Chapter 12 Rose
Rose didn’t tell anyone about her midnight encounter with Oonagh. She took the shattered pieces of the mirror and buried them deep in her garden, whispering an enchantment to keep them hidden.
Her beloved rose garden now mocked her with its decay. She overheard the palace gardeners speculating about what had happened. An early frost, said one. Locusts, said another. A magical curse, someone suggested, laughing at the very thought.
But Rose knew that was closest to the terrible truth. And the roses were only the start of it. The morning had been curiously absent of birdsong, and then at midday, there were thumps heard all across the palace as birds fell dead from the sky. Dozens of them. Mostly starcrests, but dawn birds and blackbirds and carrier pigeons, too. Rose wondered if birds were falling out of the sky across Eana, or only over Anadawn. She hoped that some of the starcrests had flown away, that they had managed to find a safe haven somewhere. She ordered for the ones that had fallen to be picked up and burned, but she knew it would not be so easy to rid Anadawn – or indeed Eana – of Oonagh’s lingering threat.
And as for her own injuries … Rose wore her hair loose to hide the marks on her neck. She could not afford to be seen as weak, as injured. Not now. Or ever.
She crafted a careful veneer that allowed her to tolerate polite conversation with Prince Felix, who was at the breakfast table before her, a scroll of parchment in his hand. With dramatic flair, he recited a meandering romantic poem to Rose, seemingly oblivious to the state of the palace around him or indeed the queen upon whom he gazed with wide, covetous eyes.
When Rose met with Chapman after breakfast as usual, the steward was mildly alarmed by the birds and the garden, but Rose mumbled something about the changing weather that he accepted. She knew she would soon have to prepare him, and all of Anadawn, for the inevitable return of Oonagh Starcrest, but to do that she needed Wren at her side.
Rose even avoided both Thea and Celeste. She suspected the Queensbreath would see through her act, and with her impressive healing skills, might quickly sense something was deeply wrong.
As for Celeste, Rose had never lied to her best friend before, and she couldn’t bear to start now. So, better not to see her at all, for the time being. Celeste was already having visions of Oonagh, and Rose knew if she met with her friend, she wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from her.
She needed to tell Wren before anyone else. Then the two of them, together, could come up with a plan for what to do next. As Rose prepared for bed that night, she enchanted a row of everlights along her windowsill and built up the fire in the grate, as high as it would go. She could not face the dark, not tonight. Not on her own.
Come home soon, Wren. I need you.
When Rose awoke from a fitful slumber, the sun was already high in the sky. But the everlights on her windowsill still glowed and despite her fears, she hadn’t received any more unexpected bedroom visitors.
Rose yawned as she dressed, trying to shake off her exhaustion. She chose a yellow day dress embroidered with white butterflies and a delicate lace scarf, before brushing her hair to its fullest. She was just finishing applying her favourite lavender hand cream when she heard a commotion in the courtyard.
Goodness.Was it more dead birds? Or perhaps another erstwhile suitor? Or was Prince Felix preparing some other extravagant display of unwanted affection?
Rose sighed. She really did not have time to be wooed right now. Except perhaps by Shen, and he was far too busy with his own affairs in the desert, as she well knew. And besides, Shen never made a racket when he arrived at Anadawn. He preferred to slip inside, soundless as a breeze. That was part of the thrill of it.
When a familiar howl rose above the din, Rose’s spirits lifted. Elske was at Anadawn! Which meant Wren had returned, just as she had promised. She must have convinced Captain Iversen to give her that wolf she loved so much. The thought broadened Rose’s smile. While she would have never admitted it to Wren, she really did have a soft spot for Elske. And after Oonagh’s midnight visit, they could certainly use the extra protection.
Rose raced down the tower stairwell and through the halls of Anadawn, breathlessly apologizing to a maidservant she nearly knocked over as she burst into the courtyard.
‘Wren!’ she cried, beaming at the sight of her sister. Now that she could see her in the flesh, she could admit the fear she hadn’t dared to say out loud. The fear that this time, Wren might not come back at all. But she was back, which meant the two of them could figure out how to deal with the looming threat of Oonagh together.
Rose froze mid-step as she saw who was standing on either side of Wren. Two towering Gevrans, looking entirely out of place. She blinked, sure it was an apparition, but the men remained. ‘Is that … oh no.’
Alarik Felsing had the audacity to smirk at her. ‘That’s hardly the right way to welcome a king.’
For the second time that week, Rose found herself staring, mouth agape, at an unexpected royal visitor. She turned to her sister, who at least had the decency to look sheepish. ‘Am I to take it that King Alarik did not hold the answers you were looking for?’ she asked, crisply.
‘Not exactly …’ admitted Wren.
Rose took a closer look at the Gevran king. He was paler than he had been before and despite his arrogant demeanour, his eyes were glassy. There was something else different about him …
An all too familiar uneasiness prickled at Rose. It was as if her magic could sense the same wrongness in him she had found in Wren. But she needed to be sure. She strode over to him. ‘Let me see your wrist,’ she demanded.
