round rainbow materializes and my igni travel through that loop.
Panic zings down my spine. This recollection is important; it’s how I fractured Bedlam’s spell.
By now, only a handful of igni remain. They try to hold onto this latest sphere of history, but it’s no use. The igni burn out and the orb flies away.
The memory vanishes.
Bands of worry tighten across my rib cage. I just lost an important piece of my past. With all my focus, I try to grasp what it might be. It concerned breaking through Bedlam’s spell, didn’t it? And it had to do with summoning my igni, right? Why can’t I remember?
14
The Beast
I step through another passageway in Arx Hall. Like the rest of the palace, this corridor is made of smooth gray stone. Cobwebs dangle from the vaulted ceilings. A musty scent hangs in the air.
Suddenly, an arc of color and light rises up from the carpet.
It’s waist-high rainbow.
Not again.
A servant steps toward me. She has long blonde hair, fair skin and freckles. Time was, I’d remember the names of everyone in Arx Hall. Not any more. The girl wears a simple black dress with long open sleeves. Her garb is medieval in style, like everything else here.
I brace myself, hoping she’ll pause by the edge of the small rainbow and ask how it got here.
That’s not what happens.
The servant freezes in place. “Greetings, Beas—” She clears her throat. A blush colors her face and neck.
“My name is Prince Lincoln,” I say, my voice rough. It’s no secret that everyone calls me the Beast, but my own servants should know to keep such things to themselves.
“I was just looking at your…” She visibly shivers. “I mean, you always wear a…” The girl seems too frightened to finish a coherent sentence.
Even so, I know what she means. I wear a lion’s pelt over my shoulders. It’s a gift from Rufus, a sentient feline from a realm called the Primeval. This isn’t a fashion choice; the thing contains healing properties. And when I set the lion’s skull on my head as a helm, I gain extra strength in battle.
Sure, I know it scares the servants. One day, my curse from Bedlam will end and I’ll spend eternity encased alive in glass.
In the meantime, everyone can handle seeing me in a lion’s pelt.
“Leave me,” I order. The girl doesn’t move. “NOW.”
At last, the girl races away. Sadly, she rushes right through the small rainbow and keeps on going.
Like always, the rainbows are something that only I can detect.
I’m losing my mind.
Little by little, the rainbow rises off the floor until it’s a full circle. In the center of this loop, I see a boy. He’s a four-year-old cherub who stomps about in blue pajamas. Like always, I can only see what play out inside the circle, as if I’m watching a human movie without sound. Even so, I know the child’s name. Maxon.
Colored lights flare within the circle. The scene within it changes. In this vista, I stand facing a stained glass window.
Only my back is visible, but my posture says I am relaxed and enjoying the moment. A woman waits at my side; she leans her head on my shoulder. I can’t see her face, but I feel certain she is beautiful. We seem connected and happy.
Another flare of color appears within the loop. The final scene ends. The circle whirls down to a single point and then vanishes completely.
It’s over.
A weight of sorrow settles in my bones. This is all part of Bedlam’s curse. There is no child in my life. No precious woman at my side. I am alone. A Beast.
Picking up my pace, I navigate through the maze of palace corridors until I spy the royal library. Years ago, the entrance to this place was gilded and gleaming. Now, it’s chipped and molded.
Twisting the handle, I open the door to a familiar sight. Two stories of shelves stretch from floor to ceiling. Half the books are missing. Scrolls and maps sit in piles on the floor or atop rickety tables. All the clutter comes from my many years researching how to stop Bedlam and the Tumult.
I haven’t figured it out yet.
That said, I have discovered certain things. In the beginning, my rainbow illusions gave me useful visions of where to find secrets on Bedlam. These days, they only torture me with nonsense about a family I’ll never have.
A knock sounds at the door. “My Prince?”
“Come in.”
The door swings open to reveal Nat, my Master at Arms. He’s a grizzled man in tattered black body armor. Hefty muscles and a barrel chest mark him as a warrior. He pauses beside me. “You promised that when you got back from your last battle, you’d get some sleep.” He scans my outfit and sighs. “You’re spattered with blood.”
“Now you want me to bathe as well?” Nat means well, but his intrusions are annoying in the extreme.
“And eat.”
I stomp toward a nearby table. “I must check the new scrolls that arrived.”
“What can be so important?”
“A fresh report from the House of Nephthys.”
“That pack of hedge witches and false wizards? Why would you ask them for anything?”
“I haven’t given up on finding a supernatural cure for my curse.
Here it is.” I pick up a scroll and scan the contents. “Or perhaps they are incompetent, as you say.”
“It talks about the tale of Beauty and the Beast, doesn’t it?”
“Octavia must have gotten to them.” My mother is convinced that if I find true love, my curse will be over. She refuses to understand that this spell is cast by the Titan of Chaos. This is no fairy tale. Bedlam likes to toy with his victims. Any pursuit of true love is only a distraction from what I truly need to do: find the three rings of Eden and destroy the Titan of Chaos.
“What nonsense.” I toss the scroll aside.
Suddenly, a blinding spike of pain shoots up my forearm. Hissing in a breath, I pull a dagger from the holster on my thigh.
Working past the hurt, I set the blade’s tip against my wrist.
“Is it happening again?” asks Nat.
“We’ll see.”
I slice up my arm, careful to cut through the body armor without slicing my skin. Once done, I toss the blade aside, peel back the rubbery fabric, and inspect my flesh.
At one time, I had a long line of what looked like tattoos winding up my arm. All of them were black roses. They aren’t human-made marks, though.
They’re signs of my curse.
Nat stands over my shoulder. “How many blooms do you have left?”
“One.”
“Oh.” Nat does a poor job of hiding his sorrow. The last time he asked me this question, I had three full roses remaining. “How many petals on that bloom?”
I scan the final rose on my forearm. “Four.”
It’s a lovely rose as such images go—all swirling lines. A single petal pulses on my arm, blinking in and out of existence. Fresh pain shoots up my wrist.
“No,” whispers Nat. “You can’t lose another petal again so soon.”
Dark blue mist rolls out across the floor. This isn’t something that Nat can see; it’s all part of my curse. Indigo vapor surrounds me. Magic.
When the haze vanishes, I no longer stand inside the library.
I step about in a slow circle, trying to determine my location.