Beauties of the Beast (The Yellow Hoods, #4): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale (21 page)

With a mutter and grumble, Gaston pulled his gaze away from the moon and looked at his youngest daughter. He was in his late fifties and had a bloated belly that didn’t sit well on the otherwise thin man. His crown of thick white hair was longer than it should’ve been for a man of his station. His beady eyes were as cold as the winter outside. 

Groaning, he got up and closed the door. He wandered over to the bookcase and searched for a book. Finding it, he pulled it and returned to his chair, laying the book on his lap. He stared at his daughter, his fingers playing with his lips.

“Papa?” asked Caterina, the tension getting to her.

“Do you know what I’ve been doing these past several months, Caterina?”

She shook her head. “I just know it’s important.”

“It is.” He leaned forward and scratched his grey stubble. He handed the book to her.

Its familiar feel told her she didn’t even need to look at the title. The few threads that held the book together were a reminder of how much they’d been made to study it. “The Ways of Wisdom by John Fare. What does this have to do with me being here?”

“What is the book?” he asked.

“It’s a treatise from the dawn of the Era of Innovation.”

Gaston stroked the side of his head. It was late, and he would have preferred to have the conversation in the morning, but there wouldn’t be time. “From those words came a philosophy, and then a special society; the Fare. The Fare was focused on making the world right—ending the constant wars and the social genocide that always picked some foolish trait, be it blue eyes or birthmarks on the right arm or some such nonsense, as a reason to kill people. That philosophy understood that you had to have masters behind the royal rulers, keeping them in check and giving them something real to fear. I know you know all of this, you’ve always been good at study,” he said, paying a rare complement. “Tell me, what are people’s souls made of?”

Without a second thought, she answered, knowing exactly on what page the idea was first introduced in the book. “Gold, silver, copper and wood. Each denoting the person’s intended station and purpose in life.”

Gaston smiled. “Now, tell me, what happens if you give the duties of a gold to a wood?” he asked, chewing on a finger.

Caterina didn’t blink at the trivial questions. “They will fail horribly. Even the strongest of woods cannot serve as long as a gold, and they will bring infections to those around them. The infections are madness, corruption, pain and hunger.”

He smiled again. “Unlike your sisters, you know this, you know it as I’d always intended. They are many things, your sisters, but clever is not one of them. That’s what makes you precious, Caterina, that’s why I don’t need to worry about you.

“Now, what if I told you there was a man out there, a powerful man, who was undoing everything the Fare has tried to do? A man who has taken most of the Fare and replaced its soul with something completely the opposite.”

“That… would be a danger to civilization,” replied Caterina, worried. “The world needs the Fare, doesn’t it? That’s what you’ve always taught us.”

“Indeed, it does,” he replied, leaning forward and patting her knee. “The good news is that the world will not end tonight. But tomorrow is a different matter. I’m glad you feel as I do."

“Years ago, when the Fare was at its weakest, a charismatic and brilliant man came along, by the name of Marcus Pieman. He took the reins of power and gave the Fare a new sense of purpose. But that purpose, over time, was revealed to be less and less what the Fare had always stood for. For a while, none said a word. The day came, as some had expected, that he ignored the Council of the Fare altogether. He wielded so much power that even they now feared him. And so it was for many years, with only some measures of protest here and there. Each time the Pieman would crush them, or else find a way to bring them to his side."

“As his sons have come into their own in recent years, those protests have become a bit of a rebellion. Now it isn’t one Pieman we face, but three. There’s a rumor that he’s even grooming his granddaughter to stand as a fourth pillar of their empire.”

Caterina’s eyes told Gaston everything.

“I’d started traveling, in search of support to fight him, but instead it’s become something of a different mission. I’ve learned that Marcus Pieman has no desire to keep our squabbles going, it drains his resources and it consumes all of ours. An offer has been made that might allow us to work together.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“What does this have to do with me?” asked Caterina timidly.

He smiled at her, like the spider does the fly. “You said we cannot let this happen, and you’re right. That is why you will marry Lennart Pieman, the younger of the two brothers. I believe—”

“What? You can’t!”

Gaston slapped her. “Know your place,” he barked. As she cried, he continued. “Sometimes who you were has to die so you can become who you need to be. I’ve certainly learned that many times, and now it’s time you should. The Piemans are sending a coach for you in the morning.” He stood up, his deed done. “I expect you to have some sense about this and know that it is your duty. You’ve been given the opportunity at a great destiny. Take it.”

As her father left, she curled up in the chair and fell asleep, sobbing. A knock at the door awakened her, it was her two older sisters.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” said Katherine, the eldest.

“Yes, to us. We’re finally rid of you,” replied Kamille, laughing.

“And all it took was us forgetting that stupid book, right Kamille?”

“There’s a book? Gosh, I hadn’t noticed there was a book. Gee, all those Saturdays and Sundays, for fifteen years, and you’d think I’d remember something about it, Kath.”

“What?” said Caterina sitting up. “Wait, isn’t the eldest daughter supposed to marry first?”

The sisters smiled. “Good luck. And enjoy being the new eldest,
Catherine
,” they said laughing as they left.

Caterina took another bite of her apple. She’d been staring at the garden in silence, lost in thought. She could feel the disease within Silskin radiating. “Still worried about Kar’m, or simply enjoying the view?”

“Just enjoying the view,” said Silskin, offering a flinching smile.

“So, tell me, what about Richelle Pieman?”she asked. “You told me she was dead.”

“She… is.”

