Blood Rose Rebellion

by Rosalyn Eves

  Gábor held out his hands, his fingers splayed wide. On two of his fingers, he wore silver rings with large, polished stones. He touched one of the stones and murmured a word, and the stone came to life.

  Izidóra leaned forward to show me her own charms: a necklace resting in the hollow of her neck and a pair of bracelets jangling on one wrist. Mátyás plucked at the necklace she wore, lifting it away from her collarbone. “Are you able to command much power with these?”

  “Mátyás,” Gábor said, a sharp warning in his voice.

  Mátyás withdrew his hand, but he winked at Izidóra as he did so.

  “Not much,” Gábor said. “Enough for small charms only. Our charms are not like Luminate spells in any case—they could not function if they were, because magic will not respond to Luminate spells cast by anyone who has not been Confirmed. Magic responds to our charms only because we have learned to use it differently. Much like water, how you use magic changes its form: water pushed through a mill is different from the steam that runs the new locomotives, though both generate power.”

  “Even Luminates are not so powerful. The Circle limits the scope of Luminate magic,” Mátyás said. “Once Europe teemed with firesmiths, necromancers, chimera, time-walkers.”

  “And shapeshifters,” Gábor added. “Like the táltos daughter of Rákóczy.”

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  Gábor glanced sidelong at Mátyás. “You tell her. She was one of yours after all.”

  Mátyás appeared oddly reluctant to speak. For a moment he would not look at me, only plucked at the grass growing by his feet. “This is a much-beloved story, about Rákóczy Ferenc, a Luminate who led an uprising against the Hapsburgs and their Circle a little over a century ago.”

  “Did he win?”

  Mátyás laughed. “It is not the Magyar sors to win battles. He did not win. But we celebrate him as a hero anyway. We love a lost cause, and Rákóczy’s was quite desperate. Austrians and Hungarian traitors were undermining his army, urging his troops to abandon him in return for the promise of imperial pardon and lands. They planned to attack his fortress while he was weakened.

  “Rákóczy’s daughter was a táltos, a shapeshifter and traveler between worlds. She transformed into a fly and listened to the plans of the Austrian army. She flew back to her father and told him of the attack, and he was able to escape his enemies.”

  “Are there still shapeshifters in Hungary?” I asked.

  Mátyás hesitated, tearing a piece of grass down its heart. “Shapeshifters were always rare, even here. Rákóczy’s daughter was one of the last. It is a difficult spell to master, and the Circle doesn’t allow individuals as much power as it once did.”

  Something unreadable flickered in Gábor’s eyes. He shook his head minutely, then pulled a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded the scrap of fabric to find a bracelet of three intertwined strands of silver holding in place a round, polished stone. Thin layers of purples and blue swirled around the stone. The metal was still warm from Gábor’s body. Heat crept up my neck as I slipped the charm over my wrist.

  “It’s agate,” Gábor explained. “For protection. The first thing you must learn is to channel magic into your talisman. Once it is full, you can learn to use the power inside it.” He tapped one slim finger against his lips, thinking. “The central difference between Romani and Luminate magic is the relationship between magic and the spell-caster. Luminate magic is about focus and control—about narrowing and limiting the expression of magic through spells and rituals. Our magic is about openness and submission. The way you wield the magic shapes the form the magic takes. Our spells may not be so powerful, but they do not cost as much either, in pain or wasted energy.

  “The talismans connect us to other objects, animate and inanimate. To use them, you must be willing to make yourself vulnerable. The charm-caster opens himself to the essence of the thing being manipulated and persuades that object to adapt to his needs.”

  It sounded like so much mystic gibberish to me. My confusion must have shown in my face because Gábor blew out his breath in frustration.

  Izidóra bent toward her brother, whispering and pointing at my ankle. His frown lifted. “When my sister healed your ankle, she connected with the bone and tissue. She used the power in her talisman to persuade the essence of your body to be more itself—for the tissue to attach itself properly, for the bone to be whole. Romani magic can’t make a thing other than it is, but we can nudge it to shift itself a bit.”

