(This scene contains content that some may find VERY upsetting. For a list of content warnings organized by scene, please check the chapter titled Episode Two: A Good Monster)
It took some doing for Tobei to get the camp to settle down, and then a lot more doing for Daivad to get Tobei to settle down, but eventually there Belle was, on this little stage in the middle of dozens and dozens of pairs of eyes, all trained on her. Alone.
It used to be that she never felt safer than when she was on stage, or in her silks. The same principle as Daivad’s tendency to watch from above, she supposed. A stage was only a few feet of separation from the audience, but it might as well be another world. The stage was entirely her domain. Her queendom. And there, she knew exactly what she was supposed to do, what she was supposed to say, and who she was supposed to be. And she was good at doing and saying and being all those things. She had never understood stage fright, not for twenty long, innocent years.
But she did now.
She looked at all these curious, suspicious faces—and was paralyzed. Her brain simply … stopped. Yep. It just stopped. She couldn’t think one single thought. Had she ever? What was even one thought she’d ever had, ever? How had she survived this long? Surely someone who had never had a single thought in their head should have died long before the age of … Oh, Mother Dark, she couldn’t even remember how old she was. Maybe this was her dying, from the inside out. She could practically feel the little lights in her head blinking out one by one.
Whispers broke out among the crowd, but Belle couldn’t understand them (perhaps that was a good thing) because one of those lights that had just blinked out must have been her ability to comprehend language and—
A gentle hand on her arm jerked her from her non-thoughts, and then Tobei’s whiskey-scented words over one shoulder. “It’s alright, gorgeous. Just tell your story. Like you told Daivad. We’re all going to listen.”
He started to draw his hand away, but she grabbed it and squeezed. She took a breath, then looked over her shoulder to give him a teary-eyed smile and a breathy, “Thanks.”
“Any time.” And he retreated to give her the floor.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. Afraid to give her brain time to work itself back into another panic, she just started talking, “Once upon a time, I was actually good at this. In fact, I named the stage home more so than my own bed. I don’t know if the name Great Cassiix rings familiar to any of your ears…”
And so she began her story, following in the footprints she’d left for herself yesterday when she’d spun the tale for Daivad—though not quite so detailed. She thought it might be a bit much to bring a crowd of people into the moment of her own birth. An over-share if ever there was one.
Calling up the scenes of her past and painting the clearing with them was harder than it had been with Daivad—she was much more nervous now—but she tried to think of the tale she’d told him as rehearsal, and if she just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, she was alright.
When she realized no one was going to start throwing their leftovers at her, she loosened a bit more. And when she added in a small joke and it got a few laughs (loudest of which was Tash, who Belle sent an appreciative smile), she loosened more still. When she came to the scene with nightbeasts rushing around them, the crowd of the present gasped right along with the crowd of the past.
Belle told them how the magic of this camp so reminded her of her home—a family of misfits. And she would always be grateful for even just these few days they’d given her, to forget for a moment what the rest of Lushale was becoming. Here, she paused. She wasn’t sure how to say what came next.
Belle heard a scoff and glanced up in time to see Lenna shaking her head.
Once again, Belle became very aware of the fact that everyone was looking at her. Mama B’s Wordsmithing slipped from her fingers, and she couldn’t remember how to call it back. Those lights were starting to blink out again—
One step at a time.
She looked down and placed her next foot carefully.
Belle tried to keep her emotions in check while she told the next part. Performing before the prince. Her naivete. Belle had learned enough from Mama B’s storytelling to know that an overly emotional narrator served only to pull the audience out of the story, to shift the focus from the story onto its teller, which weakened both. But it wasn’t easy—she was so exhausted from her chaotic few days, from dredging up this story and her trauma again and again, from being able to feel so loudly again for the first time in years. And it took serious effort to hold herself together.
But she did it. She listed the events, and that was about all she could manage. With the hard part over, she told them about her one hope.
She spoke of the information she’d begun to gather during her time in the castle, from anyone and everyone. How she’d earned some freedom and began to hatch a plan. If she could find Daivad, she could give him all the information she had—vulnerable camps and the queen’s plans and more—and he could use it to well and truly begin a rebellion. She could even warn him of the team Aran was assembling to hunt Daivad down, for fear he would interfere with the machinations she was meticulously putting in place for whatever came next. Something involving the newly-discovered vein of Elleipsium ore.
The queen was coming for this place that so reminded Belle of her home, and Belle had learned her lesson. Belle and her silly dances were never going to be the beginning of the return to balance for Lushale—but Daivad could. He might be the only one who—
“It must’ve passed my ears by,” Lenna called, jerking the attention of the entire hollow to her spot, leaned up against a tree root, next to a girl Belle thought was named Tari. “What did you name your position in the castle?”
Belle blinked a few times and made herself take a deep breath, but before she could respond, Jac did it for her, “Shut up and listen and you might find out.”
Buoyed by her friend’s support (and the smattering of giggles it elicited from the crowd, specifically Tobei), Belle said, “It’s alright. Ah, I serve the prince.”
