The Tears of the Rose

by Jeffe Kennedy

  When we reached the bottom of the narrow trail, where it widened again and our troop of guards had ridden three abreast so easily, the White Monk still stalked ahead of me, stiff gaited and seething. Needing to answer the call of nature, I ducked off the trail and went behind a bush. I didn’t tarry overlong, but before I caught up with him, he was charging up the trail, blade drawn, cowl thrown back and eyes bright with panic.

  His relief washed over me like the breeze off the mirrored lake in Annfwn, then crackled and crumbled into the ash he was named for under the heat of his rage.

  “I understand,” he gritted out. “You seek your revenge by toying with me. By testing me. Well played, Your Highness.”

  “Why in Glorianna’s name would I want revenge?” I replied, honestly dumfounded. “I had to pee.”

  He winced, making me smile. Okay, maybe that had been playing him a bit. But it was fun, too.

  “I apologize,” he ground out, “for hurting your feelings. I—”

  “You didn’t.” I cut him off right there. “I’m fine. It’s too bad you regret what happened, but I don’t.”

  Sheathing his blade, he refused to look at me. Like staring into the sun. I rolled my eyes, and the memory of Andi doing that so many times, and being elbowed by Ursula for it, hit me with fond nostalgia. In that moment, I knew I didn’t hate her anymore. Maybe I’d never really managed to. It felt good. As if a heavy burden had been lifted.

  “Are you laughing at me?” He sounded astonished, a draft of wounded male pride wafting low to the ground.

  “You know, I never thought I’d be in the position to say this to someone else, but not everything is about you.”

  His jaw worked as he chewed over that. Finally he inclined his head. “Your point, Highness.”

  “What will be my prize?” I asked archly.

  “I believe, since we failed to set terms, that the lady decides.” He gave me a short bow and waited.

  “Tell me about how you learned to heal, why you went to prison, and how you got the scars on your face.”

  He stilled. A deer about to flee into the forest. “A severe price—and three things, not one.”

  “Tell me they’re not connected and I’ll trim it to one.”

  A huff of that soundless laugh. “Adding to your armory of secrets to use against me, then.”

  “Ash.” I laid a hand on his chest, his heart booming underneath my touch, the hunted animal showing in his eyes. “I want to understand you. That’s all.”

  He laid his hand over mine and quirked his mouth, not quite a smile with the scar pulling it sideways, then stepped back and pulled the cowl deep around his face, as if to keep me from seeing him. “As you wish, Princess. But we should keep going.”

  I fell into step beside him.

  “You heard me tell part of the story—my father burned to death by the priest of Glorianna.”

  I shivered, not from the cold. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they had the latitude to do that.”

  “Latitude?” His breath puffed out in a cloud. “By whose charge? The High King declared that the Tala don’t exist; therefore, we could not be spoken of by anyone with allegiance to his government. Even if we can find our way to Annfwn, we can’t cross without a certain mysterious percentage of blood—unless we’re lucky enough to have assistance.

  “So, thanks to Salena, we were scattered across the Twelve Kingdoms, fighting her war, and then left to interbreed with and hide ourselves among the mossbacks.”

  “Mossbacks?”

  He turned his head and gave me his twist of a smile. “Non-Tala—because you can’t shape-shift.”

  “Can you shape-shift?” Such a thing had never occurred to me, despite everything.

  “No. Not all Tala can.”

  “Then it’s hardly a fair thing to call us,” I pointed out.

  “You can take it up with the committee.”

  “Okay, fine. Keep going.”

  “As for the latitude you speak of, High Priest Kir has long cultivated a belief among Glorianna’s chapels and priests that there are demons cloaked like wolves among sheep. Priests who rout them out and send proof of a kill are richly rewarded.”

  My mouth was dry, my lips cold. “What kind of proof?”

  “Blood.”

  “How does Kir tell Tala blood from another’s?”

  “Something I also want to know.”

  “Which is why you insinuated yourself into his company?”

