I came to a sudden, shocking stop, and the memory ripped away in a whirlwind of fear.
"Amber." The Beast was there, his massive paw at my waist, holding me. Catching me. Stopping me. My heart lurched in surprise and gratitude and something else that left my stomach hollow. I put my hand on his chest to steady myself and found, to my surprise, that I was trembling. I put my forehead against his chest—well, his ribs; he stood much too tall for me to reach his chest, really—and he sank to his haunches, lowering himself until he merely loomed over me, rather than towered. He put his other hand against my hair, the barest touch of reassurance. For all of his size, I felt reassured, not trapped, and stood there, drawing tremulous breaths and noticing his musky scent, until my shaking stopped.
"What was that," I finally whispered, and felt his massive head shake above mine.
"Dancing," he said. "Dancing is rarely safe in faery tales. Are you all right?"
"No." I shook my head, fingers coiled in the heavy mane that fell down his chest. "No. That was…was it trying to kill me, Beast?"
"To subsume you, I think. It's still searching for a place you can belong. But if I hadn't come…" He shook his head again. "You were careening around the room. There's not much in it to hurt yourself on, but in time you would have managed anyway."
I stepped back a little, looking up at him. Up: even settled on his haunches he was taller than I, if not by much. "How did you know to find me?"
He lifted my amber necklace off my breast with the tip of one careful claw. "I told you it has a protective charm. I felt it struggling to keep you safe, and came to help."
I closed my hand over the necklace, and over his fingers as well. "You felt it?"
"There's very little that goes on in this palace that I'm unaware of, and the necklace is part of the palace. It's all bound together, me and it."
"And me?"
The Beast shifted his big head, not quite a shake. "Not so tightly."
"And what about the things you sent to my family? Are they irrevocably bound up in this too?"
"Everything inside the forest's boundaries is, to one degree or another. The enchantment's influence lessens, the farther from the palace it goes. But you need not worry." What passed for his smile pulled at his mouth. "The coin is real enough, and won't turn to lead in the city. Nor will the books turn to dust, or the jewels to ordinary stones. Are you all right now?"
I took a shuddering breath and straightened my shoulders. "I think so."
He leaned forward, onto all fours. "I'll leave you, then."
"Don't!" I put a hand over my mouth as if I could block the blurted word too late, but said, "Don't," again, more quietly. "I'd rather not be alone. I don't…I don't trust the palace. I don't want to get caught in another story right now."
The Beast ducked his vast head, an invitation, and, emboldened, I curled my fingers into the thick fur along his spine, and walked from the ballroom with him.
"Does the palace…listen?" It had taken me until evening to gather the courage to ask, after a quiet day spent in the Beast's company. We had read in the library—or I, at least, had read, while the Beast had stretched out in front of the fire and napped like the beast he was—and taken dinner together, in so far as the Beast was willing to sit with me while I dined; he still wouldn't eat in my presence. Neither reading nor eating had been entirely able to take away the memory of the dance, or the beauty of the prince I'd danced with.
I could see absolutely nothing of him in the Beast, save perhaps a shared coloring. The Beast was dark-furred as the prince had been dark-skinned, but since every beast I saw in him, from lion to bear to boar, could be or habitually was darkly furred, that seemed more coincidence than reflection of who he had once been. I wanted to ask what his memory of that dance was, but it hadn't been memory, not all of it. It had been a vision, one I lacked the knowledge to fully understand, and I was afraid that if I pressed it, the palace would retaliate.
The Beast looked up at my question, great brows furrowing. Feeling foolish, I tried to explain myself. "I know the servants listen, obviously, but you said there are things you can't tell me. Does the palace listen? Is that how it knows what's being said?"
"Ah. No. The enchantment—" He gestured at his throat. "Seizes me, if I say too much. The palace doesn't have ears, but the magic has limits. If I come up against them, I pay the price."
I closed my lips on burgeoning questions. A shadow crossed the Beast's face. "I'm sorry I can't explain."
"It's all right. I'd rather you could stop me from dancing myself to death than explain, if it comes down to it. But if the palace doesn't listen—is it safe to tell you something, Beast?"
"I hope it is always safe for you to tell me whatever you wish, Amber."
"It has to do with Pearl's witchery," I said cautiously.
The Beast's ugly face lit up, his gaze sharpening on me. "Has she learned to use the pearl?"
"She's starting to. She spoke to me, Beast. Through my mirror, last night. They're all well." My heart soared, remembering the conversation. "Upset at my absence, but mostly well. I found myself defending you to them."
"Really. That—I would not have expected that. Thank you. Which mirror?"
"The big one on my vanity. Why," I asked lightly, "does the other mirror do something too?"
He gave me a look that sent a flush of excitement through me, then twitched his head in a denial as I took breath to ask more. I bit my tongue, gazing at him and trying to remember what he'd told me about Pearl and her pearl. That it had power and she could use it, no more. He had been circumspect, and now I understood he may have been pushing the boundaries of what he was allowed to say about the enchantments here. I thought the same thing was happening now, and swallowed down my questions. I would have to explore for myself, although stars knew I lacked Pearl's native gift.
Then again, so had Pearl, before she'd been jilted. Perhaps I only needed the offense of being throughly rejected by a lover to waken magic in me.
The idea made me laugh aloud, surprising me and the Beast both. "I'm sorry," I said merrily. "I was imagining myself a witch. It didn't work very well. One in the family is enough. More than enough. I can almost hear our city neighbors clucking about it."
"And what would they say about the youngest daughter absconding to an enchanted castle?"
"That I had always been peculiar and that you could never trust my smile anyway."
The Beast tilted his head, examining the smile that came with the pronouncement. "It's an inviting smile," he said after a moment. "Difficult to look away from."
"There you go," I said. "Witchery, no doubt."
"No doubt," the Beast replied solemnly.