*** (TW)
“Serve…?” A slow, wicked smile crawled onto Lenna’s face, and she turned to stage-whisper to the girl beside her. “My Mother—she’s Richard’s whore.”
In an instant, Jac had freed her hammer from its wrap and plowed straight through her table, sending drinks, swears, and people flying. Her guard tried to grab her, but she elbowed him in the head and he dropped.
“You wanna talk shit,” Jac spat, “let’s talk shit, you fucking period rag!”
“ENOUGH,” Daivad roared, powerful enough to stop even Jac in her tracks, though she did keep her hammer cocked.
Belle wasn’t sure exactly what happened next. She had left. Richard’s whore. The words bloomed icy hot shame up her neck. The truth of them stabbed a knife of self-loathing into her gut, one she twisted and twisted herself. Because she deserved it.
Like that, she felt his hands on her throat, the weight of him pinning her. And she could do nothing but lie there, or her mother would pay the price of any struggle. She was imprisoned in her own traitorous body. She couldn’t move. Not so much as the pinky she’d used to promise Mama B that she would not give up.
*** (End of TW)
“Ay, gorgeous.”
Tobei’s beautiful face swam before her, crystal clear with no Chaotic magic clouding her vision. His magic was gone. All the magic was gone. She’d lost it again—No.
“Ay,” he repeated, and cupped her cheek with one hand, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “You did good. Really good.”
“Yeah!” Tash stood up just a few feet from the stage and thrust her cup in the air. “Fuck the queen!”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Tasha!” said Odelia, mortified, and jerked her daughter back into her seat.
Tobei continued, “Lenna’s words are worth nothing. Ask anyone, I’ve always named her,” over his shoulder, he yelled, “Raging Bitch!” Turning back to Belle, he smiled, “But it’s alright. Come have a drink!”
“My words are worth nothing?” Lenna called from somewhere. “This bitch talks to monsters!”
Somewhere off in the forest there was a sharp crack, and then a monstrous screech. Belle jerked around so hard it nearly sent Tobei to the stage floor—Clarix. Belle rushed in the direction of the screech. She’d barely made it to the edge of the hollow when she heard the raised voices of the guards further in the forest, and then another screech.
“Clarix!” she called, and tried to speak in Xo, but without her magic, her mouth felt so clumsy around the sounds.
Two guards rushed into view from either side of her just as Clarix did, straight ahead. They each dove, and one’s magic did manage to trip the beast’s spindly limbs, but a moment later she was back upright and barreling toward Belle. Though the people behind Belle screamed and ran, Belle just threw her arms open and let Clarix crash into her.
In no time, the guards recovered and rushed at them, swords drawn.
“No!” Belle shouted.
Clarix bucked, jerking free of Belle’s arms.
“She’s no threat! I can calm her!”
The shriek Clarix let out now nearly split Belle’s skull. She tried once again to call up her magic, to soothe Clarix with Xo, but she couldn’t. Belle felt half dead already. All she could do was grip Clarix’s neck and hold on for dear life, even as Clarix’s bony knee pummeled Belle’s gut.
“Nyxabella!” Daivad said, his massive hands closing over Belle’s upper arms. “Let go.”
“She’s no threat! I can—”
Clarix swung her head in panic, cracking Belle across the face with her skull. Stars burst across Belle’s vision and for a moment, just a moment, her grip loosened and Daivad jerked her back.
“No—!”
Daivad called, “Get it out of here!”
~~~ (TW)
Belle heard pawbeats and a snarl, and black fur filled her vision. Maxea snapped at Clarix, guiding the beast away from camp. But Clarix was in a blind panic, thrashing and throwing herself bodily toward Belle. Anything to get to Belle.
“Let me go!” Belle’s shriek didn’t sound so different from Clarix’s, but Daivad’s grip held firm.
“She’ll kill you, Nyxabella.”
“She won’t!”
Belle didn’t even register the other, much smaller hand that took her own, nor did she hear the voice say, “It’s alright, Maxea will—”
“Tasha!” Odelia’s voice, just another scream to fill the night. “Get back here!”
Clarix reared, shrieked, and leapt up and over the snarling black Wolf, desperate to reach her honeysuckle human. The beast stumbled toward Belle as Daivad snatched up Tash.
A flash of red hair, the shiiiing of a sword being drawn, and then a quick, soft squelch.
Everything stopped. The shouting stopped. The shrieking stopped. Belle stopped, and so did Daivad. Clarix stood there. She blinked her big, confused pale eyes. Then her front legs sagged and she sunk to her bony knees. She opened her mouth and a river of black blood poured out.
Beside her, Lenna gripped the hilt of her sword and yanked it free of Clarix’s neck, curling her lip at the black blood smeared along the blade.
“No,” Belle whispered.
Clarix’s cracked lips worried the air, the way they did when she was nervous. Scared. For a moment, she struggled to rise again, but only wavered, then fell forward. Belle managed to rip her arms from Daivad’s stunned hands in time to catch Clarix’s head on the way down. They collapsed together.
