chapter twenty-one

The curse can be broken by this rose, but not by you, by someone sent to you.

The beast repeated the lines from his mother's letter in his head, grumbling to himself the entire way back to his hidden cave. It couldn't possibly be her ; she was about as helpful as a drowned fish! And that rose... there was definitely something odd about it. She'd even been speaking to it when he first arrived. Was it like the labyrinth? Did it have a sentience to it?

He was going to find out, but first he had to figure out supper.

He stomped his way back to his hidden cave, feeling the floor rumble underneath him when the wall closed him in. It was ridiculous that he had to even feed the girl at all. She was a criminal for Fairmyth's sake. She was meant to starve down here like the rest of the scum who were banished to his prison.

It would probably be easier to just kill her and steal the rose for himself, but that was easier said than done... The girl wasn't a problem, but the rose certainly was. The way it flashed at him before it seized all of his muscles and locked him in place was unlike any magic he'd ever come in contact with. And while he was certain he could fight past it if needed, he was far more interested in why it existed in the first place.

And that girl seems to know something.

"Stupid mortal," the beast grumbled to himself as he scrubbed his hands in the water spring at the back of his cave. "Thinks she can boss me around like some sort of servant."

He shook his hands off, watching the water flick off the end of his claws as he made his way to his garden. The dim glow in the labyrinth provided enough artificial light for root vegetables to grow underground, though they weren't nearly as lively as the roses that dotted the tunnels. It was enough to sustain him, so he couldn't complain, though he wasn't sure his prissy new prisoner would be nearly as appreciative.

If I'm feeding her, then she better not complain...

The beast thrust his claws into the garden, tearing out some yellow potatoes in his large fist. He set them to the side, then pulled up some carrots, turnips, and grabbed a few herbs from the few leafy bushes that had managed to thrive in the strange environment. Usually, he didn't care to spice his food, but he had a guest tonight, and... well, he didn't want to give her a reason to complain.

He sniffed the bushes, trying to remember which one was rosemary and which one was mint. The mint flooded his senses like an icy breeze, and while he enjoyed the fragrance, he knew it wouldn't pair well with the starchy veggies. He plucked a few sprigs of rosemary off the other bush, then looked over at his lone tea bush that he had never made the effort to fool around with.

Blast it, she might want tea...

He grumbled under his breath, then decided to save that dilemma for after he had gotten the stew started. He chopped up the veggies using a small dagger he had confiscated from a prisoner, first dicing the potatoes and then the turnips.

"Do you think she was some sort of lady above the surface?" the beast asked the labyrinth, pausing before he started working on the carrots. "Do ladies like carrots?"

The floor rumbled in response, and the beast clenched the dagger as he tried to interpret what that meant.

"It's not a dumb question, if that's what you're thinking!" he huffed. "Maybe she has something against orange foods! It's a pretty strange color."

The walls vibrated this time.

"It is! What if she gets mad that I put carrots in her supper?" He looked down at the half-chopped carrots, trying to determine if he was going to poison his chances of learning anything if he put them in the stew. "Maybe I'll just add half. Then she can poke around them. Ladies poke, right?"

The labyrinth didn't respond, and the beast couldn't blame it when he repeated the question in his head. He tossed half the carrot in, then added the rosemary sprig, which admittedly, made it look far more appealing. He sparked a fire in the small pit he'd dug out in the corner, then placed the stew overtop the flames. There wasn't much ventilation in the cave, so the space always got smokey when he cooked, but there seemed to be some sort of filtration; otherwise, he would have choked himself out years ago. It was like the strange glow of the labyrinth; which seemed to have its own way of absorbing the smoke.

"Now... what about the tea?" The beast moved back to the bush, and crouched to inspect the leaves. He'd heard plenty about tea from the prisoners who muttered to themselves over the years. He knew it came from leaves, that it was served as a drink, and that it was usually hot. Though he'd never attempted to make it himself...

How tricky can it be?

He grabbed a couple of fistfuls of leaves and took it over to one of his cracked cups. He looked at the leaves, then back at the cup before he decided on the most logical way to proceed. He crushed the leaves in his hands, squeezing them with all his might in an attempt to extract the tea juice from them. No luck.

"How do you juice?" the beast grumbled. He tried squeezing them harder, his muscles bulging as a tiny drop of liquid was crushed out of the leaves. It didn't look like nearly enough. There had to be another way... "Wait, tea is hot, right?"

Maybe that's it!

He grabbed another pot and filled it with spring water, then shoved it over the fire next to the stew. He waited for the water to simmer, then boil, then grabbed all the leaves in one full grip. Without even wincing, he plunged the fist full of leaves into the scalding water, his thick skin protecting him from most of the heat. He gave it a few good dunks, ensuring the leaves were well heated before bringing them back to the cup. He stuffed the leaves in the cup, then observed his new handiwork with a scratch of his chin.

Is it supposed to be so green? And leafy?

He tilted his head. He'd heard prisoners mention green tea , hadn't he? Surely this was at least partially correct.

Or completely wrong .

"Ergh, whatever! She'll take whatever I give her!" the beast bellowed, kicking aside a stray rock with his hoof. "Bring her to me. At the very least, she better see the tea while it's still hot."