43. Rosalie
Rosalie Sumavari, Queen of the House of Death, had been staring at the wall for nearly thirty minutes.
The stones in the Royal Palace of Surmalinn were relatively new and still in their perfect and unblemished condition, even the stones on the corners of hallways and doorways were still sharp and unworn.
In fact, the only imperfections you could find to any of the stones in the palace were blemishes and marks that came from the Siege, including the one from which she couldn’t seem to jerk her gaze away.
It was barely a hairline fracture down the surface of an otherwise perfect stone, not noticeable unless you were looking right at it. It was the only mark, the only reminder to Rosalie of what had happened to her, of what could have happened to her that night.
The stones here had long ago been washed clean of Yansley’s blood, back to their natural dark gray coloring, but she would never be able to look at the stones the same way again.
The crack had come from when Yansley, a mammoth of a man who served the Wolf faithfully, had taken Rosalie by the throat and thrown her against the wall. The impact had enough force to make the stone behind her crack.
Rosalie would have died the night of the Siege. She would have died right there by Yansley’s hands, with only that small little crack on the surface of an otherwise unblemished gray stone block marking her death.
Instead, Rorax Greywood had stepped in. Rorax had protected Rosalie from being brutalized, violated, and raped before leading her soldiers back out of her city.
If Rorax hadn’t decided that House of Death was worth saving and that what her mother was doing was wrong and equated to genocide—Rosalie would have died right there, right against that crack, and the whole of Surmalinn would be nothing but a memory, razed to the ground.
Rosalie might not like Rorax, in fact Rosalie hated her and every memory that she triggered, but Rosalie also trusted Rorax unequivocally to choose the right path. Rosalie trusted her to lead them, to protect them, and after all Rorax had been through, Rosalie now trusted Rorax more than ever to make sure that no outside force swayed her into a decision that was not best for the Realms.
“Your Majesty?”
Marras save her. She couldn’t believe she was going to choose a Heilstorm, and Rorax of all people, to back as the next Guardian.
“Your Majesty?”
There might be other Contestars who were as equally capable. Maybe one who was her equal in strength who hadn’t almost burned her country down . . . but would Rosalie trust them as much? Even with Ayres there as a witness?
There was a tug on Rosalie’s sleeve and Rosalie jerked her arm away from the wall, jolted from her thoughts to the present.
“Your Majesty?” Rosalie’s scullery maid looked up at her with wide, almost frightened eyes, staring from Rosalie to the crack, and then back.
Everyone knew what had almost happened to her here. She hadn’t let anyone mop up the blood for weeks.
“Go get some paper and an envelope. I need to send a letter.”