Chapter Text
Much to Elena’s surprise, nobody came immediately chasing after her into the forest. She had been braced for it, looking over one shoulder constantly as she and Major galloped into the trees. However, she was beyond relieved to find that she was evidently far less important a resource to Lady Tremaine than she’d feared. Although visions of her stepmother appearing from behind a tree like something from her nightmares persisted even hours into her escape, there was nothing in reality to suppose she was being actively followed — at least for now.
As such, she slowed Major’s gait to something more sedate and leisurely as soon as her breathing began to settle down. She’d had ten years to perfect the art of invisibility any good servant possessed. A lone, fearful woman on a galloping horse attracted more attention than a bored traveller did. If I’d had more time to plan, I could have stored away male clothes, she thought. Even as the thought occurred to her, Elena knew it was ridiculous. She’d only gathered the courage to run because it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The farthest she has ever gotten in terms of preparation was packing Major’s saddlebags with hardtack and a few strips of salted meat. Not that they were of any use to her riding bareback, with all of his tack left in the stable in the heady rush of escape.
Nevertheless, when Elena did finally draw to a halt to take a break, she felt far from hopeless. She had grown up in these woods; she knew the good mushrooms from the poisonous, and summer had ripened the berries too inaccessible for the birds to reach. They had covered a good amount of distance in the few hours they had been travelling, finding themselves in a small copse next to an off-branch of the river that eventually ran through her town. Elena dismounted, groaning a little as her legs got used to walking on the ground again. She slipped her apron strings free, looping them around Major’s neck in a loose halter before limping over to the stream and dipping her bare feet in for some relief.
She hissed through her teeth as the water rushed against all the tiny cuts and scrapes she had gotten on her soles since Lady Tremaine had confiscated her shoes. Within seconds, her feet went numb from the freezing water, providing a different kind of relief altogether. It was almost as if they didn’t exist at all; had never existed, never grown hard calluses from ill-fitting servant’s slippers and a decade’s worth of work, and instead had stayed soft and dainty, the way a lady’s feet should. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the numbness gave way to a bone-deep cold so fierce it felt like fire. She stumbled backwards out of the stream, gasping a little as she sat down and rubbed the blood back into her feet. Her fingers were tingling by the time she had finished. The message, such as it was, was loud and clear; there was no time for dreaming, until she knew she was safe.
By the time the sun fell, Elena felt – if not, pleased, then at least satisfied with her escape attempt thus far. She had managed to gather together a meagre supper, while Major seemed perfectly content to graze on the long-growing grass. There were still no signs she was being followed. As the moon began to rise, she settled down beside the horse, huddling into him for a warm shield against the cool night air. As she clumsily brushed out her hair with her fingers, braiding it into a simple plait ready for sleep, Elena thought for the first time of what she had left behind – not just her shoes, and her hairbrush, but the collection of treasures in the box underneath her floorboards. She was . . . reasonably certain Lady Tremaine did not know of their existence. Certainly she had never asked what had become of the mourning ring containing her father’s hair. The journal, and the music box, Elena was less certain of. The locket with her mother’s hair, she didn’t even dare to speculate upon. Lady Tremaine was a cruel and vindictive woman who had disliked any mention of Elena’s mother. Under normal circumstances, she would probably have cared very little about the necklace – but, of course, she hadn’t left under normal circumstances. There was no telling how her stepmother would retaliate for the misunderstanding at the dressmakers.
Would have retaliated, her mind self-corrected. You ran. You escaped. You don’t need to fear her consequences.
The rebuttal soothed her enough to slip into an uneasy, dreamless sleep; when she woke the next morning, to her surprise Elena felt decently refreshed, considering the circumstances. Before remounting Major, she dipped her feet in the muddy banks of the riverbed. If seen at a distance, in a momentary glance, she hoped they would pass for shoes. She stifled a groan as she got back on the horse, muscles aching from the riding she had done yesterday. There’ll be more of that to come before you can rest at ease, she thought to herself. With a squeeze of her legs, she and Major set off into the day.
Elena had always found riding a suitably mindless activity. Bareback was a different beast; the effort of maintaining her seat without stirrups or saddle, and her control of Major without bit or whip, took more of her concentration than she anticipated. In the back of her mind, where she could reflect on her situation dispassionately, she knew this was a good thing. It meant she couldn’t dwell on any of the hundreds of possible negative outcomes – ones where she was dragged back to the estate by her hair, where she ate the wrong food, where she couldn’t find any food and starved to death . . .
Or, at least, she couldn’t dwell on them for any longer than a few seconds at a time before having to consciously attend to not falling off the horse. It was better than nothing.
