Chapter 10 Rose
Rose would never admit it to Wren, but the morning after her sister left for Wishbone Bay, she climbed out on to the roof of Anadawn Palace and used Celeste’s spyglass to watch the Siren’s Secret set sail at first light.
Before Rose became queen, she and Celeste often came here late at night or early in the day to watch Marino’s boat come and go. Celeste always pretended she never worried about her brother, but Rose saw the way her best friend gripped that spyglass until her knuckles paled and knew that she did.
And now that she had her own sister to worry about, Rose truly understood the relief Celeste felt every time the Siren’s Secret safely returned to Wishbone Bay.
As Rose watched the ship get smaller and smaller and then disappear from sight entirely, she closed her eyes and sent a wish to the stars that the journey would go well, that Wren would find the answers she was looking for and then return home, healed and happy.
Rose sighed. She couldn’t stand here staring out of the window until Wren returned, so with some reluctance, she clambered back inside the palace and went in search of distraction. She soon found herself wandering towards the library, looking for a cosy fairy tale or a sweeping adventure story to take her mind off her worries.
When Rose was a young girl, confined by Willem Rathborne to the palace for weeks on end, she had always turned to books. They had been her escape, her comfort, her greatest joy. The only question now was which story to pick. Something familiar and soothing, she decided. Perhaps even something with romance. She quickened her steps as she reached the library, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. She hummed to herself as she perused the stacks, trailing her fingers over the familiar gilded spines. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t see the figure sitting in one of the window seats until she was nearly upon him.
‘Oh! Prince Felix!’ she said, with a start. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone in here.’
‘Ah! Queen Rose!’ he said, hastily shoving something behind his back. ‘What are you doing up so early?’
‘Well, a dutiful queen must rise early to face the day.’ She frowned slightly, trying to peer over his shoulder. Something was winking in the sconce-light. ‘Now I’m looking for a book, which is, I believe, customary in a library. What, may I ask, are you doing here?’
‘The very same thing!’ he said quickly. ‘You have a lovely collection. I was hoping to find a book about …’ He paused. In the short time that Rose had known Prince Felix, she had never seen him lost for words. And here, in the pale morning light, with his hair unkempt and shadows pooling under his eyes, he looked wretched. As though he hadn’t slept a wink.
‘A book about … ?’ she prompted.
‘Horses! A nice book about horses!’
‘Prince Felix, what is that behind your back?’ said Rose, peering over him to see what he was hiding.
‘What is what?’ Felix summoned a shaky grin. ‘Why, I am holding nothing but my great affection for you.’
Rose didn’t like to use magic against people if she could help it, but something about the way the prince was acting had set her on edge. She took a steadying breath and summoned her warrior strand, which granted her greater agility and precision.
‘Perhaps I might take a look anyway?’ She shot her arm out and grabbed Felix’s wrist, twisting until he released what he had been gripping. He yelped, as it fell to the floor with a clatter.
Rose looked down and gasped. It was her jewelled mirror. The one that she and Wren had used to communicate when they were apart from one another. One of the sapphires was still faintly shimmering.
‘Ow!’ said Felix, rubbing his wrist and glaring at her. ‘That wasn’t very polite.’
‘Neither is taking people’s things.’ Rose swiped the mirror from the floor just as the final sapphire winked out. ‘When were you in my bedchamber, Felix?’
‘I was never in your bedchamber!’ he said, aghast. ‘I found the mirror right here in this very library when I was innocently perusing your historical records.’ He folded his arms and stared down his nose at Rose. ‘What a preposterous accusation!’
Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m sure this mirror was on my dresser when I left my room before dawn. And even if you had indeed found it here, as you claim, why were you hiding it from me just now?’
‘That wasn’t my intention.’ Felix sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘If you must know, I found the mirror right here, on this shelf. And when I realized something so fine must of course belong to you, I thought it would give me a most perfect excuse to go to your chambers and return it to you later.’
Rose felt a strange prickle of relief at his words. That certainly did sound like something Felix would do. And surely he wouldn’t have broken into her bedchamber … but then, who would have removed her mirror and put it all the way down here, in the library?
