Author's note: I worked more on my editing for this chapter. I know that this story has lots of faults, but if you let me know what they are, then I will do my best to make amends in future chapters. Thanks to Clar the Pirate for the reviews! As always, this does belong to me, except for the glass slippers, and the basic storyline. Enjoy!
Chapter 5
The first thing that Isabelle did after waking that morning was to run down to the room with the thrones and open the chest that held the fabric that she and Trestan had discovered the day before. In her human form she could actually feel the fabrics and sew, instead of botching everything with her clumsy paws. The midnight blue velvet was luxuriously soft, but hardly long enough to make a garment from. The next piece was a sheet-like piece of butter-colored linen. Isabelle also found a length of white lace trim, a few balls of yarn and thread, toffee-hued felt, russet wool, the palest indigo taffeta, ruby jacquard, and much pea-green brocade. If only she could find a needle; a needle was the only the she would need. Oh, the fine dresses she could create. Isabelle was kept from this only by the want of a needle. With another wistful glance at each of the fabrics, she packed the trunk back up and went to her breakfast.
Trestan had already made himself a plate of eggs and bacon. Isabelle shuffled into the kitchen, made herself the same meal, and started a stew for lunch.
"Good morning," the bear said kindly, "What is disturbing you?"
"Nothing," Isabelle sighed drearily.
"You honestly do not expect me to believe that," he said with a little sarcasm.
Isabelle replied with a 'Humph!" as she stormily adjusted a stray curl. Her hair was well beyond shoulder length, and pinned up with the hairpins which Jeanne had so lovingly tucked into it so many days ago. "What are you going to do this morning," she finally condescended to ask him.
"Chopping more wood. You?"
"Nothing much. Lunch just has to simmer."
"I will make you a broom, if you would like," Trestan said, glancing insinuatingly at the ashes that were beginning to migrate from the fireplace to the kitchen floor.
Isabelle nodded. She would sweep and take out the ashes like a servant, but only because she was bored. She grudgingly found a rag to wrap around the handle while Trestan went out to the yard. After half an hour, he came back with a straight stick to which he had bound an armful of straw-like twigs. Isabelle reluctantly took it. Trestan began to leave, but stopped for a moment with a gentle "Thank you." Isabelle nodded in return and began to sweep first the kitchen floor, then the ashes in the fireplace. She swept the dirt down the hall and outside; making sure that the pile was not in the walk-way. The last thing that she wanted was for the dirt to be tracked back in.
Isabelle entered one of the rooms nearby. It was empty, except for a high wooden chair upholstered in a fuzzy felt fabric, similar to the chair in the painting Isabelle and Trestan had found the day before. Isabelle zealously searched for a needle; she had half a hope that one had been left behind while the woman had been sitting for her portrait. There was no needle on the floor. Defeated, Isabelle sank into the chair and instantly leapt up again; her rear had been pricked by a needle. She held it up, triumphant. She could survive without a thimble for now; a needle was enough.
Isabelle flew to the trunk and drew out the piece of blue velvet. Although it was not long enough to sew a full garment with, she could create the most charming short jacket to wear. Isabelle wondered what Trestan would say when she would show him her new jacket. Trestan. Isabelle had noticed that although he had a decent shirt, his trousers had more holes and patches than original fabric.
The girl reluctantly set down the velvet; her jacket could wait. Trestan needed new pants. She gathered the burgundy wool and carried it to the kitchen. After laying it out on the table, she wondered how she was going to make the pants the right size without Trestan knowing. Suddenly a plan came to her mind, but to do it, she would have to wait. Isabelle returned the wool to the chest and retrieved the linen instead. For now, she could stay busy making an apron for herself. She would stay much cleaner this way, and not have to do laundry quite so often. She cut out the outline of the apron she wanted by means of a large kitchen knife. Isabelle felt a rush of homesickness as she threaded her needle. She missed the bustle of Jeanne, her brother and sister, and her parents throughout the day. The solitude here was what Isabelle would know for the rest of her days, unless her curse would be broken.
That afternoon, Trestan told Isabelle to come with him to the throne room. When she asked why, he replied cryptically, "I need your help to do something." The wolf shrugged and followed. A dozen bark-less logs a few inches in diameter stood near the cabinet.
