The smoke cleared. Lord Maurice's court had vanished. They stood in a round-shaped entry room. Behind them were huge, thick doors, more heavily barred than the gates of Maurice's castle during the height of the war. Belle shivered. Wherever they were, it was far colder than the Marchlands, and her silk ball gown was barely any protection against the chill in the air. Bae, dressed only in his night shirt, pressed close against her.
The Dark One gave an extravagant, mocking bow. "Welcome to the Dark Castle," he said.
Bae clung to Belle. "M-mama?" he said. "What's happening?"
The creature's face softened. He crouched down, putting his eyes at the same level as Bae's. "I'm a bit of a wizard, Master Baelfire," he said, the harsh edge vanishing from his voice. "I've brought you to my home. Do you understand what Lord Maurice and I were talking about?"
"You—you wanted to take me away from Mama."
The Dark One shot Belle a quick scowl. "Not exactly." His face fell back into a gentle, coaxing expression. "You're how old, now? Seven?"
"Six," Bae said. "I'll be seven come winter."
"A very grown up six, then. You know the page boys who serve in Lord Maurice's court?"
Bae gave an uncertain nod. The gap between six and seven could be larger than a castle moat to little boys; and the page boys, sons of knights and nobles, knew they outranked all the other children in the castle.
"Well, boys are sent to train as pages when they are seven, aren't they? It's a very important job. I keep a smaller court than Lord Maurice, though I am a much more powerful. Kings have begged favors of me, I'll have you know." It didn't sound like boasting any more than it sounded like boasting to say a dragon weighed more than a lizard. "Well, I decided it was time to take at least one boy my service. Not just any boy, mind you. Someone special. And, for that, I was willing to pay Lord Maurice a very high price—anything he wanted—to have you released from his service and sent into mine." He gave Belle another scowling look. "Mothers usually have the good taste not to cling like limpets when this happens."
"Mothers usually release their sons into courts where they have family and friends," Belle said evenly. "And the boys are seven, not six."
"His birthday will be soon enough. I imagine you'll be willing enough to go by then. For now, let me show you your rooms."
"Can—can Mama stay with me?" Bae asked. "Please?"
The Dark One didn't look pleased but he gave in. "I suppose it's that or the dungeons. I wasn't expecting both of you. The only rooms prepared are for the boy."
"Thank you," Bae said. He shivered in the cold room.
The Dark One waved his hands and pulled a deep blue robe out of the air along with a matching pair of slippers. "For you, Master Baelfire. I can't have you catching cold."
Bae gratefully pulled them on, then padded after the Dark One as he led them through his home. Candles and torches lit their way—dozens of them, more than Lord Maurice had used to light the grand hall during the Yuletide feast Belle's first winter at the castle before the Ogres had begun to cut them off from trade and candles and the gold to buy them still flowed freely. The Dark One, despite his name, had enough light to turn a simple hallway bright as day. But, the windows they passed were all hidden behind thick, heavy curtains.
They went through a great hall, the kind for receiving guests. It was made to impress with the owner's wealth, Belle thought. Intricately woven tapestries hung on the walls alongside paintings that startled her with the lifelike images. Strange objects were scattered about like trophies. Some, like a gold cup encrusted with jewels, were things anyone could recognize as valuable. Others, like an odd, pointed hat covered with stars and sickle moons, she suspected were impressive only to other wizards and witches.
But, the long table, that could have easily sat two dozen guests, had only one chair. Odder still, a common spinning wheel stood in a corner, ready to use. It was a great wheel, the kind spinners stood to use. Those wheels had a reputation for being tricky among the village women. At least in the Borderlands, they were only used by master spinners like Belle's husband.
The pain of missing him, familiar but unexpected in this place, stabbed through her again.
The creature led them on through hallways and up stairs till they reached a large door. The Dark One flicked his hand, and the door opened. There was a large playroom on the other side. Shelves were bursting with toys of all kinds. No less than three toy chests, opened and overflowing with more toys, stood against the walls. Another wall had shelves of books and strange tools made of metal and glass. She recognized two, a kind of farseeing glass used on ships and another device used for judging latitude by the stars. She had seen such things in Maurice's castle as well as Jones' ship and knew soldiers in the field made as much use of them as men at sea, but she felt a chill down her back at the sight of them.
Unlike the other rooms they passed through, this one was warm and cozy. A fire burned merrily in the grate, and the marble floor was covered by a thick carpet of the sort traders brought from Agrabah.
The Dark One regarded Bae's gaping face with satisfaction for a moment before throwing open another door. It led to a bedroom. A canopied bed, embroidered in gold with knights and dragons, stood against the wall. There were wardrobes, their doors open to show clothes fit for a prince. A door opened off to the side where Belle could see a large tub for bathing. Two trunks had been placed by the foot of the bed.
