CHAPTER EIGHT

BLACK ROSES

ANNE FELT A FEATHERY TREMBLING in her belly and goosebumps on her flesh, even though the night wind came from the sea—warm, heavy, wet, and salty. The air seemed to sag with the need to rain, and the moon came and went fitfully in the cloud-bruised sky. Around her, neat rows of apple trees swayed and rustled in the wind.

On the wall of the keep above, she could hear two guards talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying.

She felt faintly dizzy, a slight vertigo that had come and gone in the month since she had visited Eslen-of-Shadows. She stepped under one of the trees and leaned against the trunk, her head swimming with the scent of the blossoms. She lifted the scrap of paper that the stablehand had passed to her when she had put up Faster.

Meet me in the orchard by the west gate at tenth bell.

—R.

“You work fast, Virgenya,” she whispered.

Though Fastia seemed unaffected by her request to Saint Cer.

It was surely tenth bell by now. Had they forgotten to ring it?

She shouldn't be doing this. What if he didn't come, anyway?

What if he came, and it was just a cruel joke, something to laugh about with the other knights and the stablehands? Silly. What did she know about this fellow?

Nothing.

She brushed nervously at her dress of Vitellian brocade, feeling sillier by the instant.

The hairs on her neck suddenly pricked up. A shaft of the inconstant moonlight cast the silhouette of something big and dark moving through the branches of the apple tree nearest her.

“She is like a dream, like a mist, like the phay dancers seen only from the corner of the eye in the woodland glade,” a voice whispered.

“Roderick?”

She jumped as the tenth bell began to chime, high up in the August Tower, and jumped again when the long shadow dropped from the tree and landed with a soft thump.

“At your service.” The shadow bowed.

“You startled me,” Anne said. “Were you a thief before you became a knight?” she asked. “Certainly you aren't a poet.”

“That wounds, Princess.”

“Go to a physician or a rinn witch, then. What do you want, Roderick?”

He moved into the moonlight. His eyes were shades in an ivory carving. “I wanted to see you in something other than riding dress.”

“You said you had seen me in court.”

“True. But you look lovelier now.”

“Because it's darker?”

“No. Because I've met you now. It makes all the difference.”

“I suppose you want to kiss me again.”

“No, not at all. I want you to kiss me.”

“But we just met!”

“Yes, and got off to a good start.” He suddenly reached and took her hand. “You're the lady who rode down the Snake like a madman. There's nothing cautious about you, Princess. I kissed you, and I've kissed enough to know you liked it. If I'm wrong, tell me so, and off I'll go. If I'm right … why don't we try it again?”

She folded her arms and cocked her head, trying to think of a good response. He didn't give her time.

“I brought you this.” He held something out to her. She reached for it and found herself clutching the stem of a flower.

“I cut off the thorns for you,” he said. “It's a black rose.”

She gasped, genuinely surprised. “Where did you find it?”

“I bought it from a sea captain, who got it in Liery.”

Anne breathed in its strange scent of plum and anise. “They grow only in Liery,” she told him. “My mother talks about them all the time. I've never seen one.”

“Well,” Roderick replied, moving a little closer. “I got it to please you, not to remind you of your mother.”

“Shh. Not so loud.”

“I'm not afraid,” Roderick said.

“You should be. Do you know what will happen to you if we're caught here?”

“We won't be.”

His hand found hers, and she suddenly felt her head go funny. She couldn't think anything. She felt frozen, almost uncomprehending, as he pulled her against him. His face was so near she could feel his breath on her lips.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

And she did. A sound like the sea rushed into her ears. She could feel the hard muscles of Roderick's back through his linen shirt, and a prickly, itchy sort of heat. He took her face in his hands and stroked lightly behind her ears as his lips pressed hers, now nibbling, now opening greedily.

He whispered things, but she hardly heard them. All sense of words dissolved when his lips crept down her neck, and she thought she was going to cry out, and then the guards would hear her, and then—well, who knew what would happen then. Something bad. She could almost hear her mother now …

“Anne. Anne!” Someone was calling her.

“Who's that? Who's there?” Roderick panted.

“It's my maid, Austra. I—”

He kissed her again. “Send her away.” He said the words right into her earlobe. It tickled, and suddenly she giggled.

“Um. No, I can't. My sister Fastia will check my bed soon, and if I am not in it, she will raise the alarm. Austra is keeping watch of the time. If she's calling, I have to go.”

“It cannot be, not yet!”