  “One reason. But that’s not one of the stories you asked for.” He waited and I stayed silent so he’d continue. He took in a long breath and tipped his head to look at the sky. “So here’s a juicy secret for your arsenal—I killed the priest and retrieved my father’s blood.”

  We walked in silence while I assimilated that. I sent a prayer to Glorianna, expecting a sense of horror and outrage that he’d killed one of her priests, but nothing came. Except a rush of admiration for the lost and wounded thirteen-year-old boy who’d avenged his father.

  “Go on,” I said. Apparently that was enough for him.

  “Of course, I bungled it. I destroyed the blood, but they caught me and sent me to prison. I was not . . . a good prisoner.”

  Which explained the lashings.

  “I was so full of rage. Most days I felt more like a wild animal than a boy or a man. As if some beast was trying to claw its way out of me, shredding my humanity in the process.” He shook his head, the cowl moving back and forth. “What the prison guards didn’t destroy of my heart, the beast did.”

  “Because you couldn’t . . . change into the beast?”

  “Probably. Some think so. My father tried to teach me, before he died. For years. But we had to work in secret because my mother—rightly so, it turned out—feared we’d be discovered. Besides . . .” He paused, gathered himself to admit it. “I never could.”

  “Andi told me—she said something similar. That my daughter would need to come to Annfwn, to learn her magic, or it could tear her apart. I wonder if that’s what she means.”

  “If you want to learn from my tale, I’d take that advice seriously.”

  I mulled that over, letting him collect his thoughts, willing the smell of old failure away.

  “Fortunately”—his voice held deep irony for the word—“the prison teemed with Tala part-bloods. They taught me how to use my heritage to fight and win. When I hadn’t run afoul of the guards—which happened regularly—and thus was recovering from yet another lashing, I built my strength and speed. There wasn’t much else to do with ourselves.

  “We staged matches, which the guards encouraged, placing bets and pitting us one against the other. I liked winning, so I got better at it. Some of the others taught me how, though the inner beast couldn’t come out, I could use it to be even stronger and faster.”

  He paused and I gathered that some of those lessons had been harsh ones.

  “One old Tala man, though, who’d been in the prison and fought in the Great War—he recognized how the magic was killing me from the inside out. He caught me when I was down from a bad beating and couldn’t fight him off. He taught me to channel the beast. I couldn’t change my own flesh into something else, but I could heal myself to some extent and others even more so. I practiced on the other prisoners—the ones that let me—and learned something of compassion along with it. By then I was twenty-three.”

  I wanted to touch him then but felt I couldn’t. Ten years locked in that prison when he should have been growing up, learning to be a man.

  “He was the one who told me the way to Annfwn. And he told me about you.” Ash looked over at me then, gaze bright before he looked away. “You were but twelve years old then, younger than I was when I went to that place, and they sang songs about you that made it even into our hellhole.”

  I flushed, beyond uncomfortable, but he seemed to enjoy my discomfort, because he pressed on.

  “You want to understand me, Princess? Imagine a prisoner, beaten, starved, more animal
than man, living among other animals, discovering compassion for the first time in my life, finding that maybe I could do more than kill and destroy—and hearing about you.”

  “You hated me,” I whispered, puffing the words into the cold air.

  “I hated you,” he confirmed. “Living in your white palace with your father the High King, showered in jewels and dresses, favored by Glorianna—Her living avatar, they said—beautiful and perfect with the world at your feet.”

  “I don’t blame you.” How many others had felt that way? And I’d never given any of them a thought. Had never known they existed so I could. Living in a crystal bubble, indeed.

  “I loved you, too.” He spoke it as a confession, not looking at me still. “Obviously not you, the person. But the idea of you. I used to dream that I’d escape and track you down. That I’d kidnap you from your pretty palace, throw you over my shoulder, and . . .”

  “Ravage me?” I couldn’t help the humor in my voice. “And look at you now.”

  “It isn’t funny, Amelia.” His voice was tight with self-loathing.

  “It took me a long time to become a different person than that. That wounded boy—he’s gone. Buried under scar tissue. He didn’t even know what he really wanted.”