‘Well, I have it now,’ she said, holding it to her chest. ‘So, there is no need for you to trouble yourself by going all the way up to my chambers.’ Rose was frustrated by the encounter, but she didn’t want to make too much of a fuss. She had enough to worry about without offending the prince of Caro. ‘Especially as it is almost time for breakfast.’
‘Why, I would be delighted to break my fast with you, Queen Rose,’ said Felix, brightening at the misunderstanding. ‘Thank you for the invitation.’
‘Oh. Wonderful.’ With great effort, Rose summoned a practised smile. ‘I’ll see you in the morning room shortly.’ She turned to leave, and something crumpled under her foot. She bent to retrieve the balled-up piece of parchment at the same time Felix did, and they bumped heads.
Rose scowled at the dull thud of pain, her patience running out. ‘Please give that to me,’ she ordered.
‘I cannot,’ said Felix, clutching the parchment in his fist. ‘It’s far too embarrassing. You see, I’m writing you a poem. And it’s not finished yet.’ His smile vibrated at the edges, his eyes wide and barbed with red. ‘I’ll show you when it’s complete, when it’s as perfect as you are.’
Rose sighed heavily. ‘I see. I suppose I cannot command you to stop writing poetry.’
‘That would be like asking the stars not to shine, the waves not to crash, the clouds …’
She held her hand up. ‘You have made your point. Well, take better care not to leave your poetry on the floor where anyone could find it and mistake it for rubbish.’
Felix, for once, was surprised into silence.
Rose left the library in a hurry, unnerved by the strange exchange and eager to return her mirror to its rightful place.
That night, it took Rose a long time to fall asleep. Her dinner with Prince Felix had felt especially forced after their encounter in the library and his continuing strangeness throughout the day, and then when she’d finally been able to return to her bedroom, she found it unseasonably cold. Even with a roaring fire in the grate and an extra quilt, she couldn’t get warm. Wrapped in her blankets and still shivering, Rose found herself thinking of Shen, wishing he was here to warm her. The thought of his strong arms wrapped around her and his body pressed up against hers filled her with a welcome flurry of heat. It was just enough to lull her to sleep, where her last thoughts were of the Sunkissed king and his perfect, dimpled smile.
But Rose didn’t dream of Shen.
In the depths of her slumber, she found herself lost in a snow-swept tundra. The wind howled with an eerie laugh that felt both haunting and familiar. Rose stumbled through the snow, searching for a way out of her nightmare, only to find herself at the edge of an icy ravine.
A terrible wind whipped up, pressing cold hands against her back. They shoved her forward. She screamed as she fell down, down, down into the abyss …
Rose woke with a start, a hand pressed to her pounding heart.
It was only a dream, she told herself. A silly nightmare.
She curled her hands into the bottom of her nightgown, grounding herself in its softness. There was nothing to be frightened of now that she was awake.
Her teeth began to chatter, her quickened breaths hanging clouds in the air. The fire in the grate had gone out and her room was even colder than before. Her blankets were tangled around her feet. Rose sat up to reach them, and froze.
There was someone standing at the foot of her bed.
Rose bit back a scream.
‘Shen?’ she said quietly, hopefully. Perhaps she had summoned him with the strength of her desire.
The figure laughed. It was the same laugh from Rose’s dream. It did not belong to Shen.
Rose began to tremble. ‘I’m still dreaming,’ she whispered to herself. ‘This is a dream within a dream.’ She pinched her arm, hard. ‘Wake up,’ she said, desperately. ‘Please.’
The figure stopped laughing, the air growing so cold it turned the water pitcher to ice.
‘You are a gutless fool,’ said a low, mocking voice, and the sound of it scraped against Rose’s bones. ‘Just like my sister was. I have come for the other one, the one who thinks like me …’
Bile gathered in Rose’s throat as she realized who was talking to her. Somehow, Oonagh Starcrest was here. In her room. In her head. She tried to find her voice – to tell her to leave – but fear had frozen her stiff. She could only stare in horror at the looming shadow.
It must be a trick of magic. An apparition. A night terror.
The shadow kept speaking. ‘But you are the one in my palace so you are the one who will heed my warning.’
Rose slowly pushed herself backwards, hitting the headboard. The shadow lunged. With lightning speed, Oonagh Starcrest scrambled across the bed until she was nose to nose with her.