“It is. It is. But we can meet again.”

“Not soon enough for me.”

“My sister's birthday is tomorrow. I'll arrange something. Austra will carry the word.”

“Anne!”

“I'm coming, Austra.”

She turned to go, but he took her by the waist and spun her into the crook of his arm, like a dancer, and kissed her again. She laughed and gave it back. When she finally turned and left, she felt an ache beneath her breast.

“Hurry!” Austra took her hand and pulled her insistently. “Fastia may be there already!”

“Figs for Fastia. Fastia never comes until eleventh bell.”

“It's nearly eleventh bell now, you ninny!” Austra practically dragged Anne up the staircase that wound to the top of the orchard wall. On the last step, Anne cast one more look down at the garden but saw only the inky shadow of the looming keep on the other side.

“Come on!” Austra commanded. “Through here.”

Anne clutched the back of Austra's dress as they rushed through the dark. A few moments later they tripped up another staircase and emerged into a wider hall lit with long tapers. At a high, narrow door, Austra fumbled the key from her girdle and pushed it into the brass lock. Just as the door swung open, the sound of footsteps echoed up from the stairwell at the far end of the hall.

“Fastia!” Anne hissed.

They ducked through the door and into the anteroom of her chambers. Austra closed and locked the door, while Anne kicked off her damp slippers and dropped them into the empty vase on the table next to the divan. She fell back onto the little couch and yanked off both stockings at once, then ran barefoot through the curtained doorway to her bedchamber. She flung the stockings on the other side of the canopied bed and began trying to reach the fastenings of her gown. “Help me with this!”

“We haven't time,” Austra said. “Just throw your nightdress over it.”

“The train will show!”

“Not if you're in bed, under the covers!”

Austra, meanwhile, shucked her own dress right over her head. Anne stifled an amused shriek, for Austra wore no underskirt, no corset; she was naked as a clam in soup.

“Hush!” Austra said, wriggling into a nightgown and kicking her discarded dress under the bed. “Don't laugh at me!”

“You'd think you were the one out to meet someone.”

“Hush! Don't be sick! It's just faster this way, and it's not like anyone was going to notice I was uncorseted. Get under the covers!”

A key scraped in the lock. Austra squeaked, pointing to Anne, and pantomimed letting down her hair.

Anne yanked the netting from her locks, threw it vaguely toward the wardrobe, and dived under the covers. Austra hit the mattress at almost the same instant, hairbrush in hand.

“Ouch!” Anne yelped, as the curtain parted and the brush caught in a tangle.

“Hello, you two.”

Anne blinked. It wasn't Fastia.

“Lesbeth!” she exclaimed, leaping out of bed and rushing to embrace her aunt.

Lesbeth gathered her in, laughing. “Saint Loy, but we're almost the same height, now, aren't we? How could you grow this much in two years? How old are you now, fourteen?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen. And look at you—a Dare, through and through.”

In fact, Anne realized she did look like Lesbeth. Which wasn't good, because while Lesbeth was very pretty, Elseny and Fastia and her mother were beautiful. She would take after the wrong side of the family.

“You're warm,” Lesbeth said. “Your face is burning up! Do you have a fever?”

That drew a stifled giggle from Austra.

“What?” Lesbeth asked, her voice suddenly suspicious. She stepped back. “Is that a dress you have on under your nightgown? At this hour? You've been out!”

“Please don't tell Fastia. Or Mother. It was really all very innocent—”

“I won't have to tell them. Fastia is on the way up.”

“Still?”

“Of course. You don't think she'd trust me with her duty?”

“How long do I have?”

“She's finishing her wine. She had half a glass when I left, and I asked for a moment alone with you.”

“Thank the saints. Help me out of this dress!”

Lesbeth looked stern for a second, then laughed. “Very well. Austra, could you bring a damp cloth? We'll want to wipe her face.”

“Yes, Duchess.”

A few moments later they had the dress off, and Lesbeth was unlacing the corset. Anne groaned in relief as her ribs sighed out to where nature perversely reckoned they ought to be.

“Had that pretty tight, didn't you?” Lesbeth commented. “Who is he?”

Anne feared her cheeks would scorch. “I can't tell you that.”

“Ah. Someone disreputable. A stablehand, perhaps?”

“No! No. He's gentle—just someone Mother wouldn't like.”

“Disreputable, then, indeed. Come on—tell. You know I won't let on. Besides, I have a big secret to tell you. It's only fair.”

