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“How… can Autumn be woken?”
Bereille smiled softly. “By something the queen once had and lost. The reason why—or at least part of the reason why—she was the way she was. The queen was once just a young maiden, raised by a wealthy merchant and a noble-bred mother. She intended to have a fine, prosperous future, which happened for a time. Amira married the cousin of a king, a duke who was directly in line for the throne. Their courtship was fantasy-like. They fell madly in love and married not long after. A few months after, Amira and Beroug announced the babe that quickened in her womb. They were happy, their families and everything was well.”
Berielle sat on a fallen log at the edge of the forest as a cardinal and bluebird swooped down and settled on the branches that swayed above the coffin, paying homage to the fair lady within. I pried my eyes away from the coffin and back to Bereille. I didn’t understand why he was telling me all of this and not how we could wake Autumn, especially with time ticking away.
With a grumble, I sat on the ground, my back against a tree trunk. Bereille had always done things on his own time, in his way. He was a stubborn old warrior, and damn if my heart didn’t feel joy at having him in front of me. I had not expected to find joy ever again with Autumn gone.
Bereille looked me over with a gentle expression before taking a deep breath. “They were traveling from Amira’s parent’s estate when their carriage threw a wheel. Amira needed to stretch her legs, so while their guard repaired the wheel, she and Beroug took a walk down the river. Here the story gets murky, but I’ve come to assume that Beroug saw a woman being abused by a man across the river, so he sprinted into the rushing waters. Amira could do nothing to stop him, nothing to help as the current caught him. Beroug struggled, and Amira did her best in her condition to help him, but he never reached the other side. Instead, the river carried his body down.
Speculation circulated about what had happened, whether she had murdered her husband or if it were just a tragic accident. Amira raved like a madwoman and erupted into torment like part of her soul had been shredded. It was sad.” Bereille thrust a hand through his cropped hair. “I always believed her.”
The last bit seeped into me. Bereille had known Amira when she was a young wife. I knew they had some history. She had shown him outright animosity, and he’d done nothing but showed slight rebellion to her rules. I had always assumed he’d made some bargain with Amira by mistake. I’m not sure why I thought that. The castle staff and guards rarely said how they ended up in the queen’s employ. I believe most were taken from worse situations and given some semblance of power and desire, which was enough for them—a better existence than they’d ever wished to have. But Bereille and a few others I never understood. Amira had detested Bereille, but she also had some level of respect for him too. Not that that had mattered in the end, she’dkilledhim anyway.
But Berielle continued, and my attention snapped back to his voice.
“Amira returned to the place her husband had died, and no one really knows what she discovered in those woods. But I know firsthand there was a witch bound to that place in the wood, which could only feed off the loss of life around her. Being out in the woods proved challenging to provide sustenence for a dark witch like that to live, so she lured the wayward traveler in ways they couldn’t ignore. A nude woman ripe for the taking, a steed to the man with blistered feet, a wife being abused by her husband as Beroug saw.
Beroug was the most honorable man I’d ever known. He’d never stand by to watch a man abuse a woman, so this witch fed off his integrity and lured him to his death, thus feeding off his righteous soul.
His death and what transpired in the woods broke Amira. It broke her into a million pieces, but what came after shattered those pieces into ash and dust. Amira and Beroug’s daughter was born just a few months after her father’s death, but she was not born alive. Amira went through the hours of labor to never hear her daughter's cries. The perfect bundle of joy, the light that would be half of her beloved, did not live.
Everything Amira could have been, every future she could have crashed around her. The loss of her daughter thoroughly obliterated the possibility of Amira dealing with the death of her husband.”
I felt tears threaten in my throat, and I pushed them away. A tormented past was often what bred and festered evil. It made me understand Amira’s darkness. Not the things she did but the darkness that consumed her.
