The Subtle Beauty (20 page)

Glory halted. That was it, wasn’t it?

Her father knew that each of his daughter’s qualities, as he had so diplomatically put it, was a curse to them. There was only one way to break curses: love.

Glory suddenly wondered why she was free from vanity and happy, when her sisters were long wed or betrothed and still miserable. What made her different? What did she understand, what had she done so differently, that freed her, but not the others?

Glory’s feet started moving with urgency. She had to find her sisters.

She ran into Ophelia first. They both stopped in the hall, across from each other. Glory was not sure how her older sister would react. Without hesitation, Ophelia burst in to tears and ran down the hall toward Glory. Glory braced herself. Ophelia swept Glory into her arms.

“Why are you crying?”

“I am happy to see you!” Ophelia squeezed Glory.

“You are not usually so happy,” Glory wheezed, the air squishing out of her.

Ophelia released her death grip. “You are not usually away from the palace for a season, tricked into a marriage.”

“This is true,” conceded Glory.

“After the others tricked you into the hands of Barwn Xander, I could not still my tears, for my conscious was heavy. It was a terrible thing that Alexa and Odessa did, but I hope you understand why.”

“Do not worry, sweet sister,” Glory assured, “all is forgiven. How is it with you?”

“Well, when I could not bear the weight upon my soul, I told Lord Gaylord of it. He came at once and chased away my demons. I am much better now and do not cry nearly as often.”

“And the others? How is it with them?”

“Why do you not ask them yourself?”

“I would, if I could find them. I fear they expect me to be cross with them and are hiding from me.”

Ophelia shook her head. “It is not so. They have kept quite busy. Not long after you left, Father was approached with a suitor for Portia.”

Glory’s eyes widened. “Really!”

Ophelia giggled. “Shall we go see how miserable she is today?’

Glory nodded eagerly.

Ophelia took her by the arm and led her to Portia’s room. Odessa knelt, seamstress pins held in between her lips, at the foot of a girl in a white gown who kind of resembled Portia.

“I do not understand why we continue to work on this dress when it will not fit when I am wed.”

“If we do not continue taking it in,” Odessa growled through the pins, “you will be wed in a tent rather than a gown.”

Glory squinted at the girl in the white dress. “Portia?”

Portia looked over her shoulder. “Oh, thank The Dagda! Go and fetch me something to eat, would you?”

Before Glory could even consider it, Ophelia grabbed her hand and shook her head no.

Portia stomped her foot, yowling, “But I am so hungry! Lord Carson starves me.”

“No, he does not, Portia,” Odessa sighed. “You are being dramatic.”

“Yes, very,” Ophelia concurred. “Lord Carson is only concerned for your health. He has told you this repeatedly.”

“You are very lucky,” said Odessa, pulling some of the pins from between her lips and placing them in to the dress, “to have a suitor who loves you so well and wants a long life with you, filled with all sorts of adventures.”

Portia wrinkled her freckled nose. “I fail to see how this resolves my feeling of hunger.” She lifted her arms, making the excess fabric from the last alteration clearly visible, as it hung from her as wispy lichen from a willow tree. “I am wasting away. Can you not see how much has changed since the last fitting?”

Glory was stunned. “Portia,” she stammered, “you look astonishing. Can you not see how beautiful you are?”

Portia crossed her arms. “Beauty does not feed my snarling stomach, Glory. Besides, beauty was always your element.”

What Lord Carson was doing was so clear to all except Portia. Why could she not see it? Glory hoped Portia would realize that the gift Lord Carson was giving her would one day, hopefully, see her through to being an able, old woman, actively chasing her posterity.

Glory shifted her attention to Odessa. “Why do you not have a seamstress assisting you?”

“She fell ill.” Odessa sat back on her heels, examining her work.

Ophelia leaned in toward Glory. “Embroidery work calms her,” she whispered, “Lord Bedricht suggested it as a hobby. It gives her something to focus her energy on.”

