When Rose Wakes (20 page)

“The taste has never been the point,” Aunt Suzette argued. “It’s medicinal.”

“But you’ll work on the flavor anyway,” Aunt Fay said.

“I said I would!”

Aunt Fay looked at Rose, who realized it was her move. Just wanting to be alone now, she stood and went to the nightstand, picked up the teacup, and drank from it. Her aunts watched her with an air of approval.

“Excellent,” Aunt Fay said, getting up. “It’s a deal, then.”

Rose forced herself to smile in spite of the bitterness of the tea. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Aunt Suzette agreed, moping slightly.

“We’ll see you in the morning, then,” Aunt Fay said. “Good night, Rose.”

They all said their good nights and the two women shuffled out at last. Rose let them see her take another sip and didn’t try to hide her grimace this time. She closed the door and glanced around the room, spotting the spider plant hanging from a hook in the corner. With a quick look at the door, she went to the planter and dumped the rest of the tea into it.

“Herbs,” she whispered. “Good for you.”

With a smile, she set the cup down on her desk and then flopped on her bed, reaching for her cell phone, eager to text with Jared. Math would have to wait.

She made a face, the bitter taste of the tea lingering. Somehow, not having finished it seemed to have made it taste even worse. But the worst part, the most frustrating part, was that a part of her had believed them. Rose would have drunk whatever disgusting concoction Aunt Suzette could make if it would really have given her memories back. But that just wasn’t realistic. No magic potion was going to help her. Right now, angry and tired, the only remedy she needed was sleep.

The irony amused her.

•

Rose pads quietly through the castle, the stone floor of the corridor cold underfoot. A few steep steps lead to a narrower hallway, but this one has a woven carpet running up the middle and her feet are grateful to be separated from the frigid floor. She slips along in near silence, knowing that her ladies-in-waiting would frown upon her wandering the castle unaccompanied. But she is on her way to her father’s chambers, after all, and no one this near to the king’s rooms would question her presence.

Flames flicker in wall sconces, light dancing off of the stone walls. As she approaches the heavy oak door at the end of the hall, she frowns, disturbed to discover that her father’s chambers are unguarded. Unless he dismissed them, his men should be watching over him at all times, especially now, in the midst of war.

As she reaches the door she hears voices within and her worst fears blaze more brightly within her.

Assassins!

Rose turns to shout, to raise an alarm, but then she pauses. Something about the voices has given her pause and it takes only a second to realize what it is.

They are female. Two women speak behind that door. And now there comes a third voice, her father’s. Rose hears her own name and she moves—even quieter than before—up close to the king’s door. She presses her ear to the wood, which is warm from the heat generated by the twin fireplaces in her father’s
anteroom, where the conversation beyond the door now unfolds.

“And you’re sure?” the king asks, anguish in his voice. “This is the only way?”

“We have consulted our sisters in this realm and the world beyond,” one of the women replies. “We cannot release her from the curse, but we can alter it. We can save her life.”

“But still I lose her,” the king says.

“What’s done is done,” the other woman argues. “She was lost to you the moment Maurelle hexed her. Your life is a brief candle, old man. But if you wish for her to have even the flicker of life that humanity allows, this is the only way.”

Rose holds her breath. She knows those voices. They belong to her dead mother’s sisters and it is rare indeed for them to venture out of the Feywood. The Ladies of the Wood grow dim beyond the edges of the forest, their magic diminishing the further they venture beyond its boundaries, or so she has always been taught. They emerge from the wood only in times of great joy and dire peril.

So which is it tonight?

“If it is the only way, to trade one curse for another,” the king says, “then do your damnable spell. Just leave me time with her, time to let her know the heart of an old man, to know how I love her.”

A kind voice, almost motherly, replies. “She knows, Guillaume. She knows.”

And then another, sterner voice. “You’ll have time, old king. You have all of the days until she marries, but on her
wedding day you must bid her farewell in your heart. For the moment her husband kisses his bride—”

Something flutters in the corridor behind her and she spins away from the door in alarm, fearful of discovery, frightened of that sound… like wings. The flames in the sconces seem to have dimmed and their light flickers off the walls, but the shadows have grown deeper.

Now that she’s away from the door, the voices in the king’s chambers have become murmurs. Anxious, breathing in shaky sips of air, she is torn between fleeing back to her own rooms and continuing to eavesdrop. This is her life they are discussing, her marriage, her curse. If they have found a way to save her from death, she should be ebullient, but how can she celebrate the trading of one hex for another? What are they going to do to her?

Confusion tears at her, but one cold certainty has struck her. Her aunts, the fey women of the forest, and her father agree that she must marry the son of the enemy. She must be his wife and endure his kiss and his touch, or her father’s life and kingdom will be taken from him.

A flutter again, and she freezes, holding her breath. Peering into the shadows she takes a single step. Part of her wants to scream and flee, and another night she might have done just that. But not this night. From this moment forward she must face whatever fate has in store and fight it with all of her heart, no matter how many curses are upon her. She will do whatever her father and her people require of her. She will summon the courage from somewhere, and she will hide her
tears in the soft secrecy of her bedclothes and shed them only after dark.

The next time she hears the flutter, she steps into the shadows.

“Show yourself,” she whispers. “Broken-winged raven or assassin or Maurelle Black Heart herself, I care not. I will not fear.”

Tiny violent eyes blink in the darkness and with a silvery flutter, Rielle flits from the shadows. The spret darts to and fro, then hovers four feet above the dank castle floor.

“Were you spying on me, Rielle?” Rose asks.

