Chapter 14: Awakened, Recalled
A Thorn Forgotten
I lay with Jasmin, our bodies pressed together and no longer separated by clothes, long after our foray into more passionate intimacy. She had drifted off to sleep holding me as tightly as ever, her cloth wraps discarded and replaced by the warmth of her silverthorn scars.
Meanwhile, I stared at the vase holding the bouquet, trying to understand why it tickled at my mind, even after such a life-altering moment. Occasionally, my mind would slip back to the way Jasmin caressed every one of my soft curves, or the way her body reacted to my own touch. Several times, I almost woke her to beg for more. But every distracted thought brought me to velvet, and that redoubled my concern about the flowers in front of me.
Something was off. I couldn't place it. Every flower in it was one I recognised, and relatively harmless at that. Vibrant yellows and blues, some violets and reds. At the centre of the display was a single red rose, its leaves barely showing amid the beautiful petals of the other flowers.
My eyes traced the bundle from its crest to the rim of the vase.
I hadn't noticed until we started cuddling, but whatever was drawing my attention irked me in a way I couldn't articulate. Of course, that wasn't shocking, given that I couldn't even begin to identify the cause.
Doing what I could to take it all in, I began to catalogue the blooms in the vase. Yellow daisies. Pink irises. Lilacs. Mountain heather. And a single rose. Obviously eating them wasn't advised, but there was nothing inherently dangerous about any single flower presented. Daisies caused nausea. Irises tasted awful but were harmless. Lilacs and heather in full bloom even made a nice tea. And sure, roses had their thorns —
My gaze snapped to a spot just below the edge of the bouquet above the rim of the vase. Sticking out from the stems of the flowers was a single sharp thorn. Why hadn't Jasmin removed the rose's thorns, but she'd removed them from the Queen's Heart as though by instinct.
I must have been stirring because Jasmin pulled me closer and whispered lightly in my ear. "Everything okay, dearest?"
"Thorns, darling." I kept my voice airy, hoping not to disturb her further.
She yawned, apparently beginning to wake. "What about them?"
"You removed the thorns from the Queen's Heart flower, but not that rose." I wiggled until I was facing Jasmin, her arms not giving an inch beyond her normal grip. "Why? Arguably, dethorning Queen's Heart is direly more dangerous."
The emerald in her eyes flared for a moment. Her voice rang like a song more ancient than Lafleur itself. "It was natural, my dear." Everything in her expression echoed storied consideration. "I suppose I had an inclination that the thorns needed to come off, so I removed them. Roses are fairly harmless."
As quickly as the shift happened, it reverted. Jasmin's eyes still glowed lightly, but whatever weight she'd carried vanished.
"Why do you ask?" Her normal voice sounded almost alien after the change.
I tried for several seconds to turn it over in my head, but nothing came to me. "Well, I suppose it just seemed odd."
"Perhaps if I removed the rose thorns, too?"
"No, darling," I tried to be reassuring as I pushed her arm off of me and rose to sitting. "There's no need. It was just — Don't worry yourself over it." Her eyes traced from my face to my hips, where the blanket only barely covered me. "Come now, darling, we just finished —"
Her lips found mine mid-sentence, dragging me back into the intoxicating combined scents of our bodies and gave a repeat performance that would make the goddesses blush, were they to watch us.
When at last we dragged ourselves from the warm comfort of the bed, Jasmin's now shoulder-length hair was a mess, and I counted myself ever more grateful that I preferred my hair cropped shorter. I couldn't help staring at every one of her supple curves as she gathered her clothes. Several spots across her body were already discoloured where I'd kissed just a bit too vigorously, and it was almost enough to distract me a third time.
I could only imagine what she'd done to me when she pinned me down and —
Nope. We had things to do. I couldn't let myself be distracted by her. My clothes were, surprisingly, in a neat pile next to the bedside table with the silverthorn flower. I had them on before Jasmin was even half dressed, a minor benefit of preferring men's clothes. But I also got the distinct impression she was going slower to tease me.
Seeing me fully dressed, she painted on a faux frown. "Aw, but I was hoping for one more," she pouted. "Oh well. Now you know what's waiting, it'll make the anticipation that much more intense."