Alarik folded his arms. ‘Hands to yourself, witch.’
‘Alarik,’ said Wren, with a long-suffering sigh. ‘She’s trying to help.’
‘We didn’t come here for her.’
Wren tossed him a warning look. ‘You came here because I told you to.’
Rose raised her brows at her sister’s overfamiliarity with King Alarik, but kept her thoughts to herself. There were far bigger things to worry about now.
‘Fine.’ Alarik rolled his sleeve up with exaggerated slowness. He stepped close to Rose, his voice low. ‘But do take care. I don’t wish to become idle gossip for your servants.’
‘You should have thought of that before you wore leather trousers to the Gevran feast,’ said Wren.
Captain Iversen coughed, stifling a laugh.
Rose turned the king’s wrist to confirm what she suspected. There it was – a jagged silver scar in the shape of a crescent. Alarik hissed as she brushed her finger against it. Rose stilled, gently prodding the mark with her magic. Her stomach lurched as the same darkness she had felt in Wren’s mark reared up against her. She withdrew her hand as if she’d been burned.
‘It is the very same,’ she said, her eyes darting back and forth between them. They wore a matching look of uncertainty, of fear.
‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Wren. ‘We need to talk to Thea.’
‘Wren, this isn’t solving your problem, it’s doubling it,’ said Rose, anxiously. ‘Alarik’s not even a witch.’
‘Does that matter?’ said Tor, stepping into their circle. ‘Whatever this mark is, they both need healing from it.’
Rose glanced at the towering soldier, her eyes narrowing. ‘Please don’t tell me that you also bear this mark.’
‘I do not,’ said Tor, stiffly.
‘Well, at least that’s one less thing to worry about,’ she muttered.
Alarik cleared his throat. ‘I realize we have significantly more important things to be discussing, but I must ask … Why is your garden such a mess? Did every tempest in Anadawn throw a tantrum at the same time?’ He gestured, unnecessarily, to the mass of charred and withered plants. ‘I remember it being in much better shape.’
‘I remember you being in much better shape,’ snapped Rose.
Wren was only now noticing the decimated garden. She pulled her arms around herself as she drifted towards the garden. ‘What happened here, Rose?’
Rose eyed Tor and Alarik, warily. ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’
‘You can trust them,’ said Wren, reading her hesitation.
‘Well, you can certainly trust Tor,’ said Alarik, drolly. ‘As you’ll recall, Captain Iversen is more loyal to your sister than his own crown.’
Tor bristled.
Wren glared at him. ‘Do you have to be like this?’
‘Sorry,’ mumbled Alarik, and Rose thought he looked regretful, then. ‘Being back here … in the place where Ansel died … It brings up bad memories. I’m sure you understand.’
‘You made the choice to return with Wren to Anadawn,’ said Rose. ‘So, I ask that you treat this place, and us, with the proper respect.’ Her voice softened. ‘You know I, too, cared for Ansel.’
Alarik held her gaze, and Rose saw a flicker of warmth in its coolness. A crack in the ice. ‘I’ll never forget what you did for him on the Sunless Sea. How you gave him peace.’
Rose’s eyes welled with unexpected tears, and in that moment, she decided Wren was right. Gevra had once been their ally, and they could be so again. Perhaps this meeting would prove fortuitous, after all.
She took a deep breath, turning back to her sister. ‘Something happened while you were away.’
Quickly and quietly, Rose told the three of them about Oonagh’s midnight visit.
‘It was a dream,’ Alarik interrupted, when Rose recounted the moment she realized who her midnight visitor was. ‘Your ancestor haunts dreams. She does it to me and to Wren and …’
He trailed off as Rose unwrapped her scarf, revealing the three bloodied scratches on her neck.
Wren recoiled. ‘Hissing hell.’
‘It was no dream,’ said Rose. ‘I wish it were. My flowers are dead, and the starcrests have deserted Anadawn. Even the dawn birds have fled.’
‘Oonagh has left decay in her wake,’ said Tor, grimly. ‘As she did in Gevra.’
‘The gardens aren’t even the worst of it,’ said Rose, telling them of the threat Oonagh had made, the terrifying vision she had shown her. Her promise to return in one moon’s time to reclaim her throne.
‘Are you all right?’ said Wren, stepping close to examine Rose’s wound. ‘It looks painful.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Rose, trying to smile. ‘The wound will heal.’
‘I hope so,’ said Wren, frowning.
Alarik suddenly groaned. ‘You know what isn’t healing? This infernal pain,’ he said, curling his fingers around his wrist. ‘Something must have aggravated it.’
Rose was seized by a sense of urgency. ‘Come,’ she said, beckoning them to follow. ‘Thea will know what to do. We’ll need you both at your strongest for what’s to come.’