7. Magic in a Meadow Made of Dreams
I t was many mornings later when Larkin skittered up Rose’s arm in his red dormouse form. Snow swirled around her as she dumped her dirty toilet water in one of the many gardens. She tried to toss it as far away from herself as possible, but somehow always managed to get splashed. There were icicles on the hem of her dress and frozen bits on the tops of her feet. It was a normal occurrence, but holy Sun God, the cold hurt .
Shaking fiercely as a gust of wind blew through her dress, it also pelted her with drifting snow, stinging her cheeks and making her eyes water. Taking a firmer grip on her buckets, her fingers going as numb as her toes, she hurried back toward shelter.
Impossible to see through the frozen landscape and curtain of white, Rose knew exactly where her entrance to the massive palace was. With its several stories, many wings, multiple towers, turrets, balconies, and iconic red marble domes, it was gorgeous on a clear day. Such a place being her home was hard to believe.
This was the heart of Crimson City, the capital of Neigera and seat of power for the Vampire Kingdom. The Neige family had ruled for centuries from here.
And the Crown Prince was her master.
He had not called on her for some time. Rose was glad for it. It allowed the memory of his hot tongue on her mouth to fade, and her confusion with it.
She wasn’t exactly happy with her work, no slave was, but she knew what was expected. And every day she watched those around her. She listened. She tried to determine if there was a weakness in the schedules and patterns of the guards and sentries that she could slip through.
So far, she’d found nothing. There were servants, staff, and guards everywhere, especially since she worked in Prince Adrian’s wing of the palace. He was guarded more heavily than anyone except the King.
She was watched by Mrs. Hawthorne more than most. It was almost as if her superior wanted her to slip up, like she wanted a reason to take away Rose’s privileges because she didn’t deserve them.
It made her so angry sometimes, others thinking that basic needs like nourishment and water, clothing and shelter, had to be earned .
But to speak of such things was treasonous.
Finally, making it through the door, Rose took a second to breathe deeply of the warmer air inside. That warmth burned, and her shivering turned to outright shaking. Pushing through the discomfort, she shook her partly frozen dress and brushed ice from her skin. Cupping the soles of her feet, she tried to get them to thaw. At least with the cold, the multiple cuts had stopped bleeding.
Ice could be like razors cutting flesh, and Rose feared infection .
But she could do nothing but endure.
“Move along, slave.”
With the muscle spasms calming, Rose did as the door attendant ordered and returned to her master’s wing. Larkin, the mink around her shoulders, nuzzled her cheek. His little body was like an ember radiating heat through her.
The chatter of the servants said the Queen was having a tea this evening, and Rose wondered who would brave the harsh weather to travel to the palace. Then again, during a recent warm spell, she’d heard many of the nobles had arrived in the capital, hopeful for spring and ready to start the season.
This recent storm was a late one, and not unheard of in the north of Neigera, where another could blow in at any time. Many predicted this would be the last, but one never knew.
Even with the nasty weather, who would turn down an invitation from the Queen? The Neigerans were used to spring snow and had ways of dealing with it.
Unlike shoe-less, cloak-less, frozen-haired Rose.
By the time she made it to the room she was working in, Rose was warm and got back to her duties with gusto. The self-pity had faded, and with Larkin present, so did her resentment.
The hour was late by the time she finally retreated to her closet for rest. Exhaustion weighed on her as she curled up on the hard floor. Purring beside her, Larkin’s heat and comforting presence helped her to sleep.
“Roses are red, my dear, violets are blue. Posies are purple, and they bloom for you.”
“Did you make that up, Mother?” she asked, turning to the beautiful female sitting with her in the grass, the long blades waving in the warm breeze. The long blonde curls of her mother’s hair danced. Her own was braided out of her face.
“No, my darling. It is a ditty my mother used to sing.” She smiled as she weaved the stems of daisies together to make a crown. Tucking the last in, she set it on Rose’s head. “Beautiful, as always.” She tapped the end of Rose’s nose and then looked up at the blue sky, smiling again as she closed her eyes.
“You look very happy,” Rose said, enjoying the warm rays of the sun on her skin, the gentleness of the breeze, and the way it whispered in the grass. She liked the melody of it, joining with the song of bluebirds and chirp of bugs.
“I am very happy.” Purple eyes opened to her, the smile as apparent there as it was curving her mouth, and set a hand on her swollen abdomen. “I have my precious daughter, and soon will have another. Are you happy?”
Rose nodded. “Very much. I like it out here. And I can’t wait to have a playmate! We hardly leave the castle, and you don’t let my friends come to visit very much. Studies are so boring.” She grimaced.
