Blood Rose Rebellion

by Rosalyn Eves

  Two rough-looking men emerged from a nearby street with a thin Romani girl in tow. Desperate, she bit one of the men and kicked the other in the shins. They released her with matching howls of pain, but when she turned to run, the man nearest her hauled her back by her hair.

  My breath caught. Izidóra.

  At a gesture from a tall Luminate woman, the men shoved Izidóra toward the mass of Romanies. I scanned them, but there were too many. I could not see Gábor, though that meant nothing. If his family was here, no doubt he was nearby.

  My heart sank. I was too late. Yet I felt compelled to watch, to witness whatever might be happening for Gábor’s sake, for his sister’s. They were my friends.

  A second Luminate woman wove through the captive Romanies, collecting their talismans in an enormous sack: rings, brooches, necklaces, and bracelets. I rubbed at my wrist, at the phantom memory of the bracelet Gábor had given me.

  In the center of the square, two Luminate men stood, setting the grounding for a spell. Herr Steinberg was one, his glasses flashing in the low light. The other crouched down, placed a coil of rope on the ground in a precise circle, then straightened. His light-eyed gaze swept the crowd, as though looking for something. I started.

  Pál did not see me, or whatever he searched for. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. I pressed back against the nearest building, slouching down so I was hidden from view by the people in front of me. Pál’s eyes snapped open.

  His voice carried across the square, even over the muttering noise around me. “There’s a Gypsy woman nearby hiding her newborn. Bring them here.”

  A dozen eager citizens peeled away from the crowd, disappearing into side streets. My stomach cramped. I knew how sacred the Romanies held the privacy of the newborn. To thrust both mother and child into the dirty public square would be the worst kind of violation. I wondered if Pál knew as much. I hoped he did not: I hoped he was only ignorant, not malicious.

  The crowd stirred restlessly. I ignored my neighbors, concentrating instead on the Romanies. Still no sign of Gábor. I hoped he had escaped. I hoped he was far away. But my heart hurt for those who remained, the young mothers with terrified children clinging to their skirts, the older men and women wearing looks of stoic resignation. Izidóra gripped her mother’s hand. A woman near them dropped to the ground, wailing, pounding her hands fruitlessly against the dust. A young boy who looked much like Gábor’s brother darted, toward a gap between the Romanies and the Luminate, only to recoil hard against an invisible barrier.

  At last a young woman was pushed forward into the square, her hair hanging wild around her face, free from the kerchief every Romani woman wore in public. It was not Gábor’s sister with the baby I had cursed—but I ached for her anyway. She held her baby against her breast and keened: a high, horrible sound as if her heart were being turned inside out.

  Herr Steinberg took the baby from her with gentle hands. The tall Luminate woman put an arm around the girl and led her to the other Romanies. But their very gentleness made their actions the more abominable—they knew they were doing a terrible thing and wished to lessen the horror of it.

  Herr Steinberg spread a bit of cloth on the ground before Uncle Pál and laid the baby upon it. The infant thrashed tiny limbs and wailed a high, thin note, nearly lost in the growing murmur around me. The crowd was uneasy, disliking this new turn when they had hoped for blood. An innocent provided poor sport.

  I closed my eyes briefly, praying for courage, and then shoved my way through the crowd. I did not know precisely what Pál and Herr Steinberg planned, but a tight certainty in my gut told me they must be stopped. The two men looked up in surprise as I emerged in front of them. I waved my hand at the child and the bound Romanies. “Don’t do this! These people are no real threat to you. Let them go.”

  Herr Steinberg readjusted his spectacles. His brows pinched together. “As distasteful as this may seem to you, civilized society must be governed by rules. And rules demand consequences. The Gypsies have been using magic reserved for the Luminate, a practice punishable by law.”

  He nodded at Pál to continue. My eyes flickered from the baby, whose lips and fingers were already blue with cold, to the young mother who threw herself repeatedly against the Holding spell.

