Mountains Made of Glass

Book 1: Fairy Tale Retelling

by Scarlett St. Clair

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

"Could you love me?" he whispered. The question stole my breath and burned my lungs in the silence that followed.



I wanted to answer, to whisper yes into the space between us, but I was afraid.



All Gesela's life, her home village of Elk has been cursed. And it isn't a single curse—it is one after another, each to be broken by a villager, each with devastating consequences. When Elk's well goes dry, it is Gesela's turn to save her town by killing the toad that lives at the bottom. Except . . . the toad is not a toad at all. He is an Elven prince under a curse of his own, and upon his death, his brothers come for Gesela, seeking retribution.



As punishment, the princes banish Gesela to live with their seventh brother, the one they call the beast. Gesela expects to be the prisoner of a hideous monster, but the beast turns out to be exquisitely beautiful, and rather than lock her in a cell, he offers Gesela a deal. If she can guess his true name in seven days, she can go free.



Gesela agrees, but there is a hidden catch—she must speak his name with love in order to free him, too.



But can either of them learn to love in time?



Contains mature themes.

Release date: March 7, 2023

Publisher: Bloom Books

Print pages: 219

Sample

Chapter One

The Toad in the Well

The goose hung suspended by its feet from a low limb, bleeding into a bucket. Each wet plop of blood made me flinch, the sound inescapable even as I chopped wood to feed my hearth for the coming storm. The air had grown colder in the few minutes I had been outside, and yet perspiration beaded across my forehead and dampened all the parts of my body.

I was hot and the blood was dripping, and the strike of my ax sounded like lightning in the hollow where I lived before the Enchanted Forest. I could feel her gaze, a dark and evil thing, but it was familiar. I had been raised beneath her eyes. She had witnessed my birth, the death of my mother and father, and the murder of my sister.

Father used to say the forest was magic, but I believed otherwise. In fact, I did not think the forest was enchanted at all. She was alive, just as real and sentient as the fae who lived within. It was the fae who were magic, and they were as evil as she was.

My muscles grew more rigid, my jaw more tense, my mind spiraling with flashes of memories bathed in red as the blood continued to drip.

Plink.

A flash of white skin spattered with blood.

Plink.

Hair like spun gold turned red.

Plink.

An arrow lodged in a woman’s breast.

But not just a woman—my sister.

Winter.

My chest ached, hollow from each loss.

My mother was the first to go on the heels of my birth. My sister was next, and my father followed shortly after, sick with grief. I had not been enough to save him, to keep him here on this earth, and while the forest had not taken them all by her hand, I blamed her for it.

I blamed her for my pain.

A deep groan shook the ground at my feet, and I paused, lowering my ax, searching the darkened wood for the source of the sound. The forest seemed to creep closer, the grove in which my house was nestled growing smaller and smaller day by day. Soon, her evil would consume us all.

I snatched the bucket from beneath the goose and slung the contents into the forest, a line of crimson now darkening the leaf-covered ground.

“Have you not had enough blood?” I seethed, my insides shaking with rage, but the forest remained quiet in the aftermath of my sacrifice, and I was left feeling drained.

“Gesela?”

I stiffened at the sound of Elsie’s soft voice and waited until the pressure in my eyes subsided to face her, swallowing the hard lump in my throat. I would have called her a friend, but that was before my sister was taken by the forest, because once she was gone, everyone abandoned me. There was a part of me that could not blame Elsie. I knew she had been pressured to distance herself, first by her parents and then by the villagers who met monthly. They believed I was cursed to lose everyone I loved, and I was not so certain they were wrong.

Elsie was pale except for her cheeks which were rosy red. Her coloring made her eyes look darker, almost stormy. Her hair had come loose from her

bun and made a wispy halo around her head.

“What is it, Elsie?”

Her eyes were wide, much like my sister’s had been at death. Something had frightened her. Perhaps it had been me.

“The well’s gone dry,” she said, her voice hoarse. She licked her cracked lips.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” I asked, though her words carved out a deep sense of dread in the bottom of my stomach.

She paused for a moment and then said quietly, “It’s your turn, Gesela.”

I heard the words but ignored them, bending to pick up my ax. I knew what she meant without explanation. It was my turn to bear the consequences of the curse on our village, Elk.

Since I was a child, Elk had been under a curse of curses. No one agreed on how or why the curse began. Some blamed a merchant who broke his promise to a witch. Some said it was a tailor. Others said it was a maiden, and a few blamed the fae and a bargain gone wrong.

