Her world was green and blue.

Elvynia was a large nation occupying the west coast of Ellysmera, and for as long as Elle had lived, the mountains were on one side, and the islands on the other. In the winter, the ocean was an icy blue, and the green of the land barely poked through the white on the fields. In the summer, the water was clear in the shallow parts, and so dark where it deepened that it was almost black. Autumn was beautiful because the greens would turn to gold, but Elle knew that the gold never lasted.

It never lasted, just like menial jobs—the only jobs that Elle was qualified for. Despite the string of rejection and demeaning sneers from the marked folk, her enthused persistence was rarely quenched, leading to her best friend’s constant chastising.

“You need to stop trying to get jobs you can’t do,” Michy half-heartedly threw a dishcloth at Elle, feeling more defeated than frustrated. The sun was setting, and she went to light a candle, knowing Elle would pick up the discarded cloth. Elle had gotten into yet another fight with a villager—while she was only a year younger than Michy, Elle was always the one getting in trouble. Elle had tried to convince a shopkeeper to give her a job, but he refused to even let her tend to the stock-pulling mule because she was Unmarked.

Because Elle hadn’t been chosen by the Rosemother to bear rosemarks, she, along with the other Unmarked, were only allowed to keep their heads down and work the worst jobs that no one else wanted. Anyone blessed with even a single bloom or stem could fill better jobs higher up in society, leaving the rest of those who were Unmarked, like Elle, to eke out a living from one low-paying job to job.

“What about the hunting? Isn’t that something you like?” Michy practically begged, moving to a second candle, and then to the fireplace to boil a pot of water. She wasn’t in the mood to wash dishes with cold water tonight.

Hunting was why Elle’s favourite season was spring. Autumn was beautiful, but it signaled death. Winter was quiet and cold—a constant reminder of how desolate her situation was. While Michy was marked and able to get a respectful position as the seamstress’ assistant, Elle’s only constant, other than her best friend, was the knowledge that the cold would eventually end, and she could hunt again. The one thing that she was good at and didn’t need any marks for.

Spring was blue and green and meant the birth of precious things. Birth and rebirth.

But it wasn’t enough. “Hunting is great, and it keeps us fed,” Elle started. “But it’s not stable. It comes and goes with the seasons, you know that. Besides,” she crossed her arms. “That guy really had it coming. He was downright rude.”

Elle hadn’t been chosen by the Rosemother to bear a rose, and no one really had any hope of that changing when she reached her 16th birthday. Most who bore a rose received at least a stem or even a little rosebud by 16, and even those who didn’t have full flowers had been granted at least an inky, black rosebud on their skin by 20. At 23, Elle had long since accepted that her skin would remain flower-free, and that she would bear neither stems nor blooms.

In the spring and summer, she hunted. In the fall and the winter, when the days grew short, she looked for other odd jobs she could do. But they never lasted long; either people didn’t need more help, or she lost her temper and the job along with it. At one point, she even participated in fighting rings—much to Michy’s chagrin—at the town center for silver pieces just to get by.

“I know, I know,” Michy said, wringing her hands. “But it’s okay. I make enough to get us by—”

“It shouldn’t be like that. I could do so many jobs that those other girls do. They only have one or two marks—they barely have an advantage over me! Why should I need a mark of strength or healing just to tend to a stupid mule?”

“Elle…”

“I understand for certain jobs you would want to have petals so you can get back out there faster, but so many other jobs shouldn’t require any rosemarks. I could do it! I’m just as strong as any other marked woman,” Elle huffed.

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Michy walked over to Elle and grabbed her by the arms. “Elle, you know I love you. You and I both know you’re just as capable as any other person with a rosemark. Even two rosemarks.” Michy's knowing glance had Elle casting her eyes away.

“I’m sorry, Miche. It's just hard. Sometimes…” Elle paused. They shared a small home, but because Michy’s two rosemarks had shown up early, she was able to get a better job than most as an apprentice at Seely’s Shop, a local seamstress. Michy’s small marks had nothing to do with her ability to sew, but it didn’t matter. She had the marks, so she got the job. Elle hadn’t stood a chance for a similar position because she didn’t have any at all. Michy often covered most of their living expenses even though Elle helped her with many of the projects at work.