  “Please stop.” I brought my icy hands together in supplication. Did Lady Berri know the Circle had planned this? Then I remembered—she was in hiding. Of course she couldn’t know. She was not like these men.

  “Be silent, or I will silence you.” The look Pál cast me was chillingly indifferent. “The spell is begun.” He crouched beside the baby and touched its forehead with a finger. The baby stopped wailing. Pál pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from a pocket in his coat, and I cried out.

  Pál did not look at me, but slid the knife in a practiced gesture across his own wrist. His blood dripped onto the baby, crimson rivulets running down its cheeks. The baby began crying again. Behind the bar of the Holding, the mother screamed at my uncle.

  The spell is begun. I scrabbled for the anger that had let me break Pál’s spell when he entered my room. The air seemed to catch, as though I had snagged the edge of the spell. The ring on my finger blazed white-hot, and I gasped, my concentration shattering. The ring must have been charmed to prevent my breaking not only the Binding but any spell.

  Pál stood. The tall Luminate women rushed forward with a strip of white cloth to bind his cut. When she finished, Pál extended his hands and began intoning in Latin, a sharp phrase that bit the air. Beside him, the Luminate woman chanted a counterpoint to his: high when his voice was low, low when he was high, their two spells mingling to become something stronger, more powerful.

  At once the square was silent. The screaming mother, the crying women and children, the angry fathers—all still. I looked at them in surprise. Their faces were blank with horror, as if the blood on the child were the child’s own blood and not Pál’s.

  Of all the Romanies in the square, only the baby continued to wail.

  The tall woman scooped up the baby and returned it to its mother, who wept and kissed its head and opened her mouth to speak but no sound emerged. The Romani nearest her edged away. Others dropped to their knees.

  I found my voice. “What have you done?”

  “A minor Blocking spell,” Herr Steinberg said. “The practice of magic requires that one both sense magic, to pull it into one’s soul, and speak the words of ritual. The spell put a buffer around their souls, blocking any possible ability to sense magic, and silenced their vocal cords.”

  “They cannot speak,” I echoed, sure I had misunderstood. “Not to each other. Not to anyone. How could you do this?” I wanted to weep.

  “My blood sacrifice brought me strength; profaning something the Gypsies hold sacred made them weak,” Pál said, mistaking my question. He wavered, his knees buckling. Herr Steinberg slid a supporting arm around him, and Pál cast a look at him, resentment just masked with gratitude.

  Pál’s words twisted in my head. He knew about Romani birthing practices, knew that what he was doing was a profanation. Did he know that their magic did not require words? Blocking their connection to magic was one thing; stealing their ability to speak was gratuitous cruelty. My own knees trembled.

  Herr Steinberg must have read my contempt in my face because he hastened to add, “It’s quite humane, really. None of them will be imprisoned. None will be forced to leave their home or their family.”

  “But they cannot use magic,” I said. “And they cannot speak.”

  “Well. Yes. That was rather the point.” He smiled, and I saw for the first time the malicious edge to it. “I understand we have you to thank for pointing us toward them. Count yourself lucky your family is deemed too important for your punishment to be the same.”

  Those damned letters.

  Already the crowd dispersed around us, their lust for blood blunted by the disquieting spell. The Holding spell lifted: the Romanies left the square in driblets, le
aning on one another.

  I could not stay. I had been told the Binding protected us from monsters. But monsters existed outside the Binding as well.

  I swung away from Herr Steinberg and my uncle, my body braced for a spell that never came. The Circle made no attempt to stop me.

  They had already done what they came to do.

  A Romani family brushed past me, a father and mother herding two small children between them. My eyes stung. I suspected that some, perhaps most, had never practiced magic as the Circle charged. I wondered what they would do now.

  I paused to search the square behind me. The Circle had vanished. There was no sign of Izidóra. But a half dozen paces away, I spotted a Romani bracelet, trampled and half buried in mud. I dug it out and slipped it into my pocket, with some half-formed idea of cleaning it and returning it to Gábor’s family. It was not atonement, but it was a start.

