by Serena Chase
“A powerful character in a story that the Kingdom desperately needs to come true.”
Rose laughed again, though the sound was a bit less enthusiastic when faced with her uncle’s stern expression. “Well, that alone disqualifies me. The only thing powerful about me is the smell of my hair.”
“Be that as it may be,” Drinius said, scowling up at the sky before meeting her eyes again, “if the Cobelds knew of your existence they would stop at nothing to kill you. Every red-haired girl in E’veria is in danger. Many have already been killed by the Cobelds, which is one reason why your father insists you use the dye.” He shook his head sadly. “Your mother’s hair was red, Rose. As red as yours would be without the dye.” He paused. “And it was a Cobeld’s curse that took her life.”
“My mother was . . . murdered?”
Drinius nodded. “Yes. She died shortly after you were delivered. To protect you, your father claimed that you had died as well.”
That her mother was dead had never been kept a secret from Rose, but she had been led to believe that her mother had died due to the complications of childbirth. “I—” Rose blinked. “Did they kill her because of me? Because of the poem?”
“I would be lying if I said no,” Drinius said. “But there’s a lot more to it than that. More that I cannot, as of yet, allow you to know. I’m sorry. But even what I’ve told you today must be kept close. Tell no one.”
Rose paced a little bit away and he gave her the distance. When she returned it was with a slower step.
“Uncle Drinius, I’m sorry if my questions offended you. It was not my wish to hurt you. I would never have thought those things of you if not for Mrs. Scyles.”
The knight’s eyes narrowed. “The housekeeper? Why would she have reason, or opportunity even, to bend your thoughts that way?”
“She has a rather strong dislike of me,” Rose stated. “And after she discovered the ebonswarth powder, she—”
“She knows about the powder? By my sword, Rose! You said only Rowlen knew!”
“I’m sorry! She only recently discovered it. The other night I was so worried about you hurting Rowlen that it skipped my mind.”
“How long has she known?”
“Not long. Only a matter of a week or so.”
This time it was Sir Drinius who paced away, but he returned much more swiftly. “And how did you discover that she’d found it?”
“She told me.”
“She knew what it was?”
Rose nodded. “She’s from Dwons. She feared I intended to bewitch Kinley.”
“I see.” Drinius rubbed a hand over his bearded chin. “Your father will not be happy with this development. Of that I am sure.” He paced away again and back. “How did you convince Mrs. Scyles that you would not use the powder for ill gain?”
“I didn’t. She accused me of being the baseborn daughter of a witch and—” Rose paused as her cheeks flamed, “a knight.”
“Me.”
Rose nodded. “She assumed that, since you were the one who delivered me here, you were my father.”
“She assumed, did she?” Sir Drinius’s voice had taken on a deadly calm that made the skin on the back of Rose’s neck tingle. “And where, might I ask, was the duke in all of this? You are under his protection, are you not? That he has allowed this woman to remain in his employ does not bode well for my plan to leave you here.”
Rose shook her head. “The duke and duchess know nothing of this. Nothing at all. Mrs. Scyles acts differently toward me when no one is around. She always has.”
Drinius tilted his head. His eyes narrowed. “Rose, how long has this been going on?”
Rose dropped her hand and looked at the ground, her mind going back to when she had first arrived at Mirthan Hall and the contempt with which Mrs. Scyles had looked at her in private even then.
“If I really think about it,” she said finally, “her dislike of me began as soon as I arrived. But her disdain has grown progressively more . . .” she searched for the right word, “direct, I guess you could say, recently. She’s prejudiced herself against me, I think, because of an evil committed against her by a woman with black hair.”
“Ridiculous.” A huff of breath clouded the air. “Rose, you have suffered this woman’s scorn for far too long. But no more.” He nodded, as if confirming his own course of action. “I will speak to Lord Whittier about this as soon as we return. I will see this put to rights, Rose, and that wicked woman will be turned out before the end of the day.”
Rose bit her lip. Could he really do that? She had to ask.
“Your well-being is my utmost priority. If I must force her out the door at the tip of my sword, I will see it done today.”
