CHAPTER FIVE

Lion Dream

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Catherine awakened with a start. It was a dismal gray morning, quite unlike the golden sunrises striped with scarlet that cheered her at home. She threw back a quilt, guessing that one of the spirits had spread it over her as she slept fitfully on the cold floor. Rising, she donned her own garments, which had been cleaned and hung on wall pegs: a shift, a corset, a traveling dress of blue broadcloth, and a rough striped cloak. There were no mirrors in the chamber but during the days of her blindness she had become adept at curling her side-ringlets and tying up her chignon without a looking-glass. A bowl of fruit stood on the table; she hesitated, then ate one pear to keep up her resolution. She would concede nothing to the creature who had lured her to this place of imprisonment. The silver dagger she thrust through her belt, in case Vincent should appear.

A whisper of wind blew across her angry face, which was pale after a night of weeping.

"Follow us, if you will." Mary flew toward the door, then paused, since Catherine wasn't following. Though she could not see them, the spirits could see each other, and Mary sent a questioning look in Jacob's direction. The old fellow shrugged -- what could anyone do?

Catherine stood her ground. She knew these spirits were loyal to their monstrous master. "Why should I trust you?"

"I am Mary. Once, long ago, nursemaid. The other is Jacob. He was a tutor."

The second voice amended her description. "A philosopher."

She flashed, "Is there any philosophy that condones trapping and deceiving an innocent woman?"

Jacob was very silent for a space. "There are one or two minor schools of thought in which morality is not stressed. However, I am not a follower of those particular thinkers."

To Mary she burst out, "What is the plan of your master in regard to me? I'm assuming he does not intend to devour me, as he could have done so easily while I was blind."

"Oh, my dear, you misjudge him so," Mary protested, clutching her hands together in distress. "He will never approach you again, unless you request it."

"I never will," Catherine announced defiantly.

"Then you may be assured that you will never see him again."

"Good!"

"Please, come with us?" Mary floated toward the door again.

Her brows came together in a frown. There was no point in starving herself to death. Besides, this was the beast's bedchamber, and she wanted to be out of it. "It seems I have no choice." With that, she shoved aside the furniture that blocked the door.

Life-sized pegasi flanked both sides of the door. The immense hallway was paneled in tiny squares of black and dark red that writhed across the walls and the floor. Looking closely she deciphered a mosaic of a human-headed manticore battling a cockatrice. It was not an encouraging sight, and she drew her cloak tighter in self-protection as Mary and Jacob led her through a maze of corridors and down one flight of mosaic steps, on which a similar manticore gnawed a dragon.

"Are there manticores here?" she demanded to know.

A faint snort of amusement answered her, and Jacob said, "What do the village schools teach you? An animal compounded of brute and man? Such an enormity could never exist."

"I know one," she retorted.

The ghosts whispered together, but she could not understand what they said.

Down the center of the floor ran a row of trapdoors, each with its hinges and iron ring.

With hopscotch jumps she avoided them, pulling her cloak tighter still. Unearthly hooting noises drifted up. To drown them out, Catherine said loudly, "Mary, you told me you were a nursemaid?"

"And a midwife."

"Both of you were human beings once -- how were you entrapped here?"

Jacob answered pompously. "I am a seeker of knowledge, and with that purpose in mind became Anya's initiate."

Mary said, "There were tragedies I was unable to prevent, and it was my hope that magical knowledge would help me save more mothers and babies."

"But why are you still here?"

No answer came from either of the spirits. They turned a sharp corner; the panels of this hallway were carved with doves, every feather perfect. There were no monstrosities depicted on these walls.

"This way, dear." They pushed open an arched portal inscribed with her name. Despite her anger, Catherine could not help herself from gasping with delight.

Unlike Vincent's shadowy chamber, this one was light and airy. Pale blue draperies floated around a four-poster bed; the same color shone on the ceiling, which glittered with silver stars. Each white marble square of the floor was inlaid with a silver phase of the moon, waxing and waning from crescent to full and back again, covering the floor in a mystical year.

