The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  “That’s so thoughtful of you,” Callie said. “Just remember to keep yourself anonymous in the letter; you don’t want anyone from your old life tracking you.”

  “I will, thanks,” Sean said, though he wondered if Callie would change her opinion on how “thoughtful” he was very soon.

  “How are your lessons going? Getting along with your new tutor?”

  “Yes, he’s much better than Master Harris. His lessons are very difficult, though. I have to solve complex algebra equations because they’re required for some important rituals. My mind is getting bent out of shape.”

  “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and make stuff happen?”

  “No, not unless you want to blow things up. An incorrect calculation can lead to … well, remember what happened to the golems.”

  “Oh, right. Shit.”

  “And now that I’m registered with the Ministry of Magical Arts, I can’t afford to make big mistakes. I wouldn’t be able to get a license, and there’d be nothing the count can do for me.”

  “Right. No finger-wiggling for you.”

  They ate in silence awhile, the cold breeze ruffling their cloaks as they listened to children yell and squeal. Sean felt a little bad for sucking the fun out of a lighthearted comment (Jonas must have rubbed off on him), but he was only pointing out a simple fact: Magic was incredibly dangerous when used with unskilled hands.

  Unfortunately, he was about to suck the fun out of their talk even further. “Callie, there’s something I think you should know.”

  “Uh oh. I never had a good talk that started out that way.”

  “Do you remember what the King said about the Twinning Spell?”

  “Yeah, he said it should only be used on an unborn child in the early stages of development.”

  “And what if it’s used on an adult?”

  “It will split the adult in two, but they’ll each have only a fraction of the original’s mind.”

  “Very good. What he didn’t tell you was that the ritual can be modified to split a person into three. Callie … I think Jonas is one third of a man; that’s what makes him one of the Three Roses.” He took a bite of his sandwich as he let the information sink in. Seeing the realization dawn in Callie’s eyes was like watching an archer point an arrow at a nearby bullseye: The arrow might be sent at the bullseye, or the archer might suddenly turn to send it at him.

  “That makes sense,” she said at length. “I’ve never seen Jonas get angry, not even once. If you ever confront him about something, he’ll curl up like an armadillo. And he never said a single bad word about anyone. I figured it was because he was still much like a child, but no … feelings of anger and resentment must have passed to either of the other men.”

  “Yes. The men who got those leftover feelings must be very dangerous, very unstable.”

  “Okay, but …” She looked around for anyone who might be eavesdropping. “But why would King Paulson want him? Or Hugo or Cypher, for that matter?”

  Sean clenched his fists, wondering if he had told her enough. Before he could think better of it, he went ahead and said it: “I believe the Three Roses used to be Micah. That’s what happened to him two years ago, the reason why he vanished: When he came to Asturia, someone used the Twinning Spell on him and gave each man a rose tattoo to identify them as parts of Micah.”

  It took longer this time for Callie to absorb Sean’s words, her eyes reflecting a tug-of-war of emotions. “I bet it was that man at the palace. You know, that guy who couldn’t keep his hands off Jonas. He’s the one who did it!”

  “The palace has three sorcerers in its employ. Any one of them could have done it, but yes, Master Burnes could have been the one.”

  “But why? I understand Hugo imprisoning him so no one else could have him, but why use the Twinning Spell on him?”

  “That’s a good question. It’s rumored there’s a way of bringing twins or triplets back together, known only to certain orders of magi who like to hoard trade secrets. If one dares to split Micah, then they should have a way of restoring him.”

  “Yes, but was it done as a punishment? Did Micah not give in to a demand?”

  “I thought about that. As strange as it seems, it might have been intended as a way of keeping Micah safe. King Hugo imprisoned him, after all, so splitting him into three was to make him hard to find. It might have actually been Micah’s suggestion.”

  Callie scoffed. “A fat lot of good that did. Jonas got taken out of the palace and became lost.”

