Chapter Ten || To Undermine a Beast

                                    

                                          
PIANOFORTE NOTES RANG out around me as I stepped from the door. Someone was playing somewhere in the castle and my curiosity had to be answered. It was rather easy to follow the echoing of the notes. All it needed was a moment of silence and an ear pressed to a door or wall, enabling me to decide which path to take.
                          
Eventually, I had arrived into a room empty of any furniture except the large pianoforte, a man seated on its bench. From the hidden shadows of the room, I watched as he played, hands gliding along the keys.
                          
The song he performed was sad and melancholy, reminding me of the tunes played on the Beast's wives' funerals. However, I had not heard this specific hymn prior to this moment. The notes drummed into me and I felt my heart beat harder for no reason as his fingers sung something wicked.
                          
The notes grew closer and closer together, echoing so loudly in the room that my ears were tightening like they would burst at any moment. It began to grow unbearable, so much so that I knew I would yell out. Then, the piano player stood and slammed his fists into the pianoforte in frustration, swearing as he did.
                          
He returned to his bench, though he did not face the pianoforte. His elbows smashed into the keys and he appeared deaf to the sound for he went on, reclining with his head turned skyward. He rubbed his face with a hand, the light emanating from the window silhouetting his bare, scarred face.
                          
Slowly, I crept forward, emerging from my hiding. Yoann did not raise his head to look as I sat beside him on the corner of the bench. "Who taught you to play?"
                          
"My mother." He smiled, slowly, as if remembering something. "She was an amazing woman." He sighed, something empty and bottomless.
                          
Was. I felt my voice grow soft as I whispered, "I'm sorry." He said nothing and instead rubbed his temples. "If I may ask," I began slowly, hesitantly, awkwardly, "when did she pass?"
                          
"She did not." His eyes narrowed, studying me, contemplating what words to speak. "Do...do you recall what you once asked me? About the West Wing?" I nodded. "The former servants have been bewitched, transformed into those murderous beasts. My mother included."
                          
My mind fell silent, eyes fixed on a flicking glint on the wall. "I am sorry to hear that," I mumbled faintly.
                          
"Do not be," he said, straightening up. He cleared his throat. "Free her for me."
                          
I shifted. "How can I do that?"
                          
"If you are so inclined, you must know that his lordship has a shelf dedicated to the scraps and diaries written in the hands of his former wives." A slow grin began to form on his face, as though if a brilliant idea had occurred to him. "I am certain you may learn something if you were to head to the library and examine their writing."
                          
"There is a library here?" I asked, surprised that I had not come across it despite my endless searching of the castle.
                          
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course—this is a castle, obviously we have a library." I contemplated stepping on his foot. "It is in the south wing, far from your rooms."
                          
I released a breath. "But do you not suppose that these castle rooms cannot be measured in distance? It seems to me as though these walls have a mind of their own."
                          
"A fair point." He nodded dismissively.
                          
A silence befell upon the room and I felt a chill worm its way into my bones. I refrained from leaning against his side, from resting myself along his arm and dropping my head at his shoulder. I sat still, studying the intricate patterns of the floor, glassed beneath varnished marble. I shut my eyes.
                          
After a long silence, he asked, "What of your mother?"
                          
"My mother?" I shifted so that I was angled toward him. It was concerning that he asked. Has my husband put him up to it? Did he hope to gain favor from his lord? I frowned. I doubted that severely. "I never knew her for I had been raised at an orphanage. I was told that she was a common whore who had abandoned me."