Fairytales Slashed, Volume 2 Page 4

  It made him think of a party, some small intimate affair, not more than a dozen people attending. Warm candlelight and soft music— Where was he getting such asinine, pointless images? Shaking his head, banishing the strange thoughts, he set the rose upon the ground again, though his fingers slid away from it only slowly.

  "Vow?" he asked.

  Meir nodded. "Aye. Mine, see, is a love token. A simple little gift. 'Twas given to me not long after we met, me and the one who is the reason I was cursed eventually. No vow was made then; just a traditional exchanging of gifts." He sighed and looked sad and fell silent for several minutes.

  "A vow," he said eventually, speaking slowly, "is something else entirely. It's no different in terms of power than a curse—just positive rather than negative, obviously. The most crucial difference is that a curse is forced upon an individual. A vow must be freely made and freely accepted. But once that is done, even a curse cannot overcome it. A vow such as that—aye, someone loves you fierce." He reached out and lightly touched the bottle. "You still have them and can see them. That means love rejected is not love lost."

  Alcor frowned, confused.

  Meir snorted. "Lad, it means that whoever vowed to love you still loves. When that love fades, these gifts will be junk to you the same as they are to most everyone else. They still hold power; if the vow was made again, and you accepted, I would be willing to bet it would break your curse. I don't know what's required to free you, but a vow that powerful—love offered, and love returned—is strong enough to break most anything."

  Something twisted hard and deep in Alcor's chest. Love and love returned. Impossible, that's what it was, yet Meir almost made it sound possible.

  He started to speak, but the words came out garbled and turned into a nasty coughing fit, and he was forcefully, painfully reminded why his cure would always be impossible—no one, even someone who had supposedly loved him enough to give him the three gifts, could love a monster.

  "You don't know where to find the giver, do you?"

  Alcor shook his head, then attempted to clarify. "Don't—know—who. Fire—" He motioned in the air. "Forgot—it—all. Found gifts—ruins." Then he doubled over in a coughing fit that tore apart his throat and his chest, eyes stinging from the mass of excruciating pain. Did he really deserve this, to live with this unbearable pain when so much weighed upon him? Was that really fair?

  "That's a pity," Meir said quietly. "But I suppose it wouldn't be a proper curse if it was that easy to break. Not that falling in love is easy." He gave a long sigh that seemed to hold a story all its own, but said nothing further on the matter.

  When the coughing finally ceased, Alcor looked up to sneer. Was Meir blind? Look at him! Even if someone had loved him, even if he believed in love enough to fall for someone—who would love a monster? It would never happen.

  "You'd best learn to stop sneering, lad," Meir said quietly, "unless you want to be doing this for the next hundred years or so. Trust me, you do not. Nothing is harder than living in a world which no longer has a place for you."

  Alcor said nothing, only lay down and put his back to the fire and Meir. So what if the world wouldn’t have a place for him in a hundred years. It didn't have a place for him now; the world had neither the time nor the space for ugly monsters. If there was nothing for him now, what did he care if the same held true a hundred years from now?

  He didn't care. Not a bit. All he cared about was sleeping, because even nightmares were better than being awake.

  With that thought, he finally fell asleep.

  *~*~*

  Alcor snarled and growled and made go away motions. Mutt barked and growled playfully back, then bent his head to nudge at the stick he had dropped at Alcor's feet. Then he looked up expectantly at Alcor, and barked again.

  "No," Alcor said for the fourth time, completely aggravated. "Do I look like the type to play fetch, you damn dog?"

  Almost as if pondering the question, Mutt angled his head first one way, then the other and finally barked cheerfully, moving and hopping in place before nudging at the stick again. Alcor glared and ground out yet another ragged, "No."

  It did not seem to discourage the dog in the slightest. "Oh, for—!" Alcor stopped and snatched up the damned stick, throwing it as far as he could manage just to make the stupid dog go away and leave him alone.

  Meir laughed as Mutt took off with an ecstatic bark. "You've done it now, lad."