She crossed the threshold and gazed around her in amazement. Bookshelves with rolling ladders lined one wall to the ceiling; the opposite wall opened into wardrobes spilling with glorious gowns in rainbow hues. A chair was pulled close to an alabaster fireplace carved with unicorns. The fire burned with sparks of rose and gold. Around the room, candles flickered with the same dancing colors.

She pushed open two tall doors set with diamond shaped panes, and found herself on a balcony just above a rose garden. The high hedgewalls were lined with arbors. One meandering path wandered between mounds of pale blossoms. A spicy scent drifted up to her like a kiss.

"But this is lovely," she admitted, reluctantly.

Coming back inside, she touched rows of leather-bound books, then pulled her hand back quickly. She guessed that the books came from Vincent's own shelves and her lips tightened to a straight line.

"I want nothing from him. This room is intended to lull me into contentment, and I repudiate it. A cell with a fireplace is still a cell."

A sigh of defeat drifted from Mary. She and Jacob and Vincent had worked so hard to ready the chamber. The gowns were the work of her hands. The inlaid tiles and cabinetry were Jacob's doing. Vincent had done all the heavy lifting; he also constructed the shelves, moved in the books, carved the door and the bedposts, and painted silver stars on the ceiling.

"It doesn't please you?"

"What does he mean by it?"

"Only kindness," Mary answered. "He knows how you feel. Breakfast has been prepared for you in the great hall. He has pledged himself not to worry you."

With her head high, Catherine followed the servants down one more flight of steps into the great hall, with its wall-frieze of heraldic lions and its long row of octagonal tables. A bowl, cup, and plate of gold were set alongside cutlery inlaid with gems. She seated herself -- there was only one chair -- and dipped her fingers into a bowl of rosewater. A square of linen floated toward her; she wiped her fingers. Under glass domes she found hot spiced fruit, gingerbread, and a coddled egg.

She was a fair cook, though not as talented as her sister Rebecca, and had to admit that the delicate meal was to her liking. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. "Is he watching me?"

"He is not." Mary assured her, pausing with the bowl of rosewater in her hands "Vincent is far away."

"That's all I ask."

After breakfast, Catherine stole down the torch-lit entry hall, shuddering at the mounted skulls on the walls. Smoke and shadows altered their expressions; they seemed to be staring down at her with their hollow eye sockets. She stepped outside to the weed-choked courtyard. A wide avenue overshadowed by cedars stretched all the way to the gates. She remembered pulling those gates open and fighting her horse every inch of the way up that avenue. Looking to the left, she saw broad lawns and green parklands sloping down to a path lined by gigantic yews. Her view to the right was obscured by a hedgewall with a little wicket gate. It seemed to enclose a series of private gardens; she guessed that one of them might be the rose bower under her balcony.

" Tell us what we can do for you." Mary hovered nearby, longing to be of use.

Catherine's chin tilted up a little. She wasn't so easily coaxed into submission. "Tell me where the stables are, and let me go alone."

It was Jacob who answered; he had no interest in trailing her about. For one thing, he didn't entirely approve of women, having suffered at the hands of a fickle apprentice long years ago. Her name was Marguerite. She left him for a younger mentor and he had been suspicious of heart-rendingly lovely maidens ever since. For another thing, he had expected much more acclaim for the inlaid floor. He picked up a stick and pointed in a northeast direction, gesturing like a teacher. "Follow the avenue until you see a ruined keep draped with ivy, at the lake's edge."

"Very well. Do not follow me." Catherine swept across the courtyard and hurried down the tree-shaded avenue. She glimpsed a lake through the cedars; a rippling sheet of silver overhung by drooping trees. One curve of the shore was bordered by a low wall lined with lion masks.

The keep was heavy and square, ribbed with black stone and overgrown with ivy. As she drew nearer, she caught sight of white lilacs that bloomed around the open doors. Cautiously she peered inside. Bundles of mouldering hay heaped one dark corner. There were two stalls, both empty. A pony's small saddle and bridle hung over one of the dividing walls. Written in a childish hand on the door was the name 'Charger.' Of Dapple there was no sign.

