The Rose Master

by Valentina Cano

  I sighed and left the dining room to slump off to my room. The silence in the manor was thick, and it had me listening for impending screams. I should be getting ready to work, not preparing to sleep. What would Ms. Simple say? And Dora; who knew the things she’d imagine! But they’d been the master’s orders, and frankly, if God himself had come down and commanded me to work, I would have stuck my tongue out at him and gone to sleep.

  I woke hours later to the golden rays of the afternoon sun resting on my bedclothes. A sense of panic filled me as I realized I’d slept most of the day away, all my chores forgotten. I dressed in a hurry and left my room.

  “Well, look who’s up,” Dora said as she walked toward me from her room. She smiled, all teeth and gums, reminding me of a growling dog. “Lord Grey came down earlier to notify the rest of us lowly servants that we should allow you to sleep, since you had a long night. Mighty peculiar, if you ask me.”

  My cheeks warmed, but I kept my eyes on Dora’s face. “We were talking. About,” I swept my arm around, “all of this.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you were.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Dora.”

  She chuckled. “No, of course not. Not when you have the master on your side.”

  “That’s enough, Dora,” Ms. Simple interrupted as she stepped out of her room. She looked tired, her eyes betraying her troubled mind. “Don’t you think there’s sufficient hostility in this house?”

  Dora huffed and left the servant’s quarters, anger trailing behind her.

  “Don’t pay her any mind, Anne. I’m afraid Dora is feeling the sting of jealousy.”

  “Jealousy? Over what?”

  Ms. Simple smiled. “Regardless of what she says, she’s always had a fondness for the young master, ever since she first met him, years ago. Even Miss Bellingham, God rest her soul, noticed Dora’s infatuation the times she stayed at Rosewood. Of course, Lord Grey has never paid too much attention to it. On the contrary, the majority of the time, he does his best to avoid the poor girl. She can be rather frustrating, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She took my hand in hers. “So, you see, Anne, for you to earn all this attention from Lord Grey must be a bitter tonic for Dora.”

  I nodded as her words swiped away the irritation I felt. “But, Ms. Simple, I didn’t mean to hurt her like that.” I paused as her words sunk in. “Wait, what happened to Miss Bellingham?”

  “Oh, child, she died. Jumped to her death after her father’s murder. A tragedy that marked poor Lord Grey almost as much as his mother’s passing.”

  A flash of one of Lord Grey’s memories glowed in my head. That letter he’d received, the one he’d torn to pieces, it had had a black ribbon around it. Only now did I recognize it as a mourning band.

  “Speaking of Lord Grey,” Ms. Simple said, “he has asked that you join him in the main hall. He’s requested that we remain in our rooms while you work with him.” She squeezed my hand. “Anne, what will you be working on?”

  “I don’t know, Ms. Simple. I honestly don’t know.”

  As I walked out of the servant’s quarters, I began to hear sounds form the main hall—the dull thuds of moving furniture. I moved through the hallways, afraid of the next disaster I might encounter, but as I rounded the corner, I saw Lord Grey, sleeves rolled up, trousers streaked with dust, dragging chairs from the nearby rooms.

  I considered returning to bed. I was not up to whatever he was planning.

  He turned and saw me. “Good, you’re up.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I did not realize I’d slept so long.”

  He was not listening to me, but eyeing the tiles under his feet, his brow creased in concentration.

  “Sir, would you like me to prepare a meal for you? Sir?”

  “What? Oh, no, I’m in no need of nourishment, but I suggest you eat something. You’ll need it.”

  “But—”

  He waved me in the vague direction of the kitchen, and I could do nothing but obey. The mess in the main hall didn’t bode well. I had not an inkling what he needed chairs for, and I didn’t want to ponder on it too long.

