Belle shifted in her seat, the weight of her voluminous skirts making it difficult to sit comfortably on the healer's stool. She had declined the woman's offer of her rocking chair, but she was starting to think it would have been less embarrassing to be seen as the haughty royal than to be seen as the woman who fell on her bum every time she tried to sit down.
"So you said it was nightmares, lass?"
Belle swiveled on the stool to face the woman across the room, catching herself on the lower rung when she started to slide off. "Yes."
"About the ogres?"
The woman stopped poking through her cabinets to turn and look at Belle, who tried to remain normal-colored under her gaze.
"Yes. About the ogres."
She clucked her tongue, then turned back to her cabinets, and Belle was struck with the need to continue. She had never been good at lying.
"I'm just afraid that these attacks will escalate—that it'll turn into a war. I know the ogres have been beaten in the past, but at what cost?" This was what she had rehearsed on the short carriage-ride over, but it still came out sounding as scripted as it was.
"Of course, dear." The healer's old voice was soothing, but Belle couldn't stop twisting her fingers in her lap anyway. All she could do was hope that the woman believed her, and didn't mention her suspicions to anyone that would tell her father.
When she came away from the cabinet, she was holding a small purple satchel. "Put this under your pillow at night, dear. It should ward off the worst of the dreams. I don't have anything strong enough to get rid of them all."
Pleased to be standing again, Belle struggled to her feet. "Thank you so much." She handed her a small coin purse, and the healer handed her the satchel. Just as Belle was about to turn and leave, the healer grabbed her hand.
"Yes?" Belle asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.
"You let me know if you need something for your wedding night."
They stared at each other, Belle's eyes widening. She knew. She had to know. Still, Belle wasn't going to mention it, so she swallowed and forced a smile. "Of course. Thank you for your kindness."
It was pitch dark and silent outside when Belle shot awake, panting and covered in sweat. Her nightmare was the same as it always was—devoid of ogres and full of Gaston. With trembling hands, she pushed the covers aside and swung her legs out. Her thin chemise clung to her skin, making it a hassle to move around.
"It'll ward off the worst indeed," she said under her breath, letting out a tiny huff of air while she searched for matches. Once her bedside candle was lit, bathing her in a soft circle of light, the muscles in her back relaxed.
"Well, I certainly won't be going to her for anything for my wedding night." Standing, she peeled off her chemise, letting the cool night breeze take away the clammy moisture sticking to her skin. Now that they had doubled the amount of guards, she had to be careful not to disrobe by the window. Not only did she want to preserve her modesty, but she didn't want anyone other than her maid to know that her nightmares forced this habit nearly every night. She'd been hoping that the healer would save some of her nightclothes as well as her sanity.
Once naked, she crawled back into bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin. There was a 50/50 chance that she would sleep through the rest of the night, and maybe the satchel would work on the dreams that were lurking in her subconscious.
When she didn't feel the satchel the first time she stuck her hand under the pillow, she didn't panic. She twisted around, mindful of the candle, and dug around further. Still unable to locate it, she stood on her knees and flipped her pillow over.
The satchel wasn't there.
"Well." She stared at the expanse of silken sheets, unmarred by any satchel of any sort. "I suppose that's why it didn't work."
She made note to ask her maid about it in the morning, then determined to spend the rest of the night attempting to sleep.
Her maid knew nothing about the satchel when Belle brought it up, and after she turned the room upside down looking for it, Belle was forced to accept the fact that it was gone. The replacement satchel disappeared in much the same manner—one minute, it was under her pillow, and the next, Belle was throwing the duvet at Gaston's grabbing hands, and there was no satchel to ward him off. The healer could no more explain the sudden disappearance than Belle could, and she gave her the third free of charge. When it met the same fate as the first two, Belle gave up.
"Where are they going?" she demanded of her bedside table. When it did not respond, she huffed, throwing her arms in the air. "What, are they enchanted sheets?" She tossed the pillow aside and poked at them, but they seemed as normal as any other sheets. With a sigh, she flopped onto the bed, naked again.
"What do I do?"
Either the healer was giving her magical satchels, or there was something wrong with her bed. Belle had hoped the first satchel was a fluke, and had even managed to cling to that after the second one disappeared, but she couldn't ignore the fact that it happened three times. Something was going on, and it was up to her to figure it out. She may have hated her nightmares, but she loved a good mystery more—even if she had to narrate it to herself.
She had no way to test the satchel, since it had disappeared, so she would have to wait to do that in the morning. It might have been a good idea to wait to do all of her testing in the morning, but now that she'd discovered her quest, there was no way she would be able to sleep.
"All right," she said, tapping her nightstand. "I'll need more light." There was an oil lamp that she kept stashed in her bedside table for late night reading, and that plus the candle would have to suffice.
"Okay, so the first step is to check the pillows and blankets for anything unusual."
She flipped the pillow, running her hands along the fabric to see if there were any hidden catches, or anything that just felt weird. She didn't know what magic felt like, but she hoped that there would be some sort of clue—sparks or warmth or even gooeyness. When everything felt normal, she sat back on her ankles, lips scrunched.
"Step one, check," she said, tracing a tick mark in the air. "Guess I've got to just test it out."
The plan was to use a big, bulky object. The satchels were small, and they could have slipped behind her bed and hidden somewhere—even though she and her maid had looked everywhere—so she needed to use something for which disappearance would be conspicuous.
Not a book—if she lost any of hers to the magical space, she would be sorely disappointed. Perhaps she could get it back, but she wasn't sure that she would be able to do it tonight, so it needed to be something that she wouldn't miss for at least a few days.
Her gaze fell upon her court shoes. In the midst of an almost-war, they were rarely necessary, since no one in the war room cared much for fashion. Ducking under the window, she scurried to retrieve them, scurrying back with much less care from the excitement of it all.
She felt like she should say something, since she was about to embark on a major research venture, but it was the middle of the night and she was naked and excited, so the best she could manage was a "here goes nothing" before she set the rosy shoe on the mattress. Then, lips pressed together, she settled the pillow on top.
It was instantaneous. One second, she could see the outline of the shoe on her pillow, and the next, it was gone. She squeaked with delight, clapping her hands together. How could she possibly have thought she could sleep after this discovery, and let the rest wait until morning?
After fumbling around in her bedside table drawer, she came up with a quill, ink, and parchment, and set about writing.
Dear Whoever This Reaches,
I have just discovered that some of my things are disappearing. I'm
not sure where they're going, or if there even is a person on the other side, but I was
hoping that the magical channel might be a two-way road. Please, if anyone is getting this, write back.
Also, if you could send my shoe with your letter, that would be ideal.
Sincerely,
The Woman on the Other Side of the Pillow
Satisfied—though her handwriting was a little shaky with all the excitement—she rolled up the parchment. Then, with lips pressed together, she stuck it under her pillow and sat back to wait.