  “And yet, he found a way to have it.” I pointed out, feeling merciless.

  “It’s not the same.”

  He’d dug in his heels, but I knew that this lay at the core of his regret. As if his younger self had somehow managed to break free and steal me away, raping me in the wilderness. Though we both knew the truth of how it had gone between us.

  “Tell me the rest. Your escape and the scars.”

  “You assume I escaped?”

  “I know there are no pardons.”

  He was quiet a moment. “How long have you known that?”

  I shrugged a little. “It wasn’t part of my world, but I suppose I’ve always known that, on some level. But Marin told me, when she told me what the scars meant.”

  “The ones on my face?”

  “The lash marks. She said the ones on your face are from burns.” I said it matter-of-factly, the only way I could think of to show him I didn’t care about them.

  “I see. I escaped because a man I healed was capable of gratitude. He killed three guards to set me free, knowing they’d execute him for it.”

  “He gave his life because you saved it? That makes no sense.”

  “I know. He said that it was the only thing anyone had ever done for him out of the goodness of their heart and he didn’t want to live long enough to forget the feeling.”

  “Glorianna save us,” I breathed.

  “She had nothing to do with it.”

  I almost argued but decided to wait. Perhaps meditate on the matter. “After you escaped, then?”

  “Prisoners are branded, with an emblem on their chests and on their cheeks—did you know that part?”

  “No.” My stomach, which had been behaving so well, turned over. Farmers branded their animals in springtime in Mohraya, and sometimes the flower-scented breezes also carried the smell of burned flesh and the panicked cries of young creatures. “I’ve never seen one, I think.”

  He laughed, soundlessly. “You wouldn’t. It’s the surest way to be recaptured and sent to the nearest prison. So the first night I was free, I cut mine off with a knife I stole from a farmhouse. I also took an oil lantern, a loaf of bread, and a chunk of cured jerky.” He recited the list as if he were enumerating his sins. I imagined he repeated them to himself, in the sealed-over recesses of his mind, those scarred places he claimed no longer capable of tender feeling.

  “I was worried that the placement of the scars would be too obvious. So I doused them with oil from the lantern and . . .”

  “Oh, stop!” I held up a hand, trying to master the image, then lost it and turned away, puking into the snow. He held me, bracing my forehead with his hand. Not revolted by it. Of course, he’d seen much worse than my sick.

  “I’m sorry, Ami,” he whispered, gravelly. “I didn’t think.”

  “No.” I kicked snow over my puke and grabbed some fresh to rinse my mouth before facing him. “It’s not your fault. I’m weak stomached these days and the thought of you . . .” Truly his scars had never bothered me much, I’d been so tortured by what lurked in his pained gaze. But now I couldn’t look away. Compelled, I pulled off my glove and reached up to touch the rippling scars. He flinched, then held still, wariness in the air, and then something else. I glimpsed him then, that young man Ash thought had died. He looked at me with such love and longing, I could barely breathe.

  His eyes locked with mine, Ash slowly turned his head and pressed his roughened lips against my palm.

  A shout in the distance had us both shading our eyes to look out over the glittering snow. Graves and the other soldiers trotted toward us over the meadow, waving and calling out in relieved joy. They were fine—and even had our horses—exactly as Andi had promised.

  22

  “At last,” Ash spoke with pained irony, pulling away, “rescue arrives.”

  “Thank you for telling me your story.”

  He regarded me with a twist of a smile, already sealing himself off again. “You’re the only one I’ve ever told.”

  “I’ll keep your secrets.”

  “Not that it matters. Do as you wish—I don’t expect you to protect me.”

  I put my hand on Ash’s cloaked arm. “Nor do I plan to, even if I thought you needed it. But I want you to finish your quest. Graves and the others can see me safely to Windroven.”

  He looked down at my gloved hand on his arm, still unwilling to see the face, that so troubled him. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m telling you to go. Back up the hill and across the border. Your destiny awaits in Annfwn. You deserve the chance to take it.”

