by Lilly Fang
“Pardon, madam, but might you want this cloak? Dyed with real roses plucked from this village last year,” I said, holding it up.
The woman looked at me before she looked at the cloak, and right away her eyes narrowed.
“What’s this?” the man at her side asked. “How nice. Did you make this yourself?”
“I did. You are very kind,” I said with a small smile.
“We’ll take it,” the man said.
“We’ll do no such thing,” the woman snapped, pulling the man’s arm away from me. When their backs were to me, I heard her whisper, “For shame! You’ll throw away our money to the first pretty face that walks by!”
The man nearest them, who had heard the exchange, came swaggering up to me. He threw his arm around me, nearly sloshing the cloak with mead from his cup. “Show me your cloak, lovely. Maybe I’d be persuaded to buy it for a kiss or two.”
I ducked under his arm and fled.
This is what beauty will get you, I thought. If only Rose had been there to see how wonderful it is to be so lovely.
“Come back,” the man behind me slurred.
I walked quicker, looking for a place to hide. Perhaps he had no ill intentions, but I’ve learned not to wait around to ask.
I spotted a wagon with the door thrown open, a deep blue length of fabric hung over the opening. As I watched, a man stepped out and an old woman reached out to pull open the curtain. Above the doorway, a sign reading FORTUNETELLER was hung at a crooked angle.
I ran to her. “May I—”
“I’ve been waiting for you, my dear,” she said, wrapping her bony hand around my wrist and pulling me inside.
I could not have resisted her if I’d tried. I was suddenly inside with the curtain thrown shut behind me. The woman led me to a little cushion on the floor of the wagon and finally released me to sit on the other side of small wooden table.
I rubbed my hand where she’d grabbed me. Though she seemed old, her fingers had been like steel against my skin.
“Have you ever had your fortune told, dearie?”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t need my fortune told.”
“But of course you do,” she said, sounding entirely unsurprised. “You more than most.”
I felt a shiver run through me as she said those words. “I’m sorry, but I cannot pay.”
“I never spoke of payment,” the old woman said, sounding very much offended.
“I could not accept such a gift,” I said, attempting to stand.
The old woman gripped my arm again, so hard I nearly cried out. “I would not call it a gift. Not with what the future holds for you, my dear Snow White.”
I froze.
Her hand slid down to my palm and, before I could so much as flinch, she had lanced my finger through with a small, silver needle.
I gasped and she spilled three drops of my blood into a little bowl filled with some kind of clear liquid. She released me, and I pulled my hand back as she peered close to the swirling tendrils of blood that unraveled in the water.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” she said, closing her eyes, a toothless grin spreading over her face. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you, dearie?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, fear twisting in my stomach. I stood to leave.
She cackled. “Yes, run, run, Snow White. You cannot outrun her. Once she sees you, she’ll want nothing else.”
I bolted.
I did not slow until my mother spotted me and called me over.
“Snow, what’s troubling you?” she asked, patting my hair, her eyes alarmed.
I glanced back at the wagon. “The fortuneteller pricked my finger,” I began. “She was talking of trouble and someone who would be after me.”
My mother narrowed her eyes. “Stay away from those who work in blood. It’s dangerous and evil to do blood magic. Never let someone have a drop of your blood again, do you hear me? It’s very important.”
I nodded, still feeling very uneasy.
My mother put her arm around my shoulder. “We will be vigilant.”
I nodded again. “When will we tell Rose? I worry for her. She knows nothing of what’s waiting.”
“Soon. Tonight. It’s time she knew the truth.”
Chapter 3: The King of Roses – Rose Red
Lit by bonfires and torches, there was a large outcropping of rocks at the center of the village, and all of the boys between twelve and eighteen years crowded on it to play King of the Hill for the title of King of Roses and the coveted kiss from the Queen.
We arrived long before the fighting started. Mother and Snow chose a place to sit and watch while I took the opportunity to seek out William to thank him for the wood.
“You really should take payment,” I told him, coming up behind him while he was waiting with the other boys for the battle to begin.
He turned, smiling when he saw me. His blond hair flashed in the setting sun in a way that was most distracting. “Rose, please. I’ve told you there’s no need. The twigs I give you would hardly go for any coin.”
I shook my head, because I knew he was lying, but there wasn’t more that I could say.
“Are you going to watch the fight?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He gave me a half smile. “It’s a little silly, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, looking thoughtfully at the rocks. “There’s something heroic about a man who can best everyone else being crowned the King. It’s not at all as exciting for us girls. We can only sit and look pretty and hope for roses.”
William chuckled, though there was a brooding look now in his deep green eyes. “Rose, if it came to a fight, I’ve no doubt you’d win Queen of Roses every year.”
I laughed at that notion, but then people began calling for the fight to begin, so I quickly wished William luck and went back to where Snow and my mother were sitting.
The fight always began as play, with the youngest boys being quickly eliminated first. Once you fell from the rocks, you were out. The smith’s boy was probably the strongest, tossing opponents left and right as if they were made of straw.
