Chapter One - From Ash #3
It had broken him; she had seen him crumble as the light finally left her brother’s blue eyes.
The riot in the city that followed ensured that Roderic Valehart’s execution was done privately behind the locked doors of the Iron Keep.
She had never seen him again. All that she had of him was the ring that they had sent to her.
Her father had never been without it. A golden band with the crest of the Valehart House; a golden rose with sapphire thorns and ruby petals.
After the executions, her younger brothers, Roland and Tristan, had been dragged to the city of Aurelmere and imprisoned in the Onyx Tower of the Iron Keep, along with their cousin Todric.
He barely had any magic, despite his noble birth.
A lanky, awkward boy who had always been a little behind her brothers in everything.
He had a great love for the outdoors, and Rosamund remembered many a summer lying on the grass beside him as they rhymed off all the flowers they could remember.
She had put them in danger. She had put them all in danger. She knew she could not allow her sister to marry the monster, but she had been so wrapped up in her sister’s happiness she had forgotten her brothers.
“We could ask for more time,” suggested Rosamund, clutching for a solution to remedy her mistake.
Her hands fidgeted with her father’s ring she wore on a gold chain around her neck.
Aunt Cecily laughed bitterly, “Do you think they would listen? They will see this for the insult that it is. We need this ceremony to proceed, for all our sakes.”
“If they find out she has escaped rather than marry the Prince,” started Aunt Beatrice, growing hysterical, “they’ll hunt her down. They’ll drag her to the tower, if not worse.”
Because of what I did.
She had wanted to protect Evelyne, now she had put her sister in even more danger.
“There must be something we can do,” said Rosamund as she took a step towards her Aunt Cecily, who had moved to examine Evelyne’s betrothal dress.
“Yes,” she said softly, and turned back to Rosamund, “I think there is something you can do.”
Rosamund’s eyes widened in horror as she took a step back, “No.”
“Yes,” hissed Aunt Cecily as she took the dress down from the wardrobe and called for one of the maids.
“Cecily, maybe we should think about this,” said Aunt Beatrice wringing her hands.
As a maid rushed in Aunt Cecily tossed her the dress, “Dress Lady Rosamund, she has a Betrothal Ceremony to attend.”
The maid moved towards Rosamund, but she batted her away, striding towards her aunt, “Don’t do this. It won’t work.”
“It will” said Aunt Cecily, unmoved.
“I am not Evelyne,” said Rosamund firmly.
“That much is apparent.”
“I don’t know anything about the court. She’s been studying this stuff for years; she was born for it.”
“You will learn.”
“I can’t do any of the dances. I know none of the fashions. The politics-”
“You will learn,” insisted her aunt as she gestured the maid forward.
This time the maid did not back away when Rosamund tried to shrug her off. She struggled to peel off Rosamund’s robe as she continued to argue with her aunt, “They’ll eat me alive! I haven’t got Evelyne’s charm, her grace, it won’t work.”
“It has to work,” shouted Aunt Cecily, her breathing ragged as she came nose to nose with Rosamund and clutched her arms, her cane clattering to the floor, “you will make it work. For your brothers, for your sister, for your cousin, you have to make this work. You have to do this. Please Rosamund.”
For the first time in all the time she had known her, Rosamund saw that her aunt was scared.
Terrified. Her steadfast, battleaxe aunt was worried and clutching at straws, at anything that might save her family.
Was that not what Rosamund wanted too? Was that not what their father did?
Did he not die to save the rest of them?
To save her. What her aunts were asking for wasn’t death, it was marriage.
Marriage to a monster. To the son of the man that had killed her father
It’s no choice at all.
“Yes,” she replied softly, “yes, I’ll do it.”
Aunt Cecily let go of her arms, red marks remained where her nails had dug in. Her eyes dropped to the floor, “Good. That’s…settled,” she cleared her throat, “get her ready, we leave for Aurelmere in an hour. Come along Beatrice.”
Aunt Cecily left, her cane tapping against the floor with more vigour than usual. Beatrice went to follow her but stopped at Rosamund’s side to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
This betrothal would not happen. They would take one look at her, the spinster sister, daughter of a traitor, and refuse to go through with it.
She hoped that the fact she had shown willing, that she had come would be enough to save her brothers and her cousin.
Perhaps not release them but at least give them more time until she could find another way to get them out.
And Evelyne, it would give her more time to escape.
Another thought crept into her head as she raised her arms to allow the maid to slip on her sister’s betrothal dress.
If the marriage did go ahead, there could be another way to secure the release of her brothers, her cousin.
More than that, there could be the smallest chance that she might finally clear her father’s name and restore House Valehart.
First though, I’ll have to survive the seventh son, the Prince of Death.