Page 38 of Beauty

I put a hand out. “Don’t. I know my brother. He needs to bealone for a bit. Don’t worry. He’ll come around. He doesn’t have a choice.”

I watch as Lach disappears. As we did since childhood, Lachwill make the preparations needed to circumvent the people trying to hold usback. Lach’s bad reputation serves our purpose. And mine serves it as well. Noone walks after Lach, preferring to praise me for my reasonableness.

Roan looks out over the yard where Max Harper stands talkingto a desiccated horse, his face a mixture of horror and an odd sense of wonder.

“That horse.” Roan nods toward it. “How long has it beendead?”

For a long time as far as I can see. There isn’t a lot offlesh left, just sinew connecting bones.

“A year or so. Max loved that filly.” Rye smiles.

Roan lets loose a long whistle. “It should be delicate. Itshouldn’t be able to move like that. The bones should be brittle and breakalmost on contact. Yet that corpse is moving with ease, almost as it did whenit was alive. Is that always what happens around your brother?”

I stare at the dead thing. I’m beginning to follow Roan’sline of thinking. “They weren’t at first. The first creatures he brought backwere very weak. They mostly were things like rats and vermin that lay wherethey died. But you buried the dog and the horse.”

Rye Harper’s eyes flare. “We buried that horse deep. Maxdidn’t want the bears or the mountain trolls to get her. He dug for a day and ahalf. Our neighbors, Rafael and Cameron, helped us.”

Roan whistles again. “That horse climbed from its grave whenLachlan’s power called. It makes me wonder what he could do if he focused thatpower. Gives me something to think about.” He starts to walk into the house butputs a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Your Highness, for being soreasonable.”

Reason has nothing to do with it. I give the vampire aplacid smile. He won’t be thanking me in an hour when he realizes we’re gone.

We’re coming, Bron.

Nothing is more important than Bronwyn. Nothing.

ChapterEleven

Torin, the AsswipePretender

I walk into the room. Deep underground, I can feelthe cold chill in my bones. This is the place of hags and their black magic.

“Why do you need me here, Your Majesty?” Maris asks, herblonde head held regally despite the cesspit we’re walking into.

“I told you. I want my queen by my side.” The hags insistedthat both royals be in attendance as they work this spell. The spell that willlead me to Bronwyn Finn.

“She isn’t alive. I identified the body myself.” Marisdressed for the occasion in all white, making her sure to stand out in thedarkened chambers. My bride always prefers white and sunny shades, sayingthey’re Seelie colors. I rather think it’s a clever disguise to mask her dark,brittle heart. Maris is a vision of loveliness amid the gloom. Her verytranquility is what makes her such an effective partner in betrayal.

“Your Majesties.” Una greets us in true form. They can benothing less in this space. Her bland attractiveness is gone, and her true selfmakes Maris stop and shudder delicately.

Glannis joins her sister. The hag’s nose grew by threeinches, and her flesh sags everywhere. Una is thin to the point of gauntness,her cheeks hollow and lips sunken in. When she smiles—I’m not sure I shouldcall it a smile—I notice the hag has no teeth.

I rarely see them in their true forms, not since thatfateful day they saved me from the ogres and set this land on the path topurity.

Of course, what they don’t know is that once I win the day,I intend to get rid of them as well. But not until I have no further need ofthem. Until that glorious day, I hide my distaste.

“You’ve had hours and hours. What have you discovered?” Iask, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

Glannis frowns, her skin sagging until I’m not sure how shecan see. “Bronwyn Finn is alive.”

Maris gasps. “Impossible. I saw her body.”

“This body, Your Majesty?” Una asks, gesturing toward theback of the cave.

A girl sits on a log, her youthful face illuminated by thefirepit in the center of the cavern. She appears to be fourteen or fifteen, agirl trapped forever in the first blush of her womanhood. She wears a fineoverdress of sheer, pale pink silk. Her hair is pinned up in elegant braids.There’s a sun-shaped pendant around her throat, the crest of the Finn line.

Maris stares at the girl, moving in closer. I must give mybride credit. She matches her actions to her words. She isn’t a shrinkingviolet. She’s slit a few throats in her own time. My queen walks up to the girland puts a hand under her chin. She looks delicate in the firelight, the deadgirl. There’s no question she’s dead. Her pretty gown is blood stained, andthere’s a hole in her belly. Yet she sits there as calmly as she can, as thoughshe waits to be called into the temple or the schoolroom.

Maris looks at the girl before turning back to the hags.“Yes. This is Bronwyn Finn. I knew the little brat. I was forced to spend timewith her after my parents sold me to the king. She used to call me sister. Youthink I wasn’t sure? You think I didn’t know the very Fae I was forced to livewith for a year?”