The Dark One grimaced at the trunks as if they were dead rats. "Your things from Maurice's castle are in those," he said. He snapped his fingers, and a trundle bed slid out on its own from under the bed. "For you. Madam." He repeated the title Belle had given him when she told him she was no lady. "You're not to make the boy sleep in it, do you understand?"
Belle nodded humbly. "Of course, my lord." If he meant to treat her as a servant, it was a role she could accept. She didn't think he wanted more, not from her.
But, what did he want from Bae? There were stories of witches who ate children's hearts and wizards who used their blood. There were far more ordinary, if more horrifying, tales of men who used children more cruelly than Jones had ever used her.
Yet, he was looking at Bae with something like kindness in his eyes. "Master Baelfire, you've had a very long day, all three hundred years of it. You need some rest." He turned his attention to Belle, his eyes hardening. "Madam, when the child's asleep, you'll find me in the long hall. I'll explain you duties to you there."
Belle curtsied, head bowed. "My lord."
He looked ready to say something scornful but looked at Bae and merely gave her a curt nod before leaving the room.
"Mama?"
Belle looked down at Bae. He was frightened and uncertain. What should she say? Tell him not to fear this creature who wanted Bae for reasons unknown? Terrify her son by sharing her fears? And what would this Dark One do to her if she did? She put lies and fears aside for the moment, forcing herself to smile. "He's right, you've had a very long day. It's past time you were asleep." He was still in his night shirt. Lord Maurice's guards had pulled him out of bed and marched him into the ballroom without even giving the child a chance to throw on a cloak to keep off the cold.
How? She wondered. How could Maurice do this? Even if—even if—
It didn't matter, she reminded herself. It was done. Lord Maurice had sent Bae away, and she'd followed—she'd chosen to follow. She opened the trunks and found Bae's things. His blanket was there, the one she'd knitted for him before he was born. He still couldn't sleep without it.
Was it a good sign that this Dark One had brought it? Should she take hope from that?
Bae snuggled up to the blanket—ragged and worn after six years of love—as Belle tucked him in bed. She stroked his curls. "Close your eyes, Bae, and let me tell you a story. Is there one you'd like to hear?"
"Papa."
Belle smiled. "All right, then. Once upon a time, there was a weaver. He was the greatest weaver in all the Borderlands, and he was kind and brave. . . ."
Bae smiled as she told the familiar tale, of how a weaver met a peasant girl and the happy life they'd had. The story soothed him. Before long, he'd fallen asleep. Belle started for the door. Then, she thought better of it. She didn't have to wear the clothes Gaston chose for her, not anymore. She didn't have to smile and dance and lie. She thought. She hoped.
She should be grateful. Lord Maurice had reminded Belle time and again she should be grateful. Grateful he'd answered her desperate plea for help. Grateful he'd taken her in. Grateful he'd given her a place in his court by giving her to Gaston.
She brought out her black dress. It was velvet, but the cut was simple and severe. It covered her from neck to wrist to nearly the soles of her feet. It was warm and its simplicity, at least, fit a servant. It was also the only dress she'd chosen for herself.
Belle took off the red ball gown and folded it away in the trunk (there was no room in the wardrobes for anything of hers). Reminding herself to be brave, she went out the door to find her new master.
X
Belle fixed tea while the Dark One explained her duties. He paced around her, coming close, then father away, giving her a feeling of being stalked.
Jones had done this. She remembered him leaning in over her shoulder as she worked. He'd laughed whenever she let his see she was afraid, telling she was such a skittish, nervous thing as he put his hand around her throat. He had had a way of speaking gently as he threatened her or saying things that should have been pleasant but made her skin crawl.
She'd survived, she reminded herself. Bae was alive and so was she. They would survive this, too.
Somehow.
The list of chores the Dark One gave was nearly impossible, but she nodded mutely, accepting it. She looked down at her hands. They had grown delicate over her time in Maurice's court. She could imagine the pain they would be in tomorrow.
It hardly mattered. She could do what he asked, and her hands would regain their old toughness given time. But, the Dark One's anger was a tangible thing. The more meek and obedient Belle tried to be, the more she could feel it growing, till he added another task to the list.
"And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts."
Belle dropped the tea set, staring at him in horror.
Bae, she thought. No, no, he can't—he can't—
He watched her, smiling so she could see his fangs. He enjoyed her terror for a moment before saying, "That one was a quip. Not serious."
