Chapter 8
Alana walked slowly to Thomas' room. Her discoveries of his family and the fairies had faded, replaced by the shock of Davina's marriage. She had almost forgotten about her family, and she had always thought that Davina would never get married.
She finally reached the door, and deciding she could resist it no longer, she knocked on the door. But after a pause, there was no answer. She knocked again.
"Thomas?" she called. Again no answer. She stood puzzled for a moment; he had specifically told her he would be spending the rest of the afternoon in his room. So where was he?
Too antsy to wait around, Alana pulled open the door and stepped inside. The room was empty and quiet, except for the occasional spark from the warm fire. Alana was frustrated; she needed to talk to him, but he could be anywhere in this enormous castle. She looked around hopelessly for any clues as to where he had gone, but found none. The only sign that he had been there was the book lying on his chair.
She was about to leave, however, when the door in the corner caught her eye. She remembered his fierce warning that she was prohibited from what was behind it, but that had been so long ago… she walked over to it and laid her hand on the doorknob. Did she dare? She wanted to talk to him so badly… her desire to see him overrode her fear, and she pulled the knob and went through the door.
At first, she could see nothing, it was so dark. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw the faint glimmer of a candle down the hallway in which she stood. Squinting, she also thought she could see the outline of a figure, but suddenly her fear returned. Placing one hand on the wall, she walked slowly and softly down the carpeted hall toward the light. She paused at a doorway, able to see a large room lit by the soft glow of the candle. But she did not pause to look around, for in front of her lay Thomas on a chaise, and he looked so still that she feared he was dead.
Panicked, she hurried over to him. "Thomas," she whispered, laying her hands on his chest. "Thomas!"
He didn't move. Alana looked around for anything that would help; but all she saw were slashed curtains, overturned tables, and smashed vases. Her fear escalating, she shook Thomas' shoulders.
"Thomas!" she cried, tears pricking at her eyes.
But he suddenly woke with a start, and a growl rumbled in his throat.
"Alana, what are you doing? I forbade you to come in here!" he roared, his face contorting in anger.
Alana couldn't help but be terrified, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Thomas, I just-"
"GET OUT!" he yelled.
She didn't need telling twice. She fled the room, bursting through the doors, and didn't stop running until she had reached the garden outside. She didn't have a cloak on, but it didn't matter; she could only feel the fear and sadness in her heart.
The garden was snowy and beautiful, but the flowers, which had so magically lasted all autumn, were turning a terrible black and dying. Alana stopped, entranced and yet unsettled by their mysterious behavior. She suddenly felt fed up with this magical castle and all its mysteries, and not being able, or allowed, to understand it. She wanted to go home, where, even if she was ignored, at least she was kept informed.
And Thomas… nothing made her sadder than he. She had felt so close to him, as if they had understood each other, but now she knew that she would never be able to understand him, because he never let her. She had fooled herself into thinking she had been happy here… but how could she be happy in a place she barely understood?
Her tears ending, she no longer felt sad, and instead felt angry. She had been wasting her time… and now she would end it. Straightening herself, she clutched her reddened hands to her sides and began to walk back inside. Before she could reach the door, though, she saw Thomas standing on the side of the castle, looking at her expectantly. But she didn't want to be the one to fix things, not again. She was tired, and avoiding his gaze, walked inside to her room.
Thomas had overheard Hope's message for Alana, and it had been the last straw. Once he heard it, he knew there was no hope that Alana would stay and figure out the spell, and had gone to his room to lie down.
So many things had run through his mind… his regret at being so foolish as a young man, his long, tortured years alone, his imminent death. But more than anything, he felt his anger at Alana boil inside him, his anger at her ignorance, her generosity, and her inability to love him. All that had exploded when he'd awoken to find her standing over him, worried and concerned. How could she be concerned for him when she had no idea what she had done to him? She had sent him to his death.
But her eyes as he raged on… the moment she had run away, all his anger turned on himself. It was his fault she didn't know what was coming, because for all his attempts, he had been too scared to tell her the truth. He had been such a fool… and now she would think he hadn't changed, that he truly was a beast.
From the window he had seen her run to the gardens, and went outside to apologize. He knew that if he explained, she would be understanding, like she always was, and that she would find the right words to say.
But then something strange happened. As he stood waiting for her to run over and console him… she didn't. Instead, she looked over, anger and sadness passing over her face, and then walked inside without a word.
And now Thomas didn't know what to do. His flawless Alana, his comfort and support… was flawed. Instead of consoling him, she was angry with him. But instead of feeling infuriated again, he felt relieved. In fact, it wasn't a flaw at all; it was human. And it gave him the strength to feel the man within him once again, and he went inside to apologize and beg her forgiveness.
Thomas knocked on her bedroom door. "Alana? I must speak with you."
There was quiet pause, but then the door opened. And there they were: her bags were packed, her room emptied. Thomas panicked at the sight.
"What are you doing?" he asked anxiously, walking in and surveying the room.
"Why? Are you going to force me to stay, like the prisoner I am?" Alana said softly.
Thomas turned to look her. Her eyes were red, her hair was down and tousled, and she worse the simplest brown frock, but to him, she would never look more beautiful. He knew he couldn't keep her; he had lived five hundred years. His time on earth was done.
He shook his head. "No. I want you to go," he said.
A sad smile tugged at her lips, but she nodded. "I thought so."
But he shook his head again. "No, not like that. I don't want you to go, but you must. You can't stay here… I can't keep you any longer."
She sighed. "I just wish you would tell me the truth."