  I didn’t want to enter the kitchen, not after the previous night and the knowledge I now held, but as I couldn’t very well step out for pastries at the corner shop, I mustered up my courage and entered. Taking a slice of bread quickly out of the pantry, I went into the hall to eat. The bread had the texture of sawdust. When I finished, I dragged myself back into Lord Grey’s presence.

  He was seated on the first stair-step, hands knitted together, his head resting on them.

  “Sir.”

  His head sprang up and, for a moment, his kaleidoscope eyes did not know me. But as their swirling hues trailed my own, I saw the focus return to his face.

  “Come here, Anne.”

  I moved next to him as he stood.

  “I trust you ate something?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Without warning, he pushed me onto one of the chairs, the one in the center of the hall. He didn’t lay a finger on me, but struck me with a concrete wave of tentacled power. I yelped in painful surprise.

  I only had time to stand before another muscular current flung me into another chair. I landed against the armrest, my back flaring in pain as fear filled my limbs. I gripped the chair and looked up at Lord Grey, who was as still and impassive as the staircase next to him—two dark nightmares.

  I caught a flicker of movement in his eyes and knew he was about to attack again. In a reflex, I raised my arms and felt an uncoiling deep within me.

  A weightlessness took over, as if I’d dropped all the flesh I possessed and became just my two eyes.

  I could see Lord Grey through a circle of air that trembled, and his face was taut with effort. My concentration cracked as panic at what I was experiencing set in and the lead-like blood returned to my body, knocking me down into the chair. At least it was the same chair. He hadn’t been able to move me.

  I was trembling in shock. Even after all I’d seen the past three weeks, I was nowhere near used to facing evidence of that kind of power.

  Lord Grey jogged toward me, pulling the first seat with him, and sat down in front of me with a sigh.

  I flinched, but he raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I apologize that I had to frighten you, but I had to see what I could pull out of you. You see, with beginning students of magic, the powers only truly surface when the receptacle fears for his or her life. It’s instinctual.”

  “That was a test?” My voice was harsh in my throat.

  “Yes.”

  “Bloody wonderful. You nearly broke my back.” I bit off the words. The nonsense had gone on long enough.

  “I couldn’t very well place you delicately on the chair, could I? Besides, I thought a chair would be better than the hard floor.” He met my anger with sarcasm that only fueled my irritation.

  I rose, ready to leave, but he took my arm in his hand. His fingers brushed my skin before he jerked them back in a quick recoil. As I watched, his body crumpled in a cough, making the anger I felt shift somewhat to concern. Since my skin still prickled where his flesh had met mine, and my back still ached from where I’d hit the chair, I wasn’t in the most sympathetic of moods.

  When he got his breathing under control, he spoke again. “I had to show you what you could do.”

  “And now what? What do you have in mind, sir?”

  “Now, I have to teach you how to call up that power when and however you like. It needs to become an arm or a leg, just another dependable limb.”

  “And if I don’t learn? What happens then?”

  He stood. “You must leave or be killed.”

  “Those are my only options?”

  He threw me a slicing stare. “They’re better than mine.”

  There was nothing I could say to that; he was right.

  “But the creature won’t allow you to teach me, it’ll do whatever it can to prevent it.”


  He nodded. “We must be smarter.” His voice flattened. “Do you think you can manage that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fetch me a candle, then.”

  With fear and confusion worming through my stomach, I ran to the kitchen and into the moldy pantry, where a whole box of candles rested. I grabbed one, then another just in case, and a box of matches.

  In the hall, Lord Grey had pushed the chairs back and had cleared a space on the floor where he’d placed a simple candleholder. He stretched out his hand for the candle, taking caution not to touch me. He waved away the matches.

  “All right, sit.”

  He curled his legs up, like an animal tucking in its tail, and sat on the cold stone tiles. The image of a manor’s Lord, sitting cross-legged while attempting to force the candle to remain upright in its holder was a shock to my nerves. I coughed to veil a laugh.

  “Damn thing . . .” he muttered.

  “Here, sir, let me.”