Caught between these various doom-laden thoughts as she was, Elena rode deeper into the woods in a kind of daze. She had her wits about her enough to steer Major well away from well-travelled paths that could contain other travellers, but little more than that. She was shielded from the full force of the August sun by the forest canopy above, but the leaves did nothing to lift the sluggish, humid air, turning her mind sluggish and soporific. There was no fresh breeze to relieve her, either, only waves of more hot air drawing sweat to the back of her neck; barely even the noise of birdsong to catch her attention, the buzzing of insects instead blending into the background noise of the forest.
She was sharply startled out of her reverie by a gust of ice-cold wind, blowing against her left side and bringing the exposed skin of her calf out in gooseflesh.
She drew Major up short, casting her gaze to the left as the horse placidly nickered. Elena wondered for a moment if she had imagined it. She had heard that those suffering extreme cold could hallucinate warmth and fever; that it could work the other way around didn't seem beyond the realms of possibility. And then, that same stifling, oppressive wave of heat — and like a knife through warm butter, a breeze that seemed fresh out of the winter.
Nudging Major with her heels, Elena drew closer to where she thought the breeze had come from. Only when she approached did she see a thin, winding path beneath the trees — one that, had she not been looking for it, Elena was sure she would have never noticed. There was something that seemed familiar about it; it tugged on a thread in the back of her mind, although she couldn’t quite say what.
She glanced over her shoulder. This part of the forest was as deserted as all the others she had ridden through over the past two days. As Elena’s head slowly came back around to face the front, another wave of stagnant air wafted over her. She was ready this time for the chilling gust of wind; by the time it had passed over her, hairs at the back of her neck standing to attention, she had made her decision.
“Come on, Major,” she said, geeing the horse to move with a click of her tongue and slight kick of her heels. The horse lumbered towards the path. As soon as they crossed the border, an involuntary full-body shiver ran through her. The temperature change was more intense than Elena had anticipated — it truly felt as if she had stepped out of June and into January. She let out a breath, and blinked in surprise as steam rose from her mouth. Wordlessly, she urged the horse onwards. As Major ventured deeper down the path, which slowly widened until it could have comfortably accommodated a stagecoach, Elena could hear the unmistakable crunch of snow beneath his hooves. Connections were being drawn in her mind rapidly; the anecdote of a pathway in the woods she couldn’t place at first, and the tale of a palace that had winter in summertime. As such, she realised where the path was taking her long before she passed the final bend in the road.
Her first impression of the Beast’s castle behind the tall, wrought-iron gates was of something out of a fairy story. Tall, dark turrets reached upwards from an imposing castle to the steel-grey clouds, heavy with snow. A series of ornamental grounds sprawled out in front of it; in spring and summer, Elena fancied they would be a riot of colour. As for now, all she could see was a mass of withered plants and bushes, buried under several inches of compact snow. She shivered again. An August night could still be chilly without a cloak; a winter’s day without one was far worse. Her resolve set, she directed Major towards the gates. She pressed one hand flat against it in an attempt to test how firmly the doors were held closed. To her surprise, the gate swung open at the lightest touch of her hand. Tentatively, woman and horse stepped into the castle grounds.
Major slowly picked his way across the once-manicured gardens, with no regard for whatever paths had once been laid beneath the inches of fallen snow. Elena realised with an unpleasant jolt that she was now shivering in earnest. Her legs seemed locked into position, fingers slowly burning without the relief of numbness. Her breath came in shaking stutters, little puffs of steam evaporating into the heavy air. The impossibility of getting frostbite in the middle of summer was almost amusing — or would have been had it not suddenly seemed possible after all. She was abruptly glad that Major was just walking; she was so stiff she doubted she could have kept her seat at any other speed.
Before she could dwell too long on the subject the horse drew to a halt, ears pricking stiffly forwards. It took her a moment to notice what the horse had already seen plain as day; a large hulking figure, wrapped in a tattered red cloak, poorly hidden behind a snow-covered bush.
Elena stifled the impulse to gasp. It half-ducked behind the bush, seemingly on instinct, before visibly double-taking and taking a step out. The surprisingly leonine foot (paw?) that did so, poking out underneath the cloak, was wrapped in what appeared to be a trouser leg. It lifted an arm to pull back its hood, revealing unmistakable horns curling up from its wide, domed head, sharp as a ram’s. But what truly captivated Elena’s attention — and, if she was honest, her sympathy — were the large, blue, unmistakably human and undeniably miserable blue eyes set deep in the Beast’s face.
“Fraulein Tremaine, I presume,” he said in a deep voice.
“Monsieur Beast,” she replied. Somehow, her voice barely quavered.
The Beast looked at his castle, then back to her. He sighed deeply. “At least Mrs Potts will be thrilled,” he said after a long moment. “This is the busiest my social life has been for years. Follow me; you might as well come in from the cold. I’ll tell the servants to set an extra place.”