  “Fascinating,” Mátyás said, looking, for once, as if it were true.

  “But you cannot use your talisman until you can call magic into it. And for that, you need to feel the traces of magic around you, the dji of the living world. Close your eyes. Listen. Feel.”

  I folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes. Having feelings was something I seemed to be particularly good at, but being British, I never quite knew what to do with those sensations except push them away. A twinge of uncertainty brushed through me. I was not sure whether I could undo a lifetime of Mama’s training in order to master the requisite vulnerability and openness.

  I concentrated on the pulsing red behind my eyelids. A breeze skittered along my skin. The leaves rustled overhead. In the field, an insect hummed, and some distance away a bird called out, high and sweet. Tu-weet. Tu-weet. Tek.

  But of internal feelings? Nothing, save a growing sense of shame.

  “Do you sense any magic?” Gábor asked.

  I opened my eyes. “No.”

  “Perhaps if Izidóra helps you focus?” He translated his request into Hungarian.

  Izidóra held out her hand. “Kérem.”

  I set my gloved hand in her bare one. I closed my eyes and tried to focus my attention outward. Mátyás’s trousers rustled as he shifted beside me.

  There. A faint vibration, as of some giant hand plucking an invisible string.

  “I feel something.” I tried to keep my voice steady, not wanting to betray the excitement thrilling through me.

  “Try to call the magic into your charm,” Gábor said. “Find the heart of the charm, invite the magic in.”

  I kept my eyes closed. All I could feel was the weight of the silver, warm against the band of skin above my glove. I shook my head.

  Izidóra whispered something.

  “My sister says she pictures the charm-stone as a flower that opens as the magic approaches.”

  I imagined the roses in my mother’s garden, the way the petals slowly opened to the sun. The warm buzz of the magic skittered across my skin, but it slid over the charm-stone like oil on water.

  “Something’s blocking the magic. Try again. Use a different image this time. A stream bed, or wind sweeping through a ravine.”

  I tried each image in succession. Nothing happened. With the final image of the wind, I could not even feel the magic. Gábor asked me to repeat the exercise, with varying images, half a dozen times. Still the same result. I opened my eyes, flinching at the brightness.

  “Perhaps Romani magic, like Luminate magic, depends on a Romani bloodline,” Mátyás suggested.

  I did not want to believe it. My fingers tightened around the fabric of my skirt.

  “No. Anyone can use our talismans, though we keep them carefully guarded. I’m not sure what’s preventing Miss Arden.” Gábor rocked back on his haunches. The movement pulled his trousers taut against the line of muscle in his leg. The muscle of a working man and an athlete. So different from Freddy’s slim, aesthete build. Uncomfortable heat pricked in my breast. I turned away, hoping Gábor did not notice my rising color.

  Gábor stood, brushing dirt from his trousers. “That is enough for one lesson. You should go now. If you stay, you’ll be missed. I’ll send you word when it’s safe to meet again.”

  I felt as though someone had offered me a draft of water when I was parched, only to snatch it away. “Why not tomorrow?”

  Gábor folded his arms across his ches
t. “My magic, my rules.”

  I gave in with poor grace. “You are not very gallant.”

  He bared his teeth in a wide smile. “No. I am not.”

  In a month, we met a half dozen times in the drowsing summer heat. I did not make much progress, a fact Mátyás bemoaned loudly, but Gábor never remarked on. I could sense the magic, yet I could not seem to pull it into the charms.

  On afternoons when Gábor took pity on my repeated failures, he and Izidóra alternated demonstrating how the talisman magic worked. Izidóra cajoled a rose to bloom and then furl back tightly. Gábor raised a small windstorm that tore my hair loose and made Mátyás laugh as I scrambled to find the pins in the tall grass. Eventually, I gave up. Later, I told Grandmama the pins had fallen during my ride.