Whatever the cause, a villager of Elk was always chosen to end each curse—some as simple as a case of painful boils, others as devastating as a harvest destroyed by locust. It was said to be a random selection, but everyone knew better. The mayor of Elk used the curses to rid his town of those he did not deem worthy, because in the end, no villager could break a curse without a consequence.

Like my sister.

I brought my ax down, splitting the wood so hard, the blade cracked the log beneath.

“I do not use the well,” I said. “I have my own.”

“It cannot be helped, Gesela,” Elsie said.

“But it is not fair,” I said, looking at her.

Her eyes darted to the right. I froze and turned to see that the villagers of Elk had gathered behind me like a row of pale ghosts, save Sheriff Roland, who was at their head. He wore a fine uniform, blue like the spring sky, and his hair was golden like the sun, curling like wild vines.

The women of Elk called him handsome. They liked his dimpled smile and that he had teeth.

“Gesela,” he said as he approached. “The well’s gone dry.”

“I do not use the well,” I repeated.

His expression was passive as he responded, “It cannot be helped.”

My throat was parched. I was well aware of how Elsie and Roland had positioned themselves around me, Elsie to my back, Roland angled in front. There was no escape. Even if I had wanted, the only refuge was the forest behind me, and to race beneath its eaves was to embrace death with open arms.

I should want to die, I thought. It was not as if I had anything left, and yet I did not wish to give the forest the satisfaction of my bones.

I gathered my apron into my hands to dry my sweaty palms as Roland stepped aside, holding my gaze. Elsie’s hand pressed into the small of my back. I hated the touch and I moved to escape it. Once I had passed Roland, he and Elsie fell into step behind me, herding me toward the villagers, who were as still as a fence row.

I knew them all, and their secrets, but I had never told them because they also knew mine.

No one spoke, but as I drew near, the people of Elk moved—some ahead, some beside, some behind, caging me.

Roland and Elsie remained close. My heart felt as though it were beating in my entire body. I thought of the other curses that had been broken. They were all so different. One villager had wandered through the Enchanted Forest and picked a flower from the garden of a witch. She cursed him to become a bear. In despair, he returned to Elk and was shot with an arrow through the eye. It was only after he died that we learned who he was. The next morning, a swarm of sparrows attacked the hunter who had killed the bear and pecked out his eyes.

There was also a tree that had once grown golden apples, but over time, it ceased to produce the coveted fruit. One day, a young man wandered through the village and said a mouse gnawed at its roots. He claimed if we killed the mouse, the fruit would thrive, so our previous mayor killed the mouse, and the fruit returned. The mayor picked an apple, bit into it, and was consumed with such hunger, he gorged himself to death.

No one else touched the fruit of the tree or the mayor who died beneath its boughs.

There were no happy endings, that much I knew. Whatever I faced after this would surely lead to my death.

The villagers spilled into the center of town like phantoms. They kept me within their ghostly circle, surrounding the well, which was open to the sky and only a cold, stone circle that went deep into the ground. I approached and looked down, the bottom dry as a bone.

Roland stood beside me, too close, too warm.

“Who will you sacrifice when everyone you hate is dead?” I asked, looking at him.

“I do not hate you,” Roland said, and his eyes dipped, glittering shamelessly as he stared at my breasts. “Quite the opposite.”

Revulsion twisted my gut.

I had known Roland my whole life just as I knew everyone in Elk. He was the son of a wealthy merchant. That money had bought him status among the villagers and placed him at the mayor’s side, which gave him power over every woman he ever laid eyes on and ensured he never had to face a curse.

My own misfortune had never deterred Roland. He had often offered to help my case if only I’d fuck him.

“You are disgusting.”

“Oh, Gesela, do not pretend you despise my attention.”

“I do,” I said. “I am telling you.”

Roland’s face hardened, but he drew nearer, and it took everything in me not to push him away. I hated how he smelled, like wet hay and leather.

“I could make this go away. Say the word.”

“What word?” I asked between my teeth.

“Say you will marry me.”

I shoved him.

It was not as if he were serious either. He had made many proposals to women under the guise that he would save them, only to shame them later for believing he was serious.

If anyone was a curse on this land, it was Roland Richter.

“That is more than one word, idiot,” I seethed. “But I shall give you one—never!”

Roland ground his teeth and then pushed me toward the well.

“Then you will face this curse.”

