My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  But something in Tenna was broken, her head drooping down and never raising. She wouldn't look at her people, or anyone else that she threatened with death that night. Her eyes would only focus and head lift for one person -- Anjali.

  And you fear she will feel the same in time.

  Rosie cupped a hand to her chest trying to screw back in her fleeing heart. With every beat the cracks grew longer, spidering out through the entire organ until she feared there'd be nothing left behind but the aching void.

  "Sapheela," the voice snapped her away from her dark thoughts, and she focused upon the umber eyes drifting closer to her. "May I speak with you?"

  She wanted to refuse. If she didn't speak to Anjali then...maybe she could delay the inevitable for a few more minutes, or hours. Give her one more day, at least. Nodding her head, Rosie walked them away from the few humans who were packing up. The dwarves didn't want them there overnight and frankly, they didn't wish to remain. It was a long night for everyone.

  "Ah," Anjali snapped her finger and turned. "Baby Knight!" Gavin sneered at the name but looked up, "can you keep an eye on Tenna?" His destructive amber glare narrowed but he did as told, twisting towards the dwarf he caught. She seemed to care even less about him than anyone else in camp.

  "The woman is like a snake, she can wiggle her way free of nearly any bonds," Anjali muttered to herself.

  "Personal experience?" It slipped from Rosie's lips, her mouth burning from the bitter acid seeping out of her heart.

  She knew Anjali heard it, but the woman didn't respond. They continued to walk further away, the cacophony and chaos of packing fading into the distance while all before her was...emptiness.

  "I must take her soon," Anjali began, both women pausing side by side. Rosie didn't turn to her, she couldn't. Instead she shut her eyes tight. "The longer she remains here, the more likely she is to escape and cause havoc. I cannot allow it yet again."

  "What will you do with her?" Rosie breathed.

  "Banned from all dwarven lands, that's a tall order. But I know of a few places that are free of even their nefarious merchant guilds. Islands. Small ones," she spat the words out fast, her head bowed while her eyes canvased the dirt. Had that been Anjali's final plan all along? Pull Tenna away from all those she came to hate and hope that something else would fill her heart?

  Rubbing a hand against the scar on her arm left by the darkspawn, Anjali sighed, "It's her best hope."

  "What will you do with her?" Rosie repeated, finally risking looking up into Anjali's confused face. The sob echoed in her breath and tugged on her eyes, but it wouldn't shatter the chains. Rosamund refused to give in again. If this was to be it, then so be it. At least she was better prepared.

  With a gentle touch, Anjali cupped her hands. The calluses from a lifetime of twirling her daggers to death's dance knocked against Rosie's perfumed and pale skin. She never felt less worthy of it than in that moment. "Sapheela," her assassin whispered, her breath curling against Rosie's cheek. "Give me three weeks to find a boat, one that I know Tenna cannot break off of. And then..."

  She skirted a finger against Rosie's cheeks, sliding each escaped hair back behind her ears. The sob shattered from its containment, Rosamund unable to take this slow torture. "And then what? You're an assassin, you have your prey. Your job here is finished."

  "Perhaps," her lips trembled, Anjali's lids closing tight when she pressed Rosie's forehead against her chin. Even fearing the end, Rosie couldn't help herself, her arms sliding behind Anjali's back. Locked into her lover's embrace, her heart slid up against her ribs pleading for another to answer back in kind.

  Those sweet, supple lips pressed a kiss to her ice white forehead. "I cannot leave you. I tried, I weighed every fear sitting inside your heart. What my life would be in this...turnip infested frozen land. What I would do for work without my band of brothers. I keep coming back to how little I care about any of that. As long as I have you."

  "Anjali," she murmured, wishing she could believe the sweet words. "I can't force you to..."

  "Sure you can, you're a princess. But you won't. And you don't have to either. Three weeks, please. Sapheela, believe in me."

