The Secret World of Briar Rose(28)
No one could cross the barrier that held together the wicked sorcerer and innocent princess. After all, Malicine needed a closer look at the baby to grant the perfect gift.
Their horns’ shadows streaked across the infant’s body like two jagged lines, ready to pierce into soft flesh. Amelia slept peacefully, cradled in a sea of satin blankets as soft as clouds. From the moment she was born, she was loved and accepted by everyone. Skin as white as pearls, hair as gold as sun. The beauty in her would only flourish greater with time.
These were the girls the world cared about. Girls who would grow up doted, beloved, cherished. Amelia would never understand a fraction of the pain that Malicine felt. She would dance across the gilded halls of her extravagant castle, watch men bow down at her feet, and give her everything she wanted. And when she died, the world would mourn for her and drop roses beside her deathbed.
Humans and faeries yelled around them. Screams muffled behind the barrier, fists pounding against invisible glass. Still, the baby did not stir. Malicine traced a finger across Amelia’s cheek, their nail curled beneath the baby’s chin.
“You just love your sleep, don’t you?”
Malicine was eighteen, and their life was already so different from this girl’s. What about when Amelia turned eighteen? What if she had a taste of how dreadful the real world could be?
“Beauty and song are nothing more than shallow gifts. As her godmothers, you should be ashamed. Fortunately, I’ve thought of the perfect gift. The princess will, indeed, grow up beautiful and beloved. But when midnight strikes on her eighteenth birthday . . .”
Their eyes flickered to a spinning wheel in the corner of the room. They imagined blankets being spun, cradling the princess with comfort and safety normal for a girl like her. Their fangs flashed with a smile as sharp as the spindle they pointed toward.
“She will prick herself on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into eternal slumber.”
The godmothers gasped, a tidal wave of shock rolling over each face as they understood the implication. Malicine had turned the crib into a casket, tainting the most sacred job the godmothers had. The faeries would be permanently disgraced by the king for failing to protect the princess. It was not just a curse on the princess, but a curse on her godmothers as well.
Malicine cackled as fire lit their heels. Their laughter recoiled in the thick smoke until it fully engulfed their bodies. The cries around them faded like ash. The world turned black, like a smothering blanket, before they could breathe the autumn air of the woods once more.
Later, when Talon reported that Clover used her final gift to declare true love’s kiss would break the curse, Malicine laughed so hard they wept. They imagined their sisters arguing privately after the ceremony, pointing fingers at the youngest faerie, and blaming her for wasting the last gift on something so stupid. They would have to desperately cling to the idea of true love to save face, or risk being humiliated forever.
An impossible concept, Malicine thought. They could not imagine that level of devotion to someone, the way a person could sacrifice themselves for another.
True love simply didn’t exist in the real world.
CHAPTER 13
THE THINGS CORIN saw throughout their trek couldn’t have existed in the real world, and it solidified her acceptance that this was, indeed, a dream. Icicle lanterns sprouted from the ground along the white woods, pulsing with soft light from each passerby. Hares vanished into snowflakes, reappearing with every gust of wind to let Elly chase them. Owls with crystal wings swooped between branches and scattered shimmering frost onto Malicine’s cape. Corin learned that none of the wild animals were dangerous, yet there remained one that stopped her tracks.
The fox she’d seen earlier reappeared, as if stalking her path. He slipped between the trees like a shadow constantly shifting behind her group. Her footsteps slowed behind the others, veering toward the creature until their shadows became one under the sunlight. Seeing him again, his fur had a slick, oily texture, as if he were made of paint. She reached out to stroke his coat and confirm its familiarity. At her touch, the fox’s face turned into an old tree, orange fur dissolving into charcoal. The pads of her thumbs were left stained black.
She muttered, “I don’t understand how anything in this world works.”
“This world isn’t like yours,” Malicine replied. “It’s not a singular place. They’re fragments of our subconscious pieced together. Unlike reality, these parts aren’t finite. Cracks can form. And if someone enters, they can break apart.”
Corin thought of the jagged edges in the fox’s skin. Perhaps he wasn’t the only thing here that was breakable. The dreamworld appeared whole, yet its parts were delicate, susceptible to collapsing. She imagined the land like her father’s pottery, the way pieces shrank when they dried, creating cracks across the surface. Once, she’d knocked over his favorite bowl and shattered it by accident. She’d tried putting it back together, but there was no point. The fragile lines made her mistakes too noticeable, an ugly reminder of what she’d done.
Maybe this time, Corin would make things right. She would claim the treasure, move away from Gyldan, and start over, leaving those cracked pieces behind.
Her eyes scanned the snowy terrain in newfound determination, but the contours of the land never appeared to end. Every time they reached a new area, Corin would lose track of time, forgetting how long it took to reach their destination. She had no idea how close they were to the treasure, if it was even a linear journey to be measured at all.