Bound by Roses (The Bound Series Book 1)

by Jonathan Lazar

  Eleven.

  The images surface faded as mist does when the sun rises in the morning sky. Only the ghostly after image of Saledii sitting upon her throne remained, but even that too disappeared. The glow gone, the surface cracked. The Shattered One’s face returned.

  Marguerite looked upon the Mirror. She held back tears, “That cannot be all there is to tell regarding Rose?”

  “You know the rest of the story, Marguerite. She who betrayed, was herself betrayed,” the Mirror spoke openly.

  “Who?” Marguerite asked.

  “Why ask a question that one already knows the answer to?” The Shattered One’s childish voice returned a question.

  Marguerite pounded upon the Shattered One’s surface with a single fist. It rippled and bounced. The cracks glowing brightly, sparks flew into the air, numbing Marguerite’s skin, “Then answer me. Is she truly the daughter of the Wolf Queen?”

  Marguerite pounded more. “Tell me!”

  Her heart beat and tears formed in her eyes. Her numbed skin faded.

  “She is. And she is working tirelessly. Working to unite all the fallen Clans under a single banner once more. Working to undo all that have been done to eradicate the daemon bloodline. She is also searching,” the Shattered One commented.

  “Searching? For what?” The Mirror’s words caught her attention.

  “That which is hidden from my sights. Scattered, and fractured as my surface is. It calls to her. Calls one other,” the Mirror spoke.

  “What of the one controlling her? With powers like the Queen?”

  “Just that, one like her. Power great, but she too is shielded from me,” the Mirror tried to gaze hard into nothingness, but could not.

  “Powerful indeed if she can hide herself from a Mirror’s sight,” Marguerite stepped back. A chill from the Mirror’s gaze ran through her.

  “Not by her own doing, but of another. A Fairy. Their magic pulls the darkness over my eyes. If she is to be protected as such, powerful she must be, and dangerous if controlling the fledgling Wolf Queen. I am afraid that is all I can see.” The Shattered One spoke.

  “I need to know who this person is,” Marguerite pleaded.

  “To see past the Fairies magic, you seek out the one blessed by twelve and cursed by the thirteenth. Seek out Mora Rose,” the Shattered One said.

  Marguerite moved away slowly from the Mirror disheartened, “where must I go to find her?”

  “She rests in a palace far to the West. Protected by a forest of thorns,” the Mirror gazed into nothing as it spoke. She knew that look well. Specularii would give the same gaze as it too talked.

  She began to leave but stopped, “What must I look for?”

  “I do not know Lady White, for that is beyond mine own sight. But the Mirror, Specularii, you keep locked away with the Seven, does. For he has been there before, having spent centuries locked away in the coldest depths.”

  Marguerite looked away from the broken Mirror when the Captain screamed for her, “Lady White!”

  Marguerite turned back towards the Mirror, “What is happening?”

  “At the moment, trouble stirs high above!” The Mirror commented as Marguerite walked away. “You must go!”

  The Mirror’s face faded away. The tranquil green glow vanished. The hidden wall closed silently. Marguerite stopped short of the stairs. A presence watched her. She turned only to find Grandmother, Lady Aka sitting, rocking and knitting. The ancient woman had a glow to her.

  “Tell me, Grandmother. How can I not judge Rose for having my father poisoned?” Marguerite asked.

  “Love, Snow White,” Grandmother knitted away but stared deeply into Marguerite, “Love can forgive all. Love will allow you to see why she did what she did. Love will persevere over all obstacles ahead.”

  Marguerite stood silent. She wanted to smile. She wanted to cry. A deep sniff held it back. Iritis called again, “Lady White!”

  Marguerite did not look away Grandmother, “I am coming!”

  “You must hurry,” Grandmother said.

  “Where is what I intended to find?”

  “Gone for sometime,” Grandmother knitted away happily as she talked to Marguerite, “Traded as was told. But enough questions about the past, my dear Snow White. The future of my city hangs upon a delicate thread. Your words may lead the people above to a course that will have ramifications they cannot even have dreamt.”