  She ached to. Lifting her head up, Rosie stumbled deep into those umber pools and deep in her heart hope erupted. Her lips pressed tight to Anjali, this woman she never thought she could dare to kiss or touch. The tears slopped down her cheeks, Rosie clinging on her toes to reach, when Anjali cupped her jaw and held her steady. With a practiced hand, the assassin tipped the princess' head until they were free to kiss for an eternity. Warmer than a summer's day, sweeter than the ripest fruit, more intoxicating than the strongest brandy, Rosie tried to remember every pucker of Anjali's lips and press of her fingers for fear that she'd never know any of it again.

  "You'd better come back," Rosie said, struggling to blink through the tears beading on her lashes.

  Anjali smiled bittersweetly and wiped a thumb to clear away the crying, "I will. Three weeks. Look for me. Sapheela," she dipped down and whispered something in Rivain directly into Rosie's ear. She had no idea what a word of it was, but her spine shivered and she tugged Anjali closer wanting to savor every turn of those foreign syllables.

  The first to step back was Rosamund, prepared to let her go. She had to trust, even if...in the scheme of things there was no reason for her to. Anjali stood frozen a moment, her hands hanging bereft in the air as if she wished they were still full of a princess. Cinching up her parted lips, the assassin nodded her head and moved to gather up Tenna.

  "Three weeks. I swear," Anjali cupped a hand to her breast while staring at Rosamund.

  She lifted her fingers and limply waved while the assassin gathered up her prize. "I...trust you," she whispered to herself wishing the words would make it true.

  Wiping away the tears and the dread in her gut, Rosamund wrestled up her brother who was rather miffed he missed out on all the fun. Myra was kind enough to point out how there was a lot of eye burning smoke and deadly daggers flying, but Cailan shrugged it all off. He could have been somewhat useful, perhaps closed a door or something in the ensuing battle.

  When Rosie approached, the various handlers all rose to attention, while her brother and sister remained seated. Cailan twisted his head to her and smiled, "Rossie, what's the good word?"

  "We're finished here," she said, her eyes darting over to the two assassins silhouettes fading into the distance. Myra spun around to watch as well, her thin lips pursed in obvious annoyance. Putting on a false smile, Rosie shouted for all to hear, "Let's go home."

  Given the level of excitement of this trip, the final leg was anything but. Two weeks of travel beating down roads, Karelle sharing tips on how best to impress the court when they arrived back home, some games, and Rosamund doing her best to not look at the calendar. What would she do when three weeks had passed? Would she pace about on a balcony? Perhaps lock herself away for years, her heart hanging upon this single promise by a woman who killed people for a living?

  One night, she and Myra made good on their plans to work through the heartache. There was no one else. Not Tess, or the other handmaidens. Myra didn't bring along her elven friend. For a few hours it was two sisters talking about how much love sucked. The next day was a beautiful dawn.

  By the time they rattled into Denerim, exhausted but happy to see familiar landmarks, cobbles, and faces -- the people of the city all formed along the sides to wave. No one dashed out to give Rosie a flower, but the people would whistle in congrats and somehow Myra managed to find herself a basket of pretzels. She was darting along the line of the parade, giving them to people she liked. Rather than refuse something so gauche, Rosamund took two. She was princess after all, it was her prerogative to have a little extra snack.

  Their father waited for them at the steps of the palace, flanked by a pack of advisors who'd no doubt been missing Karelle something awful. Rosamund turned to her people and gave the few orders she knew to begin disembarking and unl
oading the wagons. With a straight spine, she rose up the stairs with Cailan on her right and Myra wandering a bit behind on the left.

  At the near top, Rosamund paused and looked her father dead in the eye. Slowly, she curtsied a bit and he lifted the edge of his lips in a smile.

  "Princess," he glanced around at the throngs of people gathered around for the celebration, "how was your trip?"

  Heartbreaking. Terrifying. Ecstatic! Unyielding. Impossible.

  "Acceptable," Rosie said, tipping her head to the side. She caught Karelle beaming a rare smile at her two toughest subjects showing a bit of protocol, when the King leapt off the stairs and threw his arms around her.