CHAPTER TEN
The early morning hours slipped away while Rose and Drinius talked and they had to hurry back to Mirthan Hall. When they returned, Drinius immediately went in search of Lord Whittier while Rose sought Lewys. After a hurried and tearful good-bye to her middle brother, she headed to the house where the midday meal was just being laid out in the dining room.
Lunch was a sober affair. Sirs Kile, Elden, and Worth had elected to leave for Salderyn with Sir Kiggon’s company, which left only Rose, Drinius, Kinley, and Lord and Lady Whittier at the table. After an entirely-too-long stretch of time filled only with Lady Whittier’s sniffles and the random, dainty clink of silver against stone, Rose was almost relieved when Lord Whittier stood and asked the small group to join him in his private study.
Lord Whittier faced the window for a long moment. Finally, he expelled a deep breath, turned around, and took the chair behind his desk.
“It has come to my attention,” he began, looking at Rose with sorrow in his eyes, “that a longtime member of our staff has betrayed our trust and has wounded your spirit with lies and evil manipulation.”
Kinley’s eyes shot to Rose. “The Asp?”
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“You knew of this, Kinley?” Lord Whittier rose from his chair. “And you didn’t inform me?”
“In truth, I did not know,” Kinley said. “But who else could it be?”
“The fault of this rests with me.” Lord Whittier sank back down in his chair. “Lewys came to me years ago with his suspicions. Knowing Mrs. Scyles to be of a rather surly disposition and knowing Lewys’s tendency toward being overprotective of Rose, I shrugged him off.” He let out a long sigh. “Can you ever forgive me, Rose?”
“Forgive you?” Rose blinked. “It’s not your fault. I should have come to you myself.”
“Why didn’t you, Rose?” Lady Whittier’s voice was strained.
“For a long time it was because there was nothing of substance to tell. Just a feeling I got from her tone of voice.”
“But clearly, Rose,” Lord Whittier said, his brows drawing nearer together, “she has threatened you now.”
“Only recently. When she discovered—”
Drinius cleared his throat.
“When she was in my room one night,” Rose rephrased her answer, “she implied that if you knew the truth of certain things about me that you would disown me. I wasn’t willing to take the chance.”
“Disown you?” Lady Whittier rose and rushed to her side. “Dear, dear girl,” she said, wrapping Rose in her embrace, “nothing could ever make us love you less!”
Sir Drinius stood. “Rose holds no ill will toward this family and neither do I. This family’s love and care of her has done a great service to both of us.” He sat back down. “But Mrs. Scyles is still under your employ and your authority,” he said to Lord Whittier. “I’d like to know what you plan to do with her.”
“Kinley,” Lord Whittier addressed his son, “please fetch Mrs. Scyles.”
Rose looked back and forth between Lord Whittier and Sir Drinius, not sure who was in charge of the unfolding scene, but positive that she did not want to be around to witness it. “May I be excused?”
Sir Drinius shook his head. “No, Rose. As uncomf
ortable as it may be for you, E’verian law gives Mrs. Scyles the right to confront her accuser.”
“I should think she’s confronted her plenty!” Lady Whittier stood. Her hands balled into fists. “To put Rose through any further—”
“Do you need to be excused, Capricia?” Lord Whittier lifted an eyebrow.
Lady Whittier lifted her chin and sniffed before sitting down and arranging her skirts. “If Rose must stay, I will certainly not abandon her.”
Rose was glad for the comfort offered, especially since it was at that moment that Aspera Scyles entered the room.
Kinley closed the door but remained in front of it. Standing with his feet firmly planted and his arms crossed at his chest, Rose thought that if she didn’t know him she might have been intimidated by the young knight’s formidable appearance.
“You sent for me, my lord?”
Rose looked at her uncle. Drinius’s eyes, trained as there were on the housekeeper, could have frozen a live coal.
“Aspera Scyles,” Lord Whittier’s tone was the darkest Rose had ever heard from the normally jovial Storyteller, “charges have been brought against you by Sir Drinius and his niece.”
“If there is a problem with one of the maids or servants assigned to them,” Mrs. Scyles said, “I will see it put to rights immediately.”
