Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(78)

“Oh yes, I suppose I am. I don’t feel it.” Monster’s grin displayed a few morsels of breakfast, but Justus didn’t turn away.

“How did it happen?”

“Being a hunter is perilous.”

Justus rolled his eyes, annoyed at Monster’s arrogance, and said, “Matching wounds aren’t a common result of hunting.”

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“And what would you know of hunting?” Monster asked.

“More than most,” Justus said, nettled into exposing himself. Even as the fatal words escaped his painted lips, Justus cursed his pride.

“My brother taught me well,” he added, but he wasn’t sure if made up for his slip of tongue.

Monster leaned forward, propping his chin on one massive, hand-like paw. Strawberry syrup smeared his curved badger claws.

“Oh? How intriguing. Can you prove this?”

Justus paused, and then tipping up his chin, he said, “Lend me a bow, and set me a target in the garden.”

Monster’s furred fingers stretched into his mane, scratching vigorously as he thought, and when he dropped them again to the table, their weight sent a shudder through the wood. “Anyone can hit a target. I have a better idea. Tomorrow, you may accompany me outside the castle walls, and we shall hunt together.”

Justus wondered if he was agreeing to his own death, if he would be the prey. “Thank you, Monster.”

Perhaps outside the monster’s domain there would be a chance to take him unawares. An arrow might pierce an eye, throat, or belly more effectively than Justus’s cutlass could pierce that variegated hide. If Monster climbed a tree or stood near the edge of a precipice, Justus could turn the creature’s own considerable weight against him.

“What else do you enjoy, Karin? There are many hours to fill, on this lonely mountain. Would you like to see the library? I just enjoyed an amusing tale of the Lord of Misrule and highly recommend it.”

“I like being read to,” Justus said, “but I never learned to read.”

“You shall be taught,” Monster promised. When the meal was over, Justus was given to Valfrid for an hour’s instruction in deciphering the mysteries of a book. By the end, he knew the alphabet, and hated every letter. He doubted he’d live long enough for it to matter whether he remembered it, anyway Justus spent the rest of the day wandering the halls. He had not been forbidden to do so. The castle was clean and tidy, and Justus didn’t see ? 244 ?

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a single rat, though he came across three industrious female servants dusting furniture and cleaning windows. The friendly laundry girl was not among them.

So there were at least five female servants: Rigmora, the laundry girl, and these three older women. He hated that it raised his hopes— but clearly the castle still needed a staff to run it, and maybe these women were sacrifices who had been spared.

But when he asked them about Gudrun, they each shook their heads and gave the same answer: We’re sorry, fr?ken, but we mustn’t speak of those who came before.

He spent a long time in the entry hall, staring at the desiccated faces of the virgins who “came before.” A few times he lost his breath, thinking a mask might be Gudrun’s face, but each time he convinced himself it wasn’t. He inspected every mask there, but they lined other halls as well. Hundreds of dead girls. If Gudrun’s face hung on a wall here, it might be weeks before he found it.

The next morning, there was a sharp knock at the door. Justus’s hand was under his pillow and on the handle of the cutlass before he even fully awoke. Snow-bright sunlight illuminated the room, colored a chilly green by the frosted glass of the window.

Valfrid’s keys jingled and Rigmora entered with a pile of warm-looking clothes. Justus, unshaved face buried in a pillow, waved her away, pointing at the chair until she nodded, set down the garments, and left him to his privacy.

The dress was serviceable wool, double-layered with a quilted skirt. There was no unobtrusive way to slit the cloth; he must leave the cutlass behind, or resign himself to clumsily hoisting away yards of fabric to reach it. He chose the latter.

Justus shaved and then, still wearing his underclothes, climbed into the wool dress. There was a warm, fur-lined cloak as well, and Justus threw it over his arm as he descended to the main hall, where Valfrid and the Greve waited.

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