Page 39 of Beauty

Una’s matchstick hand comes out, a bony finger shaking. “No,Your Majesty. That’s why it worked so well. You saw what they wanted you tosee.”

I step up. I’m not sure what Una is going on about. My niecesits there, her blank face staring up at me. She’s the only one I feel a bit ofremorse about. Bronwyn was a sweet child, seemingly harmless. She wanted hugsand presents from my travels. She was a bit starved for affection from a fatherwho was far too busy raising a warrior king.

But I didn’t hesitate when I heard the prophecy. I sent mysoldiers to kill the one person in the world who could take my heart. And nowshe sits staring up at me with nonjudgmental eyes, and I wonder who the bratwould have become. She would have been married off, perhaps to the Unseelieprinces if the rumors were true. She’s better off dead.

“Speak plainly, hag. I tire of these riddles. We got rid ofall the witches weeks before the coup. Maris sent the queen’s personal advisoraway herself. There was no one with magic here in the palace. Surely you’re notsaying that my queen was derelict in her duties.”

Maris frowns my way. “I did as I was asked. I identified theworkers with magical abilities and either killed them or sent them from thepalace on various errands and then had them butchered. I did my job, YourMajesty. I rather fear that perhaps the hags did not do theirs.”

Glannis shrugs, a rolling motion of her flesh. “We wereunaware that there would be guests in the palace until after the battle. Wewere not allowed into these sanctified walls until the charms and wards againstblack magic were taken down.”

“Yes,” Maris says, latching on to the idea. “They weren’ttaken down until after the battle. So there was no magic in the palace untilafter Bronwyn was dead.”

Una shakes her head. “No black magic, Your Majesty. Butwhite magic was always permitted in the palace of light, encouraged even. Thevery marble of the palace reflects good intentions and strengthens spells.Spells of protection. Spells that could hide a true face.”

Glannis brings a knife to her arm. She stands over a pitcherthat bubbles with some foamy fog. The hag slices into her own flesh, herexpression never betraying the pain she must feel, if a hag can feel anythingat all. I watch as black blood oozes from her veins like some noxious oil andspills into the pitcher. Glannis smiles, showing off blackened teeth.

“Fear not, Your Majesty.” Her laughter cackles, bouncing offthe walls of the cave. “I feasted well for the last days. I am filled with muchblood.”

I don’t betray my disgust. I simply watch as she squeezesher wrist until she’s satisfied. I understand what the hag means. The hagsfeast on the blood of traitors. Unlike vampires, they don’t take it directlyfrom the bodies. They slit throats and drain the creatures and drink down whatcomes out. Glannis indulged a bit too much. If brownie and ogre blood does thatto a figure, someone should put the bitch on a diet.

Still, I watch as Una chants over the pitcher. Witches,hags, priests. All the same with the bloody chanting. It bores me. I’ll outlawchanting when the time comes. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes as the hagscall out to some dark goddess with an unpronounceable name. Religion. I’lldefinitely get rid of that.

Finally, Una pronounces the spell done and brings it toBronwyn. She seems so solid, but it’s an illusion. If I stare hard enough, Ican see a thin sliver of bone. It sits on the rock under the girl. Her formshimmers briefly, and the bone is solid. The hags insisted on keeping one smallpiece of each dead royal in an ornate box. They saved one of Bronwyn’s fingers.They hold a piece of the old queen’s skull. Only Seamus was spared. His bodyburned in the fire that raged.

Una nods before carrying the pitcher to the dead girl.“Reveal yourself.”

She tips the pitcher over. The ghostly fog spreads likewater falling. It engulfs the girl, and as the fog clears, someone verydifferent sits in her place.

This girl is thinner but of the same build. Her hair isshorter than Bronwyn’s and not done up in elaborate braids. Her much darkerhair is pulled back in a single bun, and her face is a horrible blue. There aredistinct handprints around the girl’s throat. She’s dressed in plain clothes,the type worn by those who once served the queen and her children.

Maris kneels, staring at the girl. “This is not the girl Isaw. This girl is named Eionnette. She was one of the girls who kept Bronwyn’sclothes. This is not Bronwyn.”

Glannis holds her wrist and nods toward the queen. “Yes. Werather thought that when we used the bone to bring back her image. Worry not,Your Highness. We’ve already tested the queen’s skull. She’s dead. And, ofcourse, you killed Seamus yourself.”

“Seamus is very dead. I know that.” I feel weary. Seamus is,once again, standing in the same room, his ghostly eyes passing judgment,though this time there’s a hint of fear there, too.

“But his daughter is alive.” Una passes a hand through theghost girl and it fades with the fog, leaving behind a single small bone. Allthat is left of the girl.

Seamus’s eyes flare, and I’m pretty damn sure if my deadbrother could kill, he would have his hands around the hag’s throat.

I make a decision. I can scream and wail and beat my chest,but it would give my brother a sense of satisfaction. Seamus knew his daughteris alive. He hid it for years. He hoarded the knowledge like a treasure troveof gold that keeps him here with us.

I thought my victory over my brother complete, but there isone last battle to win.

I keep my voice calm, my demeanor kingly. “So Bronwyn killedher servant and ran?”

Glannis laughs, the sound more like a nasty cough thanactual joy. “No, Your Majesty. Bronwyn Finn never showed a single talent formagic. It tends to start early. She would have shown an aptitude, and herparents would have placed her with a mentor.”

Una taps her nonexistent lips with a bony finger. “I’ve beenthinking about the Unseelie princess, Your Majesty.”

I grit my teeth. It makes perfect sense. She’s the one wecouldn’t vet. She’s the one Maris wasn’t able to keep out. “Then Gillian McIveris still in Tír na nÓg, too.”

Glannis smiles. “Oh, yes, Your Majesty, and she’s the reasonwhy we’re going to find them. The Unseelie have a particular magic about them,even when the magic is pure and white. It’s a signature of sorts.”

Maris looks up, her pale skin a rosy pink in the light ofthe fire. “You’ve found them?”

Una shrugs. “We’ve found a strong Unseelie signature in anagricultural district. We believe that the Princess Gillian saved Bronwyn andattempted to get her out of Tír na nÓg. If we’re right, she failed, and Bronwynhas been hiding here.”