"Amber!"
"I'd better find some humor in it, Father, gallows or otherwise, or I'll go mad before you've even left the gates." I offered him a brief, determined smile. "Now let's go back to the castle so I can write a goodbye letter to the family for you to bring home."
I heard the shape of my name on his inhalation, the protestation he wanted to make, but somehow he held it back, for which I was grateful. Instead he offered me his arm. I tucked mine through it, and we walked in silence back to the palace that was now my prison.
The letter ought to have been difficult to write. Instead it came smoothly from my pen, a recitation of facts so peculiar that there seemed no profit in trying to explain them: either they would be accepted, or they would not. Father would back my story up, and Pearl, I knew, would believe me. I wondered again what might have happened if I had not gone with Father. A death, Pearl had said. Maybe none of this would even have transpired; perhaps something would have gone wrong in the city.
I didn't believe that, though. I thought he would have died in the storm, or perhaps worst of all, been rescued by the enchantment only to pick the wretched rose himself, as a gift for me, because he knew I liked them. I thought he would have died here, at the Beast's hands, for that transgression, and just imagining that version of events was worse than staying here myself.
Father and I walked down to the stables again together when I'd finished the letter. Beauty stood ready in her harness, already hitched to the wagon, but the wagon sat lower than it had when we'd arrived. I glanced through the tightly-drawn cover and let out a sharp laugh. "Father."
He paused in climbing to the driver's seat and looked into the wagon. "Mother of stars."
For a little while we were both occupied in going through the wagon's contents, which were as generous—more generous—than the meals and clothes we'd been given since our arrival. There were books, stacks of them that beggared the few we'd bought in the city to replace those we'd lost in the fire. Prominent among the gift books was a copy of one we had been unable to find in the city: a compilation of geological and mythological information about the earth and stones. We children had all been named for rocks inside its pages, and as children, we girls had loved poring over the beautifully inked drawings that represented our namesakes. That small volume's loss had been one of the things we could hardly bear to think about, and our inability to find another copy had been quietly heartbreaking. To see it here amongst the Beast's gifts broke my heart again, in another way.
Beneath the books, well. Most of the fabric was practical: tightly woven linens and wools in varying weights, and mostly colors that would either dye well or wear well, showing little dirt. A little of it, though, was raw silk, for a few really fine dresses. Most of the coins were spendable: bits of nickel or copper, silver pennies and ingots of iron that could be spent or shaped. Some were gold, though, and only of any use to us in the city.
There was nothing practical about any of the jewels, but then, jewels were never meant for practical purposes. Some were small enough for trade, but one chest, when opened, revealed seven polished stones settled in a circle against black velvet. A rectangle of jet could only be seen against the velvet because of its shine; a round-cornered triangle of brick-red jasper threaded with white quartz looked shockingly decadent in comparison. A thick arrowhead of waxy pink flint, lined in white, completed the top half of the circle. Below them lay an opal the size and shape of a partridge's egg, a square of dark grey granite flecked with blue, and an heart-shaped garnet as large as my thumbnail.
In the midst of them, though, placed in the middle of the other six, lay a perfect tear-drop pearl four inches long. I couldn't bring myself to even touch it, my fingers hovering above the jewel. I was no witch, but I could feel the pearl's energy pressing toward my fingertips. Spreading my hands over the whole chest made both hands tingle, as if every stone in the box was laden with enchantment.
I couldn't tell if Father was angry or afraid—perhaps both—when he said, "This Beast seems to know us very well. That pearl, though. Why such a treasure?"
I heard myself say, "Because Pearl is a witch," somewhat distantly as I gently closed the chest. Father flinched when I did, as if he'd been enchanted by the jewels, but then he heard what I'd said and shook off the enchantment for surprise.
"She is?"
"I think so. You'll have to ask her. But if she is, she'll be able to focus great magic through that pearl. He does know us very well. I suppose he would, if we've been living in his forest." I was obscurely, and absurdly, hurt that there had been no jewel for me. I'd cast my lot in with the Beast, but to have him divorce me from my family so thoroughly, so swiftly, made my heart ache with a too-fast beat. "Wait. Before you go, Father." I ran back into the palace to the parlor we'd been housed in, and collected the wretched rose that had started my troubles. I brought it back to him, tucking it into his coat. "If I'm going to be condemned for picking it, then the least it can do is start a new rose garden in my name. I think Flint will have the knack of caring for it."
"Amber," Father said in dismay. "I want nothing of the Beast's roses. Or any of the rest of this. I only want you to come home with me."
"We are not to get what we want, though, Father." I took a deep breath. "You had better go. If you don't go now I don't know if I can bear it."
"Then I won't go," he said ferociously, but somehow, within minutes, we had embraced and I stood alone at the head of the long driveway, watching the wagon grow smaller with distance.
"He'll be home before dark," the Beast rumbled from behind me, and I, with all the grace and poise of a startled child, shrieked and jolted away from him. When I turned, he stood a few feet away, a huge dark blot against the snow, but with evident surprise written across his horrible face. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you would like to know he would make it home safely and quickly, within an hour or two."
I did want to know that. I also did not at all want to be in any way grateful to the Beast. I stared at him with the anger of having been frightened and the fear of what came next, and the abrupt, overwhelming loneliness of abandonment, even if I'd accepted the path myself. Very suddenly I was on the verge of tears, which was worse than anything else.