Author's Note: I'm so glad that you like this. The dounut of your choice to anyone who reviews and fruit juice to anyone who specualtes! Thanks to Ihatejacob1, stars13, and 3DG for their kindess in reviews, author alerts, favoriting, etc! I updated just for you... ;)
Chapter 7
The next morning, Isabelle woke, realizing that she had kicked off her glass slippers in her sleep. It did not matter because she was a girl in the mornings, but she would have to remember to keep her slippers close. She slipped her feet into them and made her way to the kitchen.
After eating the breakfast that Trestan had made, Isabelle swept the fireplace and the floor. Before lunch, she finished her apron and wore it proudly. It was a plain, sleeveless overdress that had a V-shaped neckline and a skirt that went to Isabelle's knees. Isabelle had used the edge of the fabric for her bottom hem, but she could always finish it later.
A bit before noon the bear-Trestan came in for lunch, ate, and, when the clock struck, turned back into a man. "I can patch those pants now," Isabelle offered.
"Oh, that's right," Trestan said, embarrassed. He stood, wondering what to do next.
"Go out into the hall, and hand them to me," Isabelle directed. "I'll stay in the kitchen until they're done. It will take a while, considering the abuse they've taken."
Trestan nodded and did as he was told. As soon as he left the room, Isabelle grabbed the red fabric from the shelf where she had hidden it the night before and laid it out on the table. Staying out of sight, Trestan wordlessly handed his pants in through the door.
Smiling a bit at his embarrassment, Isabelle called, "Go on now. These will be done, just give me a little time. Don't act so ashamed," she could not resist teasing him, "They are only pants." Isabelle stretched the pants out on top of the red wool and traced them with a stick of charcoal: messy but effective. She could cut them out later when Trestan wasn't around. Isabelle set her needle and thread on the table and set to work.
After Trestan got his pants back, he went and worked in the yard until the sun was close to setting. Isabelle brought him an apple halfway through the afternoon and gingerly helped him stack some of the smaller pieces of wood. She came back inside and set to work cutting out the pieces for a pair of pants with a primitive set of shears she had found in a cabinet. Then she began to form the pant legs. By the time supper came, she had finished the first leg and was halfway through the second. Trestan walked in and Isabelle froze, needle in hand.
"You can't get enough of sewing, can you?" he observed.
"No," Isabelle said, folding the pants and quickly stashing them away. "I enjoy it very much."
"It is a good skill. You'll be able to make use of it," Trestan remarked.
Isabelle shrugged. "Hungry for soup?"
"Of course," He replied. After their meal, they cleaned the dishes and put them away. Trestan sat near the fire, but not as close as the night before. Isabelle sat at the table again.
"Not sewing tonight," he asked, breaking the silence.
"Non, er," Isabelle stalled, searching for an excuse, "There's not enough light now. Perhaps it's silly of me."
"It's not. I probably shouldn't read by the firelight, but there's not much time during the day, and I can't get too close to the fireplace," Trestan said lightly.
"No," Isabelle replied with a smirk, "That is probably not a very good idea."
"What I would give for…" he let his thought trail off. He looked at the floor as if ashamed.
"What?" Isabelle said, genuinely curious.
"Candles," Trestan sighed, "It would be so nice to have light no matter where I was. Torches are too much of a mess to be practical. But candles, they would be so convenient. You know, they are the only things that I have not come across when searching the castle." He looked so serious, that Isabelle had to smile.
"Really," she laughed.
"Why are you laughing?" Trestan said, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.
"There, you sounded almost human," Isabelle said with satisfaction.
"I thank you for the complement," Trestan smiled. It was a little smile, but it lit up his face like a candle in a far away window.
"Why did you not buy candles in the village?" Isabelle said a moment later. She feared that if she let the conversation lag for too long, they would not continue it at all.
"They fear them. I asked for them, but was immediately hushed. They think candles are only used in the Devil's work. Instead, they use torches or the occasional clay pot with a wick and oil. No one was willing to speak about it, so I bought my food and left."
"What would they fear from a candle? Do they understand how much easier their lives would be if they used them?" Isabelle looked at Trestan, hoping for an answer.
"People fear anything that they do not understand. Like men who become beasts." Trestan's voice had a hard edge to it.
"How did you become cursed?" Isabelle said abruptly, searching for the answer in his handsome, open face.