Rose released a strangled cry. Wren had told her that Oonagh wore their face, but seeing it herself, so close and real and cruel, was a harrowing shock.
Oonagh’s eyes were cold. Empty.
‘You are the weak one,’ she sneered, her mouth so close to Rose she could have kissed her. The stench of rot rolled off her breath, and for a moment, Rose thought she might be sick. ‘Look at you. You aren’t even fighting me.’
‘This is a dream,’ Rose whispered, a frightened tear sliding down her cheek. ‘It’s just a dream.’
‘Pathetic wilting flower,’ hissed Oonagh. ‘You know who I am. Do not deny me.’ Her hand shot out, grabbing Rose by the neck. ‘I will return in one moon’s time to take back what is mine. You and your sister will give me my crown and throne.’ Oonagh squeezed, choking the breath from Rose’s windpipe. ‘If you refuse, I will take Anadawn by bloody force.’ She spat the words with such disdain, flecks of spittle landed on Rose’s face. ‘And this country will face a war more brutal than any you could ever imagine.’
A vision suddenly crashed into Rose’s mind. Her people dying in a battlefield slick with blood. Children running and screaming, unable to find safe refuge in towns and villages consumed by flames. The land choking under great plumes of smoke, the dead rising from their graves, their teeth snapping like beasts as they ripped the living apart limb from limb.
Crops withered to dust – leaving behind barren fields of ash, all of Eana little more than a husk. And lording over it all, alone on the balcony of Anadawn Palace and laughing her terrible, screeching laugh, stood Oonagh. Power glowed in her eyes, growing with every drop of blood spilled, every death across the land.
Rose felt the terror of her dying kingdom as though it were her own, the agony of her people singing in her blood. She clawed at the blankets, a cry pouring from her as she tried to wrench herself free from this nightmare, this vision that felt so real, so close.
‘Do you see?’ hissed Oonagh. ‘Your kingdom will crumble to ash, and I will rebuild it as I like. All of Eana will belong to me.’
The vision fell away, like ash in the wind, and Rose blinked to see her ancestor smiling before her, her teeth grey and rotting. But her eyes shone with that awful promise of power, and Rose knew this was no empty threat. ‘Do you understand?’ Oonagh added.
Rose locked eyes with her ancestor, her response coming on a trembling breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ Oonagh dug her nails in, clawing Rose’s skin as she released her.
Rose whimpered as warm blood dripped down her neck.
Oonagh stood up, towering over Rose like a terrible wraith. ‘I expect a warm welcome on my return.’ She stepped backwards, dropped to the floor and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of smoke and the echo of her laugh.
Rose sat shivering in her bed, too frightened to move. Slowly, so slowly, she reached up to touch her neck. Her fingers came away slicked with blood. Still shaking, she forced herself to crawl out of bed.
Her curtains were open but the window was shut. Her bedroom door was still locked. Rose turned on her heel, trying to make sense of the intrusion. Her heart stuttered at a glint of silver by the foot of the bed. There, on the floor, with smoke rising from it, was the bejewelled mirror she had taken from Felix in the library only hours ago. The mirror that had once belonged to Oonagh and Ortha Starcrest.
‘Eana, first witch, please protect me,’ Rose whispered, as she picked up the mirror. With trembling hands, she smashed it again and again against the nightstand until, at last, it shattered.
She stared at the pieces, her mind whirring. Was it purely a coincidence that she’d caught the prince of Caro with the mirror the very day that Oonagh Starcrest rose out of it?
It had to be. Prince Felix had no magic. No link to Eana or knowledge of Oonagh Starcrest.
And yet the timing was deeply unnerving … All of it was unnerving.
Still shivering, Rose crawled into bed and buried herself under her blankets, willing morning to come swiftly. When dawn finally broke, she still hadn’t slept. She was wide awake when she heard a shout of dismay from the courtyard. In a daze, she went to the window.
Even from her tower she could see the cause for alarm. Everything in the gardens was dead. The flowers had all withered. The ground was strewn with dead petals and the rose bushes had blackened from decay.
Rose closed her eyes, fighting tears. She raised her hand to her neck. The bleeding had stopped sometime in the night, but the graze was deep, and the wound was stinging.
The truth was undeniable.
It had not been a night terror, after all.
Oonagh Starcrest was coming home to Anadawn.