"How dare you." It was flat and unfazed. "What sorts of mischief are you planning for the remainder of the sun? I only ask because Aster intends to stop by for what she called 'nobility training', and I would rather not have a proper noblewoman there to tell me how badly I'm messing up."
"Perfect," Jasmin smiled as she finally fastened her skirt, which had been idly hanging just off her hip, "I wanted to see where Vanara got off to. They seem to have run off, and we can't be letting them run too far amok."
Excellent. Jasmin wouldn't see me struggling. "Delightful. Then give me a kiss and get yourself moving."
I'd been alone in the house again for less than an hour when Aster's loud, booming knock alerted me to her presence at the door. She didn't wait for my answer and pushed it open. As usual, she was wearing her guard's uniform, which made her look the severe beast she did her best to project to those around her.
On her side, Aster wore the same sabre as before, but there were two extras as well. She carried in her arms the smallest set of fighting leathers I'd ever seen.
"I take it the sabre is for training and the armour is for me?" My smile was bright but fairly unconvinced.
"Well, one sabre is for training, and one is for you to start wearing when you go out. Not the ridiculous dagger that used to belong to Omela. Not unless you can prove it enough like she did."
"The —" Every drop of liquid in my mouth seemed to evaporate at once. Mrs. Reed had given me that dagger. But it belonged to my mother? That at least explained why Aster stared at it for so long. "My employer in Powell's Square gave that to me. She didn't say it was my mother's."
Aster raised a brow. "Perhaps that boss had a measure of sense about her that you never managed." She unstrapped both sabres from her waist and leaned one against the wall before bringing the other to me. "I assume, since you didn't threaten me of your own skill, that this will be your first time handling a proper weapon." When I moved to protest, she raised a single hand and made an odd hissing noise. "No. Your mother's dagger doesn't count."
Aster wrapped her arms around my waist to strap the belt on me properly. She tossed the fighting leathers across the room before taking a step back.
"For now, we'll focus on form, not function," she said softly, "and if you happen to be a natural, then we'll get you suited up and sparring before sundown."
Steel and Soulfire
My sweat dripped as I repeated the motions for the fiftieth time. The sabre's hilt was slick and barely stayed in my hand as I followed through the routine. Slash, stab, parry, step, retreat. Shuffle, slash, parry, stab.
Aster watched my form, barking commands as I worked through it all. "Soften your grip. It isn't a stick you found in the woods. Tighten your grip. It's not a tomato that will burst from pressure. Full range of motion. Don't stop short."
I knew she was trying to do right by me, by my mother, but with every syllable that passed her lips, the temptation to stab her grew. Probably the only thing stopping me was the knowledge that she could have her own sabre's pommel in my gut before I could react. She'd demonstrated as much when we got started to make a point.
So I kept following her command. Slash, parry, stab, parry, step, retreat, slash. Raise your hand higher to parry. Protect your core when you move. Put your all into every motion.
The weapon clattered to the floor as the sweat soaking its hilt finally won out. I stared at it too long before moving to pick it back up.
"Don't worry, Roisin," her gruff tone was gone, and she'd finally stopped barking orders. "Sheath that. We're done for the sun."
I fumbled with the point of the sabre's blade as I worked to reseat it in the sheath. The weight of it seemed to be increasing with each passing second. At last I managed, barely, to get it to go.
"So," Aster spoke gently, "you have a lot of peculiar scars for one who has never handled a sword. I presume the dagger wasn't involved. Care to share some of your history, daughter of Omela?"
My hesitation only lasted a moment before I responded, "Well, I'm pretty accident prone, and my father wasn't really around much, even before he was taken. And well, have you ever heard tales of a blue-haired warrior?"
Aster chewed at her bottom lip for several seconds. "You don't know, do you?" She tilted her head in the same way I'd seen Delia do hundreds of times. "I don't know how much I can tell you."
"So long as this isn't some cosmic leash, I think we'll be fine." The words came out automatically. My hand went to my mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."
"It's less cosmic, cousin, and more national," she offered. "If I tell you, and I am wrong, it could spell disaster for me. If I don't tell you, then it will certainly spell disaster for you. Goddesses around us, Afina, your fate could already be sealed."
"When in this roundabout way of answering my innocent question are you going to actually answer it? Because if it will be much longer, then I'll need to begin supper. The sun is dropping quickly, Aster. Speak."
