The Spell of Rosette

by Kim Falconer

  ‘Excuse me?’ She tried not to squeak.

  ‘I said,’ he articulated slowly, ‘what pressing matters occupy your mind that you’re unable to sense my presence?’

  ‘What pressing matters?’ Rosette quickly found a rocky outcropping and sat down, water up to her collar-bones. She flushed. How do I answer that?

  She couldn’t lie, had no inclination to. She didn’t want to spill out a stream of dribble either. That kind of response would never get her an apprenticeship with the man. And now she’d hesitated for so long, he certainly would think she had something quite involved to say.

  She didn’t. Only the small things, the day-to-day things, had been bubbling in her thoughts: like, should she braid her hair for the new training tomorrow, or leave it out? Mara hadn’t even hinted at what kind of training it would be. Of course, she was also thinking more profoundly too. What was Clay hiding? Did it have anything to do with the murder of her family?

  Stop! she chastised herself. Reinforcing her mind-shield, Rosette slipped her bottom off the marble seat and submerged her entire head under water.

  Quick. Think of something!

  Under the surface, Rosette heard the rush and reverberation of the waterfalls further downstream where the pools drained into the Terse River and eventually made their way to the sea. The tinkling of her earrings echoed in the current like a child’s laughter. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t hold her breath forever. She had to breathe.

  Popping back up, she gasped, looking around. Where was he?

  ‘Are you going to answer me?’ he queried. ‘Or turn into a fish?’

  Rosette twisted in the direction of his voice, her forehead creasing. ‘I didn’t imagine anyone would be here this late,’ she said, letting her breath out in a rush and gulping in another.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, creating ripples as he shifted on his perch, ‘you need to develop your imagination.’

  She could make out his silhouette now. He was leaning back against the side of the pool, one arm reaching out along its edge, the other behind his head like a pillow.

  ‘And perhaps it would have been more courteous if you had announced your presence straight up.’ Her voice gained volume. ‘This is a place of leisure, Sword Master. I come here to unwind, not to test my receptivity skills.’

  ‘There’s no separation between the work and the life.’ His voice sounded stern. ‘You’ve also been cautioned against bathing alone.’

  ‘Well, I’m not alone now, am I?’ She snapped the words back, glaring in his direction.

  He laughed. ‘Have we met?’

  Goddess of the night, he doesn’t even remember me?

  Now she was certain she wasn’t under consideration for his apprenticeship. She bit her lip. Under no circumstances would she cry. Bother this man and his deprived memory!

  ‘Yes,’ she replied slowly. ‘We met the day I arrived. You and Diablai gave me a lift to the demonstration, do you remember? It wasn’t long ago, Sword Master Rowan An’ Lawrence.’

  ‘You’re right, Rosette. It wasn’t that long ago.’ He moved into the light. ‘How’s the training going?’

  What’s he playing at? Does he know me or not? ‘I’m progressing.’

  ‘Are you ready for something new?’

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘Do you have a hearing problem?’

  ‘What?’

  Perhaps you can hear me more clearly now?

  He sent the thought directly to her mind. Very strong. It surprised her how easily he slipped through her shield, or had she let it lapse?

  I hear you, Sword Master.

  ‘Get some rest tonight, Rosette,’ he said aloud, swimming to the steps. ‘It’s time to put you to work.’

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘I will.’ Her mind started to spin with excitement. What did he mean?

  He was ascending the stairs, water running off his bronzed back and his fingertips. His body was sculpted with rippling muscles etched with myriad tattoos. Her mouth formed a circle shape but she didn’t speak.

  ‘And, Rosette.’ He paused midway up the steps. ‘I’m the Sword Master, not a god. You can say anything to me that you like.’

  She snapped her mouth shut and didn’t reply. How much of my mental clatter-nat did he pick up?

  She listened to the pad of his bare feet as he made his way to the exit. The huge wooden doors shut with a reverberating thud. She let out her breath, realising she’d held it in. Pushing away hair that clung to her face, she leaned back, staring up into the dark space above her.

  ‘Now that’s an attractive man,’ she whispered.