A rickety ladder rose to the second floor. She climbed it carefully, hearing the thin slats creak and snap; and paused at the top, peering through an open trapdoor. Light filtered in through arrowslits in the stone walls and from gaps in the roof. There was nothing to be seen apart from a halter, a blanket, and a currycomb. Feeling a pang of disappointment, Catherine retreated from the keep, wiping her dusty hands on a tuft of grass. Perhaps Vincent wasn't lying when he claimed her horse had disappeared into the forest. She was halfway to the gates so she continued down the avenue, thinking hard.

The timber gates were twenty feet high and studded with brass knobs that dripped streaks of green on the wood. The mighty hinges groaned and scraped as she exerted all her strength and opened one gate just enough to wriggle through. Once outside she stood peering through the forest, wondering if she might find her way home on foot. Two steps away from the gate, she looked back. She could still see the lions on the gateposts, but shrouds of mist already hid the castle from view.

She paused and debated with herself as she looked into the forest. Barren branches creaked and turned toward her, snapping their twigs like traps. She remembered the wild ride on Dapple's back, plunging through bogs that sucked at the horse's legs, trotting around the same thicket for hours, if indeed it was the same one, and not an illusion. She recalled the grumbling of the trees at night, and how they seemed to edge closer when she wasn't watching.

It would not be courageous to attempt the forest on foot; it would be suicidal. Feeling even more depressed and alone, she slid back through the gates and pulled them both shut.

Back to the lake she wandered, and sat on the shore with her feet tucked under her skirt. She had many things to ponder, and several of them concerned Vincent.

When her father had recounted his ghastly tale and she heard of the threats the beast had made, she resolved at once to go in his place. He never would have let her climb into Dapple's saddle if he had known her purpose. She had been prepared to battle for her life against a demon of evil. Instead, she found a solitary being, fearful in appearance, yes; but thoughtful and gentle of heart.

Half against her will, she recalled the comfort she had found in his presence during those days of darkness and fear; all the pastimes he invented to cheer her; how he sank into the chair and buried his face when she reviled him.

She pulled up her knees and clasped them around, gazing out at the quiet lake. What sorcery had created him in that form, half-man, half-beast? How long had he been here alone? Why had he taken so much trouble to make her chamber beautiful, and asked the two spirits to serve her instead of himself?

It was possible to believe what Mary claimed; that she would never see him again, unless she requested it. That, of course, would never happen. She had too much pride to ever make friends with her captor. It was strange, though, how slowly the hours passed, when a person was by herself ... or by himself ...

She looked up, frowning, sensing that Mary was nearby.

"A midday meal has been prepared for you, if you will accept it," Mary said hesitantly. When she was unsure of herself she had a habit of smoothing her apron.

"Very well." Deep in thought, she rose and waded through knee-high grass back to the avenue and across the courtyard.

It felt strange to be eating alone in the great hall. She had been too shaken that morning to notice her surroundings; now she glanced around. The iron wheel of candles hanging from a rafter made a small island of light around her table. A smouldering log in the fireplace only deepened the shadows and made the rest of the gigantic room seem darker. In the dimness she could make out the shapes of other octagonal tables, but no other chairs. The wall-frieze of heraldic lions that stretched to the far end of the hall was a decoration, but not a cheerful one.

Mary and Jacob remained silent, trying perhaps not to annoy her; but the swooping of plates by invisible hands and the re-filling of her goblet were more unnerving than if they had spoken.

After finishing as much as she could, she found her own way back to the chamber with the rose-carved door. A fire leaped up in the hearth, and the candles bloomed one by one. She seated herself by the diamond-paned doors and chose a book from a shelf. It happened to be a rhapsody of courtly love, about a troubadour and a high-born lady he worshiped. On the flyleaf was written, 'Vincent.' Catherine was surprised for a moment at the beast's refined taste, but then remembered the poems he had read to her while her eyes were bandaged.

For several hours she sat there reading, eating apricots from a silver bowl and turning questions over in her mind. She had seen Vincent's face only for a moment -- was his appearance really that terrible? Her father had recounted a tale of unspeakable horror, but he did sometimes exaggerate.

Mary had said that Vincent was a prisoner here, as well. Catherine had dear friends, and even dearer kinfolk; and the thought of his solitary existence stung her with pity.