  "Not lad," Alcor ground out, utterly sick of hearing that bloody word. "I'm one and twenty." He coughed, relieved when it only lasted a few seconds, rather than the several minutes that was more common.

  Meir just laughed again. "Oh, well then," he said teasingly. "One and twenty. You are definitely still a lad, then."

  For at least the millionth time just that morning, Alcor felt an urge to stomp off and bid Meir good riddance, but there was always that damned look that seemed to say Meir was just waiting for him to do precisely that, was daring him to leave. Alcor would be damned if he did what was expected.

  He was pulled from his thoughts by a cheerful series of barks and looked down to glare at the damned dog—who had obligingly dropped the stick and nudged it to lie all but right on top of Alcor's feet. "No." Mutt barked in cheerful argument.

  Alcor huffed and tried to turn away, but caught Meir giving more of those looks. Stubbornly refusing to do as expected, Alcor retrieved the stick and once more threw it as far as he could. Mutt barked in approval and took off like a shot.

  Meir chuckled. "You've won yourself a friend for life, now."

  Alcor shrugged in derision. He had never needed friends before, and animals were fickle, anyway. His hunting dogs had certainly been useless for anything if there was not an animal to be chased into the open.

  When Mutt returned, he threw the stick again with a sigh then moved to sit with Meir by the fire, unable to think of anything better to do. "So what are your plans, lad?" Meir asked after a moment.

  Alcor curled his lip at the 'lad' but said, "Hunting lodge." He shrugged. Meir eyed him speculatively. "What?"

  "Your voice is better now than it was five days ago," Meir said, unruffled by Alcor's sharp, grating tone. "Mind you, it's still bad, but I think with use it would ease up a fair bit. You'll never sing in the angelic choirs, mind, but I think it might be less… ragged over time."

  Alcor only shrugged again. Who cared? What could it possibly matter if his voice worked again in any way?

  Meir shook his head. "Something is better than nothing, lad. I think, though, that's something you're still too young to appreciate. Even with all you've been through." He shook his head again and chuckled softly. "Nothing is more stubborn than youth."

  If he said so. Mutt returned with the stick in his mouth, and Alcor threw it just to avoid Meir for a moment. Why was he still here? He'd be better off alone. Was he really so desperate for company that did not try to stone him or make warding signs that he'd put up with the constant condescension and lecturing?

  He did not answer his own question.

  When he returned to sitting with Meir, the nanny look was already in place. "What?"

  "You said you're going to a hunting lodge?"

  Alcor nodded. "Family lodge. Dragon—" he broke off coughing, doubling over, and pointed unsteadily to a set of mist-shrouded mountains in the far distance, visible only because of their size and the fact that the land was so flat for miles and miles around until one drew closer to the mountains.

  "Ah," Meir said, comprehending. "Your family had a hunting lodge somewhere on Dragonback Mountains?"

  "Yes," Alcor managed after a moment. "Blue ridged. About… three weeks?"

  "Of travel left to reach them?" Meir stroked his short beard thoughtfully. "Aye, we've been travelling almost two now. If the weather holds and we keep at this pace, three weeks is about right. Course, we've been travelling slow, if steady. If we increase the pace a bit, we could shave that by quite a few days."

  Alcor shrugged. They
could, but was it necessary? He wanted to be there before the snow began, but that was a good two months off yet. He preferred as little pain as possible, which meant keeping to an easy pace.

  "True, there is no rush," Meir agreed.

  "You—where—?"

  It was Meir's turn to shrug. "I don't have particular destinations, ever. As long as I've been around, it wouldn't be hard to settle, but I prefer not. My wandering is pretty aimless."

  "Why—stay—wi—" Alcor broke into a coughing fit. "Me?" He managed at last.

  This time, Meir smirked. "You're young, stupid, arrogant, and have a great deal to learn. Thought I'd hang about and enjoy the show." Alcor glared at him.

  "But, it's also nice to have someone who understands the situation. Normal folk… they're always nice enough, but they sense my wrongness, even if they can never put a finger upon what seems off about me."

  Nodding, Alcor watched as Mutt returned and presented the stick again. He threw it, then reached absently into his jacket and pulled out the rose. It smelled of spicy things and good beer and slow-roasting meat. A tavern?