“I’m sorry the world is the way it is,” Michy pulled her best friend in for a hug. “I wish I could change it, but I can’t. But we will get through this. We always do.”

Elle and Michy had been best friends for as long as either could remember. They both grew up at a Poor House—orphanages that took in young children—and as soon as they realized that their names put together sounded like “Michelle,” which was infinitely amusing to two young orphaned Poor girls, they had been inseparable since. Once Michy had aged out, she took Elle with her. They’d lived together since, holding onto nothing but each other. They had been forced to move many times and never called any place home for very long, but they always had each other. For Elle, home was wherever Michy was.  

The two women separated suddenly when a loud banging rang through the little home.

“Are you expecting someone—?”

Elle shook her head, eyes wide. The urgency of the banging increased. It had to be Royal guards. Only the guards would pound on a door like that. Each village and town had its own permanent set of guards enforcing King Apollo’s rules, so barring the King’s Generals, the guards were the ones in charge.

“Elle, what did you do?” Michy’s eyes widened and her grip on Elle’s arms tightened, as though she could make the banging go away through sheer will.

Elle’s palms grew clammy. She hadn’t caused damage to the shopkeeper—not much, anyway. Things had started getting heated when he called her names, and she had shouted right back at him. He threw the first punch, but she had ended things with her foot on his chest. She didn’t think that he would have reported her…

“Michy Kore, come on out!”

The man's voice split Elle's chest in two. What did they want with Michy? Elle was the one who had gotten in trouble. Elle wiped her hands on her pants and pried Michy’s hands from her arms. She pushed Michy behind her.

“Elle…”

But Elle never got to hear Michy’s next words as they were drowned by the loud crack of their door splitting from its hinges.

“What’s—”

“Michy Kore?” three masked guards burst into the small home. They were adorned in Royal uniforms: long brown shirts with leather armor stamped with the Royal insignia of two thin swords crossed over a flame. At each of their sides were sheathed swords glaring ominously at the sisters, though none of the guards’ hands were on the handles.

“Y-yes.”

“What do you want with her?” Elle stepped up to stand next to Michy, taking her hand. “She did nothing.” She tensed, praying her voice wasn’t shaking as much as her legs were.

“You’ve been accused of aiding Seely’s Shop with providing supplies to Ellyria,” the man in the middle glared at Michy, paying Elle no mind.

“There’s no way she’s part of anything like that!” Elle threw her arm across Michy, as though her small body could stop these men from taking her best friend and sister. Ellyria, east of Elvynia and across the mountains, was the original land from which Elvynia was formed after the Old War. Ellyria was chaotic and ruthless. Lawless. The opposite of Elvynia. Elvynia fought constantly to protect its people, and aiding the barbaric Ellyrians was a crime worthy of death.

“Elle…” Michy was pale, eyes large and round. She stood stiffly next to Elle, who had never seen her friend so scared.

“You’re coming with us.”

“But I don’t know anything about that!”

“You can come conscious or unconscious. It makes no difference to us." Though it was the man in the middle who spoke, Elle couldn’t help but notice that the others looked eager for trouble, hands reaching for their blades.

“Who can we speak to about disputing this?” Elle's palm stung from her nails digging in, but she fought to keep composure.

“Elle, I think I have to go with them,” Michy whispered, her hand dropping from Elle’s sleeve.

Elle grabbed Michy’s arm, pulling her back.

“Miche, no…” Elle watched as her sister, her world, and her whole heart walked away from her, frightened and alone.

The three guards watched, silent and motionless. They knew there would be compromise. They knew there was no choice.

“Will I be able to visit her?”

“You may visit the cells tomorrow evening.”

Elle felt the rough material slip from her fingertips as Michy walked on trembling legs toward the guards, who simply turned and left, knowing Michy was at their heels.