I stumbled, catching myself against the side of the well, my palms braced against the slimy stone as I faced the endless darkness below.

“The crone in the wood says there is a toad in the well. Kill it and we will have water again.”

“And did the crone say what will happen to me?”

“I gave you an out and you refused.”

“You did not give me an out,” I snapped. “You offered another curse.”

“You think marriage to me is equal to what the forest would do?”

“Yes,” I hissed. “I might consider it if I found you the least bit handsome, but as it is, I would vomit the moment your cock entered my body.”

Roland snapped. I knew he was capable of violence. It was a truth that moved in his eyes.

He pushed me, and as my knees hit the back of the well, I tumbled over the edge and fell. The air was cold against my back, and I hit the bottom with a loud crack. I lay, quiet and stunned, blinking at the bright light streaming in from the round opening above. It seemed so far away, though my fall had been quick.

Elsie was the first to peer down, and when she caught sight of me, she c

overed her mouth and disappeared. Then there was Roland, who spit into the well.

“Elven bitch,” he hissed.

I flinched at the words, which were just as painful as my fall.

Then they were gone.

I groaned and tried to sit up, but my back hurt and each breath I took was painful. A high-pitched trill made me jerk, sending a spasm of pain down my spine. I turned to find a large, bulbous toad staring at me, its round eyes glowing like lamplights in the dark.

I mourned that I had not killed the toad during my fall. At least then it would have been an accident.

“This is all your fault,” I said.

The toad’s answer was a shrieking call before it jumped.

I screamed, thinking it was about to leap on me, but saw that it landed on a piece of stone jutting from the side of the well.

I sat up slowly, groaning as the pain in my back constricted my lungs. The toad screamed again, throat bubbling. I considered killing it and looked at my feet, searching for a loose stone I might use to smash it, though the thought sent a wave of nausea through me. I might slaughter geese to eat, but a toad was different. This toad was different. It was the victim of this curse just as I was.

Another screech echoed loudly in the compact space, and I cringed.

When I looked back at the toad, it had moved farther up the wall, perched on another rock, waiting.

“Are you trying to escape me?” I asked.

Its answer was to turn, its webbed feet squelching against the rocky surface, and jump to another ledge. Once it was secured, it turned to look at me and offered another high-pitched shriek. I cringed at the sound as it surrounded me, my muscles tightening.

I suddenly wondered if this toad was trying to help me out of the well instead.

I approached and placed my foot on one of the rocks, gripping two others over my head. My heart raced as I searched for foot and hand holds, gripping frantically at slimy stones. The reach hurt my sides and stole my breath, but I managed to lift myself. As I did, the toad moved on, finding another ridge. I followed carefully, fingers freezing, legs shaking as threads of pain skittered down my spine.

The higher I climbed, the harder I clung to the stones for fear I would fall again. The weather had worsened since I’d been in the well, and sleet stung my face.

The toad reached the top before me, turning to stare with its large, yellow eyes before hopping out of sight. I was not far behind. Gripping the edge of the well with numb fingers, I managed to peer over and found the center of town deserted, likely because the storm had already arrived.

I was relieved, fearing that if Roland caught me climbing out of the well, he would only push me in again.

I let my stomach rest on the stone lip before sliding to the icy ground. There I lay, still and quiet, body racked with pain. Absently, I wondered what parts of me were broken. At the very least, I was badly bruised.

The toad waited patiently nearby, and as I stared up at the pale, gray sky, I wondered if anyone was watching me from the warmth of their home. Would they inform Roland? Had he assumed I was dead?

A now-familiar croak drew my attention, and I let my head fall in its direction, watching as the toad hopped onto the ledge of the well.

“No!”

I scrambled onto my knees and stumbled to my feet, bolting toward the toad, managing to grab its leg as it was about to jump back into the dark hole we had just left.

I threw it, and it soared over my head and landed on its back in the muddy square behind me. As if it felt no pain, it righted itself and started toward the well.

“I am trying to save you, you bastard,” I said through my teeth, reaching for it again. Its body was slippery, which did not make it easy to hold as it wriggled in my grasp. “I’ll keep you in a cage if I have to!”

I’d rather that than kill it.

The toad gave a keen cry just as my foot hit a patch of frozen ground. I fell onto my back again. I hardly had time to register the pain because the toad was free and already leaping frantically to the well.

A sharp twist of frustration spurred me on, and I shifted onto my knees, crawling to reach it, ...