Whittier’s look was hard. “The problem, Mrs. Scyles, is not with one of the staff. The problem is you. The charges include, among other things, misconduct and slander. Rose has charged that for the past eight years you have denigrated her position in this home, most recently with vicious lies concerning her parentage. She claims that you have threatened her, and furthermore, that you have sullied the name of her guardian, Sir Drinius de Wyte, with falsehoods of your own design. What say you to these charges?”
“I say nay, my lord!” Mrs. Scyles pressed a hand to her heart with a look of disbelief on her face. “I have always tried to serve Mistress Rose as if she were a child of your own issue. Often, when no one else was around, she has bragged to me that the knight is, indeed, not her uncle, but her father instead.”
“Liar!” Rose gasped. “I never—”
“Hold, Rose,” Drinius whispered. “You must let her finish.”
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Scyles continued, her lies trailing like syrup and leaving sticky, poisonous marks across Rose’s ears, “Mistress Rose has bragged to me of her connection to the knight as if it were a grand joke played upon Your Grace’s charity. She’s said many times, although I told her it was an unseemly thing to be proud of, that she herself was the product of an unblessed union between Sir Drinius and,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “a red-haired harlot!”
Red? Rose tilted her head. Hadn’t Mrs. Scyles been betrayed by a woman with black hair? How did she know . . . ? Suddenly, Rose remembered how she had almost run into Mrs. Scyles coming into the Grand Hall. Had she overheard the conversation between Rowlen and Uncle Drinius?
Sir Drinius was on his feet now, his hand on the hilt of his sword and the ice even more pronounced in his gaze.
“These are not my words, Sir Drinius!” Mrs. Scyles’s poise broke for a moment, as evidenced by the sudden screech in her voice. “I only repeat what I’ve been told.” She lifted her chin and seemed to regain her earlier calm. “I know my place, and it pains me to break confidence with one whom I’ve been instructed to treat as a child of this house. But I fear the time has finally come when my duty to His Grace and Her Grace will allow me to do nothing less.”
Mrs. Scyles turned to Lady Whittier. “My lady, you should know that the girl is in possession of ebonswarth powder, an illegal substance. I believe she used it to drug Masters Lewys and Rowlen on several occasions while they were still in residence and that, had I not found it, she would likely have used it to bewitch Sir Kinley or his friends.”
“What, in the name of Veetri’s green hills,” Lord Whittier boomed, “are you talking about, woman?”
Mrs. Scyles faced the duke, her face paler, but her back straight. “Ebonswarth is a powerful substance found in my home province of Dwons. It has many uses, and among them is the practice of,” she paused, lowering her voice, “witchcraft!”
Lady Whittier gasped and laid her free hand atop Rose’s, which already clasped her other hand. “Mrs. Scyles! Surely you are not implying that our Rose could be involved in anything so contemptible!”
“I wish it were not so, my lady.” She shook her head. “But I fear that it is true. The girl is as evil and manipulative as the harlot who birthed her!”
Drinius rose from his seat in a blur. At the same time, Kinley moved from his position at the door. A ringing buzz of metal seared the air as the two knights’ swords left their scabbards. The blades’ motion stilled less than an inch away from either side of The Asp’s neck.
“Still your tongue, woman,” Drinius growled, “before my blade stills it for all time.”
With mortal terror in her eyes, Mrs. Scyles entreated Lord Whittier, “My lord?”
Drinius’s blade followed her. The point of Kinley’s sword rested between her shoulder blades.
“My lord,” she begged, “you cannot let this evil live in your home! You must—”
The study door opened and Koria entered. “My lord,” she said, “Rose is no witch.” She came in and flicked her hand toward the door. It closed even though she hadn’t touched it.
“Witchcraft!” Mrs. Scyles screamed and the undiluted horror of the sound made Rose’s heart pound against her ribcage.
Koria flicked the same hand toward Mrs. Scyles. “Be still!”
The Asp was immediately silent, though her lips kept moving. Her hands grasped at her throat, grazing Sir Drinius’s blade on their way up. A red line opened across her knuckles.
“Koria?” Rose heard the shock, the fear, in her own voice. “Did you . . . do that?”
“The door? Yes. Her silence? Thankfully, yes. But the injury is of her own making by way of Sir Drinius’s blade.” Koria ignored Mrs. Scyles’s frantic gestures and bleeding hand. “Her outrageous lies had become tiresome, had they not?”