With her research at the library hitting a dead end, Belle had found herself at something of a loss for things to do over the past few days. Although the fairytales she had borrowed kept her occupied, they were a comfort read rather than anything new or challenging. The Shakespeare play, on the other hand, was a German translation that proved more difficult. Belle pored over it far slower than she ever had before, relying a little too much on her prior knowledge of the plot before giving in and borrowing a translation dictionary from Kit’s library as well.
She really was, Belle realised with more than a little embarrassment, rather out of practice with her German. Kit and the Captain had very kindly been addressing her in French so far, strictly refusing to be anything less than accommodating of her native tongue whenever she tried speaking in German. Belle had tried, once, to speak the French-German patois used in Villeneuve with the Captain’s maidservant Kirsten, only to be met with a look of blank confusion. Belle had almost understood her reply, if only because the woman was clearly asking what on God’s green earth she had just said, and possibly if she was in possession of all her faculties. Determined to improve this state of things, she had asked Captain Harker to only speak to her in German when they were at home together of an evening until her vocabulary improved. With some reluctance, the Captain had agreed, and Belle in turn suppressed her instinctive exasperation when, the next morning, she found a wrapped copy of intermediate grammar books outside her door.
Despite these hindrances, Belle could tell that something was not right with Kit. It had started perhaps a fortnight into her stay at the palace. He appeared more withdrawn, quieter and dampened in a subtle way. Belle might have thought she was imagining it had it not been for the obvious shows of concern from Captain Harker. She had almost determined to overstep the bounds of their acquaintanceship and ask if she could lend an ear to his troubles; but on the day that she finally felt emboldened to try, Kit arrived back from the forest with a stony expression and flat, dull eyes. Belle knew instinctively not to ask. They had leapt over hundreds of social boundaries by the sheer nature of being a prince and a commoner; barging through doors meant only for the closest of friends was one that Belle neither would nor could cross. Instead, after waiting what she hoped was an appropriately tasteful three days, she asked Captain Harker her opinion over dinner.
“So you’ve noticed as well,” the Captain said, resting her cutlery on her plate. “I’d hoped it was just me that could see the change in him.” She ran a finger along one of the grooves in the wood absent-mindedly.
“I think . . . a few people may have seen it by now,” Belle said as delicately as she could. “Although I first noticed it a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, it’s been going on for longer than that. Something’s been troubling him since the day that you arrived.” Captain Harker’s eyes widened momentarily, and she hastened to add, “Not you, of course — I saw him before he left for the forest, and he appeared out-of-sorts then, too.”
The stab of guilt that had filled her stomach subsided, and Belle nodded. “I’m given to understand he’s under some pressure due to his lack of alignment.”
“That’s about the long and the short of it.” The Captain glanced towards the dining room door, which was firmly set into the doorjamb. “Although he recently received news about his father that . . . wasn’t what he was hoping for.”
“Oh,” Belle said. She felt as if she should have had something more profound to say on the matter, having lost her own mother, but nothing was forthcoming. Instead, after mentally rooting around in the odds-and-ends cupboard of small talk that lived in the recesses of her brain, she said, “I can imagine that wouldn’t help the situation.”
“No,” the Captain said, returning to her previous tone and volume. “Not really.”
“Although,” Belle continued after taking another bite of her dinner, “that wasn’t actually what I was referring to.” In response to the Captain’s subtle look of confusion, she added, “He returned from the forest the other day very out of sorts. I know that I — well, I hardly know him, really, but he’s seemed so . . . flat. Like he’s lost all the spring in his step. And I don’t think he’s left the city since that day, has he?”
“He hasn’t,” the Captain replied. She was silent for a long moment. “I knew that this nonsense with the Beast wouldn’t end well,” she sighed. “Don’t misunderstand me, mademoiselle, I’m glad that we can be of service to you, and help your friend. I just — I worry for my friend, too.” She ran a calloused hand through her braids, staring absently into the wooden vein that ran the length of the table. “Out of interest, did you manage to make any more headway on the matter of the missing records?”
“I found another blind spot,” Belle said, taking the hint behind the abrupt change of topic. “There should be any number of trade agreements or negotiations between out two nations, considering how close we are to each other geographically; the complete and total absence of any in the past thirty years is more proof that these . . . absences are somehow related to the Beast. And I can see the map that Kit must have used to find the monastery, but I’ve no idea what drew him to it. It’s definitely in the same area that the Beast’s castle is in — I can even see the boundaries of the grounds — but there’s no actual evidence that a castle has been there in the last thirty years or so.” She frowned, biting at her lip, before continuing in a smaller voice, “Unless it was that very absence that drew him to it . . .”