Lord Bedricht was smart, Glory noted. Come to think of it, Odessa had seemed calmer while they had worked on Lucullia’s dress before everything happened, too. Glory was glad she had started doing it more regularly.

Portia looked over her shoulder at Glory. “What of your Eoghan? Does he feed you?”

My Eoghan
, Glory thought with a pang of guilt. “He does well at the hunt. No prey escapes him.”

“Are the rumors true? Is he cursed by deformity?”

Glory closed her eyes. The memory of her reflection in Eoghan’s glassy eye made her smile. “He is beautiful.”

“How convenient Father matched a beauty with a beauty,” Portia muttered.

Glory opened her eyes and bit her lip.
How unfortunate you do not see your beauty as I see it now, sister.

“How is Lucullia?” Glory asked. “Has she sent news of her new life in Council’s Realm?”

“Lord Davenport has already doubled what Father has given him. He has uncanny luck with overseas trade. Yet, he does well to make Lucullia mind him and live frugally. She is not happy to be living on a budget, but she does well. Lord Davenport dotes on her occasionally and allows her certain gifts whenever he returns home.”

So half of my sisters are working through their tribulations,
Glory thought.
Ophelia seems happier. Odessa is less often full of wrath. Lucullia is learning to live within her means. However, Portia does not yet recognize the burden Lord Carson is trying to lift from her.

“Do Alexa or Murtia ever write?” Glory inquired.

“I believe Father mentioned that Alexa has softened to Covington’s advances, and they are expecting a child. Murtia has taken to working among the people of her kingdom and has become very well-loved for her charity.”

Glory laughed with both delight and shock. Alexa was with child. She and her husband had found a way to make their marriage last, and now they were being blessed for their efforts. Somehow, Lord Covington had outsmarted Alexa’s game and turned her desire for all men in to a solitary desire for him.

Murtia had gained a work ethic and become a humanitarian. Not only that, but she was surely on her way to becoming a beloved ruler. Glory’s chest swelled. She felt a sense of pride and was highly impressed upon. This change in Murtia had seemed the most dramatic from among all of her sisters. Furthermore, Alexa’s love of men had turned to one man, and Murtia’s disdain for her husband had blossomed in to a love for her people. Glory pondered this. As it was, her sisters seemed to possess an initial resentment toward their marriages, or at least maintained an air about their misery, but their arrangements had definitely improved upon them. Such improvements did seem to make them happier and kinder to one another.

She felt as though she was on to their little secret. They may appear miserable, but it was not so bad after all. In fact, it was downright good for them. Could it be that they were not unhappy with their mates, but with the change within themselves instead? Perhaps what they all wanted wasn’t what they had needed.

Glory left the room, meditating on how her father’s will had affected her. Her vanity had been obvious, and she had cursed the very gods for ending up at Blackthorn Keep. This seemed to be in line with what her sisters had experienced as well. She had also resented Eoghan, though she did not know it was him at the time. He had opened her eyes to her vanity and freed her from its bonds, Colin included.
But how do I feel about Eoghan now?
she asked herself. All of her sisters still had arrangements after coming to terms with their weaknesses. Glory had none, as Eoghan had released her from their premarital contract.

It would not have worked, anyway,
Glory told herself.
He’s a beast. I am a princess. It would have been a fruitless marriage.

Glory walked to her room.
Why am I so disappointed to be released from the one thing that I dreaded? Half of my sisters would be rejoicing if given this opportunity.
Glory laughed to herself a little.
Half of my sisters do not care for their husbands.
Glory paused in her thinking. If the reason her sisters would rejoice from being freed from their contracts was that they had not learned to love their spouse yet, had not taken the time to appreciate their souls and connect with them….

It all made sense now!

What I want isn’t what I need!
Glory breathlessly raced through the castle and out into the courtyard where a riderless black horse stood.