  Rosie barely had a chance to breathe, before Alistair tugged both Cailan and Myra into his great hug. "Maker's breath, I am so glad you're home." Tears clung in his eyes which he let fall without any attempt to hide. "Someone else is glad you're here too," their dad stepped to the side, dropping a grateful Rosie and grumbling Cailan.

  From behind stepped their mother, Beatrice in a proper dress for such an occasion. Rosie felt frumpy in her traveling frock, prepared for the nitpicking from her mother for her failure in fashion, but wrinkled white hands curled up her face as if seeing her daughter for the first time.

  Beatrice tugged her tight to her shoulder, a hand patting into Rosie's hair. "I am so proud of you," she said. Glancing over at her son, Beatrice snatched onto him too, "And you as well."

  "Mother," Cailan groaned, clearly wanting to break free, but he let their mom continue to hug and kiss his cheek as if they'd been away for years.

  Rosie slid away from the display and turned to watch as Myra's big eyes opened wider. She was staring into the crowds, curious as always, when a great group of people all wearing long yellow coats stepped forward. There were dwarves, elves, a qunari woman who could barely fit the coat on one arm -- but when the blonde elf stepped forward Myra dashed down the stairs and leapt into her arms. It threw Reiss for such a surprise, she nearly plummeted off the stairs and into her ragtag group of detectives. Whatever Myra was babbling to her mom, it was buried in the crowd falling into the arms of their loved ones.

  A hand slipped to Rosie's shoulders and she looked up to find her Dad standing beside her. That kingly facade was long gone, only her father remained watching the same tearful reunion as his daughter. "Don't worry, kiddo. We can put off the debriefing and eternal report writing for a day..." Alistair turned at the sound of Karelle clearing her throat, "a few hours, at least. Come on, they just got back. You're such a hard ass, you know."

  "Dad," Rosie snickered, cutting off her father fighting with his oldest Chamberlain and often friend. She was about to tell him that she didn't mind, they had much to discuss, but at the glow in his eyes Rosie sighed, "It's good to be home."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Open Door

  Everything was the same.

  Sure, Rosie was the one parting information to the various heads of state and advisors gathered around a table instead of the King. They had to listen to her, but one by one each head swiveled back to her father who kept a foolish grin on his face for near all of it. He was less excited about the retelling of her plan to capture the assassin considering how many it left in danger, but gave her a thumbs up at the end. When the Arls and Banns filed out, prepared to make their own requests to a dwarven kingdom who'd want none of them, they all smiled at the plucky princess who made it happen.

  But they didn't view her any differently.

  Their real questions and concerns would be given to the King who oversaw it all, whether he wished to or not.

  Cailan returned to whatever Cailan left off. He was flitting around here and there about the castle without thought. Sometimes she caught him staring overlong at the servants, in particular a dark headed elf girl. But he'd shrug off any questions and scamper to find a game or drink to pass the time.

  It was barely even an hour into their return before Myra vanished fully into the city. Her mother all but plucked her up and returned her to the world of crime, or whatever she did in her life.

  That was how Rosie watched the final week pass, everything returning to normal while refusing to be the same. She glared around at her handmaidens who used to be slight annoyances, talked coldly to Banns and Arls that spoke above her, but most of all she waited.

  She hated that she was waiting.

  For that final day, the twenty first that she promised to watch pass, Rosie climbed onto the balcony overlooking the front gate. It was a tight fit designed more for a few statues to guard over the souls inside than a princess, but she managed. And she waited. Knees tucked up under her chin, her legs burning in the strain while her arms wrapped tight in a solo embrace. The sun lengthened, shadows skirting against royal guards marching to and fro up and down the line. But there was no assassin. No dark woman with red tattoos slipped into the middle of them. Nothing changed in the normal routine except for her heart sundering in half.

  Still she waited.

  The stars overtook the sky, pockets of them glittering overhead. Rosie wished she learned anything about them, to give her an excuse to be outside in the middle of the night. But there were no secrets she could discern within the night's sky. All it looked to her were a million tears cried from a loss only the Maker Himself would understand. When the twenty second day's sun rose, so too did a numb Rosamund.

