Roses & Thorns

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  "That is a lovely brooch you're wearing." Marguerite had resumed her needlework again and barely seemed to glance at the pin. "Is it a favorite? You seem to wear it often."

  "Yes." Angelique felt her throat close. She felt suddenly like a mouse caught between two very hungry cats.

  "It's an unusual design. I keep thinking I've seen it some place before?"

  "I wouldn't know," Angelique replied. "If you'll both excuse me, it's been a long day."

  She left them, her stomach a knot of tension. She had four days left to her visit, although they were unaware of her plans to leave them so soon. Four days in which they would persistently seek a way to bind Drew to their schemes while Angelique would desperately search for a way to protect her mother. She had not a doubt that the extra servants and care would vanish with Aloysius' death. For although he had always cared what the townsfolk thought of his family image, Ivan held little respect for others' opinions, and even less for his mother. With Marguerite's help, Angelique was sure that Ivan would soon come to see that Mama was a costly expenditure that should be disposed of quickly and quietly.

  One solution seemed obvious: she could offer to extend Drew's trade agreement in exchange for a continuation of care. But she was loath to bind her beloved to such awful creatures and wondered if there might be another solution. Angelique fell asleep wondering if the temperament of Drew's stepmother had been something akin to Marguerite's.

  "There is something wrong, Culdun. I tell you I feel it!" Drew's hands closed into fists. "If only I could see her. But that damnable man even has his sons warded against me now!"

  Culdun said nothing as he watched Drew pace before the hearth. There was nothing to say. They could only wait.

  The four days passed far too quickly. Chaos descended like a violent storm that very night, leaving a terrible destruction in its wake. Aloysius' intermittent bellowing ceased quite abruptly. His fever rose. In two days, he was dead.

  Then Angelique’s mother became terribly and suddenly ill. With the household staff in turmoil over the death duties and Ivan's gracious hosting of the-not-so-mournful town merchants, Angelique discarded her satin skirts and petticoats to don simpler garb to help nurse her mother through the strange seizures. She did not think her mother was as grief-stricken as Marguerite surmised; Aloysius was no real loss to her. But what worried Angelique more was the danger of the woman’s fragile bones being shattered by these violent shakes.

  As unexpectedly as it had begun, the illness ended. Marguerite seemed smugly satisfied. The doctor shrugged, shook his head and left. Phillip sneered and praised his sister on so adroitly avoiding the late afternoon funeral. With that comment the last of Angelique’s patience fled. Pushing past her brother, she retreated into her room, sank down on the bed and took her head in her hands.

  Tonight, finally, was the new moon. Tonight she would go home. She would ask Drew to continue working with these folk for Mama's sake. She trusted that Drew would find some way to deal with these despicable people she found herself related to. She no longer had the patience for them.

  Tonight, beneath a starlit sky, her betrothed would open the gates for her again. It would not matter how many warded pieces Ivan hung about the walls; it would not matter what pretty stories he told about those odd, little relics. He need never be the wiser.

  Angelique turned to search for the blue velvet and gold-threaded dress she knew Drew loved, the gown that reminded Angelique of moonless nights and star-bright skies. Every time she wore it, upon seeing her for the first time, Drew would stop and stare, wide-eyed as if she could not believe such a beautiful woman might ever grace her presence. She would wear it tonight. In celebration.

  The parlor was dark. The embers in the hearth barely glowed. Drew sat alone and unmoving, engulfed by the shadowy depths of the chair. In her hand, she held the silver rose. Her thoughts were in turmoil and, without thinking, she closed her fist about the delicate flower, not feeling the thorns slice into her skin.

  Blood dripped in lacy patterns down her hand like dark and dangerous tears.

  "Phillip, have you seen my brooch?"

  He snickered and walked past her on up the stairs. And now Angelique knew to fear the worst. Angelique cursed herself. She should have been paying more attention and remembered to re-pin the brooch to her other garments.

  "My goodness, Angelique. You're quite pale!" Marguerite remarked. Her tapestry frame had been pushed aside, but she did not rise from the small couch.