Captain Harker hummed thoughtfully. “I would have to ask him. However, if memory serves, he did reference a map the first time he rode out to the forest to meet this . . . Beast. The lack of trading history I agree is suspicious. But having no evidence besides the absence of evidence is beyond frustrating when trying to pursue an investigation.”
Belle let out a noise of fellow frustration. “I’ll keep looking,” she promised.
“And I’ll speak to Kit,” Captain Harker said. “Tomorrow. You shouldn’t burn the candle at both ends just to keep yourself occupied. There’s no sin in rest.”
Belle took the Captain’s suggestion with little complaint, although she did feel a pang in her chest at the sentiment. She couldn’t imagine Elena’s stepmother offering her the same grace. Her sleep that night was an uneasy one; first she dreamed of Elena, locked in the cellar the way that she had been, before running through the woods, getting more and more lost as snow fell in droves around her. The dream twisted around her after that; when she woke the next morning, Belle could remember nothing besides that there had been a man, a prince with no face, who tried to speak to her and couldn’t. She had felt on the verge of some great breakthrough in the dream — like when she helped her father with his clocks, and knew the way the gears needed to be aligned almost before he did — when she was suddenly wide awake, heart pounding in the early morning dimness.
It took her conscious mind a long moment to register what had woken her. It came to her a moment later, her senses like misaligned gears slowly nudged back into sync. Somebody had pounded on the Captain’s front door, with no seeming care for those sleeping inside. She could hear the Captain’s voice now, low and distorted through the layers of doors and walls. Belle felt the tension seep out of her muscles one by one, as she sank back into the bed. Sheepishly embarrassed that she had felt so panicked, she settled back down to sleep a little more. Before she could even roll over, there was the sound of knocking at her own door — less aggressive than the one that had woken her, and yet still containing a certain agitation. She rose quickly, wrapping herself in one of the Captain’s thick, woollen robes before opening the door.
“Captain Harker?” she asked — for that was who stood before her, also in a robe and sleep clothes, her hair hidden beneath a silk bonnet.
“Good news, Belle,” she said, a wide smile lighting up her features. “My men have found your father.”
There was another moment of asynchrony, where Belle’s mind refused to ingest what she had just heard. “My father?” she repeated numbly.
“He’s safe,” the Captain said, a warm and reassuring hand coming to rest on Belle’s shoulder. “Maybe a day or two’s ride away, with a squadron of my men. He appears to be in good health, and much better spirits now that he knows where you are.”
Belle’s stomach sank in momentary panic, remembering the contents of the note he had left for the bookseller all those weeks ago. “He didn’t mention the Beast, did he?”
“Not to my men.” Captain Harker lifted her other hand, which held a crinkled-looking envelope, hastily sealed. “Although he and his friend did request that this note be passed along to you via the messenger.”
Belle took the envelope from the Captain. It was addressed to her, in Maurice’s usual scrawl. “Thank you,” she said lamely. The words felt too inadequate for the amount of gratitude she felt towards both Kit and the Captain.
“De rien,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll leave you to your letter for now. In the morning, perhaps you and Kirsten could set up rooms for your father and his friend.”
Belle nodded along to her words, barely taking them in. As soon as she heard the door click shut behind her, she opened the letter, taking in her father’s cramped handwriting with hungry eyes. It was a bare-bones letter — just a note, really, expressing his relief that she was safe and sound, and that he would see her soon. Only one thing gave her pause — a line, towards the very end, that sent a chill down her spine.
And just to put the icing on the cake, you’ll never guess who Léon and I met in the woods just the other day — a man I had sincerely hoped never to see again, given the way he behaved the last time I saw him. None other than that rapscallion Gaston! He seemed very excited to see us at first, until he realised that you weren’t present. He flounced off into the forest shortly afterwards, looking rather mutinous. I’m so very glad to know that you’re safe and sound in the capital, my child, as between the man-like Beast and that beastly man, I was quite seriously concerned for your safety. At least you aren’t wandering around in these woods by yourself — I dread to think what might have happened if he found you before this Captain Harker did.
Belle’s thoughts instinctively turned towards Elena, her half-remembered dream blending with her own memories of being lost in the woods. A moment later, she remembered herself, and attempted to put her baseless anxiety at bay. Elena was certainly in danger, trapped with her stepmother at the estate until Kit’s coming-out ball. But it was at least a different danger to being lost in the woods, completely alone, with no recourse from the violent man she had already thwarted once before. Firmly circulating these thoughts in her mind, Belle lay back on the bed, holding her father’s letter against her breastbone. And yet, despite herself, she couldn’t quite set aside the feeling she’d had in her dream — the sense that there was, in fact, a grave danger afoot.