Clarix’s eyeball rolled in her head until it found Belle’s face. Belle smiled, determined that, though she was sure those eyes had beheld a thousand horrific, painful sights in their lifetime, she could at least make sure the last one was kind. Comforting. So she smiled, and trilled, “Hello, sweet, stinky girl. I’m so glad I got to know you. You are such a good monster. The very best.”
There was more clamor behind Belle, Jac swearing and shouting, tables crashing, a scuffle or two. But Belle focused only on Clarix’s wide eyes. Belle kissed her forelock and drew her hands along Clarix’s scraggly mane, and was surprised when her own magic warmed her hands. In Xo, Belle sang a lullaby her Uncle Daph had sung her a million times, one he’d said grew more powerful each time it was passed down. It gathered the joyous memories of each person who sang it—the warm safety of a mother’s arms, the bright, sparkling water of a day at the beach, the freedom of little feet flying over the ground—and gifted them on to the next.
The world went quiet except for Belle’s song and the ragged, wet breathing of the beast. Until that too went quiet. Clarix’s eye, still on Belle’s face, slid gently closed. And Belle felt the beast’s magic shift. From the magic of life to the magic of decay. The Dark Mother wrapped Clarix up in her most powerful magic, and the beast settled into a deep, deep rest.
Belle let her lullaby fade out too and lifted a hand to wipe her cheeks—until she saw it was black with monster blood. It drenched her knees, the bottom of her dress, the ends of her hair, too.
A great, deep pain pierced Belle’s chest. Like it had taken the sword instead of Clarix’s neck. She struggled to breathe, and the pain flared, making her face crumple.
“Nyxabella—”
“Get away from her!” Jac snapped, shoving her way toward Belle. She crouched beside her friend, just outside the ever-expanding pool of blood, and rested a hand on Belle’s shoulder. “Belle? Stand up, moonshine. Let’s wash you.”
Belle blinked down at Clarix, then asked, “Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
“Will you help me bury her?”
Jac squeezed her shoulder. “Do you even have to ask?”
Belle gave her a teary smile. That quickly collapsed on itself. “She was a good monster.”
“I know she was. She brought me to you.”
“Yeah,” Belle agreed in a whisper.
Jac gave her another minute, then placed a hand under Belle’s arm and tugged gently. “Ready?”
Shakily, with the support of her friend, Belle stood. She noticed the shining eyes of the Wolves watching her from the forest, catching the light of the still-floating glowstone lanterns. Why they hadn’t been able to stop Clarix, Belle didn’t know.
“Am I the only one with any sense left?” Lenna asked from somewhere to Belle’s left. “It is a monster I just killed, isn’t it?”
Belle’s arm snapped out, toward Lenna, and her fingers flew through the air, tracing a shining, purple rune.
“Don’t—,” Daivad started.
Belle opened her mouth and a cavernous rumbling as if from the Earth herself spilled out. Bureg. Ahb Ograh.
Daivad grabbed Belle’s arm, trying to direct the curse safely downward. The runes faded from the air, and Lenna, who had stiffened, ready to run, relaxed once more. She smirked.
And Belle let her. The curse had already set, and Belle knew no one here had the magic to break it.
Lenna would feel what she had put Clarix through. She would feel the mind-numbing pain, the panic when her lungs filled with blood, the all-consuming fear that came with knowing that this was the last thing she was ever going to feel. And Lenna would feel it again, and again, and again.
Forever.
Most of the rest of camp had disappeared. Only Belle, Lenna, Jac, Daivad, Ben, a few distant guards, and the Wolves remained. And Clarix. The party was destroyed—chairs and tables and dishes and instruments thrown all over the place, trampled as everyone had run away. Belle knew her story didn’t matter anymore. The fear was all anyone would remember, the image of what they believed was a vicious, shrieking monster rushing toward their children, their friends, their family.
Desperate, Belle looked up at Daivad. His magic roiled, swirled, crashed, but still he kept it close. Controlled.
She said, “She did something to Clarix. Her magic is all over her.”
“What, my magic?” Lenna asked. “I was right here the whole time. Arguing with her, in fact,” she stuck a thumb at Jac.
“And don’t think we’re done, either, shitbitch,” Jac snapped.
“She did this,” Belle pleaded with Daivad. “She did it on purpose.”
“Yeah, before the thing could tear into Tash—”
Daivad silenced her with a look.
Belle waited. She waited for him to consider the scene before him, to look from Clarix, to Lenna, to Belle. She waited for the muscles in his jaw to work as he decided what to say next.
Finally, in a low voice, his pale eyes on the bloody ground between them, Daivad said, “I told you. If the beast came into my camp, it would be killed.”
For a moment, Belle was completely hollow. Empty. She felt nothing. She was nothing.
Then the rage came. Frigid. Burning.
Looking at Daivad with dead eyes, Belle said, “It’s rare I read a man so wrong.”
He opened his mouth, but said nothing.
Belle looked down at Clarix’s body, at her own muddy toes in the pool of black. “I apologize for the trouble. We’ll bury her away from here and go, and neither of us will speak your name again. To anyone.” She glanced at Jac, who nodded, firm.
Without waiting for a response, Jac went to grab her cloak where she’d left it at the table, now smashed. She carried it over to Clarix and draped it over the beast’s head.