  "What's wrong, Angelique?" Ivan stepped forward with a frown. "You haven't caught Mother's stomach ailment, have you?"

  Phillip's laughter called their little bluff as he bounded down the steps. He tossed a heavy key across to his brother and rebuked them both. "She's finally noticed, you fools. Did you think she had no brains at all?"

  "Phillip, please." Marguerite sounded faintly bored. She waved her hand toward the cupboard where the spirits were kept. "Amuse yourself and let us tend to the poor woman."

  "My brooch," Angelique pressed, "the one with the two snakes. Where is it?"

  "Oh that, my dear." Marguerite settled back, seemingly less disturbed as she returned to her tapestry work. "Ivan has it. A servant found it lying about somewhere. Seems the clasp was broken."

  "I thought I'd have it mended for you." Her older brother smiled sweetly as he pulled the piece from his vest pocket.

  He made no move to return it, however, and Angelique barely stopped herself from bounding forward to grab it. Something about his stance reminded her all too well of those taunting 'get-it-if-you-can' games of their childhood.

  "I did, however, tell Ivan to speak to you about it first." Angelique glanced back at Marguerite. The woman appeared oblivious to the growing tension between them. "I reminded Ivan of your gentleman's penchant for magick and of the fact that this piece might not be mended by a mere jeweler's skill." Something in the blandness of the matron's voice made Angelique's stomach clench. "It was then that I remembered where I'd seen the piece before."

  Angelique wet her lips and eyed Ivan nervously. He backed away toward the fire's hearth. Her throat felt dry, but she managed to ask, "And where was that, Marguerite?"

  "With your Liege's caravans of goods, of course. One of those odd, little men always wore it pinned to a cloak or vest somewhere. Then I felt sure it was magicked."

  "We rather thought," Ivan leaned against the mantle, examining the brooch with forced casualness, "this might be the piece which lets you all travel back and forth from that wicked palace to here."

  Angelique looked to each of them anxiously, waiting.

  "Yes," Ivan smiled, more sincerely this time, as his voice dropped. "Marguerite suggested we offer you safe haven from this monster that you so dislike."

  "Monster?" Angelique blinked. "I've never said anything about my Liege being a monster."

  "Oh, come," Marguerite tisk-tisked the young woman. "It has been nearly a year and you've avoided marrying the man." The older woman's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "It's obvious you care nothing for him, which admittedly may not be all that unusual. As you said yourself, a sorcerer's hand can be a far worse fate than a mere leather strap."

  "We thought," Ivan added, "you could stay here and we'll do our best to find you a more suitable husband. What about it now?"

  "With a suitable bride price, I presume?" Angelique questioned bitterly. Behind her Phillip chortled in malicious delight.

  "It would be unreasonable to expect you to marry a poor man, wouldn't it?" Ivan prompted. "And the sorcerer's marriage was conditional on your own agreement. I remember that quite specifically."

  "Or your willingness to return me?" Angelique baited coyly.

  "Ha! She sees right through your scheming plots, brother!" Phillip lifted his cup high in a toast. He rose and sauntered over, whispering to Angelique in an overly loud voice, "You're worth next to nothing to them if you return to your magickian's little palace. But should they sell you again? Well!"

  "And if the
re was a way to return me and insure that more wealth would be forthcoming?" She queried to Marguerite in particular. "Would that not be an even better solution?"

  "Go on," Ivan prodded warily.

  "Have you forgotten Mama?"

  The elder brother grunted.

  "I am well aware that I am the daughter of the house," Angelique continued to address the matron. "It should have become my responsibility to tend Mama in her later years. There is compensation due my brother, I think."

  "And you believe your sweet husband-to-be would agree?" Ivan sneered.

  "My Liege would agree. I am denied nothing I ask for."

  "But why this small thing? You know as well as I that it’s an oft-ignored custom, even in the best of families, like ours."

  "Our valley is isolated," Angelique returned rationally, though she did not feel calm inside. "The customs of outsiders are not well known. My Liege would not challenge my request on those grounds alone."

  Marguerite stirred. "Ivan said your father-in-law is a Count. Is that true?"

  The question startled her. Angelique nodded warily. "He was. He is dead now."

