times are only the end when true leaders refuse to fight. Your brothers are fighting now, and your time will come. Decide, Your Highness. What kind of a princess will you be? A Seelie princess who weeps and hopes someone will save her, or will you choose to avenge your people? This is not just about you. This is about your people and all who will fall to Torin’s sword. If you cannot find the strength to be more than a pretty face, then I have no use for you.”

Bron turned and looked again with new eyes. She saw what had been taken from her. And she would one day take it back.

When Gillian moved, Bron followed. She’d been born in the White Palace, and she’d died there. She was more than she’d been before, stronger, older, harder. And alone.

When the darkness had come, she’d been alone. Her Dark Ones had not come for her.

She walked away from her home with only vengeance in her heart.