  "The rose confusing you, lad? It's just a flower, albeit with magical properties."

  Alcor shook his head, hesitated, then shrugged and held the rose out. It was just a stupid flower. Why did he care who else touched it? "Smell."

  Meir looked at him in genuine surprise, but accepted the rose. His brows shot up in complete surprise as he sniffed it. "Smells like a place I'd like to be," he said and returned the rose. "That's a new one on me. Roses should smell likes roses. Never knew one to smell like good beer and roast."

  And honeysuckle. Always Alcor could just barely smell the honeysuckle. He smelled the rose one more time before tucking it away again.

  "Hmm," Meir said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "That is interesting and a new one on me." Alcor shrugged. It was a riddle, but he did not care about solving it unless the answer to the rose was the answer to his curse.

  Mutt returned again, but instead of demanding another throw, he dropped the stick and lay in the spot that put him right between where they each sat on opposite sides of the fire. His tongue lolled, and he appeared quite pleased with himself. Alcor rather supposed he was, at that.

  Reaching out, Meir gave him a rough petting, smiling faintly. Mutt chuffed in response and enjoyed the attention.

  The whole scene was so… quaint and simple and peasant and completely different from everything he knew that Alcor nearly started laughing hysterically. Was this going to be his life for all eternity? He picked up a stick and stabbed viciously at the fire, struggling in vain against the black despair clawing at him, drowning out even the physical agony which was his most constant companion.

  "It gets better and even mostly goes away," Meir said suddenly, voice oddly gentle, causing Alcor to jerk in surprise and look up with a wary glare.

  "The despair, I mean," Meir said. "It does ease. I think you will overcome it faster than I." Alcor just stared at him. Meir smiled, a trace of bitterness in it. "You obviously have fallen a long way down, but I doubt you fell as far as I." He snorted. "Though, I concede your fall was much more brutal, physically."

  Rolling his eye, Alcor threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire. Dusk was falling around them, slow and lazy, the fading sunlight orange and red. He thought about asking about Meir's curse, but he did not really feel like discussing his own and knew Meir would press for fairness—and he did not really care about someone else's problems, anyway.

  Meir reached into his pack and pulled out his indefatigable jerky. He offered some to Alcor, but Alcor refused. "It's not good to never eat, lad," Meir said. "Best to keep some habits, or you'll really cease to feel human."

  Alcor laughed bitterly, but it rapidly turned into a coughing fit. "Not—hu—" He coughed again. "Monster."

  "Oh, aye, you're not pretty to look upon," Meir agreed. "However, it's your attitude what's really beastly. Not hard to see you were once a fine, pretty brat." He shrugged. "But I suppose it takes one to know one, eh?"

  He was sick of being lectured. What did his attitude matter when no one could even get past his looks? Turning away, he pillowed his head on his arms and tried to sleep, even if it was entirely too early.

  The hunting lodge. Everything would be better when he finally reached the hunting lodge. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the rose and then settled back down, stroking its soft petals with one ruined thumb.

  Love vow. So someone had loved him, and he'd refused it? Naturally. Probably someone angling for a foothold with his family. People would stoop to anything to grasp power. One man had even sent his son to play the role of a particularly delectable whore in the hopes of gaining Alcor's personal favor to be put to good use later. A sweet fuck, he hazily recalled, but Alcor had not given anyone any favors.

  He wanted to know why the gift had actually been given. If they were his at all—but, if what Meir said was true, then they could be no one's but his.

  So why did they belong to him? Perhaps it was part of the curse. He could see the bastard faerie doing such a thing—working to convince Alcor to believe in a false hope and go charging after the one who had claimed to love him and who Alcor had supposedly rejected.

  Only to learn it all had been a hoax.

  Yes, that was precisely what was happening here. It was so pathetically obvious! At least he had finally figured it out. They were not love vows, just another twisted aspect of his curse.

