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Chapter III : Depression

Latemorn of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon

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Rosalyn Reynolds stirred her cup of chamomile tea and honey. She had been in a mental funk for days. Possibly weeks. And there was no end in sight. The mixture was fully blended, but she found the repetitive exercise to be soothing. Rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of her conservatory as she half-finished her breakfast of cultured cream and berries. A beautiful autumn morn beckoned, but she chose to sulk indoors. She couldn’t quite escape her worries, which clung to her like the chamomile leaves to her teacup.

They revolved around Angkor’s war hero, the famous Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison. Rosa loved him and supported him during a long and brutal war. She stood by his side, wielding her magic, as she and Bram fought for Angkor’s future. But now, The War was over, and Angkor had attained peace. She was expected to wed the man she spent six years adoring and start a family. It was a simple dream, though seemingly impossible at the same time. And the reason was because her lover was never around.

Rosa was still a young woman, with a supple, feminine figure that drew the attention of many men. She had smooth, velvety dark skin and eyes, and her hair fell to her elbows in bundles of voluminous curls. She came from Malden, a wealthy nation in the southern hemisphere, far across the Great Ocean. Although certainly not the only Maldenese woman in Angkor, many still considered her to be the most beautiful.

As her father often reminded her, she could have had any man she wanted. Even so, her heart belonged to only one. Sadly, her life after The War had become quite solitary. She had no one she trusted to listen to her troubles or provide solace. Except, of course, for a bratty young scullery maid named Lila. The girl kept close watch, though rarely had anything useful to say. She had pale white skin and frizzy red hair, pulled tightly in a bun, and a long crooked nose with nostrils that flared when she spoke.

Lila looked up from her embroidery from time to time to raise her eyebrows sympathetically, but Rosa knew better. She had tried to empty her heart once before, but even when all her vulnerable feelings were laid bare across the table, the maid barely paid attention. Instead, her eyes wandered, while she used her tongue to clean discreetly between her teeth. Rosa wanted to banish the inconsiderate wench from her sight.

Of course, the maid was not hers. She belonged to her father, along with all the other houseworkers. Tom Reynolds owned the estate, and Rosa was merely his permanent guest. She had long suspected the staff of being Tom’s spies, routinely betraying her confidence, so he could keep closer tabs. It was difficult to trust anything they said, much less find their consoling to be anything other than disingenuous. She found it ironic, constantly being surrounded by people, yet always feeling alone.

“There, there,” Lila consoled. “Knights don’t train ‘n manners, ya know?”

Rosa scowled. She hated when her relationship issues with Bram were discussed like common knowledge.

When The War ended and Bram moved in to live with her, she thought she’d have it made. Instead, her Knight changed roles and started taking on top-secret missions. He was unable to talk about them, which made Rosa feel like the bond holding them together had started to fray. He’d disappear for days or weeks at a time; and when he finally returned, he’d have nothing to say about it. At the very least, he owed her some kind of notice, so at least she wouldn’t look like a fool for being the last one to know of his absenses. Unfortunately, he couldn’t even do that.

At any rate, Lila had no right to throw it in her face. Rosa didn’t need any more of the maid’s false pity.

“What would you know of it?” she snapped. “You mustn’t be more than, what … thirteen?”

“Fo’teen, milady.” Lila stood up and grabbed the teapot. “Would ya care for mo’?”

Rosa let the question steep. She needed some fresh air and an escape from her servant’s judgmental eyes.

“I’m going to the market.” It sounded like a wonderful, spontaneous idea.

“Milady, at least take someone wit’ ya,” Lila protested. “You know it’s impropa fo’ a lady to wander ‘lone.”

Rosa bit her tongue. Not only was the comment bafflingly rude and ignorant, considering she had fought for years in a dangerous war. It also sounded like something her father would have said. She wondered what he was teaching this silly little girl.

Humiliated, Rosa filled her lungs and awaited tranquility before scolding. “It’s not your job to instruct me on what I can and can’t do, Lila. I can take care of myself, so please mind your own damn business.”

The young girl bowed and responded meekly. “As ya wish, Milady.”

Smoothing her dress, the maid went about the room in a caricature of acting busy. She blew a bit of dust off the sconces and used her toe to smooth out wrinkles in the rug.

Rosa rolled her eyes and fled to the foyer, where an assiduous butler attempted to draw a coat around her shoulders. Rosa ran past without saying a word. The temperature outside was plenty warm, and she hated being pampered.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

At last, she escaped the manor house. It wasn’t difficult; but somehow, it always felt like an invisible barrier would hold her back, trapping her inside. She was the child of an overprotective nobleman, made more cautious due to her rare gift in magic. Rosa grew up rarely avoiding the ever-watchful eyes of her guardians. Simple things like privacy were a luxury, never to be taken for granted.

Things changed dramatically when she met Bram. Instead of her father’s heartless nobility and high-society bruncheons, Bram gave her heart-racing adventures and high-stakes journeys. Her magic and his might were an unstoppable combination. She frequently regretted her choice to retire, which relegated her to a life of boredom and depression. It felt like her best days had already sunset. So whenever she had the chance, she fled the estate, quickly striding across the property line, before her imagined barrier could manifest.

Along the way, she passed by rows of ash-colored shrubs, clearly in need of water and attention. Nearer the front entrance, a set of miserable looking flowerbeds showed further dereliction. Then she remembered: a month earlier, the groundskeeper returned to his family in Vineta, and her father had yet to find a replacement.