  She stepped inside, her cheeks and forehead red as her name to have Evie and a few others gasp at the sight. Rosie didn't care and spent the rest of the day not in any bottle or bed, but at the range. Things seemed easier when it was a simple matter of filling a target with arrows.

  And now, she shook her head away from the window and threw on a half hearted smile. Now she was forced to be the adoring daughter at her father's birthday party. Her lips lifted, revealing a line of teeth all the whiter against her sunburn that barely faded over the ensuing days. Maker, did her mother cluck at her for that.

  The Queen was dead certain this was the party where Rosamund would finally stop playing around and find herself a husband. Because that was all that mattered, her becoming what Ferelden expected of her. What she wanted, what she ached for was circumspect in the matter of the crown.

  "Ah, hello Bann Loren," Rosie waved limply at the man who was gesticulating like a drowning man at her. She spotted her father dancing by himself in the middle of the floor. Despite it being a party technically thrown in his honor, it was rare for him to remain out and about so deep into the night. Perhaps he found some good reason to celebrate. Myra was near him, the two acting like complete fools while Ferelden clapped them on.

  Rosamund turned away from the sight and nearly walked face first into a mass of black curls. Her heart stopped a moment, when the woman turned around and hope died anew. She was much older, probably in her 60s, and had a good dozen shrimp stashed inside a mug. Rosie was about to move on, when the woman smiled and something in the warmth touched even the princess' dead heart.

  "Good evening, your highness," the woman said.

  "And to you," Rosie tipped her head.

  For a beat her eyes darted over to the King wagging his arms about like a scary bear, before they returned to Rosamund. "You don't remember me, do you?"

  "Ah..." the princess' eyes opened wide in a panic. Was she supposed to know this random old woman?

  "It's all right. I don't visit much, not as often as your father would like."

  "My father?" Rosie turned to look at her anew. Whoever this woman was she must be someone important for her father to care at all.

  At that moment, squire Gavin came jogging through the crowds. He wore a much better fitted livery than the first time, the shine of the mail damn near blinding in the candlelight. Rosie was surprised he left his post and turned to see if there was a problem but his eyes were only on the older woman.

  "Mother?" he gasped and she kindly turned to him with a smile. "Maker's breath, what are you doing here?"

  "It's Ali's birthday. Well,
or so they're all pretending on King's Birthing Day whenever that lands. Blessed Andraste is that one difficult to pin down on the calendar. You'd think a drunken rabbit on every fifth dark moon of the year picked it or something."

  So this was her. Rosamund turned to stare downward at the woman who ended a Blight, saved a nation. Saved the world really. She looked normal. A bit eccentric with the shrimp, but average, nearly forgettable with her round face and bright eyes. All save that voice that warmed Rosie's heart out of its cold stupor. Was that how she did it? Charmed a nation to form an army and then save it?

  "Mom, you never come to the King's birthdays," Gavin stepped forward wrapping a hand around hers.

  "Well, I didn't see a reason not to start a new tradition. Shrimp? I stole as many as I could before that blighted Bann Cedric could get his hands on them."

  Poor Squire Gavin looked as if he was about to vomit, his eyes wide and sweat percolating on his forehead. "Where's...does father know you're here?"

  "Yes, son," a new voice entered the fray, belonging to a man Rosie didn't know but could instantly place. The paintings were rather everywhere. Commander Cullen Rutherford, even with age flattening his cheeks and building bags under his eyes struck an imposing form. It was no surprise that his son was blessed with the same.

  "Do you really think your mother could sneak all the way across thedas without me?" the Commander slid in beside his wife and scooped a hand around the back of her. She turned to look up at the man and beamed a moment from his mere presence, and he returned the look tenfold.

  "I suppose that's true," Gavin deflated, when his mother laughed.

  "Please, the things I can get up to without either of you knowing..." she popped a shrimp in her mouth and chewed before glancing to both sets of worried amber eyes. "Not that I do, just saying I could. Shrimp?"