  “Or it could have been a rogue sorcerer who did it—someone like the mage who attacked us in the convoy. We just don’t know.”

  “But Jonas said he used to work at the palace.”

  “That doesn’t mean he was created there. He could have been taken after the fact.”

  After another silence, Callie asked, “Doesn’t it say in the Holy Book that Micah could see the future?”

  “He had intermittent visions sent by the Lord God. He foresaw his own death and the betrayal from one of his disciples.”

  “Same as Jonas. He saw you die and warned me about it.”

  Sean nodded solemnly. “Divine intervention.”

  “So it’s true: Jonas is one-third of Micah. How long have you known this?”

  Sean clenched his hands again. “For weeks.”

  Callie hunched her shoulders and stiffened her upper lip. “And you thought it was a good idea to leave him at the palace with Paulson?”

  “Why are you mad? It’s not like I gave him to King Hugo.”

  “But Paulson will use him as part of a power grab. Hugo would, too, which is why no king should have him.”

  “My priority was to keep Jonas safe. Master Cypher wanted that, too, which is why he defied King Hugo by not giving Jonas to him.”

  “Why are you only telling me this now?”

  “Because I owed you an explanation, and I wanted you to know why the Three Roses are so desirable and dangerous. King Hugo sentenced me to death to keep them a secret, and if everyone knew about them, the Roses wouldn’t be safe anywhere.”

  “Fair enough, but why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because, Callie …” He sighed and spread his hands. “I didn’t want you to do anything drastic. I know how you are.”

  “I wouldn’t—” She stopped herself, perhaps realizing he was right.

  “You just said, no king should have him. But I disagree. As long as Jonas is at the palace, at least King Hugo won’t have him.”

  “I can’t believe you kept this from me.” After shaking her head in thought, she stood and said, “I have to take a walk … alone.”

  Sean continued eating after she left, stuffing food through the frown stamped on his face. There was always the chance she was right, that he should have had more faith in her. But he still believed he did the right thing, knowing how Callie was not above abducting someone for money or some ideology. She might have used Jonas’s crush on her as a way of leading him to some faraway village or hideaway—perhaps even trade him to some folk as unsavory as her old clansmen.

  Still, she had a good reason to be upset. Jonas was an important man and a friend besides, and leaving him in the care of Master Burnes made him uncomfortable. The man seemed like a snake to him, putting his hands on Jonas as a viper would sink its fangs into a thigh. In light of that, Sean could understand Callie’s desire to keep Jonas from high authority, but since Jonas had been willing to go to the palace, perhaps Sean shouldn’t worry so much. The man had the gift of foresight, and he said his friends would see him again, so he probably knew what was best for him better than they did.

  All Sean could do now was hope for the best and see if Callie would ever talk to him again.

  Eighteen

  Callie stormed down the street, her boots clopping on cobblestones as she furiously
condemned Sean in her thoughts. She had guard duty at the house in three hours, but until then she intended on straying as far from the house as she could, explore the city a bit while she kicked an imaginary foolish companion down the road.

  She could hardly believe Sean withheld such vital information from her for so long, and he gave it only when she couldn’t do anything with it. He was afraid she would do something “drastic,” and she wasn’t mad because she wouldn’t have, but because she would. Hell yes, she would have kept Jonas from Paulson and Hugo, because both kings only cared for him as they would shiny gold trophies they can set on a mantel. Sean believed Jonas was safe at the palace, but Callie believed he was now in more danger than ever before, in the clutches of a greedy king and sorcerer who would use him not unlike how a murderer would use a hostage.

  Oh, that sorcerer! The way he had leered at Jonas and led him away with a hand on the man’s shoulder had given her the creeps. Jonas was probably now eating lunch with him, having to endure his crazed glare and crocodile grin. How she wished she could go back to last Monday and rescue Jonas from that awful man before it was too late!