“Well, yes,” Lord Whittier admitted, but his expression was clouded with questions and dread.
“Lord Whittier,” Koria’s voice was gentle. “I am not one of the deluded, power-hungry herbalists who claim the title of witch. And neither is Rose. I am Andoven. And much like the gifts of the Storytellers, my abilities are inborn, not acquired for evil gain by the use of substances and powders.”
Rose straightened. Most Andoven lived on the island province of Tirandov. They were a people revered throughout the Kingdom of E’veria for their wisdom and their unique ability to communicate without speaking. They were also well known, Rose had learned, for a general disdain of Veetrish customs, and, more specifically, Veetrish Storytellers.
Rose stared at the tutor she thought she had known well before this moment. Koria is Andoven? She could hardly believe it. Why would an Andoven teacher volunteer to be a tutor in the home of a Master Storyteller?
“All these years,” Lady Whittier’s voice was filled with awe, “we’ve had an Andoven teacher in our home? I never even suspected!” She blinked. “Koria, however did you get them to allow you to come to Veetri?”
“Them?” Koria angled her head. “Oh. You mean the Andoven Elders?” She smiled when Lady Whittier nodded. “Trust me when I tell you that not everything you’ve heard about the Andoven is true.” She bowed her head. “I am your friend, my lady, as always.”
Lady Whittier turned to Drinius. “Did you know she was Andoven?”
“Yes.” Drinius nodded, but his eyes never left Mrs. Scyles.
He did? Rose blinked. Koria had taught Rose about the Andoven in her lessons. Why had she never admitted to being one of them? Rose’s mind spun with mixed feelings of wonder and betrayal. A sudden memory surfaced—a piece of old information that had seemed insignificant until now.
Aunt Alaine was part Andoven. Perhaps that is how Drinius knew Kor
ia.
“So . . .” Lord Whittier shook his head as if expelling a bit of oddness from between his ears. “You have come to offer your assistance, Koria?”
“Yes, my lord.” She bobbed her head. “You were speaking about the powder Rose keeps in her room, yes?” When Lord Whittier nodded, she continued. “Rose, of course, does not use the powder for any evil reason. I know this to be true because I have helped her with its safe application these eight years.”
“But, Rose,” Lady Whittier’s voice trembled, “if it’s illegal, why do you have it?”
Rose looked to her uncle who closed his eyes for the briefest moment before nodding his consent. “It’s clear from Mrs. Scyles’s accusations,” he said, “that she already knows your secret. No one else in this room would harm you with it.”
Rose nodded, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “I use it to dye my hair,” she said. With the truth out in the open Rose felt as if a huge, black weight had been lifted from her soul. “Each new moon Koria helps me to apply the powder. It makes it stay black. Otherwise, it would be red.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, closer to orange, I guess.”
“Like the vision of you at the end of Rowlen’s story,” Lord Whittier mused.
Rose nodded. “Rowlen discovered my secret years ago, but he never told anyone.”
“Ahh.” Lord Whittier nodded. “I asked Rowlen to explain why he made Lady Anya’s appearance change at the end, but he refused to tell me, spouting some nonsense about ‘symbolism’ and whatnot. I had no idea he was keeping a secret.” He scowled. “Or not keeping it, as it would appear.”
“Your hair is red?” Lady Whittier ran her hand over one of Rose’s wayward curls. “I can hardly believe it.”
Rose shrugged. “It’s true.”
“I think I could count on one hand the number of red-haired women I’ve met.” Lady Whittier said. “It’s quite unusual, you know. Whyever do you dye it? You’re such a lovely girl, Rose. I can only imagine that you would be even more stunning if you let it be as Rynloeft intended.”
“Mother.” Kinley didn’t take his sword from the Asp’s back, nor did he take his eyes from the woman as he spoke. “Elsewhere in E’veria, a girl with red hair is considered unlucky, to put it lightly. In recent years the Cobelds have been known to curse girls as young as five years simply because they have red hair. Someone of Rose’s age would be . . .” He trailed off. His brow furrowed and his eyes met those of Sir Drinius. “Someone of Rose’s age could be the—”
