QSFer K.S. Trenten has a new FF YA fantasy out (bi, lesbian): Fairest.
All of my life, I’ve been haunted by her dark eyes. At birth, she cursed me to prick my finger on the spindle and sleep for a century. She appears in my dreams, my reflections, shaping my desires. Who is she? My guardian has only revealed a few enigmatic words as to her identity, the fairest of them all. Follow me into the lonely Forest of Tears where the dwarves dwell, walking where she once walked. Gaze into the depths of the magic mirror which reveals her secrets. For I refuse to fear her, even if I should.
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Excerpt
Sleep was the one state in which I enjoyed utter quiet. My imagination was free to spread its wings and take flight. An enticing figure often appeared in my dreams, although I never saw her clearly. The glimpses I caught of her dark eyes, staring out of a pale face, intrigued me, sending a shiver of excitement through my body.
This sensation wasn’t fearful—at least not entirely.
I shared these dreams with no one. I began to wonder if I’d imagined the eyes myself, if my memory was just a fantasy, until I found the portrait.
It was wedged between an old wooden horse and a box filled with sawdust. Gray cloth wrapped around it like a shroud.
I unwound it with difficulty, releasing clouds of dust, which rose to conceal the treasure.
The air cleared to reveal a portrait of a young girl about my age.
I recognized her painted dark eyes at once. Her bloodred lips bent in a wistful smile. They made up for the lack of color in her skin.
I’d never seen flesh so pale. It made me wonder if the artist had been trying to capture a ghost on canvas. Everything about her was fragile and ethereal.
She sat with her hands crossed in front of each other. Hair, as dark as her skin was pale, fell in loose waves down her back and over her arms. Ribbons and lacings, the same crimson as her lips, adorned her purple gown.
Purple was the color of royalty. In order to wear such a gown, this lovely maiden had to be a princess like me.
I’m not certain how long I sat there, staring at her. The lady’s painted eyes seemed equally fascinated with me. No—more than fascinated. Those eyes wanted to devour me. At the same time, they cried out for my sympathy. No—more than that.
Help me, she implored silently from her canvas. Only you can save me.
“I see you’ve found her.” Oriana’s gentle voice distracted me.
My good witch entered the room, gliding with an effortless grace any court lady would envy.
Not that I was surprised to see her. When had Oriana not been at my side? My mother was certain she was the one whose magic would keep my curse from striking. She’d been at the castle since I was an infant, keeping an eye on me. If anyone could find where I hid, it was Oriana.
Free from the painted gaze of the portrait, I turned to look at her instead.
Oriana was as golden-haired as myself, although hers was dusted with silver. Indeed, she could have passed for my actual mother. She must have looked very much like me when she was my age, but her blue eyes held more wisdom than my own—wisdom and regret. Lines of care, loss, and sorrow wrinkled a once lovely face.
The full realization of my selfishness hit me like a blow to my chest. How I must have worried everyone, sneaking off. Here I was, gazing into the eyes of the enemy like a lovesick fool.
I looked away, painfully ashamed of myself.
“No one can master perfection.” Oriana responded to my shame, as if I’d admitted it out loud. “It’s unreasonably cruel to expect a young girl to do so, even if she is a princess.”
She stepped into the room, filling my sanctuary with her presence. Everything seemed a little smaller, a little grayer. “No one can blame you for wanting time for yourself.”
Staring at the painting, she murmured, “I should have expected her to be waiting for you when you took the time.”
“Who is she?” I studied Oriana’s face, marveling at the way it rippled between youth and age, making her seem old and young at once.
Was this some kind of magic? Or was it something else? Sorrow, yearning, pity, and anger played across her countenance, becoming unique and unnamable. My simple fascination seemed to pale in comparison.
“Once upon a time, she was the kingdom’s greatest treasure. Now she is its greatest sorrow.” The anguish in Oriana’s voice made my throat tighten in pain. I didn’t know why. “She was the fairest of them all.”
With a visible effort, she turned her head. “You’ve met her.” She looked at me as if forcing herself to see me. “She’s the one who put the curse on you.”
Author Bio
K.S. Trenten lives in the South Bay Area of California with her husband, two cats, and a host of characters in her imagination, all shouting for attention.
| Author Website | http://inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com |
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