Before Beauty (2 page)

In his weakness, Ever decided, his
father must have succumbed to the shadowy deceptions of his enemy.
Those suggestions of hopelessness and confusion must have galled
him into sending the messenger. And Ever knew that when his father
was once again in his right mind, he would look back on Ever’s
decisions now and judge them as harshly as he ever had. Ever had
been right in telling Acelet to stick to the plan. Besides, it
didn’t matter if the situation was as dire as his father had
described. His men would not survive the night outside the caves.
They would have to wait until dawn.

The next morning, everything went
as planned. The sun rose bright and hot, and as soon as its rays
touched the mountain paths, Ever’s men fanned out. They crouched
along the rocky paths, awaiting Ever’s signal to move. Ever lay
down on a ledge that jutted out over the valley, and he crawled
towards its edge to get a better view.

It seemed the situation had gone
from bad to worse since the messenger had been sent. Throughout his
father’s camp, Tumen’s yellow banner fluttered brazenly over the
tents. Those of his father’s men that he could see were sitting
cross-legged on the ground, chained to one another and watched by
large guards. Not only had Nevina attacked his father, but she had
beaten him soundly. It was alarming how quickly her strange band of
ragtag vagabonds had grown into an army of hundreds.

Still, from the arrangement of her
regiments, it was clear that Nevina expected him to come from the
south. Ever breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he still had
the upper hand. The dark princess might have many men, but her
powers were limited. As terrifying as they were, most of Nevina’s
monstrous hawks could not stand to fly by day, and her men’s arrows
did not shoot as straight without the dark of night to guide them.
Without the winged scouts to circle the skies, the enemy wouldn’t
see Ever’s men until it was too late. Satisfied, Ever gave Acelet
the nod. The general, in turn, motioned to his archers to begin the
assault.

Their arrows filled the morning
sky, sending the enemy scrambling as Ever’s footmen began to
descend upon the camp. The prince poured his strength into his men
as they moved. He could feel Nevina attempting to fill their minds
with visions, but she could not penetrate the shield he had created
around them. Her rogue forces were caught off guard as Ever’s men
surrounded them. In just minutes, his father’s men were freed, and
the valley once again belonged to Destin.

Most of the enemy had fled in fear
by the time Ever followed his men down into the valley. He surveyed
the carnage and was somewhat surprised at how little blood had been
shed. None of his own men had been lost, although he had no idea
what kind of damage had been inflicted upon his father’s men before
he’d arrived.

The same couldn’t be said for
Nevina. Although it seemed that the princess had escaped unscathed,
her numbers were devastated. Acelet had the captives that remained
rounded up and executed on the spot.

And yet, in spite of the enormous
victory, Ever’s stomach churned as he entered the king’s tent. King
Rodrigue tossed and turned in his makeshift bed, moaning. Beads of
sweat ran down his white temples. His appearance was so shockingly
altered that even the healer hesitated before walking to his side.
The arms that had been hard as rock when the king had left the
Fortress were now thin and shaking. The king’s face was haggard,
and his features emaciated. When he turned to look into Ever’s
eyes, he didn’t look like the most feared king in the region, but a
frightened old man.

Ever immediately ordered everyone
out. The healer grumbled, but Ever still sent him away. How had the
his father had lost all of his strength to Nevina’s power so
quickly? But as he moved in closer, Ever could see that the blue
fire in his father’s eyes was nearly extinguished. This was
something only the power of the Fortress could heal, and the only
two persons with that strength were staring at one another from
across the room.

Ever needed to work fast. Pulling
his gloves off, he knelt by his father’s side. He took his father’s
hand and clutched it tightly in both of his. Closing his eyes, he
focused on the dim light his father was still clinging
to.

