Page 28 of Ash and Roses
“Am I to be your prisoner then?”
That’s a good question. “Not if you stay out of trouble.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
ABBY
The prince is an ass. How dare he compare my situation to his? Have I not done enough for my people? It’s not like it did any good. The Commander came after me, which means the Marked are dead—and any hope of change died with them. And Jade…
Stop it! Jade is not dead!
No matter how many times I tell myself that, I’m less sure of its truth. If he survived, he would have come for me. Ruben said I was alone, which means either Jade is dead… or he left me there to save himself. I can’t decide which is worse.
I push that possibility from my mind because I only have the energy to be angry with one man today. Quinn is a fool if he thinks I’m going to give up that easily. I’m never going back to Lunae. If I can’t stay here, then I’ll find Marein because if Jade is alive, that’s where he’ll be. Part of me wants to tell someone, maybe Tess if not Quinn, but there’s no telling whose side they’re on. Marein was destroyed, her people slaughtered and children stolen. My father covered it up, but did he work alone? I’ve never heard of Rosewood, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know of its existence. I know nothing about these people, but that needs to change.
I’d planned on going back to my room, but turn on my heel when I recall the library. Maybe I’ll find some information there. If the Marked somehow survived, the more I know about this place, the better. And if Prince Quinn wants to send me away, then I’d better get snooping.
After only a few minutes of walking, I wish that I’d paid more attention on the tour. All these halls look so familiar, and every time I think I know where I am, I end up somewhere entirely different. I turn yet another corner and find myself almost back where I’d started. Just ahead of me is the throne room. Since I’m not getting anywhere fast, I decide to check it out.
A long, woven carpet of greens, reds, and golds leads me to a set of carved wooden thrones. Unlike in Lunae, the thrones are of equal size and I can’t tell which is meant for a king and which for a queen. Two gold crowns of equal beauty rest on a small table between them. Each appears to be formed from thorny flowers dipped in molten gold and molded to fit a head. The golden flowers match those carved on the thrones themselves, and without a doubt, I know these are roses. I’ve yet to see one, and, as if by the realization itself, I become aware of the potent scent that blankets Rosewood. It’s near winter and only the most resilient of flowers remain, but the scent of that garden has to mean the roses are still in bloom. Even if they’re not, I have to see them.
Prince Quinn can tell someone who cares if he has a problem. He said I’m not a prisoner as long as I keep out of trouble, and how much trouble could I get into in a garden?
With renewed purpose, I hurry from the throne room and resume my walk around the halls. It’s easier not to get lost when you follow your nose, but even then I make a few wrong turns. Eventually, after an embarrassing amount of time, I find myself in front of two elegantly carved doors that rival the thrones in their beauty and craftsmanship.
It occurs to me then that the door might be locked. What a silly thing that would be. I look to my left and then my right to be sure no one is watching. The last thing I need is for them to go running to the prince. It will be a while before I’ll want to look upon his face again. He’s offered me shelter and I should be grateful, but I see right through him. He wants me gone, and he’s probably only letting me stay until I recover to keep up appearances. His people don’t seem to have a problem with him—despite his lingering absences. One could argue that they know him better than I do, but first impressions speak volumes. If I could go home I would, but what’s left for me there? A crown that isn’t mine, an army that serves a ruthless king, and a lying father with a heart that holds no love for me.
I bear enough scars.
The doors look heavier than they are, and swing open at the softest touch, revealing a sea of red and green. I’d thought the scent was strong before, but being face to face with so many flowers shows just how wrong I was. Why would such beauty be hidden away behind stone walls and wooden doors?
The doors fall closed behind me. The garden is set in a wide circle with individual stones forming a path that spirals into the center. Densely packed flowers—roses that appear ashen on the outside with centers redder than blood, at least a thousand of them—line the walkway.
I follow the path, stepping from one stone to the next and carefully avoid trampling any roses that droop over the edge of the walkway. At the very center sits a large altar. The stone is grey and smooth—not a carved rose in sight—and charred as if something had been burned atop it recently. The stone slab is large enough to fit a person, but that’s not what sits atop it now.
I touch the fur and know instantly that it’s my shawl. “What the stars?” I say to no one. There’s a chill in the air, and a shiver runs through me. I don’t know why my shawl was put here, but it shouldn’t have been. I drape it over myself and follow the spiral path back out of the expansive circle, hands spread out on either side of me to touch the flowers as I pass. Their soft petals feel almost non-existent, offering only the faintest of tickles against my fingertips, softer even than silk.
I spot a bench against the low stone wall and move to claim it. I’m not ready to leave the garden yet, but before I can take a seat, a thunderous bang has me nearly leaping out of my own skin. I whip around to face the source and find the wooden doors thrown open with a fuming Quinn between them. His fists are clenched tight, and the pure rage on his face has me backing further away.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he shouts at me. Tess appears in the door behind him, but the only move she makes is to bring a hand to her chest.
“I—I just wanted to see the garden,” I stammer. His anger has me at a loss for words, and my fight-or-flight instincts are firing. Something about his demeanour is raw and animalistic. It has me feeling like a prey animal backed into a corner, or a creature of the Lunar Hunt seconds from meeting a spear.
“Get out.” He takes a step to the side to leave a clear path for me to leave. When I don’t move, his face reddens and a fist slams against one of the open doors with such force that I’m surprised he didn’t punch right through it. “Get out!”
That show of aggression is all it takes to have me moving, and before I know it, I’m flying down the corridor. I don’t know where I’m going. Not my room, that’s for sure. When I reach the main exit, I don’t stop. I thrust the doors open and sprint into the late afternoon sun. It’s warmer here than in the garden, but that might have something to do with the slamming of my heart.
I skid to a stop when I reach the tree line. Enough people have told me not to cross it, but what’s the point of staying here if Quinn is only going to send me back? I won’t go back to Lunae. I won’t!
Before I can make a conscious decision to bolt into the forest, a low growl all but stops the thundering of my heart. The shadows within the trees are dark, but something darker still moves between them. Two shimmering eyes blink back at me, and for each step back I take, the animal takes one of its own.
“Relax,” I tell myself. “It won’t cross the tree line.”
The massive wolf steps out of the shadow and into the clearing, and I was a fool to think it wouldn’t. The monster doesn’t leave the forest, but this isn’t the monster. This is a wolf, and I’m its prey.
My eyes dart around, but there’s no one to help me this time. Most people will be working the fields right now, and the nearest one is far enough away that I’d be lucky if anyone heard me scream. This is too much like the Lunar Hunt. Lunalissa had meant for me to be a sacrifice, and here she is again to claim me. I don’t know what I ever did to the Goddess for her to want me so badly, but what I do know is that I won’t go without a fight.
I bend to retrieve the small blade tucked into my boot, and the wolf snaps its teeth in response to the action. The dark brown animal crouches low, and thick globs of drool drip from its open jaws. Its teeth glisten in the sun, and I imagine them red with my blood. I raise my blade as it readies to pounce, but feel myself thrown sideways before it lunges.