  He flinched back as I took the wax candle in hand and squeezed forcefully into the tight, silver opening. It did not waver when I removed my hands.

  As I looked up, I caught a fleeting smile on Lord Grey’s lips. He cleared his throat.

  “We’ll begin with something simple, something we may repeat as much as necessary without tiring. I’m going to light this candle. It is your job to snuff it out. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, I understand what you mean, but I don’t know how I’ll accomplish it.”

  He looked down at his hands, and brought one up along with his eyes. “This power we have is a muscle, like the muscles in our hands. As infants, our hands could not function with the delicacy they can now. What brought on that change? Use. Constant, dedicated use. And need, of course. If you can train your hands to sew, you can train your body to wield the energy it houses.”

  I winced. “Sewing is not my strongest ability.”

  “Wrong example, then. It makes no difference. The point remains: concentration and training are the keys.”

  He fell silent, his eyes on the naked candle. He inhaled, seeming to tug at the space around the wick and pulled a flame from the air.

  I couldn’t help gasping. He had created fire out of nothing! Lord Grey closed his eyes and then looked up at me. “Your turn.”

  I focused on the fire, its light still in the calm air. In silence, I commanded it to die, to flicker off in a trail of smoke. My mind was a labyrinth of words, crowding against each other to try to find the combination that would open the cache of power. Nothing was happening.

  “Stop thinking,” Lord Grey said, as if my thoughts were loud enough for him to hear.

  “The flame is the only thing that matters, the only things that exists.”

  But my thoughts persisted, one chasing the other as I thought of all he’d told me the previous night. I shuddered and yanked my eyes away.

  “Again,” he said.

  And so we did. Minutes turned into hours, the flame lowering as the wax fell in thick drops onto the silver. When my eyes blurred and my head’s pounding was too painful to endure, I shook my head.

  “Can’t do it, sir.”

  “That’s nonsense. You can, and you will.”

  He sighed and released all the tightness from his voice.

  “That’s probably enough for today, however. I’m afraid your brains will leak out of your ears.” He leapt to his feet as I blinked back my shame. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I could use some water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He headed toward the kitchen, while I picked the candle and myself up off the floor. I stared deeply into the flame, shook my head, and blew it out in one breath.

  seventeen

  The smell of charred vegetables was strong enough to be nauseating as I entered the kitchen. Lord Grey stood, facing out into the night as he drank water in long swallows.

  Dora, or most likely Ms. Simple, had left me a covered dish at my place on the table, and I was sure the Master had one in the dining room also. I’d been hungry after the long hours in front of the candle, but the dish’s smell alone made my face scrunch up.

  Perhaps I could make a meal for the two of us, since Dora was probably sleeping and would not be able to take offense over something she knew nothing about.

  Walking into the pantry, I peered at the items that were viable to use for dinner. Not much to choose from in terms of variety—potatoes, onions, more potatoes.

  “I’m afraid there are not many food options left, sir.”

  He didn’t turn. “John should be arriving any day now.”

  I rolled my eyes at his distraction. “Yes, sir. I just wanted you to be aware I won’t be able to prepare an entirely satisfying meal.”

  “Oh, there’s no need, at least, not for my sake.” He turned and stepped across the floor to the doorway.

  “Sir, you must eat something.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with me.” His words were harsh, but I would not be cowed. I could not have him half-starved in the madness we were submerged in.

  “Sir. I will be bold enough to say you will not last long in the condition you are in. Too thin, too tired, and ill, I dare say. If something were to happen, we have little means of getting help. So, with all due respect, I will scramble up some dinner, and you will eat it.”

  I didn’t look to see his reaction, but bent to pick up the lumpy potatoes and flaky onions, cradling them to my breast.

  I didn’t hear Lord Grey leave, but when I glanced about, he was gone. I set to concocting whatever culinary magic I could.