  "Is the valley truly so isolated?"

  "Yes."

  "Your gentleman's king must be lax-handed with his taxes that your Liege has so much wealth. Or is the monarch so far away that his tithes are merely forgotten?"

  "My Liege answers to no one, Madam. Land and folk need be loyal to only one — our own guardian."

  "Your sorcerer?"

  "My Liege."

  With a faint shrug Marguerite addressed Ivan. "We had hoped to bind a new contract with the man, but it seems she's worthless to him. He's too powerful to waste so much coin on such an expensive whim as this little trollop."

  "You dare —" Angelique began, but Marguerite talked over her words and continued.

  "Custom or none, the sorcerer would not allow himself to be so abused. And we have nothing else that might even vaguely amuse him."

  "But we do have Angelique," Phillip grinned. He was enjoying his sister's shocked and angry flush.

  "Here, yes," Marguerite admitted. "The house and shop are warded against the man —"

  "Expensive safeguards," Ivan grumbled. "You're certain Florence's trade will be as rich?"

  "Nothing will ever be as rich as what you have now!" Angelique's temper flared. Ivan spun, ready to strike.

  "She speaks the truth," Marguerite allowed placidly, her tone halting Ivan.

  Brother and sister were standing very close together. The brooch was inches away from Angelique’s fingertips. At the same moment, they both realized this. Ivan's eyes grew wide. Angelique leapt for the brooch as Marguerite’s voice shouted, "Break it quickly, Ivan. Toss it in the fire!"

  "No!"

  Ivan danced out of Angelique's reach, his fingers snapping the brooch in two, and the hearth flames exploded in a wild whoosh of flame as the pieces were swallowed. Colors of bright green and blue danced in swirling, twisting vines. The man laughed in triumph, backing away from the inferno to watch the smoking tendrils of snakes writhe and lift — and then vanish in yellow flames.

  "No!" Angelique dove toward the hearth, even though she knew it was too late.

  Ivan kicked her to her knees, then kicked her again for good measure.

  "Phillip, help your brother," Marguerite called brusquely.

  The man gulped the last of his wine and stood uncertainly. But even drunk, he and Ivan could easily subdue Angelique. They dragged her along the flagstone floor and away from the hearth.

  "You can't do this!"

  "I'm afraid we most certainly can," Marguerite smiled.

  Angelique felt her heart grow cold. The malicious pleasure was too bright in the matron's eyes.

  "It's a shame he hasn't married you. I admit when we invited you to visit, we had not expected to find you unwed. As his wife, you might just have been able to negotiate a contract for your mother's care. But this other venture will do just as nicely."

  "My Liege will come for me," she shouted.

  "Your sorcerer will find you... eventually," Marguerite soothed, still smiling. "But only after you've been moved from this house. Until then?" She ended with a delicate shrug.

  "No!" Angelique hissed, rage flaring her new powers to life. Her voice rose as she cried, "You hide from sight, but my Liege knows where I am. The moon is new and the power bright! The Door will open!"

  A crack of thunder shook the hearth behind Ivan. He and Phillip both jumped away from Angelique for a moment, looking to Marguerite for reassurance. Smoke billowed and there was a sound like a banshee's wail that split the air like lightning. Marguerite merely looked annoyed. "Enough!" she bellowed. As smoke cleared, she nodded at Ivan. He grabbed Angelique’s arms again. "It was nothing. The spell in the brooch is properly broken. The thunder marked it, as she knew it would. Now, Phillip, you brought the key. Use it."

  Culdun came racing along the corridor even as his Liege was striding near.

  "The gateway! I was at the valley's gate waiting!" The Old One abruptly reversed his direction as the grim figure marched by. "My Liege! The gate opened. She tried. For a brief moment, it did open!"

  "I know." The voice was stony. The woman flung out her hand and the terrace doors swept open as if blown by a mighty wind. "Something is wrong, Culdun. And it is time to see what."

  Chapter 18

  "No!"

  Angelique's fists beat the wood, pummeling uselessly as the laughter beyond the door faded. When Angelique understood there would not be a reprieve, she sobbed, sliding to the floor. It couldn't end this way! It must not! When her tears were done, she steeled her nerves and began to look for a solution.