"What are you about to do?" Isabelle groaned.
"I will show you," the man said, already moving the logs into more suitable positions. Trestan placed a thick log near the side of the cabinet and put another on top, perpendicular to the first. "When I lift the cabinet," he commanded, "you must wedge the end of the top log under it."
"Fine," Isabelle said disdainfully, but she did it. Trestan strained to lift the bulky piece of furniture as Isabelle pushed her shoulder into the end of the log.
"Good," Trestan said, moving over to the end of the log not supporting the cabinet. "Now, when I stand on this end of the log, slide a log under the cabinet." Once Isabelle had rolled one of the logs into place, Trestan stood on the lever-like log, pushing the cabinet off of the ground. Isabelle put one of the logs under the cabinet, followed by three more. When half of the logs were underneath, Trestan pushed the opposite side of the cabinet, rolling it along with the logs as wheels.
"Clever," Isabelle observed grudgingly. "Where did you learn that?"
"Is that a complement?" Trestan asked wryly.
"I was only trying to make conversation," Isabelle said half haughty, half teasing.
"Thank you. I picked it up in Greece. An old man was trying to explain how the ancient slaves used to pull the galleys across the isthmus at Corinth. I loved Greece. Good food, good wine. Too bad they dislike bears as much as the rest of Europe," he added cynically. He kept the cabinet moving, although the effort was like rolling a boulder up the side of a mountain. Every so often, he would replace the front log, to keep the cabinet rolling smoothly.
"Is Greece the only place that you have journeyed to?" Isabelle said, wondering what the sunny Mediterranean country was like.
"No, I have gone up to Scanavia, then Oberland, Poland, oh, and Ruzia, but it was too cold, even with a fur coat. I long to go back to Iltia, but I cannot stay…Maybe this spring, I'll go back to Greece."
"Greece sounds wonderful," Isabelle added. She had heard stories about foreign, exotic lands, but it had never occurred to her that someone could travel to them. The only people who traveled were gypsies, ruffians, and the cursed. Maybe, if her curse did not let off, she could go to Greece to see the mountain of their gods and the seas where their boats had made their immortal journeys.
"It is," Trestan said crisply. By this time, he had moved the cabinet across the room and to one of the side doors. The wolf blocked it open as Trestan budged the cabinet through.
"Where are you to put that?" Isabelle said, concerned. Sweat was beginning to collect on the man's forehead.
"Over here," Trestan panted, nodding towards an out of the way corner. He finally manipulated it to the corner and then shoved it into place, kicking the logs out of the way as they rolled out from beneath the cabinet.
"Nice work," Isabelle said conclusively.
"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Trestan said, shaking out his arms.
"Do your best not to get a large head," Isabelle scolded teasingly.
"Please do not sound so worried," he said, with a slight smile, "I would like to look around more. You are welcome to come with."
"My thanks," she replied, "Let's go."
They walked down the corridor before them and turned into the first room they came to. The walls were painted a sage green on the top half with white wainscoting on the bottom, but the room was bare, except for a window with peeling gold trim. It looked out on a red cobblestone terrace between it and another wing of the castle. In the middle of the little plaza stood a fountain.
"I never knew there to be a fountain here," Isabelle said, jumping up on her back paws to gaze out the window.
"There is?" Trestan said in amusement, "I never really noticed it before."
"Let's go on, shall we?" Isabelle said, exiting the room and going further down the hall. The corridor widened into a showy gallery filled with statues draped in cobwebs and ancient paintings on the walls. One painting in particular caught Isabelle's eye. There was a fountain on a terrace exactly like the one Isabelle had seen outside. A wolf stood, lapping at the water in the fountain, unaware that it was being watched. A man stood hidden in the shadows of the trees nearby, an arrow nocked in the bow he was holding. He was of median height, with a sturdy build, but his face was hidden deep inside the hood of his green-grey cloak. Isabelle stared at the painting in horror. Trestan strode up beside her.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, his soft voice echoing the in the large gallery. Trestan wordlessly examined the painting, and then knelt, placing a comforting hand on Isabelle's shoulder. "I used to be like that when I saw paintings of bears too."