"Hold a moment," her eyes went wide. "Do you not know how the lights in this house work, Roisin? I presumed it was simply an affectation of country life."
"Why does everybody insist on changing the subject when I ask important questions." I growled, hoping to make a point. She didn't budge. "No. I wasn't aware the place had lights. There are no lamps."
Her head dropped, and she shook it slowly. "Goddesses around us, Afina, you are the least qualified noblewoman I've ever met." She raised her head and met my eyes. "Give me a cold-flame."
I swallowed, the renewed desert of my mouth returning with a vengeance. "I ... can't produce cold-flame."
"What?" I hadn't seen or heard Jasmin come in, but she dropped everything she was holding. "But the lamps. In your cave."
Her confused gaze and Aster's unsettled gawk felt like the stares from the people in the market earlier that sun. It was like they were both seeing past some lie they thought I'd been holding back.
"Bought. Mrs. Reed sells them," I felt a heavy lump in my throat. "They're common out eveward. Most folks in Powell's Square have only a mild spark. Except me. I don't have it at all."
"That's not true." Vanara's voice echoed throughout the foyer. They materialised out of the shadows and crossed over to me. "Everyone has the soulfire, Afina." They took my hand in theirs and held my gaze. "Every living thing from the tiniest insect to the giantest goliath."
I felt a subtle warmth as a faint purple glow surrounded my hand. It was different than in Thornwood Hallow. There was no pain, no piercing to my core. Just a gentle warmth.
"I've never seen violet before," Aster muttered, clearly fascinated.
"Hush you." Vanara barked. "Afina needs focus." They turned back to me. "You feel the warmth of it. You remember it. The feeling of it coursing through you."
"Of course," I sputtered. "It may be cold-flame, but it's still fire."
"Focus." They changed their face. "It's no wonder Afina looks wrong. She's forgotten her soulfire. Does Afina even remember Afina?"
"What in Lafleur are they on about?" Aster was whispering to Jasmin, even so, their voice sounded like it was underwater.
"Va is just like that." Jasmin said it flatly, but her face was scrunched. "They have been as long as I remember."
My attention was ripped from them as my hand burned intensely. "If Afina doesn't focus, Va Nara will make her focus." Their expression intensified, and their eyes flashed that violet I'd seen in Thornwood. "Push back, Afina, or I will burn the whole arm off, and I doubt Salora would hold it against me. Even if your sisters found a way to take issue with it. How would that look, Afina? A one-armed Mavi?"
She wasn't speaking Fleurian, but the words were clear as they washed over me. Her blood-red hair seemed to wave in a wind I couldn't feel. The pain spread throughout my whole arm. She was serious.
"It is a shame, Afina, that the woman who stole Salora's heart has forgotten herself so." She growled at me. "Fight back, Afina. Fight as though your soul depends on it."
"Vaelis," I whispered, uncertain where I knew the name from, "please. I don't understand."
"So you do remember. Good." She gripped my hand. "Then my sisters' deaths will not be in vain. Fight back Afina. Please. Remember yourself."
That was the longest lucid streak I'd ever seen from the bizarre creature we'd found in Thornwood Hallow. And it continued.
"Focus on the pain, Afina. Focus on the misfortune that has befallen you. Remember how it felt. Feel where it comes from, and fight back."
I was still lost, but the pain was becoming unbearable. My heart raced as I tried with everything in me to push back against a generic feeling of pressure from everywhere at once. How long could I last if I didn't manage something. Anything.
A whisper in my ear threatened to distract me. "It's okay, Lesser Rose. Vaelis means well." The voice was familiar, but distant. Like a dream half-remembered from waking.
In my other ear was a forceful voice. "I didn't put in all that work for you to lose an arm to Vaelis going overboard, Troublemaker Roisin."
Jasmin's arms wrapped around my waist. She was trying to pull me away from Vaelis, but she made no progress.
There was a cooling sensation in my shoulder, and I was certain Vaelis had finally succeeded in burning the entire arm off. But it marked a boundary. Everything was fine closer to my body, and everything was pain at the extremity. But the cold separated them.