As the fight began, I made my way to Snow and my mother, who were watching from a safe distance.
“Who do you want to win, Snow White?” my mother asked.
Snow wrinkled her nose. “Anyone but Jacob. He won last year and his kiss tasted like sour milk.”
I couldn’t help giggling. Poor Jacob. I doubted that he even knew.
No one asked me who I wanted to win, but I would have said William. Of all of my sister’s admirers, he was my favorite. He was always kind to my mother and me, giving us the things we needed to survive instead of pretty trinkets for Snow to adorn herself with. Didn’t all of the boys know that Snow always sold them as soon as the traders came through to get us food?
William was not a fighter. I watched him with my heart in my throat as he spun around one boy’s fist and ducked under another. He pushed the boy who had just missed him, and he fell over the side.
I nearly cheered. All of the rest of the boys in this town could fall into a pit of fire, for all I cared.
But now that most of the boys had fallen, only a handful remained. They were cautious now, having survived the first rush.
I saw Jacob take down two others, then he and William closed in on each other.
I held my breath as my heart thrummed in my chest. I did not want to see William fall, but suddenly the image of him kissing my sister burned in my mind. I did not want to see that, either.
Jacob swung at William, who dodged back. His foot struck a rock, and he nearly went down, but he caught himself in time. Jacob lunged at him, and the two fell back onto the outcropping, each swinging at the other.
They rolled together for a moment, and then separated, Jacob on top.
I could not hear what Jacob said to him, but it looked like his mouth moved to make the words, “She’
s mine.” William’s eyes went wide and he threw Jacob off of him. Then William rammed his shoulder into Jacob’s chest, and he fell.
William raised his hands and gave a cheer. The village cheered back. Snow clapped the loudest of all, pleased to avoid Jacob’s kiss.
Only I was silent.
After the battle, it was time for the dancing. Everyone sang the old songs and those who knew how to play a flute or lyre carried the tune while anyone who wanted took up the dance. There were a few married couples, most newly wed, who danced along. The rest were unwed and of marrying age.
I knew I should be out there with the rest, but I didn’t want to go. Snow was the better dancer. I preferred to sit on the benches around the bonfire and watch.
I watched the couples whirl around the bonfire, hair flying and skirts spinning. Partners came together, separated, and joined with someone new. Snow always had boys vying for her attention. She would look over her suitors and finally pick one to bestow upon the pleasure of her company.
As I watched, Jeb the butcher’s boy came and sat beside me.
I immediately felt my face turn red as I wondered if this was the boy who had left a rose for me. He had never spoken to me outside of when I traded him for scraps of meat for stew.
“Do you dance?” he asked abruptly.
“When asked,” I said, smiling at him the way I had seen Snow smile at boys she found charming. I wondered if he was shy, maybe that’s why he had never spoken to me before.
He held out his hand. “Then I am asking.”
I took his hand. When our skin met, I felt the heat from his hand. My sore finger stung from the sweat on his clammy skin. He led me out to the bonfires as the next song began. We spun around together in the steps, getting closer and closer to the center.
We ended up near Snow.
“Rose!” My sister caught my hand and kissed my cheek. “You finally joined the dance!”
Jeb bowed to Snow and caught her hand. “I had the honor of dancing with her.”
Snow gave Jeb a welcoming smile. “You two dance very well together.”
“If you admire my dancing, I’d be happy to spend a song with you,” Jeb said.
I found myself abandoned. Jeb dropped his hand from around my waist and was instantly with Snow.
My face must have fallen, but Snow had already been pulled away by Jeb. So, he had only wanted to use me to get her attention. I should have known. How could I not have known? I found myself looking blankly into the crowd of dancers, stunned.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw the last person I wanted to watch my humiliation: William. I saw pity in his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, I fled.
My mother had always warned me not to stray down the hill at night. Our village was protected by charms and symbols built up over years and years. Down the hill, there was nothing to keep out the dark forest.
I had gone down at night only a handful of times—on a dare from Lavender, back when we had been very small and played together once a week. But Snow had found out and she and my mother had come charging into the roses to find me, shouting and shining lanterns on us before I was more than ten feet in.
The second time had been during the first year after my father died. My mother would not move for long stretches at a time. Some days, she would not come with us to pick the roses, and Snow and I worried about how we would eat come winter. So the two of us held hands and climbed down to pick some roses in the night.
The third and final time had been two years ago, when I’d gone off during the afternoon to gather firewood. I’d strayed far and gotten lost. I was out almost an hour past sunset, and when I’d finally found the village, I’d run all through the rose bushes and up the hill, sobbing with relief.
Though those memories flashed in my mind, I was too angry and embarrassed to think of any caution.
Besides, there was a certain thrill of being somewhere dangerous alone. For a moment, I felt powerful. Then I heard the growl.
It started out low and grew louder. I turned a corner to find a dark shadow in my path.