Yawning, she closed the book. The light was fading into night. She latched the balcony doors and crossed the room to the bed with its soft fall of blue draperies. Spread on the coverlet was a linen nightdress, beautifully embroidered. She unbuttoned her dark blue dress all the way down, unhooked her corset, and let her shift fall. It puddled at her feet, and she slipped the nightgown over her head. The sheets held a scent of lavender. She watched the candles extinguish themselves one by one; then closed her eyes and drifted into a dream.

The earth was parched and cracked to the horizon, and the sky was iron. Drifting sand half-covered a rusted cage, in which a lion lay dying of hunger. Cautiously, wrenched with fear and pity, she neared the cage. The lion shifted himself slightly to look at her. She was no longer afraid, for she carried a talisman, a red rose; and her hand was on the lock ...

The long night passed; Catherine slept fairly peacefully under her quilt of blue silk. When she floated back up to reality, the dream had vanished from her memory, leaving only a bittersweet impression. She rose, stretching; the balcony doors swung open.

A table on the terrace was already set with a dainty breakfast: hot cross buns, pots of honey and preserves, and fruit compote. White roses climbed up the wall to the second story and waved over her balcony.

When she retreated again to the chamber and closed the glass-paned doors, she found that Mary had brought from the wardrobe a flowing gown of rose-pink silk entwined with silver leaves.

Mary asked, "Do you still wish us to take the books away?"

Catherine had a temper, and she was quick to defy an imposition, but her generous nature found it difficult to hold any resentment. "No. He means to be kind. It's true I would not have allowed him to tend my injury if I had known he was the beast of the castle. It is hard for me to forgive an untruth, but I suppose he had reasons far misleading me."

Mary spoke sadly as she shock out the skirt. "He thinks you hate him now."

The gown was the most beautiful thing Catherine had ever seen; it wasn't possible to resist slipping it on. It was high-waisted in the latest fashion; the balloon sleeves ended in a soft fall of lace. The skirt was full and the oval neckline very low; she added a transparent collar, since these were the daylight hours and she was not in a ballroom. Rosettes decorated her shoes. She spun around once and practiced a curtsey.

"You are indeed lovely, dear," Mary sighed and leaned her wrinkled cheek on her folded hands. Even long ago when she was young, she'd never been as beautiful as Catherine.

She circled the chamber once more, touching crystal bowls of white lilacs on the mantlepiece. A wingchair and an embroidery frame were centered on an intricate carpet woven in tones of blue and cream.

Behind a folding screen, a spray bubbled up and splashed into a fountain carved from a single block of pink-veined marble. The water was scented with lilies of the valley.

Bending down, she trailed her hand through the warm and silky water. She had never taken a bath in a fountain. At home, each of the sisters had a ewer and basin.

"For me?" she marveled.

"All he has is yours," answered Mary, adding in her own mind, 'Some day you may know how true that is.'

Catherine understood his purpose, now. Vincent had no evil supernatural scheme. They were both trapped in the enchantment, and he was doing all he could to make it bearable for her. It wasn't fair to punish him any longer for a captivity that was not his fault. He was not her enemy. In fact, he had done his best to be her friend.

To the fluttering breeze, she asked, "Is there any way out of the forest?"

The air became still. The spirit either could not or would not answer.

She tried another question. "What is Vincent doing now?"

"Grieving. Though his appearance is dreadful, he has a soul, and it is in your keeping. You have the power to break the most faithful heart that ever beat."

A faint memory of the dying lion in her dream drove her to a brave decision. "Show me where he is."

An aerial touch guided her out of the chamber and up one flight of stairs after another. There was a spiral staircase like the inner curls of a seashell and another that swooped with great curving balconies. She followed Mary up wide steps inlaid with a design of centaurs that narrowed to a cold, unlighted stairwell gashed by arrow slits. Higher and ever higher she climbed, over ramps and bridges and airy spans of stone. To have spun such wonders, the powers of sorcery must have been incredible. A glance over the railing showed her the infinite depths below. A little dizzy, she clutched an onyx handrail and kept on climbing. She was out of breath by the time she reached the eighteenth floor. Guided by Mary, she pushed through a set of double doors and found herself outside, on a covered walkway between two towers. Haze sifted through the marble arches.