  I watched Gábor more than I perhaps should have, noting his small kindnesses to his sister, his clever hands, his quick wit. And then, becoming aware of my own observations, I retreated behind a prickly austerity that made both Mátyás and Izidóra stare.

  The lessons were not a complete failure. I learned enough of the theory to wheedle a ring from Izidóra and enclosed it in a letter to James with detailed instructions on its use. Perhaps he’d have better luck than I.

  The sun was hot on my head. Not four hours past dawn and already the day was stifling. Sweat beaded my forehead beneath my bonnet and trickled down my bodice. I leaned forward to whisper to Starfire, soothing words meant more for me than for her. I was riding alone to meet Izidóra and Gábor, as Mátyás had failed to appear. I reasoned: Izidóra would be present. There would be no impropriety. Aside from meeting a pair of Romanies in the first place. And learning their magic.

  A breeze swirled the warm, sweet summer air around me. The towering linden trees near the Eszterházy estate had burst into bloom, thousands of star flowers filling the air with their honey and lemon-peel scent. At night I pushed my window open so the fragrance filled my room and my dreams.

  When I arrived at the appointed site, I dismounted and tied Starfire loosely to a low branch. Gábor lounged against a tree trunk, pulling the head off a daisy.

  “Izidóra could not come today,” he said, tossing the daisy head away.

  “Oh.” All of my words appeared to have deserted me, along with our chaperones. Breathing was strangely difficult. I wondered if Ginny had laced my corset too tightly.

  Gábor’s glance flicked behind me. “Where’s Mátyás?”

  “Gone.” I slid my tongue across my lips, trying to call the unruly words in my head to order. “I think he’s bored with my progress. Or lack thereof.”

  “And you, Anna? We don’t have to keep going if you’re tired.”

  “No.” My pulse hammered in my throat. My given name on his lips was intimate, dangerous. “I want…this.” My hand swept out, gesturing vaguely at the clearing, at Gábor.

  His eyes sharpened, and he took a single step toward me.

  My face lit like a fuse. This man had kissed me once, though he had kept his distance since.

  And we were alone.

  The brook rippled past us. Overhead, the branches laced together, retreated, and then met again in the wind, as if trapped in some ancient courting dance.

  My breath caught, and I waited—half hoping, half fearing—for him to take the steps that would close the distance between us.

  I wanted…What did I want? I did not want this strangely proud young man to kiss me. I could not want that. I wanted magic. I wanted James to be whole. I did not want the dizzy rush and heat of kissing. I did not want another Freddy.

  Then why was I so out of reason disappointed when Gábor halted? Part of me, the shadow part I struggled to keep safely contained, whispered wickedly it would not be very hard to close the distance myself, to set my lips against his.

  I laid a square of fabric on the ground and settled myself upon it, folding my hands in my lap. Only the lingering heat in my cheeks betrayed my unmannerly thoughts. Gábor sat a safe distance from me, his hands kneading the muscles in his thighs. I watched their movement, fascinated, until I became aware of precisely what I did and blushed.

  “Have you always been Barren?”

  My eyes flew to his, startled by the abrupt question. But there was just curiosity and even a little sympathy in his eyes, so I answered.

  “The Circle tested me as they do all Luminate children at their Confirmation. I failed spectacularly.” And I injured James. But I could not say so to Gábor. “After that, Mama kept me away from everything magical, including most of Luminate society.”

  Gábor’s eyes held none of his usual reserve. They were dark and warm, like a summer night. “I am sorry. It is not an easy thing to feel divided: part one thing, part another, but never whole.”

  An aching shock of recognition hit me. “You feel this too?”

  Gábor plucked a leaf from a nearby bush, holding it up to the light so the veins showed dark. “I’ve always been interested in the natural world. A clergyman in a nearby village the winter I was nine noted my interest and offered me lessons with the other boys he tutored.”

