The Rose Bride (20 page)

Then she smelled her herd and crashed into the undergrowth, where she found them waiting for her. They ran away with her, deeper into the woods, where it was dark and she could no longer hear music. Each one in turn nuzzled her, and she bleated plaintively. They could not know she was weeping, but she was.

Then the king of the herd nickered and led her to a purple rosebush, which whispered, “You
are loved. You are loved.”

Not by him
. She pawed the ground and bobbed her head.

She gazed from one to the other with her large brown eyes, bleating
whew-whew-whew
. They pawed the earth in return, and the king buck cocked his head at her as if to say,
I will
make
you the queen of the herd. Give me your leave and it is done
.

So perhaps the one who loved her most was not a man at all. Perhaps Artemis had changed her into a deer so that she would be truly loved. Who could know the twists and turns her path would take? Her life had been so tumultuous already. Perhaps living out her days as a deer would give her peace.

Perhaps the love the goddess offered was not human love. Perhaps that was too imperfect, for all people were flawed. They were defined by their wounds unless they healed them. Their broken hearts weighted them down: My
love is a meager portion and I must dole it out carefully. I cannot dare to love like a god, because my love feels so limited and I am so afraid of the pain love has already given me
.

Jean-Marc was wounded thus. He carried his broken heart like a chain around his ankles. It made him stumble. But deer could run and gallop and canter. Perhaps that was why Artemis loved them so. They were free.

A wounded heart was a prisoner.

The roses told her that she was loved. That meant that someone loved her, knew how to love.

And if the sad king had ever known how, clearly he had forgotten.

Perhaps that’s why
I’m
here
, she thought.
I’ve been transformed, as I was told I would be. Have I been sent to help
him
on his journey to the light?

Reginer and Claire moved into the palace so that Claire could be nearer the court physician during her time of confinement. Rose longed to go to her half brother, but she was afraid. Rose didn’t know what sort of hold the Severine women had on him. They had managed to offer him wine again. Many times.

Jean-Marc declared a period of mourning for the lost Desirée. The real Desirée paraded in her black veils and dresses, weeping as if she were truly bereft.

Rose didn’t know if Jean-Marc told Desirée of his twilight rendezous with the doe at the reflecting pool, but she did on occasion overhear others gossiping about a night when the king had walked with a little deer who followed him like a dog. It became the occasional topic of conversation. Rose’s instincts told her that it would be safer for her to stay away. Out of sight, out of mind, and out of conversation; so she remained in the woods, watching Jean-Marc from afar. She longed to smell him, feel the heat of his body, but she stayed well away.

In that time, the king buck courted her. He brought her succulent berries and tasty pieces of
bark. He showed her how to find fresh water. He nuzzled her face and her flanks, releasing scent that told of his desire for her.

You are loved
, the purple roses promised.

As for Jean-Marc, he came to the pool every night, turning his head this way and that, searching for her. Watching from afar, her heart beat faster as she saw how disappointed he was. After a few evenings, he stopped bringing his lute. He simply completed his circuit around the pool and walked back to the castle.

A few evenings more and he began to leave presents for her at the feet of Artemis: apples, grapes, cubes of sugar. She took them at the first brushes of dawn when there was no chance he was waiting for her. She knew he would be asleep, beside his wife.

As the days and nights wore on, Rose’s deer self crowded out her human self. She found herself forgetting how to think in French. She saw images in her mind of Jean-Marc, Reginer, and the Severines instead of thinking about them in language. Then even the images shifted, and she saw things from a forest creature’s point of view—immediate and in front of her: Food. Water. Predators.

A mate.

Memories dissolved. In the fleeing moments when she still thought like a person, she remembered that because of a wish, Artemis had sent her on a journey. She couldn’t imagine that the Fates had woven a tapestry designed to turn her into a
deer. Artemis could have done that in an instant.

Then she thought of Desirée and Ombrine, who became harpies when their friends abandoned them. Solitude had changed them. Their hearts had hardened from misuse. Could it be that she was becoming a deer because she had no human contact?

No contact with Jean-Marc?

“Où?”
he called. “Where are you?” Sometimes she thought she heard an owl and sometimes she heard Jean-Marc.

The buck pressed his suit, and one night her deer body wanted him in return. Rose was alarmed; she darted away from him. He pursued her through the bracken into a silvery meadow and then beneath the statue of Artemis itself.

Galloping up beside Rose, the buck stopped, panting, and nickered at her. Then he followed her line of vision and gazed up at the statue. He stared at it for a very long time. Then he dipped his magnificent rack of antlers as if in submission to a will greater than his own. He looked at Rose, turned away, and trotted back into the woods. Rose had no idea what, if anything, had passed between the goddess and him. When she herself returned to the forest, he stared at her with naked longing, but he did not approach her. Her deer mind understood that he was waiting for permission to court her and from now on, he would leave her alone until he had it.

Then and there, she realized that she had a choice to make—life in the forest or life on the unknown path
the goddess had laid out for her. She needed to make it soon or else she would no longer have the human capacity to do so. But she was afraid. To cease all the toil and worry that came from being human ... or to love. Jean-Marc was a love that could only end in sorrow ... as so much of love seemed to. Why love at all, if it was not returned and if it died?

“That
is what you are to learn,”
said a breeze.

She struggled with the decision. Her life had been so sad and difficult. She wasn’t at all certain that what Artemis wanted for her was good to obtain. The gods could be cruel and capricious.