  “Lady White!” Captain Iritis called a third time.

  Grandmother stopped her knitting and cut a piece of yarn with her teeth. Its snap echoed louder than it should have. It spooked Marguerite. The old woman handed the silvery cord to Marguerite, “Take the string child. It will guide you, when you have lost the light.”

  The string fell into Marguerite’s open palm. It was cool. It melted and wrapped around her middle finger. Pondering the old woman’s words carefully, Marguerite left her alone in the darkening room.

  “My Lady!”

  Marguerite rushed up and out of the fireplace, where it sealed itself instantly behind her. Breathes heavy.

  “Trouble outside. In the streets,” Captain Iritis entered Saledii’s chamber. The candles flames spent.

  “What kind of trouble?” Marguerite questioned.

  “The citizens,” Captain Iritis stated as he and Marguerite left from Saledii’s chamber, “They are not happy.”

  “Define unhappy, Captain,” Marguerite demanded.

  “They are massing once more,” Iritis commented.

  “I wonder if they have finished their vote?” Marguerite asked.

  The two rushed past the handmaidens who ignored all to do their duty to their dead ruler. One held tight to the white linens, while the second possessed the bronze pitcher of oil. They entered, opened the drapes and began to anoint the oil along all of Saledii’s pale, green tinged skin.

  Outside the palace, citizens massed. Spurred and angered on by a merchant. A merchant, mysteriously beautiful, who overheard Marguerite and her Captain speak. The citizens marched upon the palace. Many carried torches, with flames that disappeared in the daylight. Some tossed pieces of stone up and down in their hands. They entered the courtyard. They filed around the statue of Gozran. Some climbed upon it to see better. They stopped their advance when Marguerite exited through the splintered wooden doors. Ashy remains brushed to either side. The merchant stood behind the gathered crowd, arms folded, eyes gazed upon the situation. Guards from Ashok Orai moved to stand between the crowd and Marguerite.

  “Look friends! Lady White has made herself at home,” the Merchant’s ethereal voice called out from behind the crowd.

  “I paid my respects to Saledii, nothing more,” Marguerite began.

  “It is only a matter of time before Zhan’ding does not exist and the House of Red falls!” An angry citizen threw a stone towards a soldier.

  “Saledii was the last scion. The House of Red has already fallen!” Marguerite yelled, trying to calm their voices, bare palms high in the air. “And yes, this city will fall next. But I am not the one looking to steal it away from you!”

  “Lies.” Another citizen cried out. Another stone flew. Marguerite ducked. The stone bounced through the throne room. She could hear it stop when it collided with the throne.

  “I look to preserve what is left of your city. You must believe me,” Marguerite called.

  “Nothing but lies from Ashok Orai scum!”

  “The Wolves reform. It is only a matter of time before they bring this city to its knees!” Marguerite declared. The barrage of bricks now less frequent towards her and her soldiers.

  “We will protect ourselves as we have always done. Without, the House of White!” Another screamed over the mob.

  The merchant backed away and giggled watching events unfold and disappeared into the shadows of those around.

  “Ashok Orai was willing to help—the call was never given—but how will you protect this city now?” Marguerite questioned, “Most of your soldiers were killed.�
�

  The angry crowd grew silent. Stones stopped flying. Many of them began to ponder the question. Many began to ponder the reality of their situation. Murmurs began. Questions asked by one, “what will we do?”

  We will find a way

  Zhan’ding has always found a way! The voices cried out.

  Those surrounding cheered in agreement, her voice crystal clear. The longer the crowd stood before the palace, the more citizens joined. An Ashok Orai Soldier on horseback approached. Pulling before Marguerite, he blocked the crowd’s view of her,

  “What is the word?” Marguerite wondered.

  “Citizens have barricaded the main gate and are not allowing any refugees to make the trek,” the Soldier stated.

  “We will not allow any Citizens of our great city to be removed from their home!” The woman called loudly, so that Marguerite could hear.

  “We are only moving those that wish to be moved,” Marguerite rushed past another soldier on horse.