The spret crosses her arms and turns up her nose at the insult. “One of us is a spy tonight, darling Rose, and it isn’t me.”

Rose glances guiltily at the door to her father’s chambers. “They’re discussing my life in there. My life, don’t you understand?”

Wings a blur, Rielle comes up so close that Rose can see every detail of the spret’s narrow features, those violet eyes ablaze.

“I understand perfectly. And I have feared for you since the moment you drew your first breath and your mother drew her last. Complicated, being you. It’s always thus when love tethers fey to human. The king made a terrible mistake with Maurelle. She should have forgiven. He is only a man, after all. Only dust and spit. But forgiveness isn’t in her. Only venom and malice.

“Come off to bed, Rose. It is late now and morning comes
too soon. Your aunts will do whatever can be done to protect you. For now, surrender to the embrace of sleep, and dream, and one day you will wake to a bright new peace.”

Rose stared at her. “How can you say that, with all that’s happening? I don’t want to go to bed, Rielle. I can’t sleep!”

“You must,” the spret said, darting toward the king’s chamber door and then back again, pointing at her. “Now, to ease your troubles for the night, and later. One day soon, sleep will be your salvation.”

“What is wrong with you?” Rose asked, frustration turning to anger. “You talk around things instead of about them. No more riddles. If you know something you’re not telling me—”

Rielle breathed out a sigh that blew hair away from her face. Her wings beat so quickly that sparks of silver seemed to spill off of them.

“I know nothing,” the spret said sadly. “Only that we will all do whatever we must to protect you. Like your mother before you, Rose, you’re my greatest friend.”

“But—”

Rielle grabbed the locks of hair that framed Rose’s face, tugging them painfully tight. So close, her eyes seemed full of hope and fear in equal measure, and a sadness that pained Rose to see. The spret gave her nose a tiny kiss and then stared into her eyes, only inches from her face.

“Trust me, please,” Rielle whispered. “Trust your aunts. Or you will most certainly die, and that… that would break my heart.”

Rose hesitated a moment and then exhaled, all of her frustration and anger flowing out of her.

“All right,” she said.

Rielle smiled brightly and darted away, eyes alight with relief. “Good. Then come with me, darling.”

“To bed?” Rose asked.

Sad, violet eyes pretended happiness. “To sleep.”

On Friday, Rose had gym for her second class of the day. She had tried on a number of pairs of pants that Aunt Suzette had bought her while out shopping on Wednesday and had yet to wear any of them, though they seemed to fit perfectly well. But her preference for skirts and dresses could not overcome gym day. As soft as the blue T-shirt and sweatpants were—both with the St. Bridget’s logo emblazoned in gold—she felt awkward.

Worse yet, volleyball made her into a fool. She knew that she could dance, felt it in her bones whenever music played, and suspected that she would do all right in soccer, somehow. But every time the volleyball came toward her she would either grab it, which was against the rules, or knock it out of bounds or into the net. At first she had been embarrassed, but as the second period ticked by, with the teasing of the players on both sides, Rose found herself laughing along with them at her incompetence. With the exception of a couple of girls on the other side,
basketball friends of Courtney’s, the teasing seemed good-natured enough, mainly because she was so ridiculously bad that no one could take it seriously.

Kylie passed her the ball. “Your turn to serve, crazy woman!”

Rose laughed. Kylie looked like she’d just been dropped down into the gym by a tornado, her hair a total mess.

“Mrs. Garvey?” Rose said, turning to the teacher. “As entertaining as I’m sure it would be to watch, I think it’s best for everyone if you skip me and just move on to whoever’s turn is next.”

“Boo!” Kylie said. “We want Rose!”

Rose rolled her eyes, reaching up to push a lock of hair behind her ear. She felt too warm and if not sweaty, then at least a little clammy. The huge gym felt stuffy and though it wasn’t really cold enough yet, someone had turned the heat on, the blowers groaning and the heavy shades rippling over the windows. Really, it was a basketball court, complete with bleachers and an electronic scoreboard, but the volleyball net looked fairly new.

“Rose!” a girl named Victoria echoed Kylie.

“We want Rose!” another girl chimed in.

The chant went up. “Rose! Rose! Rose!”

The basketball girls made faces but nearly all of the others joined in, clapping along with her name. Laughing, Rose shook her head, but she capitulated.

“Okay, okay!”

A chorus of woo-hoos followed. Rose, still chuckling,
got into position to serve. The first attempt, she struck the side of the ball and sent it rolling weakly to her left, to a chorus of laughter. Led by Kylie, the girls called their encouragement, and on the second attempt she hit it fast and hard, straight into the net.

“Really?” Rose said. “You’re sure about this?”

She looked over at Mrs. Garvey, who clapped her hands. “Let’s go, Rose. Get under it.”

To the astonishment of everyone in the gym, her third attempt put the ball right over the net, leading to a long volley that only ended when Kylie—short as she was—leaped up high enough to tap it down on the other side.

A cheer went up and Kylie and Rose met for a hug in the middle of their side of the court. But Rose had had enough of serving and rotated around to give Victoria a turn. That left Kylie and Rose together in the back and Rose shifted to get a little closer to her. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying any particular attention to them, not even Mrs. Garvey.

“So, I’m wondering if you could do me a favor,” she muttered.

Kylie looked at her, eyes as wild as her hair, smiling as if that had been the dumbest question she had ever heard.

“Sure. What do you need?”

Rose felt her cheeks flush and knew they must be a bright pink. “I’m supposed to go over to Jared’s to study tomorrow.”

The ball soared toward Rose but Kylie cut in front of
her and batted it back over the net, then turned and gave her a conspiratorial grin.