  The window was shuttered. An old mirror lay nearby. Slowly, her eyes adjusted. She was in the very small room beneath the turret's eves. It was flanked by Marguerite's room and the private stairwell. Thick plaster walls and strong timbers would muffle her cries. In here, neither the servants nor her mother would ever hear her.

  It was ironic that she now found herself in the same room she had used as a child to hide from Aloysius. She'd never known there was a key. And now there were wards as well. Without the brooch, she was not certain Drew could even send someone to search for her. But would she? Which assumption would she follow — that Angelique was in trouble and needed her aid or that Angelique had abandoned her? Angelique hoped it would be the former, but feared the latter.

  Her fingers fluttered uselessly about her clothing. What could she do? The talisman had been broken. Drew might even think she'd broken it herself! No. She could not bear the thought of that. As her fingers pulled her hair away from her collar, they brushed something else. The locket! She had almost forgotten it completely. Encircling it with her fingers, she closed her eyes and called to Drew as loudly as she could, with her voice and with her heart, all the while hoping the magick would be able to penetrate through the wards and across the distance and reach her beloved.

  The image of Aloysius house shimmered and dissolved in the fountain pool. Drew cursed, turning to Culdun with barely controlled rage, and spat, "She calls! From beyond my boundaries she calls in need and I stand here shackled!"

  "My Liege, what about the brooch? Is not the brooch yours?"

  "She no longer has it! And it will take a year to make another!" Drew paced, looking like a caged animal.

  "But, my Liege, the brooch belongs to you."

  A harsh breath hissed through Drew's teeth. Her eyes stared off into night. Slowly, as if feeling the way around the edges of a room in the dark, Drew took a step forward and then another.

  "My talisman," she breathed, halting again. "All beneath my protection —"

  "— belong to you," Culdun finished, adding, "And treasures stolen are retrievable. If you seek the brooch, will you not find her near?"

  "Before she left us, what did Angelique say?!"

  "That she loved you. That she would return."

  "And that she was mine! In open court of this magicked la
nd —you witnessed it yourself."

  Understanding lit Culdun’s face. "Yes, my Liege, she did!"

  "Then let those wretched wards blind my distant sight. With stallion and sword I'll fetch her myself."

  Thunder shook the windowpanes though there was no storm near. Lightning clashed and black clouds rolled in to eclipse the starry sky. A stallion's shriek turned Phillip's head to the window. He dropped his cup as the lightning cracked again and he saw the white steed pawing the air. Opening his mouth to speak, he found he had no words to describe the black-garbed rider whose cape flowed behind like a river of blood. Lightning flashed a third time and illuminated a naked blade. Phillip stumbled back from the window.

  "Have you the charms about you?" Marguerite asked blandly, not pausing in the careful counting of her stitches.

  Ivan chuckled nastily and lifted his stein of ale from the mantelpiece.

  The crash that splintered the door made even Marguerite look up. Wind gusted into the room, overturning chairs. Marguerite's tapestry frame lifted and she cried out once as it struck her in the head, then she collapsed to the floor, motionless. Ivan started toward her. Phillip fled toward the shadows near the staircase.

  Drew extended one black-gloved hand, fingers spread, and Ivan was thrown backward. He cowered.

  The wind died. The fire crackled wickedly. Silence descended.

  Drew advanced, pinning Ivan against the wall with the tip of her broadsword inches from his chest. Ivan lifted his hands in supplication. "I have come for what is mine." Her voice left no room for argument.

  Ivan forced a smile, lowering his hands to wipe palms cautiously along his thighs. "My Liege, what am I to say? Angelique feared you too much to confront you. She begged sanctuary from us."

  Drew did not respond. Ivan licked his lips. There was a long tense silence. Suddenly, he leapt to the side and away, hands scrabbling for the sword hanging over the fire. Drew whirled and, seeing his objective, uncoiled like a snake. Before he could reach it, Drew had sent the sword spinning out of reach.

  She brought the broadsword down on the table he’d tried to put between them, splitting it neatly in two.