Isabelle pulled away, saying, "I don't want to look around here anymore." She dashed out into the throne room. Isabelle knew that it wasn't ladylike, but neither was being a wolf. The wolf in the painting didn't look anything remotely like Isabelle, but the intent gaze of the hunter brought back the memories of the first terrible day of her curse. Isabelle thought back to the terrible hours when she was hunted by her own father. How could Trestan understand that? How could he know what Isabelle had gone through?
"Please come back," Trestan said, sprinting after her. "Brooding on it will do no—" He tripped on the dust cloth where the cabinet had stood before they moved it. Isabelle coyly turned back to look at him. His leg had disappeared into the floor.
"Your leg!" Isabelle cried.
"I am fine," Trestan snorted. He laughed for a minute as Isabelle looked on, then finally extracted his foot from the hole. He crouched down and stuck his arm into the opening. "There is something down there," Trestan said. Isabelle slunk over to the throne and perched there, alternating between grooming herself and pretending not to notice him. Once he found what he had wanted, Trestan stood up, triumphant. He held up a small box, letting it catch the light. The box was made of bronze with a square topaz stone fitted into its lid. He opened it with a flip of his thumb and paused, transfixed.
"What is it?" Isabelle the wolf asked anxiously.
"You will have to come and see," Trestan said, holding the box out to her. Isabelle trotted over to him.
Two tiny glass slippers sat side by side in their tiny box. The glass caught the light like crystal, so the shoes did not need any other adornment. Their needle-like heels looked as if they would break. Trestan picked one up. It fit easily in the palm of his large hand.
"What are we going to do with them?" Trestan said flatly.
"Keep them," Isabelle shot back acidly, "Why? What was your suggestion?"
"Sell them and split the money," he said, examining one with the air of a mercenary. "No one will buy them in the village; no, better to wait until the next city, or until a merchant comes by."
"Sell them? No!" Isabelle said, stomping her paw. Unfortunately, this was more effective as a human girl. "At least let me have the slippers until spring…and you can keep the box."
"If you insist," Trestan sighed, setting the slippers on the ground for her. Isabelle lowered her back paw over one, imagining herself wearing it. When her paw touched the glass, it felt pleasantly cool. After a moment, Isabelle tried to fit her other paw into the second slipper. The glass swelled and expanded to fit her paws. White mist descended, obscuring Trestan and the rest of the room. The last she saw, he was glancing at the floor bitterly. In another moment, the white mist dissipated. Isabelle held back her dress to admire her glass-slippered feet.
"I'm a girl again!" she squealed, "My curse has been broken. Hourra! Now I can pack; I should get home before the snow begins to fly. Won't Mama and Papa and Jeanne be pleased? Oh, and Marie and Antoine, the little dears. How I've missed them," the girl paused, remembering Trestan. She began again, subdued, "Thank you for letting me stay, Trestan. You have been very kind, but I must get home. By now, they probably believe that I am captured, or…or dead, and, I could not bear to let them think that."
"Isabelle," Trestan's voice was soft, but full of darkness, "Take off the shoes."
Isabelle stared at him, stricken. "Why," she said, trembling.
"Just do it!" Trestan shouted, then lowered his voice again. "You may put the shoes back on, just take them off for a minute."
Isabelle did not know that was worse: Trestan shouting, or Trestan being calmly angry. She kicked off the shoes. The white mist appeared again; Isabelle was a wolf again. Tears formed in Isabelle's eyes; she had wanted to go home so much, now she would have to wait for something else to break her curse. How long would it be before she could go home?
"You may put the slippers back on now," Trestan said coldly. Isabelle did, and transformed back into a girl. "You have a choice before you. You may stay, or you may go. But be warned: if you leave, you will have to wear those glass slippers for the rest of your life." He turned and stalked out of the room.
Isabelle collapsed on to the floor; she sat and wept until it grew dark.
At last she rose. Isabelle wished that she could splash some water onto her face, but the only water close by was in the kitchen. Isabelle did not want to see the man who had crushed her dreams. She wished that she still believed her curse to be broken, or that she had found out herself instead of Trestan forcing the knowledge upon her. He had been such a brute about it. Isabelle ascended the nearest staircase and found her way to her room. She slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.