  “Yet your own words were to forcefully remove as for our own safety,” the woman called, “is that now true?”

  Marguerite bit her lip, and looked away. Iritis touched her shoulder, “You do not have to answer them.”

  “I do,” Marguerite removed the Iritis’ hand, “For they are my words.”

  The woman smirked. The crowed gasped and jeered. Another rock flew. It spooked the horse behind Marguerite. The majestic creature reared back, legs swung wildly in the air, its rider thrown off. Free, the horse sprinted away. The crowd parted to allow it to go. Marguerite and Iritis helped the soldier up, only his arm was broken. Iritis shouldered the soldier as Marguerite moved forward,

  “They are my words, but everything I spoke, I spoke out of concern for you all. Nothing more.”

  The crowd dispersed. Many dispersed to their destroyed homes, unwillingly to hear any more from Lady White. Her words no longer carried on the Winds as they once did. A lone Minister that survived the onslaught limped forward. Head bandaged, arm in a sling, robes bloodied by not only his blood, but also the dead Ministers.

  “The citizens of Zhan’ding have spoken, Lady White. They will not leave their home, some, the only place they have ever known,” the Minister said. Fingers from his free arm twitched at this side.

  “Minister?” Marguerite stared down the short and slender man, “you were all presumed dead.”

  “Yes well, when one is as tiny as myself, it is easy to get lost amongst the dead,” the Minister chuckled to himself.

  Marguerite did not join in. She merely stared at the Minister, “Forgive my ignorance, but I am not up to date on all the Ministers of Zhan’ding.”

  The Minister limped forward. Blood crusted robes drug along the rubble of the courtyard, “Your ignorance is understandable. Having been out of direct communication with Lady Red does have that affect.”

  The Minister stopped before Marguerite, but did not bow, “To refresh, I was Junior Minister Toran, but I guess with the others gone, I am now the most Senior Minister in the city.” He chuckled again.

  “Does one man truly speak for all?” Marguerite called out to the few that remained in the courtyard. She could not bear to look at the broken Minister, “I offer the invitation to any and all who wish to be safe within Ashok Orai.”

  “You have asked for our vote, and we have cast it,” Minister Toran stated. Fingers continued to twitch at his side. Marguerite could not tell if it was a nervous twitch, or if he did it to seem less threatening.

  A few hopefuls that wished to start a new life in tried to linger. A flick of the Minster’s head and they were shown to their homes by those adamant that they remain. Minister Toran rubbed his bandaged arm.

  Marguerite huffed, “Very well, Minister Toran. At least allow us to leave soldiers to help fight?”

  “Your kindness is flattering but unneeded,” Toran said.

  “Who will protect you?” Iritis asked.

  “Our men will protect us. Our children will protect us,” the Minister spoke proudly, “our woman will protect us.”

  “You are a bigger fool than I believed Minister,” Marguerite clenched her fists and could barely look upon the man before her.

  “They will protect us with the swords that their predecessors used to defend this city!” The woman joined along side the Minister, a rusted sword clutched tight in her hand. She pointed the blades tip towards Marguerite and Iritis.

  “What of those that wish to no longer dwell here?” Marguerite questioned.

  “They will remain. We will survive as we always have, and I ask kindly that you see to the return of our citizens that are being held against their will,” the Minister asked.

  “None are held against their will,” Iritis barked.

  “Then return them,” Minister Toran said.

  “You act as if we stole them away!” Marguerite bit her lip face grew red. Both the Minister and woman remained silent before her.

  “And if none wish to return?” Marguerite wondered.

  “They were forcefully removed. They can be forced to return,” Minister Toran held his nose high to Marguerite. Voice bellowed in the courtyard. Cheers greeted it.

  “Very well. Those that have been relocated shall return. All soldiers removed from the city.” She turned upon Iritis.

  “Lady White, you cannot seriously give into these demands!”

  “Spread the word, now Captain!” Marguerite barked her orders through nearly pursed lips.