“Simon seemed absolutely certain that the hand writing was hers.” She sat up in her chair. “I’m
concerned
, Ron-Paul. I’m concerned that you aren’t upholding your end of our bargain, that you’re playing games behind my back or feeding me information you want me to hear, without it being true or verified.”

Silskin turned away and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead carefully. “Nothing of the sort.” 

Caterina glared at him. She watched as his shoulders melted and his gaze lowered. She hated it when he cowered. “Fine. You spoke with Marcus Pieman recently, how did he seem?”

Silskin squirmed, trying to find the right words. “He was distraught. A… a ghost of a man. His world has crumbled, and his secret game with Nikolas Klaus yielded nothing. And what is worse, the man has been reduced to a yammering idiot. Klaus, not Pieman. You’ve broken him.”

Caterina had resisted the urge to strike Marcus for so long, she’d found herself wondering if she would ever do it. Was it out of fear that she waited, or her desire to grow her forces and allies before doing so? She’d found herself dropping hints, the most audacious of which was having Pieman’s presidential gardens reshaped into the symbol of the Fare. She knew her impatience was leaking into her actions, and finally decided to act. But with Pieman’s world smashed, she felt no different inside. She hoped that, with his death, she’d find the peace that had eluded her at her father’s death. 

“There is still the matter of Abeland,” she said, looking for holes in their plans. “His little act of sabotage, casting Simon in a bad light, means we cannot let our guard down.”

“Agreed,” said Silskin.

“Excuse me, your highness,” said a military man from the foot of the steps with a protesting attendant. “May I approach you and Lord Silskin? I have urgent news.”

The white clothed attendant beside him gazed up nervously at the shaded gazebo, fearing a possible punishment for allowing the breach of protocol.

“Approach, Captain.”

“Sorry to disturb you, but I was given this message to hand you, personally,” he said handing her an envelope.

“The regent doesn’t have time to read everything. What is it?” asked Silskin, impatient and nervous he wouldn’t be told.

The captain waited for Caterina’s approval before speaking. “The four royal dignitaries held a secret meeting with Marcus Pieman two nights ago. I was given that letter, which I was told but have not seen, is signed by all four of them. It is, as they said, the decision of the Southern, Eastern, Lower and Independent Kingdoms speaking with one voice.”

“What?!” said Caterina, ripping open the seal on the letter.

Silskin wiped his face nervously. “You don’t have the look of a man giving us the news we expected.”

The captain stood silent, allowing the regent to finish reading the letter.

She turned a burning glare on Silskin. “And you said he was broken!
Broken!
If he was so
broken
, then how did he convince them to give him a Trial by Royals? How?!”

“He was!” protested Silskin.

She threw the letter in his face.

Silskin read it, going ever more white. “They’ve… they’ve moved him to Relna, in Belnia. He’s out of our jurisdiction, your Highness. But they were supposed to strip him of his title, weren’t they? There hasn’t been one of these in… in centuries. Do they even have the right to request such a thing?”

“They do,” replied Caterina, her voice laced with distilled anger. She glanced at the captain who was standing, a bead of sweat hanging on his nose.

She stood up, seized his pistol and shot him, kicking his dead body down the stairs. She stared at Silskin’s panicked face. “Need I clean up all of your messes? I will not have my victory stolen from me, not when I am so close.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Unexpected

As Christina marched through the corridors with Angelina, she noted the looks of those she passed change from frustration to fear to bewilderment. “What’s going on? What’s so important that you need me?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said Angelina, in her quick and dry manner.

With a nod, the portcullis opened, followed by the thick, wooden gate beyond it.

Christina wondered who the shadowed lone figure standing beside a horse was. He was wearing a long dark coat, and held his hands together in front of him. When the sun bounced off his monocle, she immediately knew. She turned to Angelina. 

“I said you wouldn’t believe me,” said Angelina. Taking up her position and allowing Christina to approach Abeland by herself, she made eye contact with the hidden marksmen to ensure everyone was at the ready.

Christina scratched the side of her face as she approached Abeland. “Did we get put on a map, because you aren’t supposed to know about this place.”

Abeland gave one of his most charismatic smiles. He felt like his old self, dressed in his classic clothes, his lungs working properly, and taking a risk to get something he wanted. “Hi, Christina. It’s been a while.” He glanced around and lowered his voice, bringing her in closer. He wanted to ensure no one could hear what he was about to say. “There are a lot of things that I’m not supposed to know. But this,” he said, gesturing, “I’ve known about this place for quite a while. Actually, we put it on
our
map, though only my father, Richelle and I knew where it really was.”

Something clicked in Christina’s brain. “Bodear. You marked that it was in Bodear. That’s why it was bombed, wasn’t it?”

Abeland nodded.

“So, you have a mole,” said Christina. “That’s surprising.”

“Sometimes the people you know the longest are the people you can trust the least,” replied Abeland, with a less convincing smile.

“You look thin,” remarked Christina.

“I chose a bad vacation destination.”

“Tangears again?”

“Prison.”

Christina couldn’t help laughing. “Well, that
is
a bad choice.” 

Abeland smiled warmly. “I left once I realized that the room service wasn’t simply late.”

Putting up a hand, Christina said, “Stop the charm offensive. Why are you here?”

He took a step forward, glancing about at the marksmen that stood out to him like trees on a grassy plain. “I’m not the only one with a problem in my organization. The difference is, I know mine, and he’s no longer a problem.”

She stared at the ground. She knew Abeland well enough to know that he wanted something in exchange. Studying his face, she could see that he wasn’t likely lying. As tricky as he was, he was still very much the young man she’d met, and trusted, long ago. “Are you sure?”

Abeland reached into one of his saddle bags and pulled out a metal canister. “Do you know what this is?”