“And required.” Her mother got to her feet with effort, pulling Rose up beside her, and they started making their way back to their home in the distance. Their guard, several males standing several paces off at the ready, fell into step around them.
“Knowledge is important, more so than wealth, power, or material possessions.”
“Can we practice more magic today?” Rose asked hopefully. “That’s knowledge too. Can we dance under the moon and make the stars fall?”
Her mother chuckled. “Magic is everywhere, my darling, if you know where to look.”
They came to a young tree at the edge of a small copse, barely more than a twig sticking out of the ground. She motioned, and Rose immediately brightened. Getting down on her knees, she set her hands on the ground near the base of the little tree, bowing her head and closing her eyes.
“Can you feel it?” Her mother carefully kneeled beside her. Rose nodded, seeing the roots in her mind’s eye, the water and minerals flowing to fuel the plant. “Help it.”
“You’ll help me?” Rose could see the big tree the little twig had the potential to become and wasn’t sure her magic was enough.
“Of course.”
Her mother’s hands covered hers, and the little nudge of power helped her to start. She concentrated, focusing on the tree as she’d been taught. The ground trembled slightly, and she felt that tremble inside. Her magic struggled to burst forth, but she held steady, remembering that she needed to pace herself. Sweat broke out on her brow at the effort, but a slow and steady flow nourished the small tree.
The little sprout grew as she fed it, and Rose opened her eyes to the slow and steady thickening of the trunk. It gained a few inches in height and sprouted new tiny branches, new leaves budding and then opening. Pride swelled her chest.
And then the growth suddenly accelerated in a rush as her magic flowed forth unchecked. The tree shot from the ground, growing exponentially taller and thicker in only a matter of seconds. Where a tiny twig had been rooted, there was now a massive oak, its impressive crown adding to the shade of the others.
“It’s beautiful!” She jumped up to grab a low branch, somewhat unsteady as her head spun dizzily. When it settled, she climbed. “Isn’t it magnificent, Mother? ”
“You did well. Maybe a bit overdone, but nicely executed. Our next lesson should focus on control.” Rose smiled sheepishly. “We will need to come back to replenish the earth.”
“Water and manure to keep the soil healthy,” Rose recited. “I know, Mother. I will.” Not only did her magic fuel the tree, but it also pulled nutrients from the earth to nourish.
“You must be hungry now.”
“Yes!” Rose’s stomach rumbled as if in agreement. Using magic always made her hungry.
A small scarlet tanager landed on the branch beside her, cheerfully chirping. “Hello, Ciel! Have you been off hunting breakfast, sleepyhead?”
At the answering twitter, she smiled. “It is snack time! Come!”
She jumped to the ground, hoping her mother didn’t notice the small hole she tore in her dress. Ciel landed on her shoulder, chirping about his morning hunt as a fox, a fun game to him even though his coloring often gave him away to his prey.
“I had a good one too. Mornings with Mother are the best.”
When they were close enough, they both noticed the tall male standing outside the East Garden, looking their way as if he was waiting. He had bright red hair and a neat beard. Rose ran to him, squealing in happiness. Ciel followed. Laughter rang out as her father caught her, tossing her high into the air, and then spun her in a dizzy circle. He settled her on his hip.
“Father, you made my crown fall!”
He bent to pick up the daisies, setting them crookedly back on her head.
“I’m sorry, sweetness. I couldn’t contain my excitement seeing you. I missed you.”
Rose giggled as he pulled her mother close.
And together they strolled through the garden.
Several mornings later, Rose woke with a start and stared into the darkness of her closet. Larkin was still with her, and she was thankful for his presence because her heart hurt, the ache sharp and deep. She wanted to weep for the loss of her dream and pressed her face into the large tiger’s fur. He yawned, stretched, and sat up on his chest, turning his big head to lick her hair, making her smile despite her sadness.
The faces from her dream were already fading. Though she tried to hold on to them, to pull them back and study them, they never lasted. All that ever remained, the only things that lingered, were the feelings.
“I wish I knew what they mean, Larkin. Are those people real? It feels like I am that little girl, like that family is mine . They’re all so happy. I wish I could stay there.”
She rolled, wrapping her arms tighter around the tiger, and buried her face in his fur. Gods, she felt worse today. Her entire body ached, and the bottoms of her feet pulsed with their own heartbeat.
Sitting up slowly, her head spun as it pounded. With her chest tight, she couldn’t take a full breath. The rattle it made when she tried sounded like death.
But she couldn’t get sick. Being sick meant being slow.
Such a thing could not happen.