But it was not of the goddess she was thinking. Obeying her will was not the real choice. She loved him. Her love for Jean-Marc filled her with fear, but it was there and it was real.

And so, she chose.

And the herd left all at once, the does turning their brown eyes to her and whispering
adieu
in their nickering, bleating deer language. The lead buck with his magnificent antlers stood on a hillock as his subjects progressed past him, staring at Rose.

Then he too, melted into the night.

There was a full moon, and she let it guide her to the pool and to Jean-Marc. The moonlight glowed on his dark hair as he paused beside the statue of Artemis, casting highlights of midnight blue among the black strands. It had been washed with rosemary and lavender and she breathed in the mingled fragrances.

After a flutter of panic, she gathered up her courage and stepped into the moonlight. She watched him lift his chin and blink, as if he sensed her approach. He turned his head; at the sight of her, his face lit up.

“Bonsoir,”
he said, his voice hushed. “I thought you had gone forever.”

She blinked at him. She had forgotten the rhythms and cadence of human words. Thoughts poured into her mind, thoughts anchored down with words. At that moment, she felt herself more woman than animal, and she had no way to tell him how overjoyed she was to
see
him. She danced sideways, then rose on her hind legs and pawed the air. The pads on her hooves released scent. It mingled with his odor and became something new Fragile and powerful, soothing and exciting.

“I think you’re glad to
see
me, too,” His tone was amused and tender.

She wanted to ask him questions. How had he been faring? Was Claire big with child? Was Reginer safe? Was
he
safe?

He wouldn’t know the answers to all her questions, but if only he would speak, she would know volumes. Deer could absorb a hundred telling details by smelling an object—whether other deer had been by, if there were predators, if food was plentiful. So it was, she now knew, with the way a person said a single word. She thanked Artemis for that knowledge.

“This is for you.” He pulled a purple rose from his doublet. “Reginer’s wife planted some cuttings and they have blossomed. These roses brought my wife to me. They’re the most precious things I have.”

For a moment all she could do was breathe in the heady aroma. It swirled around her like a caress against her cheek and she shut her deer eyes tightly against a tide of emotion. She had missed him more than she realized. Her heart had ached for him.

As with the time she had run wildly in search of him, now she felt her body reacting beyond her control. She trotted up to him and took the rose from his hand. Her velvety muzzle pressed against his knuckles. She had touched him, finally.

It brought her intense human delight.

“You are loved,”
the roses assured her.

“Et
voila,”
the king said. “There. At last.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. She didn’t eat the rose, tempting as that was. She placed it at the feet of Artemis and looked back up at him. She wished he had brought another, so she could take that from him too.

Yet when he stretched out a hand to pat her, she recoiled. She couldn’t stop herself.

“M’excusez,”
he said, lowering his arm. “Shall we walk.”

He half turned and she trailed behind him. She was overwhelmed. Her ears lay flat and she panted, but she forced herself not to run. He said to her, “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

The words shimmered like a dream. The calm sound of his voice never wavered. Whether she listened with doe or human ears, his soothing tone eased her jangled nerves.

She glided to his side. He regarded her for an instant and then he sauntered along. She watched his movements with deer eyes. He could be a predator, but at the moment he was at rest.

They walked together along the edge of the reflecting pool. He picked up a stone and dropped it in. She studied the sunset-tinted eddies and whorls. His profile was strong and sharp, his bearing noble. She thought of the elegance he must live in, the luxuries Desirée was enjoying as his wife and felt a stab of envy.

The water darkened. A wind ruffled Jean-Marc’s hair. The days were growing shorter and winter was on its way.

In a quiet voice Jean-Marc said, “I’m sorry something spooked you in the mausoleum. I don’t know what it was. Did you smell death?”

She gazed up at him. He cocked his head. “Perhaps I was wrong about the Rose Bride. The queen has been out of sorts lately. Sometimes I’m surprised at the way she speaks to the servants.”

Rose held her breath. Was the magic wearing off at last?

“I think it’s jealousy,” he continued.

She stumbled, her hoof clicking against a rock. He didn’t appear to notice.

“Claire—that’s her sister-in-law—is growing very big with child. But Rose has yet to conceive. It must be difficult for her to
see
another’s joy.”

Several emotions washed over Rose, all at the same time. She looked down at her own reflection, a silhouette cut out of emerging stars.

“Still, near the end, Lucienne had many bad days, but she ...”

A chilly breeze wafted over them both. Jean-Marc raised his face to the wind. A leaf fluttered past like an autumn fairy.

“. . . she was always kind.”

His voice was hoarse and his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She listened to the anguish in his voice. He missed her. He loved her still. Desirée hadn’t replaced her in his heart.

She couldn’t help the tiny flame of happiness that flared inside her.

He did not blink and one of the tears spilled onto his cheek.

“The priest told us that we would have a son and he would heal two broken hearts. But our son died. And my heart was buried with them, in the darkness.”

He set his jaw. “If I had been a more savage ruler, I would have killed that priest. More savage, or less afraid of the god he served. My god.” The last he spoke without bitterness. She approved and understood. In the traditions of the times, it was wise to tremble before the divine.

She wanted to tell him that she, too, was puzzled by the actions of the gods. She didn’t understand why everyone who loved her had been taken from her. Nor why Jean-Marc had entered her heart, despite the fact that she knew he would never love her for her own sake.

Yet I am alive
, she reminded herself.
It’s clear that Ombrine and Desirée would have had me dead. And because they can’t see me, they think they succeeded
.