He did not answer. Isabelle sat waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour in silence. She dared not ask again. She had hoped that he would tell her and give her a clue, or an answer, for the breaking of her own curse. In a small voice, she began her story, telling about her life at home, her family. She skimmed over the part where she gave her cloak to the girl in the village. She did not know why she included it. Trestan pensively shifted to rest his head on his hand. When she came to the part where she had been rude to the hag, she could not meet his gaze and stared beside him into the fire. When she finished her tale, she waited for him to speak. Again minutes passed. Fighting sleep, Isabelle got up to depart for her room. She was half way to the door when Trestan spoke.
"My father was the third son in his family; he never expected to be the heir to his father's holdings. About when the second son had become a cleric, the eldest died in battle. When my father was made heir, however, he was forced to make a choice. He could marry the common girl he loved, or he could wed a wealthy lady to further the holdings of his family. This lady was wealthy and beautiful, but cruel and spoke sharply to anyone who she deemed below her. My father chose to wed the poorer girl because she was kind and gracious. In a rage, the lady set a curse on his firstborn. To become bear half of the day and the other half a man. Because of that, I am who I have become…"
Isabelle had stopped to listen. When Trestan was talking, sleep could wait, no matter how tired she became.
"My father laughed at the curse until I was born. He could not bear to look at me as a bear." He smiled slightly at his pun, but the smile was chased away by irony. "Few people saw me during the mornings—I had my own chambers and garden in which to roam. In the afternoons I had my lessons with the other boys. I hardly knew that I was abnormal until I was ten or twelve. I overheard two of the servants talking about how I would go roaming off by myself at night and come back at noon. When I was nearly fourteen, I was found out…Another boy followed me to my sanctuary and had seen me there. He told everyone. My father was disgraced; I ran away. I could not stay there any longer. I cannot stay in one place too long or someone will find me out and try to hunt me, so I have been traveling ever since."
"How is your curse to be broken?" Isabelle said groggily.
"You must be exhausted," Trestan exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I apologize for keeping you up so late."
"No," Isabelle yawned, "I am fine. Tell me," she demanded.
"Goodnight, Isabelle," Trestan said, a note of finality in his voice.
Isabelle stumbled up to her room, but felt wide-awake once she got there. Trestan had been a nobleman and had run away. This mirrored Isabelle's life. Isabelle wondered how her curse was to be broken. She wanted Trestan to tell her more about his, but maybe their curses were not the same. Trestan was the victim of his father's decision, while Isabelle had brought her curse upon herself. Maybe they weren't so different. Perhaps they had been brought here to break each other's curse. Isabelle drifted off to sleep, believing there was hope.
Isabelle's life fell gradually into a routine. In the mornings, she would cook, clean a little and, when Trestan was not nearby, sew his new pants. In the afternoons, she and Trestan would shell walnuts, chop more wood, or explore more of the castle's strange little rooms and passageways. When an odd, occasional mood struck her, Isabelle would kick off her glass slippers, become a wolf, and run along the deer trails that lined the hills. When those times came, Isabelle ran so fast that she was the wind. Maybe if she ran fast enough, she would shed her curse like the trees had shed their leaves. When she became weary from running, she would find the slippers and transform into a girl once more. The girl would enter the castle again, and pretend that there was not something missing in her life.
Trestan puzzled Isabelle. One day, he looked as if he was ready to leave the castle, but on the next, he would be as content with his life as any man. Isabelle hated the times when she thought that he would leave. Her biggest fear was that he would, and she would be all alone. Whenever she questioned him about his curse, he abruptly changed the subject. Soon Isabelle realized that if she stopped asking about it, he would tell her when he was ready—he would not give in to her little fits of temper. Over the next three weeks, Trestan had changed. He and Isabelle had gone from being complete strangers to becoming friends. Trestan had been surprised and delighted with the pants she had made for him.
In return, Trestan taught her how to find the great bear constellation in the night sky, and how to play a game called chess. They had found a mostly complete set of wooden chessmen and Trestan made a game board from a piece of wood that had lain in the rubbish room. Isabelle realized that when Trestan was a bear he was less talkative, but as a man, he was more sure of himself.
Every so often, Isabelle noticed wildness and even fear reflected in the man's eyes. These were the times when Trestan became sarcastic and withdrawn. Sometimes Isabelle was cynical right back at him, but she did not want to spoil the only friendship she had. As hard as it was for her to be grudgingly patient, Isabelle hoped that she would understand him in time.