He struggled to find the words. "I wish I could," he finally said. He paused, and looked up at her, not bothering to disguise the sadness in his eyes. "You are not the prisoner, Alana. I am."
Tears fell from her eyes as she crossed the room and flung her arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Thomas. I haven't done enough."
His heart broke to hear her say it. "No, you've done more than you know." He sighed, but knew he couldn't take much more of this.
"Come," he said, "stop these tears. You still have a few days left with us."
She smiled and nodded, wiping her eyes. "And I can still finish my decorations."
He nodded. "I'd like that."
"Would you like to help?" she asked hopefully.
He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, and so nodded.
She grinned happily, and took his paw. They went down to the entrance hall, where she had started to hang a few wreaths here and there. She sat down on the grand carpet and picked up the string and some branches, showing him how to make a wreath. Reluctantly, he sat down next to her, unsure whether he'd be able to manage it. Luckily, she didn't notice when he just set the branches in his lap and didn't work.
"Tell me of your home," he said. "And your family."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. She looked around the grand hall, thinking of the even grander hall at the palace. But then she suddenly realized that Thomas didn't know she was a princess, and for some reason, she didn't want to tell him.
"It's big," she began lamely. "Huge, actually. We have a hall like this, except it's entirely white and marble. There's a painting of my mother on that wall," she pointed to the left, "and one of the whole family on the other one. The steps aren't carpeted, so you can never sneak in," she said with a laugh. "There aren't nearly as many fantastic rooms as you've got." She paused. "I'm going to miss that."
Not wanting to dwell on her departure, Thomas urged her to speak about her family.
"Well, they're… busy," she went on. "My mother is a very busy, running the… household, and such. My sister is five years older, and my mother was constantly trying to get her to marry. I'm amazed she managed to do it. My sister kept resisting it so much, I thought she would never marry."
Thomas smiled. "And your father?"
Alana paused. "My father? My father is dead."
Thomas frowned. "Oh. I am sorry."
Alana shrugged. "He was never healthy, and one winter… it was just too much for him," she said, and then sighed. "I apologize, for my father."
"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.
"Well, he did trespass," she said. "But then, I wouldn't have come here if he hadn't. Funny how things work out, isn't it?"
Thomas nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid I wasn't quite the same then." He paused. "Alana, you have no idea how much you've changed me."
She smiled sadly. She didn't like the finality of the conversation. She could feel things had changed, now that she was leaving. But then she felt guilty, for whatever reason, for not telling him the real truth, that she was a princess. Did it matter? Would he be angry? After all, he had thought her father was a farmer. Would he care that her father had lied? Now that she had been here, and they gotten along so well, she hoped that he wouldn't mind. But just as she opened her mouth to tell him, Faith flew in.
"Sir, sorry for interrupting, but there's something you need to see," Faith said, throwing anxious glances at Alana, who sat, confused.
Thomas, however, nodded and stood. "Stay here, Alana."
Alana nodded and watched them leave, her impatience returning. She suddenly felt the emptiness of his words. She couldn't be that meaningful to him if he didn't trust her to know what was going on. She stood up, her wreath falling to the ground. Although her gut told her not to follow, her frustration was too much to just stand around. She jogged lightly after them, her footsteps silent on the carpet. They had gone down a hallway she had never been through before, next to the fireplace on the southern wall. Down the dim corridor, she saw Faith's sparkling figure up ahead, and Alana slowed to a pace that was far enough behind as to not be seen. The hallway had no doors on either side, but seemed to simply stretch on forever. Alana was thinking of just doubling back – perhaps it wasn't that important – but then Thomas and Faith halted. Alana stopped a few yards behind them, straining her eyes. There was a sudden noise like a door opening, and sure enough, the darkness lifted as a door opened in front of Thomas and Faith, letting in a flood of light. They left the door open, and Alana, panicking slightly, hid behind a tall statue near the door. Thomas and Faith walked in to the white room, which was lit by a glittering chandelier. But for all the grandeur of the room, nothing was in it, at least not anything that Alana could see. She crouched down and peered her eyes around the statue's base. Now she could see Thomas and Faith standing and looking down at something in the middle of the room.
"I am sorry, sir," Faith said, her voice quivering.
Alana heard Thomas sigh. He bent down and she caught the sound of a rustle of paper.
"The end has come," he read. Alana knitted her brow. What did that mean? But then Thomas took a step back and Alana could see what lay on the floor: a white unicorn with a golden horn. Her jaw dropped, and she had to try and breathe quietly. She saw Thomas crush the paper in his hand and let it drop to the floor.
"Thank you, Faith," he said shortly and turned to leave.
"Sir?" Faith said.
Thomas stopped and turned slowly.
"I know you can't tell her everything, but at least tell her how you feel."
But Thomas shook his head. "She must leave. She cannot stay… I won't let her."
He then left the room, sweeping right past Alana without noticing her. Alana watched Faith put her head in her hands and flutter out of the room after him. Alana stood and, making sure they had truly left, crept into the room.
The unicorn lay peacefully, shiny and beautiful. Did Thomas love her? But then why would he let her go? She didn't understand it, but her anger subsided as she realized how sad and alone Thomas had looked. 'The end has come'… Thomas did not want her to see the end, whatever it was.
She straightened, and with one last look at the unicorn, hurried out of the room and down the hall, coming out into the empty entrance hall. She abandoned her modest wreathes and walked to her room, where her bags were half-way packed. If Thomas truly wanted her to go, she would. But she knew, as she lay down in fatigue, that she would always look back and wonder.