The enemy’s power bit back at him
with a surprising force, nearly knocking him over. Ever gasped and
dug in harder. He hadn’t known his father could suffer the power of
evil like this. The princess’s darkness had indeed grown. The
desire to tremble filled him greatly, but he could not give in. He
tried with all his might to reignite the fire in his father’s eyes,
but every time he pushed, it flickered dangerously.

“
Son,” Rodrigue rasped.

Ever opened his eyes to see his
father staring at the wineskin of water on his small bedside
table.

“
Father, I need to draw her power
out. I need you to help me.” Ever felt as though he were talking to
a child. His father shook his head, however, looking again at the
water. Frowning, Ever let go of his hand and gave him the water
instead. After the king drank, he whispered, “Why didn’t you
come?”

The look that passed through
Rodrigue’s eyes pierced Ever to the heart. Was his father actually
blaming him?

“
You know I couldn’t have
protected my men in the pass at night. If we had tried, my men
would have been in the same position as yours.”

His words were as close to a
rebuke as he had ever dared to give his father, but the frustration
that welled up within him was nearly more than Ever could
bear.

After thinking for a moment, the
king nodded heavily and laid his head back down. Ever picked up his
hand again, but the king withdrew it.

“
Everard, my mistake was not
arriving too late, as you might think. My mistakes have been years
in the making. My eyes are dimming. I know you’ve noticed. I’ve
left my people unprotected. I could see it in the Chiens’ eyes when
Nevina took the camp.” He grabbed Ever’s shirt and pulled himself
up, suddenly glaring at his son through leaden eyes.

“
The Fortress has chosen a new
king, one that will be a better king than I. But it will reject
you, too, if you ignore the cry of our people. You must protect
them!”

Exhausted, Rodrigue fell back into
the bed. Ever tried once again to take his hand, but the king
whispered, “Just let me go, Son. The spirit of the Fortress will
carry me to my fathers, and I will rest with them. It’s your turn
now.”

And with those words, the king was
gone. In a dirty tent with one candle to light the room, the great
warrior king had admitted defeat and left his son to pick up the
pieces.

“
Your Highness,” Acelet knelt at
the doorway of the tent. “The grief of the kingdom is with you.”
Ever swallowed hard and finally stood, still staring at his
father’s body.

“
How are the
survivors?”

“
Not well, Sire. I’m afraid I must
ask you to go to them. Many have gone mad from the dreams. There’s
nothing else I can do.”

With a nod, Ever turned sharply
and left his father’s body. He had work to do, and he was suddenly
grateful for the princess’s poison. The work of healing would
occupy his mind for now. Deep down, however, he knew he would have
to mourn sooner or later. For all the monsters he could slay, for
all the darkness he could pierce with his light, for all the
unearthly strength that he possessed, he did not know how to mourn.
And it terrified him.

CHAPTER TWO

Eyes of the
Girl

The king was properly lamented by his subjects,
but Ever had an uneasy feeling that it was more out of respect than
true affection. Although the Fortress courtiers and servants wore
black, and offered him all the right words in the wake of his
father’s death, he often heard them speaking excitedly of his
upcoming coronation when they thought he couldn’t hear. This
irritated him more and more as the week drew to a close.

“
Shall I tell them you wish to be
left alone until the midday meal?” Garin calmly gestured to the
manservants present that they could leave. Ever put his head in his
hands and took a deep breath before answering.

Although his annoyance at one of
his barons still lingered, he sought to control himself as the
other servants stepped out. His father had taught him not to share
too much with his servants, but Ever had never quite been able to
sever the connection he had with the Fortress steward. During the
early years when he was still too young to be of much use to his
father, Garin had been there. And Ever needed him now more than
ever before. The prince sighed.

“
I am supposed to meet with the
Duke of Sud Colline in an hour.” The duke was prudish, and had been
since they were boys. If Ever was too blunt, his distant cousin was
just as likely to speak for an hour without actually getting to his
point. Garin put his hand on Ever’s shoulder and spoke
softly.

