The mention of glass brought a new memory to Aden’s mind. “What happened to the glass rose?”
“Glass rose?” Mistress Cedrice leaned closer.
“I was holding an antique glass rose. It was quite intricate and looked to be a piece from the reign of the Majis queen. I was holding it when...” That terrible night flashed through his mind once again, but this time with startling detail. He had been examining the glass rose, taking in the delicate twist of its petals, when the room darkened. Seeing Ian in danger, he had jumped across the dais immediately, reaching out toward him with the rose still in his hand. “I was holding it,” he repeated.
“Where is that rose?” Mistress Cedrice said. “It likely saved your life.”
Or cursed it.Was it worth it to still have his life if everything was entirely different? “I do not know what happened to the rose,” he said aloud, keeping his bitter thoughts to himself.
“We have left the ballroom entirely untouched, waiting for the new councilors to arrive. I’ll go look for it now!” Onric dashed out of the room.
Some moments later, he returned. As he stepped through the doorway, Aden’s senses were overpowered by the powerful aroma of a freshly cut rose.
“This is most unusual,” Mistress Cedrice said.
Aden’s heart pounded. “Why?”
The older woman stepped forward and pressed something into his hand. It was long and thin. The floral scent grew stronger.
“It is no longer a glass rose,” Mistress Cedrice explained. “It has become real. I think it may have blocked the attack and lessened the power of the dark magic.”
“What does that mean?” Aden asked, rolling the stem of the rose through his clumsy claws.
“I do not know, but I want to believe it means there is hope,” the older woman replied.
“Could you sing for him?” Ashlin asked. “Could your magic reverse this curse?”
“Your magic?” Aden interjected, the feeling of calm dissipating. Was this woman herself a Majis?
“I can try, my dear,” Mistress Cedrice responded, “but the remnants of my ancestors’ magic is far too weak to balance out the chaotic evil of this curse.” Turning back to Aden, she asked, “Can I sing for you, Your Highness?”
“You are a Majis,” Aden stated, uncertain.
“My ancestors were,” she replied. “I have found that by singing their songs, I can enhance the harmony of certain objects around me. I do not know that I can do anything to directly help you, but I will cause you no harm.”
“You have risked much in coming here.” Aden stared at her shadowed form. Majis or no, any interaction with magic was enough to warrant her arrest, exile, or possibly even execution.
“You risked much to save your brother,” she said simply.
“You may sing,” Aden whispered. His condition was already worse than death. What harm could she do?
The older woman took the rose from his paw and handed it to Ashlin. “I do not understand this curse, and I do not want to tamper with anything that could affect this rose,” she explained.
The room quieted, and Aden heard the woman take two long breaths.
Then, she began to sing.
Her voice was low and quiet, soothing the pain and tension in his sensitive ears. He did not recognize her words, but the sounds were soft and rounded, reminding him of the old language still found in some ancient writings.
He closed his eyes. Waves of peace seemed to roll over him.
Her words were entirely different from the harsh sounds Munney had chanted at the ball.
Aden opened his eyes to see if the two experiences were dissimilar in other ways. There was no orb of light. The room did not dim.
In fact, it seemed to be getting slightly brighter, evaporating the shadows that plagued his eyesight. In their stead, he could make out distinct shapes. He saw the woman’s hands clasped over her heart as she sang, even if he could not make out the features of her face.
“I... I can see a little better,” he stammered as her words slowed to a hum. He lifted his hand in front of his face. It was still a fur-covered paw, but he could actually make out the shape of it. “Thank you,” he whispered, feeling for the first time that there might be hope.