  I stripped off my now-filthy gloves as I walked. Turning a corner into a shadowed roadway, I strode directly into someone. I had a confused impression of a man, taller than I, wearing a green wool dolman of considerably nicer cut than most of the people in the square. Likely Luminate.

  I recoiled. “I beg your pardon!”

  The owner swung around. “Anna?”

  Gábor’s hands were trembling, but not at my nearness. His eyes were wide, drowning in a film of tears. I had never seen him look so gutted. Without thinking—not of how it might look, not of my own horror—I threw my arms around him, feeling the soft wool of his collar against my ear. His heart thumped an uneven rhythm.

  “Anna,” he said again, his cheek coming to rest against the top of my head, his hands tangling in my hair. A spasm seized him, and his tall frame seemed to collapse on me, folding in on itself, sliding through my arms until he was kneeling before me in the dirt, his head resting against my abdomen.

  He sobbed, a great heaving gasp that shook both of us, and I cradled him in my arms and kissed his hair and wished I could leach some of the horror from him through my touch. A fierce protectiveness welled in me, something I had not felt since James.

  I could not tell him it was all right. It was not.

  But I could hold him tight. I could grieve with him.

  We clung to each other for a long moment, the only still points in a turning, tottering world.

  “Oh, Anna. This is my fault.” His voice was muffled against the damp front of my dress.

  I swallowed against my constricting throat. “How is this your fault? The Circle bears blame for it.” My arms tightened around his shoulders. My fault. I should never have written those letters. I should have broken Pál’s spell as he cast it. I should have done something more than I had.

  “I should have stopped it. But I did nothing. I watched—and I did nothing.”

  “What could you do?” I asked. “If you had acted, they would have spelled you as well. You survived. You did what you must to fight again another day.”

  “I was not being heroic. I was frightened. You were not. I saw you.” He lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose red and dripping, and still my heart contracted.

  “I was terrified,” I admitted. His words twisted in me. He did not know the extent of my guilt—and I could never tell him. He would hate me. “I could not stop them either. Only the fact I am Luminate prevented them from punishing me with your family.” I hesitated. “But we will act. And soon. When I break the Binding, we will—”

  “Don’t,” Gábor said, laying his fingers against my lips. “Don’t say it. Don’t do it. It won’t save my family. It might not save any of us.”

  I heard his words, but they seemed distant. Against all reason, I wanted to kiss his fingers. Despite the horribly inappropriate time and place, I wanted to slide my hands into his hair and press my lips against his.

  I stared at him. Gábor fell silent, his eyes fixed on mine. They were dark and warm, like buckwheat honey. Something flickered in them, and he looked away, dropping his fingers from my mouth. My lips felt chilled and exposed.

  Gripping my arms for balance, he pulled himself upright. “Thank you.” As soon as he was stable, he released me. He glanced down the street, where the last of the Romanies straggled past. “You should go.”

  No. He was pushing me away again. I could see it in the tight set of his lips, the way his eyes refused to meet mine, the darkening flush high in his cheeks. “I want to be here. With you. I want to know you will be all right.”

  “I am fine. I must see to my family.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I said. “Perhaps I can help.”

  He shook his head. “It’s better if you don’t. They would be embarrassed for you to see them like this.”

  I moved in front of him so he was forced to look at me, and set my bare hands to his cheeks. My stomach trembled, but my fingers were steady. “I will not think less of your family for what happened to them. That’s what friendship is—what love is. People who love you will not think less of you for grieving. I do not think less of you.”

  Gábor set his hands over mine and drew them away from his face. He stared down at me. “What is it you want from me?”

  I want you to forgive me for what I’ve done. Heat scalded my cheeks and washed down my throat. I willed myself to return his gaze. I want you to love me. “I wish you would let me be your friend. Let me help you.”