“Amira left in the night with not so much as a clue to where she was going. Then when King Renaud, a man well past his prime, needed a miracle, she provided it. Renaud was Beroug’s uncle and took the throne after some family disputes. He had one son already, but as a King felt the need to provide more. After two wives and many mistresses, his third wife finally became pregnant, but her pregnancy was difficult, and it was soon apparent that the motherorchild would come out of it alive, not both. For all his faults, Renaud loved his third wife more than his kingdom and was willing to sacrifice it all to save her. And he did. Renaud bartered with Amira, not knowing who she was. He bargained for her to save his wife from death in childbirth, and the witch asked for his son, Prince Olsfor’s hand in marriage. They sealed the contract, but magic demanded a price, and fate controlled some things. So, Renaud’s wife died only a few months later, and Amira was already the crowned princess. Renaud killed himself, making Olsfor king. Since Olsfor had been around for the deal, he knew Amira had her hand in it. However, it was more the magic demanding a price that took King Renaud’s wife and child, but I think Amira always knew what the outcome would be. Perhaps her mirror had told her. I am unsure. Olsfor demanded justice and called for the hanging of his wife—the witch. There were mixed feelings about this in Catalan, but Olsfor died the night before Amira’s sentencing.”
The realization that the mirror needed to be disposed of rushed through me. I would seek out Argen, and he and I would take care of that mirror.
But first, I had to know. “How do you know all of this, Bereille?”
“Because Beroug was my brother. I was next in line for the throne after his death, but I had already fallen into one curse trying to avenge his and his daughter's death. I was not fit to rule Catalan. So the throne fell to Renaud.”
“What does any of this have to do with Autumn?”
“Autumn was born twenty-five years ago on the autumn equinox, the same night that Amira lost her daughter.”
“Autumn is…”
“No, Autumn is not Amira’s daughter, but they are linked. You see, the witch in the wood made a deal with Autumn’s parents for a child. She’s the same witch that killed Beroug and cursed me when I sought her out to avenge his death. Perhaps she was even more wicked than Amira. I am unsure exactly what happened to that witch, but I am sure Amira killed her. When one kills a powerful witch, that power and magic become yours. I think the deals the witch had made went into Amira and twisted her even further into darkness.”
My eyes swung to the glass coffin, and everything else drifted away. Autumn was my only thought, the spark in my chest. I appreciated Bereille giving me answers to burning questions I’d had for years, but this… this was all I cared about now.“But how do we wakeher, Bereille?”
“I can't tell you; such is the way with curses. First, you must assess and evaluate the person that did the cursing. Then, you delve deep into their psyche to see what makes them tick. Only then will you encounter the possibility of a break.”
Autumn had once said bargains were like curses; there was always a loophole. Curses had a loophole. That’s why Bereille had told me this story and explained why Amira had been the way she was. First, the death of Amira’s husband had set her on a downward spiral, and the loss of her daughter caused that descent to darken, and then whatever happened with the witch…
The only time I had ever seen a shred of emotion in Amira was when she talked to Bereille. I think she felt something for him but was terrified of it. People lashed out in fear, and they let it rile into hate. What Amira felt for Bereille…
She had been ashamed of it because he was her great love’s brother. It made sense now why she detested Bereille yet felt something for him simultaneously. She had developed feelings for him and hated him and herself for it. She saw him as a weakness, which she loathed.
“How did you become cursed by Amira?”
Bereille let out a scornful chuckle. “I confessed my feelings for her. I should have known better, but it was a time of weakness. Even when she was with my brother, I had developed lustful thoughts for her. I would have never acted on them if he’d lived. I loved Beroug and would never do anything to dishonor his memory. But I had foolishly thought after his death that perhaps Amira and I could find consolation in each other. She’d cussed and raged, but I had seen into her heart. She had feelings for me too. The wood witch had already cursed me, and Amira had no idea about that.
I had tracked Amira when she took off after her daughter’s tragic stillbirth. I needed to ensure she was safe, that she was okay. Amira cast me out with a spell and cursed me. But in her anger and despair, she said the spell wrong, and instead of casting me out, it bound me to her. We were both angry and confused. I stayed away until she became queen. Then the curse yanked me to her as her power increased. She disbanded my Knights and made me a servant of sorts. She couldn’t cast me out, but she could make my life as if it were the realm of the Underworld. Even throughout it, I… I still loved her. I would have still been with her if she’d allowed it. I don’t think she knew that, though. I hid it well. I was sickened by what she did, and my feelings faded and changed over the years, but they were still there. If she’d seen the error in her ways and found resolution and changed, I would have still been hers. Love is a strange thing. Horrible and beautiful in its layers and complexity. I believe she didn’t realize my feelings—some of them—had remained to the bitter end. Our words to each other before she ended me confirmed that she still had feelings for me too.”
I swallowed at his admission. Surprised, Bereille was still daring enough to love that woman, but as he said, love was strange. “I don’t know what to say, Bereille.”