  She tucked her chin down and blew bubbles in the water. Their first conversation since arriving hadn’t been like she’d imagined. It was actually quite peculiar, like a dream.

  Taking another deep breath, Rosette swam to the steps and got a scoop of salt grains. She went wild with them, scrubbing her body. She immersed herself completely and then floated on her back—only her nose, forehead and toes peeking above the dark surface. The water buoyed her up in a loving embrace. Mesmerised by the rushing sounds beneath her, she kicked slowly back to the steps. It was getting late—time to head home.

  One more thing, Rosette.

  She startled as the Sword Master’s voice boomed in her head. I’m listening.

  Braid your hair for tomorrow.

  Rosette saw the message tacked to her cottage door before she reached the porch. It shone in the lamplight, a small slip of paper pierced by a copper nail. Pulling the towel off her shoulders, she took the steps in two strides. She examined the seal before tucking the note in her pocket. Mistress Mara had paid her a visit. What tasks could she have for her at this hour? She’d said to get a good night’s sleep, not work until dawn.

  Yawning, Rosette smiled as Drayco appeared from nowhere. She forgot sometimes that he was a superb predator, adept at camouflage. He leapt the steps and pushed his head into her hand. She sank her fingers deep into his plush coat.

  ‘Did you see Mara, my black hunter?’

  Yes, and another. He purred, his words forming inside Rosette’s mind like waves on a tropical shore, cresting, rushing up and receding. It was the closest thing to a mental caress she’d ever experienced.

  ‘You’re in a pleasant mood tonight,’ she said as he arched his back against her bare thigh, tail entwining her waist.

  Yes.

  ‘Who else came by?’ She continued to stroke the top of his head. ‘Another mistress?’

  No other mistress.

  ‘Clay?’ she smiled. ‘You can say his name, you know.’

  Drayco hadn’t taken much to Clay. He wouldn’t say his name and he wouldn’t explain why. Not him.

  She roughed his back vigorously. ‘Are you going to tell me or is this a guessing game?’

  Is there milk?

  ‘Of course.’

  The Sword Master came.

  Chills rushed down Rosette’s back. An’ Lawrence had come here? ‘With Mistress Mara?’ she pressed.

  He came after. The purring increased. Could we possibly see to the milk now?

  Rosette tousled the temple cat’s head then pulled her hand back when he reared and took a playful swipe. ‘Yes, yes. Come inside and we’ll both have some warm milk and honey.’

  Honey tastes like tree sap.

  ‘I like it.’ Rosette laughed as her familiar mimed what could only be a cat trying to get peanut paste out of its mouth. ‘Plain milk for you, of course.’

  Thank you.

  She unlaced her boots and lined them up by the door before entering her sanctuary. It smelled of herbs and scented candles, leather and polished wood. She gave the place a blessing as she crossed the threshold and lit the nearest candle. A warm glow filled the room.

  I’m so grateful to be home.

  She knew how lucky she was. Second- or third-year apprentices usually shared the tiny cottages down by the river with two or even three others, but Rosette, still unassigned, warranted one of her own.
Unlike most of the students at Treeon Temple, she came with a large and vivacious familiar whose nature had been enough to get them a place to themselves before the sun had turned even a quarter past the first solstice.

  It was clear that dormitory life was not for them, though they had done their best to fit in. Six weeks after her arrival, three different dorms and several roommates later, the entire temple population had supported her move to the cottage. She smiled at the memory.

  How was I to know that your roommates didn’t want rodents on their pillows every night? The temple cat sent the query when he picked up on her thoughts.

  Rosette laughed. ‘You know I don’t care for it much.’

  I always thought you were strange that way.

  ‘Did you now?’ she smiled. ‘It all turned out fine because we have this place to ourselves.’

  Lighting more candles, she reached into her pocket and fished out the note, ready to face whatever task her mentor had set for her. The message got straight to the point (no frills from Mistress Mara). She read it over twice between stoking the coals of her hearth, pouring milk from the cool box and slicing a thick piece of bread. Her body shook when she finally put the message down on the table.