A tall form in black leaned over the railing, looking down at the treetops. He heard her light step, but did not glance up.

One hand flew to her throat. "The chamber…" She lost her voice and fought to regain it. Even in profile his appearance was so inhuman. "The chamber you arranged for me is lovely. I'm sure you are relieved to have your own room again."

Vincent shook his head slowly without looking in her direction. "Caring for you was the deepest happiness I've ever known. Reading to you, talking with you, sitting beside the bed as you fell asleep, and watching your dreaming face. Those days of companionship are past, I know. Your trust was the dearest thing in life to me, and I destroyed that faith forever." He covered his eyes with one hand "I thought I knew what bitterness meant, but I never knew the depth of my mother's curse, until now."

When she closed her eyes, she heard again the soft, hoarse voice that had been her lifeline during those days of pain and apprehension. Memories of his kindness drove her a step nearer. "Perhaps it's not too late."

He looked at her then, and she saw what a day and a night of grieving had done to him.

She tried to smile. When she looked into his blue eyes, it wasn't so difficult. "Does it seem impossible -- that I might learn to trust you again?"

He hardly dared to hope. "Oh, Catherine, could you?"

A beginning had been made, and she followed it up with an apology. "I must ask you to pardon my cruel words. My father does sometimes exaggerate." She tried to laugh. "Every time he returns from the seacoast he brings back wild tales of two-headed sailors and ships pulled by flocks of birds." .

"I frightened him badly. For that, I'm so sorry." He reached out one hand, then pulled it back. Her trust was infinitely precious, and he was terrified of making a mistake with her.

She noticed the gesture and understood why he drew back. It gave her the confidence to say, "While we are here together, it seems a pity to be enemies."

His voice was as unsteady as hers. "I don't want that either."

"This castle must be full of wonders that you could show to me." Tentatively she reached out a hand and placed it on his velvet sleeve. She cast up at him one frightened glance, then smiled.

His whole heart went out to that smile with a sudden rush. "There are wonders indeed, and they will all be poured at your feet. Since you can find it in your heart to give me a second chance, please believe that I will never betray that faith again."

"I have no fear of that." She spoke to reassure herself, and then realized it was true. With her hand resting lightly on his arm, they walked together along the arching colonnade, the golden-maned creature and the slender woman in her rose-pink gown.

They talked quietly as they walked side by side. She found him surprisingly easy to talk to, for he listened so intently. Tipping her head back, Catherine tried to count the towers that pierced the clouds. "You built these?"

Vincent shock his head, no. She had the right to know to whole truth. "My mother Anya was the sorceress. She conceived a child by magic, to be a sacrifice to the Dark Gods she worshipped. That child was myself. When she held me in her arms, though, and saw what her spells had created, pity struck through her. She conjured this realm and domed it with enchantments to conceal the castle. She entrusted me to her most trusted initiates; then went forth to battle the Dark Gods who still howled for their sacrifice. Anya broke the power of the dark ones, but died in the cataclysm. Her magic was so powerful that its influence still lingers, though it has faded with time…" His explanation halted abruptly.

She knew the thought he would have added, and spoke it for him. "All those endless years alone. How are you alive?" Deep in thought, she turned her head to look beyond. Vincent could only see the curve of her cheek and her soft brown hair, which was escaping from a silver ribbon and drifting across her shoulders.

He knew a sudden sensation of pure bliss. This was the world in which people were near to each other -- near -- to one another. The world he had always read about, he now lived in. There was no loneliness in it. Instead there were smiling eyes and quiet conversations and precious companionship. That had been her world, outside. She brought it with her, all that bliss, that nearness, and now it was his, too.

If she hadn't been gazing into the clouds, she would have seen it all in his face, everything he was feeling; his deep gratitude for her understanding, the heart-hunger that overwhelmed him with longing, the hopeless ache of tenderness.

By the time they reached a set of double doors, Vincent had himself under control again.

Pushing them open, he announced, "Prepare yourself for the first of many wonders. A ballroom with a ceiling of crystal, and a harp that plays itself…"