  “That was generous.”

  “I suppose it was kindly meant. But if I had known how it would end—” He broke off.

  I waited, silent, willing him to continue. After a minute or two, he began again. “The parents of the other boys complained. I was Gypsy. I was no longer allowed to study with them, but the priest made time for me when he could. When my family moved on, he sent books with me. My mother threatened to destroy them—who needed gadzhe learning?—but I begged her not to. Learning—it was like a curse. I couldn’t get it out of my thoughts, my blood. I wanted more. Occasionally I could find people kind enough to teach me: sometimes priests, sometimes students.

  “Mostly, people weren’t very welcoming. A Gypsy to aspire beyond his station? Absurd.” He sprang up and began striding across the clearing. “I could have tolerated gadzhe scorn. I’ve heard it my entire life. But then my own family accused me of turning gadzho, of thinking myself better than them.”

  “Do you?”

  He turned troubled eyes on me. “I am proud of who I am. There is much to admire about my people: their tenacity, their intelligence, their humor and passion. But sometimes I catch myself seeing them as a gadzho might, seeing their superstitions, the difficulties of a nomadic life.” His voice dropped. “And sometimes I see myself as they do: a man aspiring to foolishness, currying favor of people who will never value him.”

  I thought of James, trying to find a place among those who should have welcomed him, and my heart squeezed tight. “At least you know something. I’ve been taught to stitch and curtsy.”

  Gábor stopped pacing and dropped beside me. My entire left side came alive at his nearness.

  “Is knowledge always such a good thing? I mean to go to Buda-Pest in the fall to take courses at the university, if I can. Mátyás says he will help me. I believe in what I’m doing—but sometimes it costs more than I can bear. I do not always fit comfortably with my own people—or with the gadzhe. Where does such a half creature belong?”

  I had never heard this note in Gábor’s voice before, and it took me a moment to identify it. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Odd how openness can make something familiar strange, and something strange familiar. Gábor was only a boy after all, not much older than I was.

  “You’re not a half creature,” I said. “Two ways of seeing should make you better, stronger, wiser. Like the owl, who sees in all directions.”

  “Perhaps humans weren’t meant for such double vision. A woman with a double soul once nearly destroyed the world.”

  Gooseflesh prickled up my arm. I knew this story: Pandora, the all-gifted by the Olympian gods, given one soul for herself, and one to punish the men who helped Prometheus. “But Pandora was chimera. Your dual vision doesn’t make you monstrous.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  One slim brown hand clenched and unclenched against his leg. Before I let myself think, I stripped off
my glove and reached out, my fingers closing over his. His hand stilled.

  His bare skin was rough and warm against my touch. I had never touched a man’s ungloved hand before, save Papa’s. And this was quite different. “Everyone feels that way who does not fit neatly into the role society gives them. But it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you, only that you are bigger than they can imagine.” Recognition pulled at me—my words were as true for me as for Gábor. I put them away to study them later. Just then, my attention was all for Gábor. “You know so much. You’re kind to your sister and brother. You’re patient beyond anything I deserve. You are…quite remarkable.” My nerves stood alert like soldiers, alive to the perils—and promises—of some uncharted territory.

  His eyes lifted to mine, his dark pupils swallowing the brown iris. Perhaps I should not have spoken so freely, but I could not call the words back. Would not.

  His hand shifted, capturing my fingers in his, his thumb tracing a slow movement across the back of my hand. The heat sweeping up my arm, suffusing my body, had nothing to do with the warmth of the summer day.

  I knew I should pull away, but I did not.

  Gábor smiled down at me, and for a moment ringing filled my ears. He was going to kiss me. He wanted to. I could see it in his slightly widened eyes, the way he leaned intently toward me as he spoke, his gaze dropping to my lips, to the skin exposed by the neck of my dress.

  But he held back, waiting for me to make some sign.