He looked at her with great, dark, liquid eyes and whickered. Glory approached him with her hand outstretched. The horse threw his head, prancing impatiently.

“Easy,” Glory murmured, rubbing his neck.

A stable hand stepped in front of her. “Sorry, Princess. That’s not your horse.”

Glory chewed her lip. “I shall take my father’s, then.”

“No, Your Highness. His Majesty intends to go riding with the princesses Ophelia and Odessa today.”

Glory’s mouth hung open. “You mean to tell me there is not one horse in all of the stable that is free?”

The stable hand grabbed the reins of the horse in front of them. “Sorry, princess.”

Glory put her hands on her hips. “What about this one?”

“No not this one. He’s not yours.”

“I’m the princess.”

The stable hand shook his head.

The horse stomped his foot impatiently.

“I need to return to Blackthorn.”

“You only just arrived,” the stable hand tried to reason.

Glory stuck her nose in the air haughtily. “I order you to fetch me a carriage at once.”

The stable hand’s mouth opened and closed, but he obeyed and trudged off.

Glory watched him from the corner of her eye and smiled. She stepped to the horse’s side, pulled herself up, grabbed a handful of mane and hung on tight. “Let’s go!”

The horse reared then rocketed forward, his haunches rippling with effort. As they galloped away, the stable hand chased after them with flailing arms. “That’s not your horse!”

CHAPTER NINE

The Great Stag Hunt

Glory rode tirelessly through the afternoon and late into the night. By twilight, she recognized the landscape. The rolling hills were ripe with wheat, and the sea spread out nearby. Glory hunkered down and dug in her heels, urging her mount onward. They bolted over The Middle Kingdom, dragging behind them the orange light of dawn. The light grazed over emerald, dew-kissed stalks, turning back the night. The starlings’ song rose and fell. The tears of the River Trefnwy turned silver with the morning sun, bursting into the air as the horse and rider pounded through it.

Blackthorn Keep loomed in the distance. Glory galloped up to the castle and hastened into the courtyard. She swung herself over the horse’s back and rubbed his sweaty neck, praising him for his very hard, very long run. She charged into the keep and grabbed the elbow of the first servant she saw. “Where is Prince Eoghan?”

“I am sorry, M’Lady.” The servant bowed. “I have not seen him since you left.”

Glory caught her breath and then flew up the stairs to her room. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the castle ghost floating before the mirror.

“Please,” she said weakly, “I need to see Eoghan. Show me what you wish me to know.”

The ghost smiled at her and floated into the mirror. With a blast, the mirror glowed in blinding light. A dark, swirling vortex opened on to a clearing near dense woods. Eoghan soared high above the tree tops. Suddenly, four men rose from the tall barley grass below and snuck into the woods. One of them was blond. Glory recognized the back of Colin’s head. The men drew their bows. Colin reached for Ilyndiil. The mirror went dark. Glory’s breath caught.

“Glory?”

She turned her head. Xander leaned against the doorway.

“I did not expect you to return.”

Glory rose. “Where’s Eoghan?”

“He’s taken up the hunt in Litchwood for the white stag.”

“When will he return?”

“There’s no telling. He’s been trying for years to capture that infernal creature.”

Glory bolted past Xander and down the stairs.

Glory swore under her breath as her skirts caught on the tall grass. She hiked them up and plowed on through to the edge of Litchwood. The downey-birches swayed in a summer breeze. Glory leapt over rock and root into the woods. The trees grew closer together and ranged from birch to pine. The forest floor was fragrant with mulch and cool, damp earth. Birds scattered as she raced by. A squirrel chattered crossly at her. Glory looked up, trying to find Eoghan. How would she warn him of Colin’s presence without being discovered? She wished there was a way for Eoghan to find her first. She swallowed and inhaled deeply. She had to find Eoghan before Colin did. Deeper in she pressed, splashing through a rocky stream bed. Her feet grew sore from the rough, uneven terrain. A white blur bounded through the trees ahead.