  Captain Iritis relieved a soldier and took his place upon the horse. A flick of the reigns and Iritis flew from the courtyard. He called to all Ashok Orai soldiers. He called the order to return to Ashok Orai.

  “We thank you from the bottom of our broken hearts,” the Minister tried to bow, but winced. He grabbed his broken ribs.

  “May the Gods have mercy upon Zhan’ding, Minister,” Marguerite spit upon the ground.

  She saddled her white horse and with caravan of Soldiers made their way from the palace to what remained of the city gates.

  As Marguerite waited the unbarring of the gate, women held their children high into air. Held them high in the vain hope that Lady White would spare the children the fate, which awaited their parents. The fate that awaited those that served Zhan’ding. Cries of anguish accompanied every person with a child. She kept her gaze forward as best she could. The broken gate creaked open on one side.

  A mother called out to Marguerite as she rode past to the open gate, “Why will you not save our children?”

  “Your sole surviving Minister, will not allow me to save your children,” Marguerite stared forward.

  The House of White is nothing but monsters! Another called.

  Monsters!

  You have doomed us all!

  “I have been told everyone is to stay in the city,” Marguerite cried out as she made her exit.

  What of the children?

  The children! Please! The children.

  More parents called out, their children and babies high in their arms.

  Save the children!

  Many cried into their hands. Cried into their children’s shoulders as they cuddled them close, and tight.

  Marguerite stopped her advance to the city gate and called out,

  “My hands are tied by your blind, Minister Toran. He is the monster you should show your children too. He is the monster who will train your children to fight. Train your children to die!”

  Moans of anguish, of sadness, and cries and pleads.

  Marguerite from that moment on, kept a blind eye, and ear as best she could. A blind eye that filled with tears as more and more shoved their children into the air. Crying for them to be spared. The road was the longest she had ever ridden, in all her years of exiting the city. Marguerite’s breathes erratic, face wet from tears. Citizens rushed the gates, but were stopped by soldiers with shields. They were blockaded in.

  Cries disappeared when the splintered gates to the city closed. Silence overtook Marguerite’s ears. Even the hor
se’s hooves could not penetrate the deathly silence. Upon the silence of the main road, Marguerite cried into her hands. She wept hard for all that transpired. She cried as her horse followed the others slowly along the road.

  Ophiuchi appeared in a billow of grey smoke before the fractured gate. The Fairy stared as Marguerite’s caravan made its trek back to Ashok Orai. Black robes melted into the shadows cast by the great gate.

  Feeling of being watched, Marguerite wiped her eyes and turned to find the Fairy staring at her in black robes with wide eyes and smirk upon the lips.

  Ophiuchi watched her carefully. Watched the caravan of soldiers slink away back to Ashok Orai. One by one they disappeared into the woods.

  In a flash and blink of watery eyes, the Fairy disappeared. Marguerite was left with the uneasy feeling as she made her way home. She wanted to turn back, but she pressed onward to Ashok Orai. She knew that there was nothing for her. Nothing remained in Zhan’ding for her. She was bound to the House of Red no more.

  She continued on to Ashok Orai.

  Book Two:

  The Orange Fairy Book

  Twelve.

  “How brave you are to face the House of White as such.”

  Ophiuchi appeared behind the Minister and the citizens that led the crusade against Marguerite. A billowing cloud of grey blew about, spiraling away as dust devils do. All were startled, but none fled, or made an attempt to attack. Ophiuchi stepped towards the crowd. Feet made not a sound upon the stone. Dark robes disturbed not a pebble. A wispy trail of ethereal smoke followed while hands were folded behind the Fairies back, a crooked smile upon the face.

  The Fairies high-pitched voice echoed into each of the citizen’s beating hearts. It calmed them. It unnerved them. They merely stared.

  “And you are?” Minister Toran stepped forward to greet the stranger. Hand extended, but the Fairy ignored it.

  “A friend to those that despise the House of White,” Ophiuchi spoke. Robes extended unnaturally into the shadows of the cities alleys and most hidden places, “And I come bearing a gift.”

  “What sort of gift?” Toran asked as he limped forward.