  Maudi? Drayco inquired. Are you going to give me the details or burst on the spot?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this.’ I don’t even believe it, she added in her mental voice.

  Drayco jumped onto a chair beside the table and continued to purr, black cat hairs levitating about him when she scratched behind his ears. I’d like to have the chance to believe, or not believe, if only you would tell me. Your thoughts are a jumble. I can’t read them. He spoke in a curious tone, feline sarcasm. Is it good news? At least tell me that.

  ‘Oh, I think so!’ she said, hugging herself to keep from floating away. ‘Mara says I’m to start sword classes tomorrow! Tomorrow, Drayco. Tomorrow morning!’

  It’s tomorrow then?

  She flicked his tail. It is! ‘I thought I would have to stay with the ritual spells for another six months at least. Actually, I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get a chance to train with the sword at all. What a surprise.’

  Not such a surprise when you consider the level of your intention. How’s the milk coming along? He leapt down to sit closer to the fire, watching the pot begin to steam.

  ‘What’s that, Dray?’ she asked, reading the note for a third time.

  The milk?

  ‘Here it is.’ She poured it into a bowl and placed it in front of him. ‘Hot.’

  I like it hot.

  She stroked his neck as he began to lap. ‘Now we just have to figure out why the Sword Master came by. That was after Mara, yes?’

  It was.

  ‘What could he have wanted?’

  Reading his note might elaborate. Drayco sent the suggestion in spurts, clearly not wanting to be distracted from his bowl.

  ‘What?’

  He paused to stare at her. The note from the Sword Master. Perhaps you would learn more if you read it.

  Tiny droplets of milk spattered his whiskers and he licked them off with his pink tongue before going back to the bowl.

  Rosette sprinted out to the front porch. ‘Where is it?’ she yelled, squinting up at the lamplight. She checked the doorframe, and then looked down at the bristly horsehair mat. There it was, tucked under the left-hand corner. Clutching the note, she brought it into the firelight to read.

  ‘It’s from him, Drayco. It is from the Sword Master himself!’

  Really? The feline’s comment dripped down the edges of her mind.

  ‘Shush. I am reading.’

  Read it to me too, Drayco instructed without looking up. Aloud.

  ‘Okay. It says…“Rosette de Santo, You will be attending sword classes starting tomorrow. Best you don’t lose concentration in my arena. Report at dawn. RL”.’

  She pressed the note to her heart. ‘He signed it RL!’

  His initials perhaps? Drayco had finished the bowl of milk and was grooming himself by the fire. His wit, as usual, increased in proportion to the fullness of his belly.

  ‘Of course it’s his name! R. L., Rowan Lawrence! It’s just that personal initials are not often used in correspondence to initiates. Could it mean he is going to make me his apprentice?’

  You read a lot into it. Drayco looked up briefly before twisting around to reach a spot directly between his shoulderblades.

  Rosette smiled at her companion. ‘Just let me have this thrill. He wrote to me. He called me by name. I will be in his class!’

  Drayco looked at her and sneezed.

  ‘I can’t wait to tell Clay.’

  He’s gone.

  ‘I heard.’

  He left earlier tonight, headed for Morzone. Supposedly he’s playing for a wedding celebration on Sunday.

  Rosette turned her head. ‘What do you mean, “supposedly”?’

  Drayco stood, bow-stretched and lay down on the sheepskin in front of the fire. He tucked his front paws under his chest before responding. I mean ‘supposedly’ because first of all, he took with him a bird of prey, hooded and clutching his gloved wrist. Tell me, when did he become a falconer? Second, he left by the south gate. If he was going to Morzone, he planned to get there the long way around.

  Rosette stared at him. ‘How’d you get so good at geography?’

  I know what you know, Maudi, and then some. Clay wasn’t going where he said. He was going south, towards Lividica.

  ‘Or maybe he was just going home to Cusca first.’

  Maybe.

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  If he was going to Cusca first, he’d never get to Morzone in time for a Sunday wedding.

  CHAPTER 8

  Drayco was right. Clay hadn’t gone to Morzone; he’d gone to Lividica.