  The more she thought of that day, the angrier she got at Sean. He knew full well who and what Jonas was, and yet he still sent Jonas into the worst place he could be in. Sean justified his decision by saying, It’s not like I gave him to King Hugo. But Sean didn’t know Paulson well enough to say that this king was better than any other. No, he only wanted to do whatever that damned Cypher wanted him to. God, that Sean could be such a gullible, obedient little toady, following orders so he didn’t have to think for himself about what he was doing. He couldn’t read people as well as Callie could, and now Jonas was paying the price for his lack of competency.

  By the time she reached a wooden fence enclosing a sheep herd in a half-eaten field, her anger had cooled off a little. She had walked for nearly a full kilometer, and her legs were feeling a nice, steady burn. She tried to push Sean from her mind, and as a consequence, thoughts of Micah came in. She had never truly been a believer in the doctrine of the Micahn religion, seeing it as too stuffy and inhibitive. She almost wished Sean wasn’t a believer so she could better relate to him.

  Yet she had been a believer in Jonas. When he told her Sean was fated to die, she had hesitated but ultimately saw how right he was. If Jonas had the gift of foresight, then Micah had it, too, and if the Micah from several years ago was like the Micah in the Holy Book from a thousand years ago …

  No, it can’t be. No one can tell me that Micah is really the Son of God sent to deliver enlightenment to mankind.

  But as much as she refused to see it, the proof was in the pudding, as people liked to say. Jonas had drawn the eyes of powerful people like King Hugo and Master Cypher because of his rose tattoo, and both Jonas and Micah had the gift of foresight, which was far from a common magic ability. Jonas had to be the result of the Twinning Spell performed on Micah because Jonas didn’t seem like a complete person, only a part of a whole. And if Jonas could do something remarkable as Micah had done in the Holy Book …

  Then that means Micah really is the Son of God, as his believers claim.

  If it was true, then the implications made her uncomfortable. If she had abducted Jonas, knowing why both kings wanted him, then the life of the Son of God would have been in her hands, and whatever happened to him would fall on her. Could she have carried the weight of that responsibility? Would Jonas have taken it off of her before they went too far?

  These thoughts made her remember something her old partner Dan had told her: You’re probably getting yourself into matters that are far beyond you. Trying to get these Three Roses might be like trying to nab a star from the sky.

  Dan probably didn’t know how right he’d been. Getting involved with a Heaven-sent messenger was something no one like her should do, for she had no idea how God would want her to handle the situation.

  But that didn’t mean people like Sean and Master Cypher did, for Callie was fairly sure that the war was being fought over custody of Micah. Arrogant King Hugo learned that devious King Paulson had Micah kept in his palace, so he threatened war unless Paulson delivered Micah to him. Instead of conceding, Paulson split Micah into three to spite Hugo, resulting in Hugo rallying his troops and sending them to invade Lonsaran, just to make good on his threat. At some point, Hugo learned what happened to Micah, as well as the collective codename for the three men, so he ordered Cypher to find and bring them to St. Mannington.

  Someday, when she felt like talking to Sean again, she’ll explain all this, and then she’ll ask a rather distressing question: Do you think God likes seeing this great, big clusterfuck these kings made for themselves?

  The next day, Callie couldn’t avoid seeing Sean, but she refused to speak to him or make eye contact. As far as she was concerned, he was merely part of the background. Sean, in his infinite “wisdom,” didn’t talk to her either, not even to say hello. He merely accompanied Master Brown around the property, familiarizing himself with the house’s ward, while Callie helped the kitchen staff by plucking feathers off chickens and stirring gravy.

  That afternoon, she was given a sufficient distraction from her irritation with Sean. The count and his wife wanted to spend the day in the city, and Callie was handpicked to stand guard with them along with Marcus, the bronze sentinel. She was grateful to get away from the house, but she found guard duty frightfully dull. All she was required to do was remain still and watchful, and she couldn’t speak unless spoken to. It was something her years in the clan had prepared her for, but here she wasn’t waiting to pickpocket someone or break into a place; she only had to make sure some asshole didn’t hurt or steal from the noble couple, which was unlikely to happen. Not much reward there.