  I took a deep breath, my heart hammering. Well-bred girls did not say what I was about to say. I thought ruefully of my escape from Grandmama’s house. Perhaps I was not so well-bred either. “I know this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion, but you seem determined to say nothing, so I must. I care about you. I might even love you. But I won’t know unless you allow me closer—and you are always so careful, so guarded.”

  His beautiful dark eyes clouded. “Anna. You are a lovely young woman: pretty, witty, strong-hearted, brave.” His fingers tightened around mine.

  I heard the unspoken “but” and turned my face away, tugging my hand free from his. My face burned with mortification. I had misread everything. Gábor did not care for me in that fashion. His silence now was only because he searched for the right words to let me down gently.

  “You’ve said enough. I understand.” I whirled around, my eyes already filling with tears.

  And then Gábor stood before me, blocking my path. He put his hands on my shoulders and drew me to him, bringing his lips down firmly on mine.

  His lips were warm and surprisingly soft. I leaned into the kiss, desire and relief and hope surging through me. And then the kiss was no longer gentle, but something powerful—shot through with longing and a dark thread of sorrow. I didn’t know if it was love or fear or desperation or all three that drove us together, but I welcomed it. I slid my fingers behind his head to stroke the soft, fine curls at the nape of his neck. He released my shoulders, his hands moving in slow circles down my spine. Energy fizzed through my body, filling me until I thought I should burst with it.

  He pulled back to rain kisses on my face: along my brow line, down the curve of my cheek, the corner of my mouth, before finding my lips again. My skin flared beneath his touch. I kissed him back, marveling at my temerity, thrilling that I could. He was here, he wanted me like I wanted him, and the miracle of this fact transcended any magic I knew.

  Gábor pulled away first. I blinked at him, unsteady on my feet, shocked to find myself still standing in a muddy street in Tabán.

  “How could I not love you?” he asked, his eyes fierce but his voice tender. “You are the bravest, kindest, most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

  My heart expanded. He loves me.

  Gábor continued, releasing my hand and stepping back a pace. “But try as I might, I cannot see a future for us. I see a lovely Luminate lady who will return to England and marry one of her own—and I see a Romani man who hopes at best to aspire to a small clerical or scientific position. There is nothing for you in this.”

  “Must we have a future to be toge
ther now?” My voice sounded wistful, even to my ears.

  Gábor’s gaze was steady. “You are not that kind of woman.”

  A wind kicked up, whistling down the alley. I rubbed my arms, chilled in the weak sunlight. My mind understood his words, but my heart protested. I remembered Jane Eyre, the book James had sent me. Sometimes love can’t be had even when both lovers want it. I had adored Jane’s dark, bittersweet story, but I did not want it for mine.

  “I am, and always will be, your friend. But I do not see how we can be more than this.” He held his arm out to me. I took it, his warmth and nearness firing electricity up my side. “Let me take you home. I’ll see to my family when you are safe.”

  “I could try to break the spell on them,” I said, though I was fairly certain the ring would stop me if I made the attempt. But I had to offer.

  Gábor stopped moving. “That is kind of you. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. You might free them—but in breaking the spell, you might cause other damage.”

  His words stung, though he had not said anything I did not already know. The specter of his niece hung between us.

  We walked down the hillside to the Duna and crossed the pontoon bridge. We followed the Korzó until we reached Rákóczy Street, and then turned into the heart of Pest. At Grandmama’s doorstep, I emptied my reticule and gave him all the money I could find inside it.

  “It’s not enough,” I said. The infant’s thin wail against the sudden silence of the Romanies still rang in my ears. Money couldn’t atone for that. “But please, see that your family has everything they need.”

  Gábor hesitated. “Thank you.”

  Then it was my turn to hesitate. “You should know, I mean to try to break the Binding tomorrow night, with Lady Berri. I believe William intends to launch a revolution against the Hapsburgs after the spell is broken. Possibly I will fail. Perhaps we all will. And maybe the monsters we release will be dangerous. Maybe the magic released will be destructive.”