Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher Read Free Book Online Page A

the woods and informs you that he means to hold you prisoner? Are you mad? I shouldn’t have to tell you this.” Holly’s eyes narrowed. “Did you hit your head? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
    “No, no—”
    “Did he feed you poisoned food and if you don’t come back in seven days, you don’t get the antidote?”
    “I—wait, what?”  
    “Are you enchanted?” Holly leaned forward and peered at her pupils.  
    “How would we tell?” asked Bryony, exasperated. “And the Beast did save my life—”
    “Yes, yes, he’s a great humanitarian.” Holly waved this off, then paused. Her finger drifted to her lower lip. “Unless he is a humanitarian…and he’s looking for a next meal…”
    “I don’t think he’s a cannibal,” said Bryony, wondering how they had gotten so far afield, “and anyway, if he wanted to eat me, he would have. He didn’t have to let me come back and say good bye.”
    “But what if he means to kill you?” cried Iris, taking her hands away from her face long enough to hurl the words out, then immediately covering her face again.  
    “I don’t think he does,” said Bryony slowly. “I’m nearly sure of it. There’s something else going on there. Something…something I can’t figure out…”
    “So what?” asked Holly fiercely. “Why do you have to be the one to figure it out? His house can grab people, he says—well, let him grab someone else!”
    Bryony shook her head slowly. “I can’t explain it. But I think the Beast is in trouble.”
    Holly snorted, and Iris looked out between her fingers long enough to give her sister a disbelieving look.
    She couldn’t explain it. If she tried, it would sound flimsy, and her sisters would drag it out and dissect it and make her see how ridiculous it was, and Bryony didn’t want to hear it.  
    Because something strange was going on, even beyond the enchanted house and a Beast defensive of his roses.
    When she had led Fumblefoot through the wrought iron gate, and prepared to ride away, the Beast had come out to meet her. Fumblefoot didn’t like him and tried to dance nervously, but because it was Fumblefoot, he had to settle for a few sidesteps and a disgruntled whuffle.
    “Give me your hand, Miss Bryony,” said the Beast.  
    Bryony tried to read something in his eyes—the eyes, that was the trick, look at the eyes and not at the great tusked muzzle beneath them—but there was nothing.
    He could have twisted my head off like a pigeon’s at any point. It seems unlikely he’d put me on a horse and then yank my hand off.
    She stuck her hand out, feeling foolish.
    The Beast reached through the bars of the gate and took her hand in his own very large one. For a moment it looked as if he was the prisoner, not she.  
    He held her hand very lightly, with his thumb lying in a bar across her fingers, and said “Miss Bryony, please listen to me.”
    Bryony, who had been staring at the dark clawed hand wrapped around her own, looked up sharply, because on the word listen he had given her fingers a quick hard squeeze, like one who seeks to convey a secret message.  
    “You must come back in a week’s time,” he said, gazing intently into her face. “The house will come for you, otherwise. It has great power.” He squeezed her fingers twice more, on house and power. “But I have no wish for you to be unhappy. Bring with you anything you need in your new life—mementos, hobbies, beloved objects. And as you are a gardener, please bring anything that you require—seeds for planting, tending, staking, pruning…whatever it is that gardeners do.”  
    He dropped her hand dismissively as he said this last, but Bryony was more puzzled than ever, because he had given her fingers a final hard squeeze on the word gardener, and his golden eyes never left her own.  
    “Um,” said Bryony. “Yes. I will?”
    The Beast had nodded and turned away, stalking back towards the house. The folds of his robe spread out around