  The best choice was a soup, potatoes and onions lending taste and texture to the otherwise pale broth. I gathered herbs, dried sprigs of rosemary that smelled like tree sap, ground pepper, and sweet basil that took command of the entire pot. I sipped a spoonful and, though a bit on the weak side, it had flavor and was at least burning hot. I took the time to toast some of the bread which was a day old, but still serviceable if crisped.

  As I carried the serving tray with Lord Grey’s meal to the dining room, my stomach began to wail again in hunger, a low lament that vibrated throughout my body.

  To my surprise, Lord Grey was already seated in his chair, head in hand. He threw me a look that dripped irritation as I placed the tray before him. “There was a dish here for me already,” he said.

  I eyed the meal Dora had prepared and moved it aside. “It’s better to have a fresh dish, not one that’s been sitting there for hours.” And would probably shrivel up his organs, I thought, but did not add.

  He picked up his spoon, and I retreated.

  “Where’s your plate?” he asked.

  “In the kitchen, sir.”

  “You couldn’t manage to carry two plates?”

  “Sir, why would I bring mine here just to return it to the kitchen?”

  “Ah, so you’re planning on eating there.”

  I stared. Was he daft? Need I run to the door and away from the lunatic and his rose-scented hallucinations?

  “It’s where I always eat, sir.”

  He sighed. “What nonsense. Bring your plate here, Anne. It’s beyond ridiculous to have you across the house. There’s more than enough room for the two of us.”

  “Sir!”

  “It’s ridiculous and dangerous. Bring your plate.”

  In confusion, a feeling that was becoming more familiar by the minute, I returned to the kitchen to fetch my plate.

  I couldn’t help noticing though, as I entered the dining room again, that Lord Grey had waited for me before beginning. Just good manners, I supposed.

  He pointed to a chair on his right and I placed my food down. I stared straight ahead, but could still see as he lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips. He paused half-way through chewing some potato chunks, his eyes narrowing to dark slits.

  “You know how to cook,” he said.

  “I was a scullery maid for many years, sir.”

  “A scullery maid.” The chuckle wove
n through his voice made me shift to look at him.

  “Is something amusing, sir?”

  “Just the thought of it is quite funny. With your temper, I would never have let you near the knife drawer.”

  His eyes lifted from his plate in a surge of energy that sent my hands tingling. He held my eyes in his own for a few seconds, then placed his spoon down and cleared his throat.

  I found I’d lost my appetite. My heart galloped at a painful speed, sending my blood racing in a frenzy through my veins. It felt peculiar to be sitting there, the two of us alone, sharing a meal as equals.

  It was almost a relief when a cold current stepped like a person into the room. We both felt it, and exchanged a neutral glance, Lord Grey already encased behind his icy sarcasm once more.

  I shivered as a wave of air passed behind me.

  “It cannot harm you in this room, not with the mirror watching,” Lord Grey said.

  Small comfort when I felt like I was being swallowed up by winter.

  The mirror began to hum with power, the symbols beneath its surface pulsing like a heart. Soon, the creature moved on to sit beside the master as he sipped his wine. I could see his knuckles through his thin skin, fury and pain gripping Lord Grey’s slight body.

  “That’s enough,” he said.

  A low laugh bubbled out and the cold evaporated.

  “I think we should attempt to get some sleep,” he said, after we’d pushed the food around our plates for a few more minutes. His eyes closed in damp exhaustion. I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me.

  “Yes, sir. All right.”

  Scrubbing our dishes clean took only a matter of minutes and soon, I was ready to sink into sleep. Even after the long slumber I’d had that morning, I felt heavy and sluggish. If anything, the nap had made me realize how tired I was. Like a sip of water when thirsty, I needed more.

  As I was leaving the kitchen, I heard the painful sound of coughing trailing down the staircase. I moved toward it and listened. The sound jolted yet another memory loose. My mother, coughing through endless minutes at a time, her body shaking with the sharp spasms. Where were these memories coming from?