Perhaps the plants were there to remind her that all things needed nourishment. Even relationships. Thinking back, she recalled a time when Bram would bring her fresh clippings on his way back from missions … clippings that had found their way into the once-beautiful flowerbeds. She sighed. It seemed so long ago, and she wondered why he stopped. Although, perhaps the better question was how long it had been since she’d noticed.

Sometimes, she considered a return to studying magic. She excelled in healing, and there was always demand for sorcerers in the medical field. But every time she floated the idea to her father, he shot it down. He didn’t want his beautiful daughter working like a commoner. It was nonsense, she knew, but somehow he always found a way to pull on her heartstrings.

‘Love and duty to the family.’ ‘Responsibility for continuing the Reynolds line.’ These were things she agreed to wholeheartedly. Yet, they were also the anchors to achieving her true dreams. With every turn of the calendar year, the rebelliousness of her youth softened, and she stopped fighting back. After all, Tom always reminded her: if she went back to work, she’d never find time to raise a family.

The problem, of course, was that Bram wasn’t around enough to plan a wedding, let alone raise a child. And his growing disdain for Angkorian aristocracy created tension between him and her father, which worsened with every passing week. At first, she thought she could smooth the differences between them, but the more Bram procrastinated marriage, the more Rosa’s domineering father grew displeased.

She knew a conflict was imminent. It might even happen later that evening, at the event Tom had planned for them both at his estate. Surely, he intended to pressure them to close their matrimonial vows and produce heirs. But with Bram once again out of the country, Tom would have a new reason to deepen the trench between them. Her once-unbreakable bond now hung by a thread, and she wondered if it was even possible to salvage.

Distracted, she wandered down the main street. With a muddled mind, she desperately searched for a story to explain her lover’s absence. Hopefully, the perfect excuse would come to her, long before her father’s gathering. She hardly noticed the pitter-patter of feet, running down the pathway, until a small someone nearly slammed right into her.

She sidestepped quickly, but it was too late for the young boy in a woolen cap. He tried to dodge, but a misstep twisted his ankle. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the cobblestones. His high-pitched squeal shook her from her daydreams, and she raced to his side with a spell on her lips.

She closed her eyes and summoned her magic. It coursed through her bloodstream, evoking all five senses: tingling on her skin, humming in her ears, sparkles at the edge of vision, and sweet aromas of patchouli and bergamot. And then … the taste of candied ginger. She savored that moment, her favorite part—one serendipitously associated with the healing arts.

All that remained were the words and gestures, like oils to a painter, or marble to a sculptor. She spoke while moving her fingers, and a flurry of blue sparks descended from her fingertips and surrounded the boy’s ankle. Before long, his tears dried up and he scuffled to his feet. He must have been only seven or eight years old.

She reached out. “Little boy, what’s your name?”

She caught herself, realizing the boy might in fact be a girl. Embarrassed, she backtracked.

“Forgive me. I was just wondering what you like to be called.”

Instead of answering, the child stared down the street behind her. She turned around to see an adult male in a top hat, huffing and puffing to catch up. By the time she turned back, the child in woolen cap had run off.

“Stop him!” the man shouted with a balled-up fist. “He doesn’t belong here!”

Rosa wasn’t about to chase down a poor, defenseless child. She recognized this middle-aged man, who arrived with a sweaty brow and a dark, well-oiled beard that formed a point at his chin. He seemed relatively well-dressed, but his suit looked like something a servant would wear.

“What’s your name?” she demanded. “You work for my father, don’t you?”

He stopped to catch his breath while patting his face with a handkerchief. “Yes, Ma’am. The name’s Andrews.”

She remembered him well. He was one of many men who ran errands for Tom.

“What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing, chasing that child?”

“He’s trespassing,” Andrews accused. “Mister Reynolds asked me to deliver a message to you, and on my way here, I saw the boy sneak past security. He must be up to no good!”

Rosa scoffed. “You don’t even know who you’re chasing. As for my father, he knows where to find me. I expect to see him later tonight, in fact. Why send for me now?”

Andrews took one more deep breath before answering. “He asked that you arrive at his office in a couple of hours. As for why, perhaps you should ask him. Ma’am.”

Rosa sighed. A summons from her father was never good news. She wondered what he wanted.

“Alright, I’ll go.” Andrews hesitated, so she shooed him away with her hand. “Now get lost … and leave that child alone.”

Andrews stood straight and tipped his hat. “Very well, ma’am. I got a good look at the trespasser, and you can be sure I’ll pass on a description on to the guards. Good day!”

Rosa gasped as the man spun on his heel and stormed off.

Living in the capital’s First District had its benefits, but the laws were often unjust. The city protected its wealthy and prosecuted its poor to such an absurd degree. She never recognized it when she was younger, but now it was all too obvious. And it made her sick.

Whatever reason that child had to sneak past security, involving the guards was simply unnecessary. Andrews was just like her father, afraid the world was out to get him. Like his peers, he surrounded himself with money and power, willing to use it to make the first strike.

But now she had reason to worry. Surely her father had found out about Bram’s absence, and he was looking to question his daughter ahead of the evening’s events. She couldn’t avoid the impending confrontation. Her father was expecting her, and whatever Tom wanted, Tom got.