Hunted(37)

The Beast led them up a long slope, a slope Yeva did not remember descending while blindfolded. She assumed he must have led her away by some other route, and was now taking a more direct path. Up ahead the trees thinned, telling Yeva that they were approaching a ridgeline overlooking one of the many valleys in the forest. She set Doe-Eyes down again in anticipation of pausing at the top of the ridge, and was unable to prevent the groan that escaped her lips. The bones in her spine popped in protest as she straightened, and she pressed her hands into the small of her back to stretch the muscles.

When she opened her eyes again the Beast had stopped. He was watching her. That unblinking stare was still unnerving, but the rush of terror that ran through Yeva every time the massive creature looked her way had dwindled to a trickle. He was still frightening, alien, unpredictable—but she found she could return his stare now without shivering.

As if sensing her thoughts, the Beast broke his eyes away first and looked toward the thinning trees. “My home is in the . . . valley,” he said haltingly, as though he had to pause to remember the right words. “You will not ask me questions.”

Yeva knit her brows and took a step toward the ridge. “What do you mean? Why would I—”

“Did I not just tell you there were to be no questions?” The Beast’s voice quickened with irritation.

“You did. But I didn’t agree to your terms.”

The Beast drew himself up on his haunches. “There is no negotiation. I gave you an order.”

“How nice for you.” Yeva clicked her tongue at Doe-Eyes, who was sniffing furiously at a patch of yellow snow left by a passing fox. The dog left the spot reluctantly, falling into hobbling step beside her mistress as Yeva set off for the ridge.

She felt the Beast’s consternation, heard it in the wordless rumble of protest as she passed him. She regretted moving ahead instantly—it had been some time since she’d had to break her own trail through the snow, and she’d grown used to the trampled path left in the Beast’s wake. But she wouldn’t let the creature see her struggle. She fought her way through the snow, keeping her eyes down.

It wasn’t until a flicker of light caught her eye that she looked up and found a valley opening below her. The overcast sky was clearing in spots, letting trickles of sunlight out to wash the vista ahead. A river ran through the valley, only a narrow ribbon of treeless white expanse in the frozen winter. The trees thinned off to one side of the valley, suggesting a meadow or marsh beneath its blanket of snow, and on the far side stood a ridge of small mountains, barely high enough for their peaks to clear the tree line and stand stark white in the patches of sun.

But none of this was what held Yeva’s gaze. Because in the bottom of the valley, straddling the river nestled in the foothills, was a castle.

Yeva stood stunned, dimly aware of Doe-Eyes leaning against her legs. The castle sat dark and gray, as much a part of the landscape as the trees or the distant mountains. Its peaked roofs were coated with snow, and from this distance it hardly seemed real—like a picture of a castle that, as soon as Yeva moved, would betray itself as fake.

The Beast waded past her, his great body low to the ground and churning up the snow like a plow in the fields. He did not pause to admire the sight, or to take in Yeva’s shock, but rather began making his way down into the valley. Yeva stood until Doe-Eyes gave the tiniest of whines, and jerked her out of her confusion. She swallowed hard, stooped to pick up the dog, and moved to follow the Beast.





BEAST


We will not break the terms of our sentence. We cannot explain, or we risk remaining trapped together for the rest of eternity. But the girl’s face, when we turn to look at her, carries a thousand questions, and she is clever. We must tread with care.

Do you not understand loyalty, she asked us, or love?

We wanted to answer: no. They are human concerns, and we have not been human for centuries. We are, we have always been, beast.

But the question hangs on the air like the smell of a coming storm, and we fear the change the storm brings.





ELEVEN


AS THEY NEARED THE castle, Yeva saw that it was in terrible disrepair. Crumbling stone, cracked by centuries of freezing and thawing, was covered in frozen lichen, and many of the great carved gargoyles lining the eaves were broken or missing altogether. The windows were dark and cold, and many of them shattered, leaving only carved stone frames around the blackness beyond.

The palace looked like it had been abandoned for centuries.

Most of the building lay on the other side of the river, with a gatehouse on the near side, connected to the rest by a bridge. Though Yeva hesitated at the idea of crossing such an ancient, crumbling structure, the Beast continued on ahead without pausing.

If it can hold his weight, Yeva thought dubiously, it must be able to hold mine. But then, the Beast seemed able to make himself as light as air when he chose, to leave no prints in the snow and make no sound as he moved.

Yeva walked very, very carefully.

On the other side of the bridge, a section of the palisade lining the walk had crumbled away, and Yeva saw a well-trodden path leading down toward the river. Churned mud and snow led to a hole in the rock foundation supporting the castle, some dank hollow or cave. A home befitting a Beast. Yeva half expected the Beast to turn and lead her down the slope, but instead he set his shoulder to one of the great doors at the far end of the courtyard and shoved until the rotting wood groaned open wide enough for them to slip through.