  So yeah, she was pining for her old life as how a junkie craved silly weed, but there was nothing for it. It’s what she had signed up for.

  The noble couple rented a horse-and-buggy so they could enjoy the fresh air and see the colors of autumn. They rode to a part of the city called Nostromus, where the roads had canopies of red and yellow leaves that were just starting to fall. The withering leaves always reminded Callie that her birthday was coming up, though she didn’t feel like celebrating it this year. Next year, if she felt better about her situation, she’ll let people know about it and throw a celebration. But now, with a war going on, she didn’t crave any special attention.

  Their first stop was St. Kevin’s Church, where it was said the great Micah went to when he came to Asturia. It was a grand old building of dark polished wood and a few magnificent stained-glass windows, with a cross of cherry wood and gold plate mounted above the front entrance. As the four cloaked figures stepped inside, Callie noted how light the security was. There were only two members of the holy guard she could see—one by the entrance and one standing in a corner of the nave—and their linen livery over chain-mail coats offered minimal protection. This place should have gained more fame and funds after Micah’s visit, but either the clergy were too miserly to pay for better protection or they didn’t believe anyone would dare ransack a church the illustrious Micah had once visited.

  The count was greeted by a priest with balding, mousy hair and kindly brown eyes, who introduced himself as Monsignor Blake Evans. “Have you come to confess, my lord?”

  “No, we’d like to talk with Bishop Lansdale,” the count said. “Now that I have the time, I’d like to hear about his discussion with Micah.”

  Evan’s smile briefly faltered, which told Callie to expect some sort of trouble. “Ah yes, wonderful. Allow me to see if the bishop’s schedule will allow you to see him.”

  After the priest went into a hallway, Lady Amber beamed and shook herself. “Ooo, I can’t believe we’re going to meet someone who actually spoke to Micah! I wonder what he was like!”

  Callie scanned the nave, looking for any signs of disturbance. Not that she expected any, but it was her
job to stay aware of the party’s surroundings. She momentarily glanced up at Marcus, who stood a good fifteen centimeters above her, and she looked away before they could lock eyes. Instead of familiarizing himself with his surroundings, Marcus was merely staring at a painting as if the static figures might suddenly come to life. Callie frankly didn’t care; she only wished he wouldn’t start hitting on her. Rumor had it he was already fucking one of the maids; if he wanted to use his heralded status to make himself a harem, she wanted no part of it.

  Monsignor Evans returned and said with a somewhat false merriness that the bishop was currently free to see them. The Count followed him into the hall, his crutches loudly clacking on the flagstones in the confined area. “Thank you, Monsignor. I and Amber wanted to do this long ago, but we kept putting it off until the war started. That’s where I lost my leg.”

  “You have my condolences,” Evans said. “May the Lord God grant the war a peaceful end. If I may give you a bit of advice … when you see the bishop, don’t bring up his meeting with Micah right away. Ease into it by talking about something else first.”

  “Why? Doesn’t he like talking about Micah?”

  “He does, and he doesn’t. You shall see, my lord.”

  Now I know there’s going to be trouble, Callie thought, frowning.

  They entered a spacious office with the usual decorations of crucifixes, portraits, and dozens upon dozens of books, most of them leatherbound. Seated at the desk was Bishop Lansdale, a man in his sixties with wispy white hair and a hawkish nose, clad in a brown waistcoat and dress shirt while his bishop’s robe and hat hung in a corner. “Welcome, my lord,” he said, speaking with a lisp through his few remaining teeth. “What may I do for you?”

  The count and his wife sat while their guards stood at attention. Following Evans’ advice, Count Guyver started by complimenting the bishop on his beautiful church and faithful community. They then discussed the war, with the count relating some of his experiences on the front and the bishop sharing stories about families who grieved for lost loved ones.