Read Online Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. Kingfisher
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in the world.
They’re like…like very dark tomatoes. Or late sunsets. Or a very nice cut of raw meat.
Oh dear. Raw meat isn’t much better, I suppose…
“This is where your rose came from,” said Bryony.
“They are not my roses,” said the Beast, and his voice was deeper and more gravelly than it had been. “They belong to the spirit of this place. They require no tending.”
“Just as well,” said Bryony, forcing a laugh. “I have no patience to tend roses.”
The Beast led her across the courtyard. Bryony saw that the roses were twining around the base of the birch, the great roses shining against the white bark like—well, yes, like blood spatter on snow. In a few places, the stems had bit so deeply that the bark had begun to grow over them.
“They’ve been there a long time,” she said.
“Yes,” said the Beast, “a long time.” The air made a little space around his words, in a way that was not entirely pleasant, and Bryony did not say anything more until they had left the courtyard.
Through another set of glass doors lay a staircase. It was as wide and grand as any Bryony had seen in the capital, lit by sconces, with a banister that looked perfect for sliding and a spiky finial at the bottom that looked perfect for impaling anyone who tried.
“Your rooms are at the top,” said the Beast, nodding up it. “I suspect that you would like to rest a little.”
She looked at him. “I’ve been awake for less than four hours.”
“Collect yourself, then?” asked the Beast. “Err—powder your nose?”
Bryony suspected that he was trying to be kind, and took pity on him. If we are indeed the only two beings in this house, apart from the house itself, which is definitely peculiar, and I am going to be here for any length of time, we will have to make an effort to get along together.
“Very well,” she said, taking her satchel. “Thank you.”
“I have a regrettably sharp tongue,” said the Beast, “and you likely already despise me for kidnapping you, but as there are only the two of us, I will endeavor to be a considerate—er—captor.”
Since this ran perilously closely to her own thoughts, Bryony felt one corner of her mouth crook up. “And I suppose I will endeavor to be a considerate—er—victim. At least until I find a way to kill you and escape and so forth.”
“Well, naturally,” said the Beast, smiling a little. His tusks gleamed in the candlelight. “I would expect no less. If there is any way in which I may assist you with the killing and escaping and so forth, please let me know.”
Bryony ascended the stairs. Halfway up she looked down, and saw that the Beast was standing at the bottom, still watching her.
“There is a lock on your door,” he called, “if you wish to use it. I do not have a key to it, so try not to lock it and then fall and hit your head on the bathtub or something equally humiliating.”
“I’ll try to avoid it,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know.” What use a lock would be in a magical house that could open doors on its own, Bryony wasn’t sure, but it was a nice gesture.
She was glad to reach the landing, which was overcrowded with decorative urns, and go up the second flight and out of sight.
At the top of the stairs was a round room with green wallpaper and three doors. The one in the far wall stood open, and over the top, in elaborate scrollwork, it read, “Bryony’s Room.”
Bryony stepped up to the threshold, leaned in, said “Oh no!” and began giggling helplessly.
Then the stress of the morning caught up with her, and she had to lean against the doorjamb with her hand over her mouth, laughing until tears came. When the tears threatened to turn into something else, she forced herself to stop.
“I’m sorry, House,” she said to the air, “I suppose I will call you House, since I have to call you something, and a name like ‘Bob’ or ‘Tom’ doesn’t seem quite
They’re like…like very dark tomatoes. Or late sunsets. Or a very nice cut of raw meat.
Oh dear. Raw meat isn’t much better, I suppose…
“This is where your rose came from,” said Bryony.
“They are not my roses,” said the Beast, and his voice was deeper and more gravelly than it had been. “They belong to the spirit of this place. They require no tending.”
“Just as well,” said Bryony, forcing a laugh. “I have no patience to tend roses.”
The Beast led her across the courtyard. Bryony saw that the roses were twining around the base of the birch, the great roses shining against the white bark like—well, yes, like blood spatter on snow. In a few places, the stems had bit so deeply that the bark had begun to grow over them.
“They’ve been there a long time,” she said.
“Yes,” said the Beast, “a long time.” The air made a little space around his words, in a way that was not entirely pleasant, and Bryony did not say anything more until they had left the courtyard.
Through another set of glass doors lay a staircase. It was as wide and grand as any Bryony had seen in the capital, lit by sconces, with a banister that looked perfect for sliding and a spiky finial at the bottom that looked perfect for impaling anyone who tried.
“Your rooms are at the top,” said the Beast, nodding up it. “I suspect that you would like to rest a little.”
She looked at him. “I’ve been awake for less than four hours.”
“Collect yourself, then?” asked the Beast. “Err—powder your nose?”
Bryony suspected that he was trying to be kind, and took pity on him. If we are indeed the only two beings in this house, apart from the house itself, which is definitely peculiar, and I am going to be here for any length of time, we will have to make an effort to get along together.
“Very well,” she said, taking her satchel. “Thank you.”
“I have a regrettably sharp tongue,” said the Beast, “and you likely already despise me for kidnapping you, but as there are only the two of us, I will endeavor to be a considerate—er—captor.”
Since this ran perilously closely to her own thoughts, Bryony felt one corner of her mouth crook up. “And I suppose I will endeavor to be a considerate—er—victim. At least until I find a way to kill you and escape and so forth.”
“Well, naturally,” said the Beast, smiling a little. His tusks gleamed in the candlelight. “I would expect no less. If there is any way in which I may assist you with the killing and escaping and so forth, please let me know.”
Bryony ascended the stairs. Halfway up she looked down, and saw that the Beast was standing at the bottom, still watching her.
“There is a lock on your door,” he called, “if you wish to use it. I do not have a key to it, so try not to lock it and then fall and hit your head on the bathtub or something equally humiliating.”
“I’ll try to avoid it,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know.” What use a lock would be in a magical house that could open doors on its own, Bryony wasn’t sure, but it was a nice gesture.
She was glad to reach the landing, which was overcrowded with decorative urns, and go up the second flight and out of sight.
At the top of the stairs was a round room with green wallpaper and three doors. The one in the far wall stood open, and over the top, in elaborate scrollwork, it read, “Bryony’s Room.”
Bryony stepped up to the threshold, leaned in, said “Oh no!” and began giggling helplessly.
Then the stress of the morning caught up with her, and she had to lean against the doorjamb with her hand over her mouth, laughing until tears came. When the tears threatened to turn into something else, she forced herself to stop.
“I’m sorry, House,” she said to the air, “I suppose I will call you House, since I have to call you something, and a name like ‘Bob’ or ‘Tom’ doesn’t seem quite
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