“
I don’t think it would be too
much to ask that your subjects give you time to mourn. It’s only
been five days, and the funeral is tonight.”

Ever groaned, and Garin walked to
the door. “I will speak to your cousin. If he is not satisfied with
my words, then he shall simply have to remain unsatisfied.” At
these words, Ever couldn’t help the small smile that rose within
him. Garin smiled back and bowed before leaving the prince
alone.

Unfortunately, while the solitude
allowed him to elude his courtiers, it made it even harder for him
to avoid his own thoughts. The sensation of helplessness settled
upon him quickly as he wandered over to the balcony that overlooked
the mountain. Ever hated feeling helpless.

He had heard others wonder at the
terrace’s purpose, as it showed nothing of the kingdom or its
boundaries, but it was one of his favorite spots in the Fortress.
It faced the peak of the mountain, just higher than the slope the
Fortress was built upon, rather than the valley and its city that
spread out below. It gave him the illusion of solitude more than
any of the other windows in the citadel. The lush green tree line
abruptly ended below the bare summit. During the warm months the
summit was covered in nothing but dirt, but in the winter it was
covered in crisp, clean snow.

He closed his eyes and imagined
how the snow would feel now. He had hiked there once as a child.
Though it was still considered part of the Fortress grounds, no one
went that high. He’d been young, only nine, too young to venture
out on his own, but old enough to know better. Still, he recalled
how the snow had felt as he had buried his bare hands in it, how
quickly they’d numbed. If only he could feel that numbness now. If
only he could shove his heart in the snow and leave it there. His
desires did not make a difference, however, as the guilt was going
nowhere fast. The Maker no longer seemed to care about what he
wanted these days.

Rodrigue had always lectured him
that guilt was pointless. “It forces you to look inward,” he’d
growled once when he had caught Ever apologizing to a servant. “It
leaves you open, susceptible to attack by others. When you are
focused inward, you’re distracted. A distracted king is a king
begging for enemies to try their strength on your
borders.”

And Ever had tried. He’d learned
over the years how to ignore the feelings that welled up within
him. It was hard, as it is for any child born with strong
affections, as he had been. But he had trained himself to push
those feelings away, to lock them up by focusing on what needed to
be done. And yet, this was a guilt he couldn’t push
away.

It’s not fair, he thought to
himself as he turned back to prepare for the funeral. He’d gone
over every detail, every scenario in his head. He’d searched for
any way he possibly could have saved his father. But each scenario
he imagined still ended the same way. He had obeyed his father’s
instructions down to the letter, and in the end, Ever knew he had
made the right decision to wait. And yet, that did not erase the
guilt that now coursed through his veins and made his face run hot
and his eyes moisten at the corners.

The funeral was perfect down to
the last detail, thanks to Garin. The tapestries had been drawn,
shutting out the light of the fainting sun. Candles lit the huge
hall only enough to see the casket at the head of the room. The
black coffin had been polished so well that Ever could see his dim
reflection in its sides as he approached it. His father lay there
in his military robes, a gold braid draped across his chest. In his
hands he held a scepter carved out of chestnut wood with a small
blue crystal at its tip. The royal holy man uttered words of
tribute to King Rodrigue, describing to the kneeling mourners the
king’s great feats and his daring victories, but all Ever could
focus on was his father’s face. It was stern now, as it always had
been, except for the night of his death. Then, it had been full of
fright.

Just like the girl’s had
been.

Ever nearly took a step backward
when her face flashed before his eyes. He had tried his best to
push her away, but her midnight blue eyes, wide with terror, had
followed him in his dreams every night since his father’s death. It
was all her fault.

Ever had never had a reason to
feel great guilt before she’d stumbled, literally, into his path.
He felt his anger burn suddenly as he struggled to keep up with the
holy man’s words. He was sure the guilt over his father’s death
would have been easier to push aside if it hadn’t also been for the
lingering guilt brought by the nameless peasant who haunted the
dreams of her prince.