It was like a muscle. If I relaxed, the cold receded toward my core. When I flexed, it worked a path down my arm. The more I played with it, the less it felt like cold and the more it felt like a part of me, long forgotten. Like a bird flying for the first time.
My breath had been shallow as I began giving in to the pain, so I took a deep breath – or an approximation of one – and gave it everything I had, pushing back against the pain until my hand glowed a sickly silver. The violet flames were gone, and all that remained was my own cold-flame. Something beautiful and terrifying that I was certain I couldn't produce.
I held the flame for several seconds, making it glow brighter or weaker until at last, the world began to rise up around me, and the floor greeted me fondly.
An Eternal Elegy
"I am certain, Lesser Rose," Salora's impossible voice echoed throughout the space around us, "that you were never in this moment. This moment at the last."
My eyes focused on the place. This time, there was no flash of darkness or slow fade from where I was to where I arrived. I simply never landed on the floor of the foyer, and then I was here. And here was an odd room, more modest than the great hall, but more accommodating than the glass corridor.
There were padded benches along the walls situated on either side of tables. A strange black fixture with flashing cold-flame glowing along its border stood in a corner. In the middle of the room was a counter with several raised platforms that resembled metal chairs.
On the far side of the counter were two women, having an animated discussion about something. As always, I couldn't hear them. At the far end of the room was a familiar figure. Rose. She was tapping her fingers on some sort of bent slate, every few moments making a screwed up face.
The walls of the space were metal and glass. An uncomfortable glow emanated from several orbs at even spacing along the ceiling.
Sitting directly across from me was the woman who never seemed to fit in wherever I saw her. Salora. Her brilliant emerald eyes were surrounded by red and wet. She'd been crying. Her silver hair, normally let to fly free, was tied in a single great shock at the top of her head.
"What is this moment, Salora?" I seemed to have more agency in this place than I was accustomed to in visiting her. "What is so special about it that you treat it with such gravity?"
"It is the end. At least from Rose's perspective," there was weight in her words as she forced them past the tears she was shedding. "You will see when she is ready."
"Then I suppose we talk until then."
"I suppose we do, Lesser Rose."
"A name came to my lips, Salora," I began, fighting with my terror at the image. "Vaelis."
Her face was impenetrable as she considered the words. "She is long dead. Like the others."
"I'm not so certain she is. I met a wandering creature whose eyes sometimes glow violet. Her hair crimson as life." When Salora perked up, it was as good as confirmation. "Was she your sister?"
"Something akin to a sister," Salora admitted.
"She mentioned two others during moments of clarity. Draethis," the name made Salora nearly leap from her seat. "And Aurelin."
"Sister," she confirmed, "and wife. Before the great peace. Long before the Fiend. There was a fifth as well."
"You fell in love with another," I said, not an accusation so much as a peace offering, "and she with you."
"We did. And then the Fiend came. She took everything from all of us."
"She consumed them, didn't she," Salora's brow raised. "And erased them from history. Erased you from history."
"For a Lesser Rose, you continue to be quick on the draw."
I rolled my eyes at her. "When does the show start, Salora?"
A response wasn't necessary. The image appeared as if on cue. Salora and the blue-haired warrior stood in a great hall. A throne room. With them was a terrifying shadow, barely human. Feminine.
She held three flowers. I recognised them from my temple dreams in Thornwood Hallow.
The blue-haired warrior stepped forward, and she fought the shadow with all she had. Her silver blade flashed and sparked as the shadow produced a hammer, a dagger, a bow from the flowers she held, fighting back with all she had.
Strike after strike, blow after blow, no attack could break through the shadow's defence. The blue-haired warrior was growing weary. Her sword was knocked from her grip and sent across the room. As the shade advanced, Salora moved to defend her love.
The dagger struck true, and the shade devoured Salora. The blue-haired warrior vanished as the last of Salora's hair vanished into the darkness.
I watched as the scene replayed over and over, each time going faster. When the images moved too quickly to process, all of time blurring together, it all froze. Salora stood, bleeding silver and emeralds, holding her arm out to protect the blue-haired warrior.
But they looked different somehow.
"You see, Lesser Rose," her tears had returned. The table was a puddle of salt and sadness.
I felt my own face dampen as my own tears streamed out, and the darkness finally began to settle. Somehow I knew, that would be the last I saw of Rose.