Belle licked dry lips. She needed to pick up the tea set, to clean the tea off the floor, and laugh at his joke—to pretend there hadn't been any cruelty in it. She needed to be patient. She needed to wait, to do what he wanted. As she'd done with Gaston. As (her stomach knotted) she'd done with Jones.
No.
Her voice barely a whisper, she asked, "What do you want with him?"
He stared at her curiously, pretending not to understand. "Whatever do you mean, dearie?"
"My son," her voice shook with fear, despite her best efforts. "What do you want with him? What are you going to do to him?"
He sat down in his chair. "Whatever I want, dearie," he said. "Why? Do you think you can stop me?"
"No—no. You can't. I won't—"
He laughed. "You won't what, dearie? You won't let me? You think you could get in my way? I'm surprised. I'd think you'd be grateful. A common, street woman like you. Look at where you are. In a great castle serving a great lord. Isn't that what you wanted?
"Or do you really expect me to believe you really care about the boy? You want to look at him, here at the end, and really see him and think about what might've been if I hadn't shown up? Is that what you want to do right now? You remember looking at him when he was the littlest babe. Helpless and all yours. Those big, big eyes full of tears, pulling at you." The mocking sweetness in his voice changed, becoming sharp as a knife. "Pulling away your money, your time. Pulling away any hope of making your life into something better for yourself. This pink, naked, squirming little larva that wanted to eat your dreams alive and never stop! How old is he now? Don't you want to be free of him? I gave you the chance. Why didn't you take it? Do you think you impressed anyone with your little act of motherliness? Do you think that oaf who bought and paid for your favors believed any of your playacting? Do you—"
"Enough!" It wasn't till she felt the sting across her palm Belle realized she had struck him in the face. She stared from the Dark One to her hand, horrified. Seven years. Seven years and three centuries ago, she had gone mad with anger and grief and damned herself and Baelfire. She thought she had learned since then. She thought she had killed everything inside her that words could hurt. Belle stared at the Dark One, wondering what he would do to her.
He stared as well, meeting her terrified gaze. He was the one who looked away first. "Clean up the tea," he ordered, his eyes on of the tapestries, the one showing a unicorn chained to a tree.
Hastily, Belle began to pick up the pieces and put them back on the tray. Her breath caught as she realized one of the cups was chipped.
The Dark One must have heard her. "What?" he snapped.
"Oh... my. " The words tumbled out. Too many words. She had already said too much, done too much. But, she had to answer. "I'm so sorry but, uh... it's.. it's chipped. " She held it up. "You—you can hardly see it."
He stared at it, as if he wondered what she was talking about. Then, he looked away again. "It's just a cup."
Moments passed. Her hands were shaking as she rearranged the cups and pot on their tray.
"What do you know of magic?" he asked abruptly.
Belle nearly dropped the tea set again. "Almost nothing," she admitted. She knew the common things everyone knew, wishing for luck, little rhymes to be said over warts, things like that. "Not—not about great magic. Magic like yours."
He nodded. "All magic comes with a price," he told her. His voice was no longer mocking, just tired. "When people come to me for deals, I let them know the price. They complain and moan, but I set the terms down for anyone to read. And I keep my deals. Always. I have never broken a deal—except once." He stopped.
Belle waited. Finally, not sure if it was what he was waiting for, she asked, "What was it?"
"I made a promise. To protect someone. I failed.
"Failure comes with a price, too.
"The price I have to pay. . . ." For a moment, his eyes met hers, searching. He looked away. "A child," he said. "A very specific child. I must find him and . . . care for him. As my own. That child is your son."
"I—I don't understand. Why Bae? I love him, but what makes him so special to you?"
"Magic . . . sometimes has odd terms. He's neither noble nor commoner, a little boy—not even seven, yet he's an ancient man—more than three centuries old. He is more unique than you realize. And . . . I will do what I'm bound to do. I will care for him. I'll love him, if I can." He grimaced. "It's not something I'm known for. But, I will look after him as if—as if he were my own son. If that's what you're afraid of, then don't be. You can trust me with him."
His eyes hardened again. "But, I don't need you. I don't want you. I'm giving you a chance one more time. Leave. I'll give you gold and jewels and anything else your heart desires. Just leave the boy here and go."
Belle believed him. Maybe there was magic in his words, a spell to convince her. Maybe it was only that she'd learned to accept so many things, to ignore the pain and stop fighting what she was powerless to change.
But, it didn't matter if he was telling the truth or not. "No," she whispered. "I thank you. But, no. I can't leave him, not like this."
The Dark One nodded. "Then, tomorrow, you'll begin your work. And you will not trouble me with any complaints. Do you understand?"
Belle nodded.
"Very well, then. You're dismissed. Go look after your boy, if you must. I'm done with you."