Beautiful Beast

Chapter 32

ARAWN

It has grown colder. Snow blankets nearly all of the ground before me and my breath exhales in little clouds of white.

The northern quarter.

At least I am not wandering in circles anymore. I could be deceiving myself, but I believe that once the sun set, I was finally able to make progress. It is ironic, though. Only when the wolves emerge am I able to enter their territory. But so far, I have not seen a single creature. Sometimes I think I see a flash of brown fur between the trees, but then it is gone, and I convince myself it was only my imagination. Perhaps Gilbert's claim about the armbands is true. So far, it would seem that it is.

A mile ago, Hector's head began to droop, and I slide off his back so that he might have a rest. This is slow going since I must wade through the snow now, but I push on. I am certain that I am growing closer. Just a little further and I will reach the meadow.

"Arawn."

I whip around in shock, searching for her. That was her voice. I know it was. Or am I going mad? Are the trees beginning to choke my sanity?

"Arawn."

There it is again.

I drop Hector's reins and surge forward without heeding the knee-deep snowdrifts. Suddenly, I am in a little glade and I nearly careen directly into a pool covered by a clear sheet of ice.

"Arawn, help me."

She is there, beneath the ice. Her dark eyes are wide, and her lips are blue with cold. Around her porcelain face, her hair floats like an ebony halo. She could be a water nymph or a goddess but for the expression of terror that tugs at her features. One of her hands reaches up and presses against the ice and involuntarily my own hand reaches out to hover above hers; almost touching, but still a breath away.

"Please, break me free," she whispers in a tone that touches my very heart.

Break me free. It is what I have been fighting for; what I am fighting for.

Abruptly, I draw my hand back and close my eyes. Then without opening them, I rise—I did not notice that I was kneeling in the snow—and turn toward Hector.

The voice echoes in my ears as I mount and urge Hector away from Mirror Lake. Yet, it does not sound like Kalista anymore. The alluring quality that it possessed has disappeared and is replaced by a chilling and high-pitched cry that pierces my ears.

We trek further into the forest. By now, it is nearly past midnight and both Hector and I are cold, hungry, and exhausted. But we are nearly there. I know we are. Finally, the forest is allowing me to push my way through its enchantment and toward its heart. If its heart remains. There may be nothing left.

Twice, I hear the wolves howl and once, I see a creature pass ahead of me. However, the magic infused into the armband is still effective. I worry that the spell will wear off and I will be left defenceless. All the more reason to hurry.

When the first glimpse of the white pebble drive comes into view, I blink rapidly for fear that I am hallucinating, but no matter how tightly I close my eyes and how quickly I open them again, it is still there. I want to whoop in triumph, but I have not yet gained victory.

Hector steps onto the drive which in the moonlight, gleams like a river of polished pearls. Despite our fatigue, I urge Hector into a trot; I can wait no longer, and I sense an eagerness in him as well. There are clear ridges in the pebbles that mark the passage of men and horses, but nothing stirs within the palace, and except for Hector's steps, all is quiet.