“Well …” She chewed her lip. “His name is Roderick of Dunmrogh.”

“Dunmrogh? Well, there's your problem.”

“How so?” The corset fell away, and Anne realized her undershirt was plastered to her with sweat.

“It's political. The grefts of Dunmrogh have Reiksbaurg blood.”

“So? Our war with the Reiksbaurgs was over a hundred years ago.”

“Ah, to be young and naïve again. Turn, so I can get your face, dear. Enny, the war with the Reiksbaurgs will never be over. They covet the throne a thousand covetings for every year that has passed since they lost it.”

“But Roderick isn't a Reiksbaurg.”

“No, Enny,” she went on, wiping the cool rag on Anne's face and neck, “but fifty years ago the Dunmroghs sided with a Reiksbaurg claimant to the throne. Not with arms, so they kept their lands when it was all over—but support him they did, in the Comven. They still have a bad name for that.”

“It isn't fair.”

“I know it's not, sweet, but we'd better talk about it later. Change that shirt and put on your gown.”

Anne ran to her wardrobe and changed the sodden linen for a dry one. “When did you learn so much about politics?” she asked, shrugging back into her embroidered nightgown.

“I just spent two years in Virgenya. It's all they talk about, down there.”

“It must have been terribly boring.”

“Oh—you might be surprised.”

Anne sat on the edge of her bed. “You won't tell anyone about Roderick? Even if it is political?”

Lesbeth laughed and kissed her on the forehead, then knelt and took her hand. “I doubt very much it's political for him. He's probably just young and foolish, like you.”

“He's your age, nineteen.”

“I'm twenty, meadowlark.” She brushed a curly strand from out of Anne's face. “And when your sister comes in, try to keep the left side of your head away from her.”

“Why?”

“You have a love bite, there, just below your ear. I think even Fastia will know what it is.”

“Oh, mercifu—”

“I'll comb your hair, like I was doing when the duchess came in,” Austra volunteered. “I can keep it pulled long over that spot.”

“That's a good plan,” Lesbeth approved. She chuckled again. “When did this happen to our little lark, Austra? When last I saw her she was still dressing up in the stablejack's clothes so she wouldn't have to ride sidesaddle. When did she become such a lady?”

“I still ride,” Anne said defensively.

“That's true enough,” Austra said. “That's how she met this fellow. He followed her down the Snake.”

“Not fainthearted, then.”

“Roderick is anything but fainthearted,” Anne said. “So what's your big secret, Lez?”

Lesbeth smiled. “I've already asked your father's permission, so I suppose I'll tell you. I'm getting married.”

“Married?” Anne and Austra said, in unison.

“Yes.” Lesbeth frowned. “I didn't like the sound of that! You seem incredulous.”

“It's just—at your age—”

“Oh, I see. You had me reckoned a spinster. Well, I had plenty of sisters, and they all married well. I was the youngest so I got to do something they didn't. I got to be choosy.”

“So who is he?”

“A wonderful man, daring and kind. Like your Roderick, far from fainthearted. He has the most elegant castle, and an estate that stretches—”

“Who?”

“Prince Cheiso of Safnia.”

“Safnia?” Anne repeated.

“Where is Safnia?” Austra asked.

“On the shore of the southern sea,” Lesbeth said dreamily. “Where oranges and lemons grow outdoors, and bright birds sing.”

“I've never heard of it.”

“Not surprising, if you pay no more attention to your tutors now than you did when I still lived here.”

“You love him, don't you?” Anne asked.

“Indeed I do. With all of my heart.”

“So it's not political?”

Lesbeth laughed again. “Everything is political, meadowlark. It's not like I could have married a cowherd, you know. Safnia, though you ladies have never heard of it, is a rather important place.”

“But you're marrying for love!”

“Yes.” She wiggled a finger at Anne. “But don't let that put foolish ideas in your head. Live in the kingdom that is, not the one that ought to be.”

“Well,” a somewhat frosty voice said, as the curtain to the antechamber parted again. “That's better advice than I expected you to be giving her, Lesbeth.”

“Hello, Fastia.”

Fastia was older than all of them, almost twenty-three. Her hair was umber silk, now bound up in a net, and her small features were perfect and demure. She was no taller than Anne or Austra, and a handswidth shorter than Lesbeth. But she commanded presence.

“Dear Fastia,” Lesbeth said. “I was just telling darling Anne my news.”

“About your betrothal, I suppose?”

“You already know? But I only just asked my brother Wil-liam's permission a few bells ago.”

