With her arms around me, her head nestled just over my shoulder, she holds up the book’s cover and reads the title. “A Witch’s Language of Flowers.”
When she opens the book, it feels like she’s opening a portal, as though great magick lies within. The first page is a sketch of a single rose. Admiring, I reach out with my small hand and trace its lines.
“The Blood Red Rose,” Mother reads. “Want to hear the story of how it came to be?”
I nod, twisting my finger in a blonde curl.
“In the age of Loria,” she begins, “a goddess named Cila fell in love with a man named Thaddius who lived hidden away from the world, deep in the snowy mountains of Omalli. Cila was from Eridan, of course. Radiant and beautiful, with silvered skin and hair that was dark as the night itself. After so many years there, she grew tired and bored of her home, so she went in search of earthly beauty, curious what the lands beyond her own realm might offer. Cila roamed the world and eventually found her way to Omalli’s white-peaked range. It was there that she met a beast. He was a beautiful man by day” —Mother pauses to lower her voice against my ear— “but a hideous monster at night.”
Again, I giggle, and after she kisses my hair, she continues.
“Thaddius tried so hard to control his beastly nature, but he was cursed by the god of Omalli, rendered a predator meant to live forever alone in his country’s misty forests and snow-packed woods. Cila couldn’t bear to leave him, so she stayed, a goddess in the land of men. Together, they built a cottage in the wood where they planned to live for a very long time, happily. But one day, while hunting in his human form, Thaddius nearly died after a fight with a bear. When Cila found him on their doorstep, she offered her own blood to save his life. He drank from her vein, not realizing that her blood would change him forever.”
When I scrunch my face and shiver, Mother smiles and taps the tip of my nose. “Does that sound awful?”
“Terrible!”
Mother just laughs and turns the page. “Cila never cared that Thaddius sought blood at night. Never cared when she faced the creature within him. She loved him for all his light and darkness. For that, he wanted to repay Cila by giving her the very thing she’d gone in search of in the first place. The thing she’d left her incomparable home to find. Beauty.”
“What did he do?” My voice is small and high against the rush of a crashing wave.
“Spring came,” Mother says, “and Thaddius went searching for flowers. He found tulips and daffodils and hyacinths, but those blooms didn’t speak to his soul. So he went back in the early summer and came upon a bush of white roses. They were lovely, but he didn’t care for the absence of color. It didn’t signify all that Cila meant to him. What she’d done for him. But he began plucking a bouquet for her anyway, wishing the roses were red, like the blood she’d given to save him, and like the passion he felt when he looked upon her face. It was then that a thorn caught against his thumb, ripping open the flesh. Thaddius’s blood spilled onto the rose in his hand and dripped onto the soil. As though he possessed the magick to do so, every rose petal on the bush flushed from bright white to the boldest blood red. He couldn’t bear to pluck any more, so he returned to their cottage and brought Cila to see the roses that had changed before his very eyes.”
“Did she like them?”
“She did. But they were thorny roses. More so than any other Thaddius had ever seen. He worried Cila might hate them for that reason alone. As he stood nervously waiting to hear her thoughts, she turned to him, and with tears in her eyes, told him that she loved them. He questioned her, showing her the pointy barbs in case she hadn’t noticed. But she had, and she thought it made them more wonderful because they reminded her of him.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “A rose reminded her of a beast? But why?”
Mother touches my chin and tilts my face to look at her. “Because my little morning star. Sometimes, even the most beautiful things grow teeth.”
* * *
I joltawake to a voice in my room, a cold sweat breaking across my brow.Morning star, morning star, morning star,my mother whispers, as though trying to wake me.
For long moments, all I can do is stare at the ceiling, at a thin shaft of wan sunlight, waiting for the dream to let go as a headache hammers the back of my skull.
She isn’t here,I tell myself as the voice slowly fades.
Once the sound of her words passes, I clutch the bed linens and try to steady my breathing and my heart. I swear I can still smell her. Still feel her hand on my face and the warmth of her soft skin. That wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory of my time here in Malgros with my family. A time I’ve never recalled before now.
Shaken and still weak, I sit up and slide my legs off the mattress, only to be swiftly punched in the face with the smell of food again.
I snap a harsh look at the small silver tray of fresh breads and berry compote waiting on the nightstand near my bed. My attention doesn’t remain on the meal for long, though, because there’s a plucked red rose from Yaz’s garden and a folded piece of marbled ecru parchment beside it. The wolf head drawn across the front of the note in dark crimson ink tells me that Neri has been here, and that he’s clearly found enjoyment in Starworth Tor’s stationery items. Perhaps this is another peace offering.
With the dream still sparkling in my mind, I snatch the letter and lift the flower to my nose. On a deep inhale, I absorb the rose’s fragrance which luckily masks the scent of the bread and fruit I have no desire to eat. Was this rose the trigger that unearthed the memory?
I open the note, and the first words take me aback.
Hello, little bird,
You’ve been asleep since the night before last.
The night before last? Rubbing my aching temple, I get up and make my way to the window, where I shove open the drapes and squint at the sunlight before taking in the empty beach below. It appears to be midmorning, though an entire day later than I imagined, it seems.
We’re all worried. Yes, even me. Especially me.
Should you wake today, I hope you try to eat and continue resting. But stay here at the tor. Tensions are high in the city. Un Drallag and I are still searching for Eryx, and though he’s proving more difficult to locate than imagined, we will find him.