  Why, then, that scent of honeysuckle? Even now, the rose was close enough he could breathe in its scents. Honeysuckle and night-blooming jasmine, chamomile tea and a hint of honey. Someone getting ready for bed, perhaps?

  A flash of pale gold hair, the scent of jasmine. The images flared strong in his mind for a moment—

  Then he fell asleep.

  He hated his parents. He hated the servants. He hated everyone and everything and wished they would all bugger off and rot. How dare they boss him around and tell him it was for his own good and he'd understand when he was an adult. He was fifteen, hardly a child! He could ride and hunt and was top of his class and an excellent fencer and he was not a child! Everyone needed to stop bossing him around and treating him like a baby. He could do everything on his own just fine.

  Angrily, he stalked out of the house and through his mother's rose garden. On an impulse, he reached out and began to yank and tear at the colorful roses, casting them, ruined, to the ground. He swore loudly when his finger caught on a large, sharp thorn. It managed to slice the top joint of his finger from bottom to top, blood dripping everywhere.

  Grimacing in pain and annoyance, he almost turned around and went back into the house to make someone tend it. Then he remembered that he hated all of them, and they would only shout and lecture more anyway. His mother would shriek when she saw her roses. Served her right!

  He scowled at the rose which had caused the offense as he dug through his pockets for his handkerchief and clumsily wrapped it around his bleeding finger. That done, he tore the guilty rose from the bush, deciding it would have to be destroyed in some special fashion.

  Abandoning the rosebushes, he scaled the back wall and leapt neatly into the field beyond, whistling and half-hoping someone would hear him and tattle to father that he'd disobeyed and not gone to his room.

  No one did, of course. Mother had gone to rest after the 'strain of the family quarrel' had 'simply exhausted' her. Father had no doubt gone off to his study to drink and pay 'particular attention' to his secretary.

  Which of course reminded him how all of this had begun. He was fifteen! Old enough to make his own decisions, damn it. Kicking angrily at a stone, he veered off the carefully made path and threw himself into the forest proper. Something else for which he would get yelled at, if they knew about it. He didn't need the stupid path or even a horse. He didn't need anyone or anything.

  He wandered on, following a path that would have made little sense to anyone else, but here at the hunting lodge, he loved
the forest. It was the one place his family did not go except on horseback during a hunt.

  Here, he would be bloody left alone, and no servant sent to fetch him would be able to find him. See how they liked that!

  He walked for some time, at least for half an hour, making his way slowly toward his favorite spot. He could hear it well before he saw it.

  The waterfall was not much to look upon, so far as size went. The royal falls beyond the capital were far more impressive, but this was his waterfall, and that made it far superior.

  Except, today it would seem he was not alone. Alcor scowled at the intruder.

  A boy, close to his own age, sat on his knees at the edge of the pool, bending out over the water. His hair was pale, but sort of gold, falling just barely to his shoulders. It was wispy and fine and bore no ornamentation.

  In fact, the whole thing—boy—was sort of wispy, like one strong wind would knock him right over or carry him away. He jumped at the sound of Alcor's footsteps, standing and turning all at once and managing to trip himself so that he landed hard on all fours right at Alcor's feet.

  Alcor laughed. The boy flushed and stood up, eyes—pale, pale amber—flashing with humiliation and anger.

  "So why are you crying?" Alcor asked, as he noticed the tell-tale tracks of dried tears on the boy's unfashionably sun-touched cheeks.

  "I-I'm not," the boy said, belying his words by scrubbing guilty at his cheeks. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  Alcor drew himself up and tried to mimic the way his father sounded when people dared to ask such questions—and so rudely. "I am Alcor Vadas, and my family owns these lands for miles around."

  "Oh," the boy said, his eyes going wide. "Papa has talked about you before. I didn't realize—" He bit his lip and turned bright red, then dropped his gaze to stare very hard at his feet.

  "Realize what?" Alcor demanded.

  "N-nothing," the boy stammered. "Only you're just—umm—well—" His face was so red Alcor wondered how he didn't pass out or something, but finally he managed to get the words out. "Papa says you're all evil and odious, but you don't look like what I thought that meant. You're—uh—beautiful, I mean."