“You forget how fast news travels in Eslen, I'm afraid. Congratulations. You'll find marriage a joy, I think.”

Her tone said otherwise, somehow. Anne felt a faint pang of pity for her older sister.

“I think I shall,” Lesbeth replied.

“Well,” Fastia asked, “is all in order here? Have you girls said your prayers and washed your faces?”

“They were praying, I believe, even as I entered the room,” Lesbeth said innocently.

Anne nodded. “We're all but asleep,” she added.

“You don't look sleepy.”

“It's the excitement of seeing Lesbeth. She was telling us all about Shanifar, where her betrothed rules. A delightful-sounding place—”

“Safnia,” Fastia corrected. “One of the original five provinces of the Hegemony. That was over a thousand years ago, of course. A great place once, and still quaint from what I hear.”

“Yes, that's right,” Lesbeth said, as if she hadn't heard the condescension in Fastia's tone. “It's very quaint.”

“I think it sounds wonderful and exotic,” Anne put in.

“Most places do, until you've been to them,” Fastia replied. “Now. I don't want to be the troll, but somehow the duty has fallen to me to make sure these girls get to bed. Lesbeth, may I entice you into taking a cordial?”

Hah, Anne thought. You can't fool me. You love playing the troll. What happened to you? “Surely we can stay up a bit. We haven't seen Lesbeth in two years.”

“Plenty of time for that tomorrow, at Elseny's party. It's time for the women to chat.”

“We are women,” Anne retorted.

“When you are betrothed, then you'll be a woman,” Fastia replied. “Now, good night. Or, as Lesbeth's Safnian prince might say, dena nocha. Austra, see that you are both asleep within the hour.”

“Yes, Archgreffess.”

“Night, loves,” Lesbeth said, blowing them a kiss as the two passed through the curtain into the antechamber. After another moment, they heard the outer door close.

“Why does she have to be like that?” Anne muttered.

“If she weren't, your mother would find someone who was,” Austra replied.

“I suppose. It just galls me.”

“In fact,” Austra said, “I'm something glad they're gone.”

“Why is that?”

A pillow hit Anne in the face.

“Because you haven't told me what happened yet, you jade!”

“Oh! Austra, it was quite extraordinary. He was so—I mean, I thought I would catch afire! And he gave me a rose, a black rose—” She broke off abruptly. “Where's my rose?”

“You had it when we came in the room.”

“Well, I don't have it now! I must press it, or whatever one does with roses …”

“I think one finds them first,” Austra said.

But it wasn't in the receiving room, nor on the floor, nor under the bed. They couldn't find it anywhere.

“We'll see it in the morning, when the light is better,” Austra said.

“Of course we will,” Anne replied dubiously.

In her dream, Anne stood in a field of ebony roses, wearing a black satin dress set with pearls that gleamed dully in the bone light of the moon. The air was so thick with the scent of the blooms she thought she would choke.

There was no end to them; they stretched on to the horizon in a series of low rises, stems bent by a murmuring wind. She turned slowly to see if it was thus in all directions.

Behind her the field ended abruptly in a wall of trees, black-boled monsters covered with puckered thorns bigger than her hand, rising so high she couldn't see their tops in the dim light. Thorn vines as thick as her arm tangled between the trees and crept out along the ground. Through the trees and beyond the vines was only darkness. A greedy darkness, she felt, a darkness that watched her, hated her, wanted her. The more she stared at it, the more terrified she became of shapes that might or might not be moving, of slight sounds that might be footsteps or wings.

And then, when she thought her terror could be no greater, something pushed through the thorns coming toward her. Moonlight gleamed on a black-mailed arm and the fingers of a hand, uncurling.

And then the helmet came through, a tall, tapering helm, with black horns curving up, set on the shoulders of a giant. The visor was open, and there she saw something that wrenched from her own throat a keening sound somehow more alien than anything she had yet known. She turned and ran through the roses, and the small barbs caught at her dress, and now the moon looked like the rotted eye of a fish …

She awoke, thrashing with the motions of flight, not knowing where she was. Then she remembered, and sat up in her bed, arms wrapped about her middle.

“A dream,” she told the dark room, rocking back and forth. “Just a dream.”

But the air was still thick with anise and plum. In the pale moonlight streaming through her window she saw black petals scattered upon her coverlet. She felt them in her hair. Wet trickled down her face, and the bright taste of salt came to her lips.

Anne slept no more that night, but waited for the cockcrow and the sun.