My breath caught in my throat, though I refused to scream. It stood on four legs, but its head was level with mine. A cross between a wolf and a bear, it had glowing red eyes and its breath came out steaming from its split nostrils.
I took a step back, then another.
It made a grunting noise, and I turned and ran as fast as I could back up the hill. I was panting by the time I’d made it back to the light and safety of the bonfire.
My first thought was to tell my mother, but I quickly thought better of it. How would I explain that I’d been wandering in the forest alone at night? My mother would be furious, and there was no explaining what had happened.
I sat at the edge of the fire and watched the flames leap and coil. I concluded that it was best to keep quiet. No harm had been done, after all.
By the time the hour drew near for the crowning of the King and Queen of Roses, my nerves had settled and I was ready to watch the coronation. As much as I did not want to watch William claim his prize kiss from my sister, I would never miss Snow’s crowning.
No one could deny that she looked lovely in the firelight, her hair undone and tousled from the dancing, her cheeks a pale pink.
The crown was made of the finest white roses, rare and precious, twined together and tied in place with string the color of silver.
Everyone clapped as Latham Rosewood placed the delicate tiara on her head.
Then it was William’s turn. His crown was made of deep red roses and tied together with golden string. He looked like a true king.
Then it was time for their kiss.
Snow took William’s hands in hers and gave him a little smile. The bonfire snapped and flames leapt behind them.
I willed myself to look away, or to kill that tiny spot in my heart that ached so. But I could do neither.
Snow drew nearer to him, their lips separated by the barest of breaths.
And then a scream split through the air.
Chapter 4: The Strangers and the Secret – Rose Red
The shriek made William and Snow jump apart, and I finally could breathe again.
“What was that?”
“Someone is in trouble in the forest.”
“Spread out and search the woods!”
Everyone spoke at once, each talking over the others.
Latham finally shouted over the others. “We’ll split up into search parties and scour the woods.”
The women were told to stay at the bonfire. Snow came to me and took my hand in hers.
“Where is mother?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.
We found her by the well, rushing to find us. She held us close, looking around fretfully.
“What trouble could find us here?” she whispered.
I pulled away from the two of them. “Why are you both so frightened?”
But neither answered. The image of the beast haunted me. If someone was hurt, it would be my fault.
“I’m going to search with the men,” I told my mother and sister. I might as well have said that I was going to fling myself off of a cliff.
“No!” my mother said forcefully. “It’s far too dangerous.”
“Don’t be insane,” Snow agreed.
“I know the briars better than anyone,” I said, trying to sound very reasonable.
“It isn’t safe,” my mother said.
I knew that it wasn’t safe—I knew that better than the others, because I had seen the beast. Now was the time to step forward and tell them, before it grew any later. I opened my mouth to speak, but then—
“We found them!”
The cry rang out from the far side of the bonfire. Everyone went to see.
“Now, now, be assured that all is well,” Latham Rosewood said to the crowd.
Visitors and traders came for the festival with the promise of roses and relative safety, but if they thought
the dangers too perilous, our village would surely wither like a rose in a draught. Everyone leaned in to get a look at these new visitors and to verify what Latham had claimed.
The first was a young woman, perhaps Snow’s age, with golden hair that fell around her shoulders. She had one bright blue eye, where the other should have been there was a ragged cloth tied around her head. She wore a patched and tattered brown gown of rough-spun wool. Her arm hung limp at her side, blood trickling down it.
The second was a man of the same age, his hair dark and his skin a copper color. He would have been very handsome, but for the scars that crossed his face. His eyes were nearly black, and he was taller than any man in our village, with thick, ropey muscles that did not seemed strained despite his burden. In his arms, he carried the third stranger.
Her gold hair was braided into a coil that looped around her head. She wore a rich red gown. And other than my sister, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her eyes were a startling shade of violet. Her lips were a gorgeous, lush red. She was tiny—or at least she looked so in the arms of such a bigger companion.
The strangers reached the center of the bonfire and slumped down on the benches.
“You’re hurt!” Coriander, the village healer, rushed forward with her apprentice.
“Tend to Shell first,” the littlest one said. “My sister’s arm is hurt.”
Coriander went to her and started to peel the cloth away from her arm. The girl—Shell, I supposed—winced, but didn’t say a word.
“And her eye?” Coriander asked.
“That was taken from her long ago,” the man said.
“Who are you, strangers?” Latham asked.
“My brother is a Huntsman,” the one called Shell said. “We have traveled far, our parents dead some years now. We were run off the road and are seeking safe haven.”
“You have found it here,” Latham said. “Now that you are with us, you are under our protection.”
“Thank you,” the girl said. “As my sister said, I am called Shell. My sister is called Imerine and my brother the Huntsman.”
Though Shell spoke, every eye was on the younger girl. Even Coriander was watching her, distracted from her patient. There was something hypnotic about Imerine’s beauty that would not let us look away.