  He sat at a table in the harbour pub, smoke floating in drifts around him. He’d drained three pints of home draught in the last half hour and was on his fourth. If he didn’t stop guzzling, his performance would definitely suffer, but he didn’t care. He wanted to escape.

  He picked up his guitar and checked the tuning. Low E was flat and he tightened the tuning peg slowly while plucking the string, comparing it to his top E and the harmonics further up the neck. His ear was bent close to the fret board as he strained to hear the subtle changes in pitch—not an easy task in the boisterous pub with glasses clanking, people cackling, an argument exploding in one corner, and fists pounding the table behind him accompanied by shouts for more beer. The cacophony was more than distracting—it felt like debris floating down the river of his mind, smacking into his thoughts, bumping them out of place.

  ‘I never heard of the girl,’ a drunken voice declared.

  ‘Nor I. It’s a ghost he’s after, I’ll wager.’

  ‘Plenty of them around.’

  ‘How would you know? You weren’t there.’

  ‘Neither were you.’

  The voices drifted into the background of his mind as a fight broke out, a table overturning and glasses breaking before the barman tossed the drunks out. Clay sighed. They would call for more songs any minute and though he was exhausted, and quite drunk himself, he looked forward to getting lost in the music again. His performances were a success even if nothing else about this trip had been. Damn the Sword Master and his cryptic intentions.

  Seven days ago, on his way to meet Rosette at the bathing pools, Clay had been waylaid by An’ Lawrence—the mission urgent. He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to her or even offer an explanation. Of course, it would have been a lie, whatever he said, but at least he could have seen her. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her stranded with only a message from Amelia. He could just imagine how that would translate. He sighed again.

  Women…

  An’ Lawrence had given him an assignment he didn’t like, yet he couldn’t—or was it ‘wouldn’t’—refuse. He was to take a mountain horse, along with one of the Sword Master’s falcons, and tra
vel down through Cusca, skirting the Jacor mountain range to the port of Lividica, Rosette’s home town, or so she said. He was charged with finding out anything he could about the young witch.

  ‘Find her family, Clay,’ An’ Lawrence had instructed. ‘Discover everything you can about her past. I particularly want you to find her connections,’ the Sword Master had gone on. ‘Are any of her relations linked to the witch Nellion Paree? From the past? From Treeon perhaps? I want to know everything, and for them to suspect nothing. Do you understand? Play your songs and ask your questions as if you were a curious lad in love with an elusive young woman. That would be the best ploy.’

  Clay laughed. Ploy? It wouldn’t take much of a witch’s glamour to pull that off. If he wasn’t already curious about Rosette before this trip, he certainly was now. The ‘in love’ aspect was a given—had been so since the day they’d met. What he discovered, though, didn’t put him at ease and he was certain it wouldn’t satisfy the Sword Master.

  He’d been here a week now, playing his music in every pub from the northern docks to South Lister Bay. Between sets, and in the busy shops and markets by day, he’d asked his questions. He queried as any enthusiastic suitor might, but nobody in the whole town had ever heard of Rosette de Santo. There was a Rosa de Santiago, and a Rosie del Mar. There was even a Vera and Armone de Santo, but no Rosette. It was like he’d dreamed her up and word was getting around that the redheaded bard from the north played wonderful tunes but seemed to be looking for a girl that didn’t exist.

  He flicked the breadcrumbs from the table when his dinner plate was cleared away.

  ‘You’ll be playing more?’ the maid asked, her dimpled face blushing as she balanced the tray of crockery on her hip.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Clay managed a wink before he returned to his contemplations.

  The results of his queries weren’t completely fruitless. He had aroused the interest of more than a few young women, gorgeous girls enamoured with his eccentric ways and alluring music. The flirtations were heady and he was planning to act on one of them tonight. He’d met her today by the jetty, a girl full of charm—touching his arm when she spoke, giggling at his every sentence and jouncing her bosom when she laughed outright. Her embroidered peasant top and short white skirt had made a very pretty backdrop for her waves of chestnut hair. If he couldn’t distract himself with the likes of her, he needed to visit the local herbalist. He wondered when they opened.