  “Princess Amelia!” Graves called out, clearly having forgotten his earlier cautions. Though it hardly mattered anymore. “Are you all right? Were you harmed in any way?”

  “I’m fine, Commander,” I said, stepping away from Ash and drawing myself up. “We have been concerned for you.”

  “It was the damnedest thing.” He shook his head and Skunk grimaced in agreement. “We were climbing that path, thinking you were right behind us, and then we seemed to be going downhill. We found ourselves in the next drainage over, with no path behind us and none of you in sight. It’s taken all night and most of the day to make our way around.”

  Sliding off his horse and sinking to one knee, Graves yanked off his helm and bowed his head. “I failed you, Your Highness. As a soldier derelict in his duty, I accept whatever punishment you deem right and just. I only ask that you allow us to try again to reach the border. After that, should you wish to have me executed, I’ll at least die knowing I completed my mission.”

  “You weren’t derelict, Commander.” I placed my hand on his bent head. “You faced a cunning enemy who simply waged the battle on a different field. Now rise.”

  I stepped back and nearly trod on Ash’s toes, he stood so close behind me. Ignoring him, I said, “Besides, the White Monk and I reached the border.”

  The air around me stilled, tense and waiting.

  “And the mission?” Graves asked, carefully.

  I shook my head. “Neither of us could even see where it was. The rumors are true. No one can enter Annfwn. It’s as if it fell off the map.”

  “Sad news, indeed, Your Highness.”

  “Yes. I propose to leave the White Monk here, to keep an eye on the border in Glorianna’s name. He can stay at yon cabin through the winter. My midwife is taking shelter there.”

  I looked up at Ash over my shoulder, his transparent gaze at last meeting mine. “You’ll indulge me in this request, White Monk, yes?”

  He wavered, uncertain. That turbulent mix of emotions tumbled around us. I stared him down, willing him to take the opportunity.

  “As you wish, Princess.” He inclined his head. “Tomorrow
I will watch you ride away without me.”

  I gave him a court smile, full of benevolent pleasure, but a bitter taste of regret lingered in my mouth.

  Marin greeted us at the cabin as if we’d only been out for a short pleasure jaunt. Of course she couldn’t know all that had transpired, but her unflappability made for a welcome homecoming.

  The soldiers cooked a stew and we sat around the fire, exchanging more of our stories. The only deaths had been the horse and soldier who went over the cliff, which only one of the men had witnessed and seemed to remember only vaguely.

  That disturbed me, in a forlorn way, but Graves’s insistent questions about our experience wouldn’t let me dwell on it. Fortunately Ash stepped in to elaborate on my thin story, inventing a convenient cave where we sheltered for the night before trying to find the impassable border once more. He never wavered from my tale, that neither of us could pass through, even when we thought we might have come close to it, for which I was grateful.

  Though he carefully avoided looking at me, the bit of silent collusion gave me a cozy sense of companionship with him. Even if we never saw each other again, at least we would forever share these secrets. His and mine, tied together.

  Something private for me to hold on to, like my mother’s treasure chest. Perhaps I’d sew something out of the silk scraps I’d saved from the night before. A memento.

  I meditated on it while I brushed my hair and Ash—and the other soldiers—pretended not to watch. Here in the remote cabin on frozen ground, he didn’t fill my senses as he had in Annfwn, but I knew enough of him to separate his desire from the idle lust of the others. His had a certain bittersweet flavor to it.

  I needed just one more taste—and I had no intention of ever again missing out on something because I hadn’t asked for it.

  As everyone settled into their blankets for the night, I announced that I needed to answer the call of nature, yet again. Sometimes being with child offers convenient excuses. As I knew he would, Ash ignored the groans of the other soldiers and said he’d go with me, for protection.

  The others were happy enough to leave us to it, though Marin gave me the side eye. As with Andi, though, she didn’t judge. Of course, she liked Ash. More than she did me, when it came down to it. Somehow the thought didn’t sting as much as it once had.