Page 13 of Ash and Roses

A knock sounds on the door to my chambers. Normally Teagan would answer it for me, but she still hasn’t returned from wherever it is she went. My back strains in protest as I stand from my chair, but the once agonizing pain has ebbed into a dull ache that will cease to exist in a few days’ time.

I open the door to find a Guardian waiting for me. I recognize him as one of the young men I’d had a fling with, and briefly wonder if somewhere deep down he knows the scarred girl was me. If he has any inkling, he doesn’t let on.

“Princess,” he greets me with a deep bowing of his head. “The King requests your presence in the library.”

I almost groan at the words. I haven’t seen my father since the lashing, and if there was a way out of this, I would take it. Alas, no one refuses my father.

I let the man escort me, though I know very well where the library is. On more than one occasion, I’ve stolen a book or two to read at my leisure. One would think the library would be open to all—or at least, the royal family—but it’s more or less become my father’s private sanctuary in recent years.

Before the Guardian can knock on the sturdy oak door, I let myself in. “You asked to see me?”

My father sits in a plush chair next to the fireplace, a fur blanket draped over his lap and a book open in his hand. I work to keep my eyes on him, but the many books lining the walls keep drawing my focus. I wonder if I’ll be able to swipe one so I’ll at least have something to help with the boredom until I’m able to leave the palace again.

“Come,” he beckons with a wave of his hand. He wears a ring on each finger, the colourful jewels sparkling in the firelight. He sets his book down on the small table next to him, keeping it open to his page while he shifts his attention to me. I’m an intruder in this space, whether he asked me here or not.

I move to his side and give a slight bow before sitting in the chair across from him. I try to look relaxed, but my back is stiffened straight. My body is on high alert, no doubt a response to the trauma from the last time I saw him. This may even be the first time he’s summoned me to this room. He caught me in here once when I was still a child, flipping through the pages of a fictionalized book about dragons. Dragons once existed, of course, but never in the sense the book described. Thinking about it now has me wanting to finish it. Many of the books in this room are bound in brown leather, while silver covers any pertaining to the history of Lunae. The book of dragons, however, was a rich vermillion. It shouldn’t be difficult to find if I scan the shelves.

“Are you healing well, Abilene?”

I swallow bile. “Very well, thank you.” Pleasantries will get me through this. I shift my gaze from him and study the shelves on the wall behind him. All the books there are bound in various shades of brown.

“I called you here tonight because I have a gift for you.” A gift? So this is his way of apologizing. He’s never shown remorse before, but I’d known what I was getting myself into then. These fresh scars on my back were brought about by his temper alone.

He lifts the fur from his lap and leans forward to wrap it around my shoulders. I realize then that I recognize this animal as the wolf that attacked me during the last Lunar Hunt. He—or she, there’s no way to know now—has been skinned and sewn into a shawl. The tailor left the legs, tail, and face intact, blunting the teeth and claws and replacing the eyes with two shimmering emeralds that rival those on my father’s rings.

He studies me a moment, evidently waiting for some show of approval. The pelt is beautiful, sure, but wearing it feels somehow wrong. It’s a silly thought. The wolf is dead while I am not, and the first snow will fall soon enough. There’s no reason to decline the gift.

“It’s lovely,” I say through tight lips. Standing from the chair, I force myself to take a step closer so that I can look into the grand mirror on the wall behind him. I’d always felt like this mirror was a cruel joke, as the intricate silver frame around it would always be far more beautiful than whoever dared to stand in front of it. The top of the frame spans upwards in snaking curves that resemble leafless tree branches before morphing into an ornate full moon. The bottom corners of the frame are also decorated—the left side with a crouched dragon with smoke and flames erupting from its fearsome jaws, while the right side has the artist’s rendition of a siren sitting atop a rock that juts out of silver waves. I’d always imagined sirens to be more fishlike, but the woman could pass for human upon first glance.

I should be gazing at myself in the reflection, or at least the pelt, but my eyes keep darting to my father sitting mere steps away. Apology or not, having my back to him is not working for me. I turn abruptly when the anxiety becomes unbearable, and inadvertently knock into the small table between us. The stack of books atop it clatters to the floor—the one my father had been reading included.

“Stupid girl,” he hisses as he snatches his book and angrily flips through pages to find his place.

I bend to retrieve the other books despite the fierce ache of my new scars. A servant could do this, and if it was any item other than books, I may have let them. Books are sacred and should be treated as such. The last tome I pick up differs from the others. This one has a distinctive red backing. There’s no way to know for sure if it’s the book of dragons I remember from childhood, but I hastily tuck it under the shawl, regardless. There’s no way my father would let me take it out of here if he saw me with it.

A hand latches onto my arm and my blood runs cold. I hadn’t noticed my father move, but the need to put distance between us becomes my sole focus the instant I feel his hand on me. “Are you all right?” He wouldn’t be asking if he’d seen me tuck away the book.

I all but yank my arm from his grasp and back away from him. “Fine,” I hiss. “Standing is still a bit uncomfortable.” It’s not entirely a lie, but my sudden clumsiness has everything to do with him.

I hastily replace the other books on the table and scurry to the door. “I’d like to go to bed now, if that’s all right with you.”

He waves me off before reclaiming his seat and returning to his reading. “Fine, fine. Goodnight, Abilene.” I offer him a quick goodnight of my own before darting out of the room with my new treasure.

* * *

I return to my chambers to find a small piece of parchment slipped under my door. The name ‘Abby’ is scrawled across one side, and from that alone, I know it must be from Teagan. Very few of the staff can write their own names, let alone mine, and even fewer would call me Abby. I know Teagan can read and write, because I was the one who taught her.

I move to the desk and set down my book before unfolding the note. The ink appears a reddish-brown in the candlelight, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say this was written in blood. Ink is expensive and if Teagan didn’t steal some from somewhere in the palace, blood would be the next best thing. Although the thought makes me shudder, I read.

Abby,

Meet me in your garden at sundown.

Tell no one.

Burn this note.

I blink before reading the note again. Glancing out my window, I can only just see remnants of the sun as it sets beyond the distant mountains. There’s still time. Burying my concerns down deep, I toss the paper into the fire and bolt from the room.