She looked around a little furtively and clenched her hands together, adjusting her gloves, making sure they were all the way down to the base of her fingers. No one was on the wall as far as she could see, and so her guess at the timing seemed about right; one time, she had to explain what she thought she was doing on the wall by the pine tree, and that had gotten her in some trouble when she couldn’t come up with a good lie. She took a deep breath and began to back up to the edge of the wall. Her heart fluttered as she lunged forward, running the few steps to the turret, and vaulting over it. She fell for a little while before she caught the branch. Her heart thumped wildly, and her palms tingled as her gloves scraped against the rough bark of the tree. Every time she did this, she was so afraid that she would miss. She had actually missed once, but she had been lucky enough to catch one of the lower branches, and so had saved herself a tumble through a bristly pine tree the height of a tall castle wall. Hand over hand, she worked herself toward the trunk and then shimmied down and around the thick branches. She looked up at the wall again. The guard had not made his round back yet. Perfect. She ran forward into the shrubs that surrounded the castle like she was a fugitive.
In the end, it was more like a game of hide and seek. Except she was always the hider, and they were always the seekers. After she had gone some distance, deliberately tracking her way through the short grass and sagebrush; she climbed a bulky and twisted Bristlecone pine tree - ignoring the way the needles stabbed a little into her clothes, until she reached a branch about twelve feet up. This particular tree overhung the east road to the castle, and today she hoped that by going somewhere so obvious that they wouldn’t look for her here. It took some fussing with the needles and thin branches to get adjusted so that she was comfortable. The only goal this game had was to stay free and hidden for the longest time possible. They would always find her before she was ready to go back, and the game always ended with punishment. All the same, these stolen moments near the trees and in the fresh air were well worth enduring Ulric’s best attempts at his worst.
Rosalea draped herself along the branch and sighed in a relaxed way. Then, she reached up to make sure that her cursed silver hair was tucked up into her hat after some of it had snagged upon pine needles. She hated her hair. She was only thirteen years old, and yet she had the hair of an old woman. It couldn’t even have the decency to be a dull color like gray. No, it was definitely and defiantly silver, with all its shine and brightness. A color that if she did not keep it covered up said, “Hey, look! I am over here in this tree!” It also didn’t help that she was pale, so she did her best to cover up all her skin as best as she could.
Still, the breeze ruffled through the tree and against her clothes, and she heaved another contented sigh, listening to the wind as it slid over her and split and shook through the leaves. The breeze was warm, and coming from the south, smelled heavily of moisture. This is most definitely worth it.
In the distance, she watched the guard go by on the wall. He was still at his usual sedate pace, suggesting that no one had noticed that she had gone missing yet. I cannot stand to listen to another dry Ulric lecture about magic, history, or politics. Yes, the longer he thought she was taking to go down to the library and fetch the next volume of history, the better.
She heard noise down the road, and carefully shifted position. She was glad she was wearing her dark brown dress today; it made her feel like she blended in with the bark and the shade just a little. She saw movement to the west and narrowed her eyes to see better. It looked like a party of men, and they were approaching the castle. More slaves? she wondered, peering down the road. She picked out her people, the Ieshans, walking straight and proud, spears in hand, swords at sides, and bows upon backs, skin and hair dark. In the middle of the four guards, she saw three or four people, all of them pale, probably Myradulians. She peered more closely at them and wondered where they had come from and why they were being brought here.
They were quickly drawing near her tree. Rosalea was silent and hoped that no one would look up and see her. She wouldn’t have tried hiding here if she knew people were coming today. She saw that three of the four people were tied together and staring at the ground. But one boy, his hair blonde, was walking straighter and looking around. Rosalea guessed his age to be just a little older than herself; he seemed taller than her, at least. Just as she was wondering if he was a slave or not, he looked up, and the two of them met eyes.
She immediately brought her finger up to her lips; a gesture she hoped would keep him quiet as she peered into the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. He smiled slightly and looked away, proceeding along with the guards.
She stared at him as he walked along, wondering who he was. If he was going to be a slave, then he was a very willing one. Which, of course, would make no sense. This made her quite certain that he was important for some other reason. She watched them head in, and as was always customary when a party returned, the gate was closed. It would now remain closed for the next week, to keep the slaves from trying to escape. Rosalea grinned just a little. It also meant that the new arrivals would provide distraction for a while longer yet, affording her more time outside. After Ulric punishes me, I shall have to see who that boy was though; I want to know why he is here.
Though Rosalea wasn’t really a big one for falling asleep in trees for fear of falling out of them, she had gone through quite a long morning and last night. Ulric had been after her harder than usual to master all her etiquette skills and history, and she had been up much later than normal fighting with him over it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to learn good behavior, it was just that she didn’t like that every new rule seemed to take a little bit more of her freedom away and the ability to be herself seemed to get further and further away. The longer it went on, the more intense it had gotten, until it had reduced the situation to Ulric trying to tell her what to do while Rosalea sought ways to be maliciously compliant. However, as Ulric had discovered a while ago, with enough yelling and beating, Rosalea could in fact be persuaded to do many things. In the end, he had more or less won, and she had gone to bed exhausted and sore.
She yawned widely and stretched out a little more out on the branch, so content that she just closed her eyes to feel the breeze ruffling through her clothes and against her hat… and fell into a bit of a doze.
It was a dream that she was familiar with, she knew that even as she began dreaming it. It was the bumpy swinging feeling she always felt at the beginning. Then, there was the room, all wooden, all around. Nothing like the stone she was used to seeing in the castle. Sometimes, there was flickering light and warmth. Sometimes, a face, but all she could seem to see or remember, was the bright smile. A voice, strong, masculine, and soothing, talking to her, and yet all she could remember was the vague blurry outline.
“Rosalea!” someone was calling… not in the dream. She jerked awake, and the sharp movement nearly sent her tumbling out of the tree. She grabbed it and held it frantically, her heart fluttering like a bird flying against the wind. Deep breaths steadied her, but it took several of them; the compounded effects of the dream and almost falling had shaken her up a little. Her palms and the soles of her feet were still tingling. You see, she told herself, this is exactly why you are not supposed to fall asleep in trees.
“Rosalea!” she heard the voice of the person who had probably woken her up early. Normally, the dream proceeded to a point where there was a fire. “ROSALEA!”
She winced. That last sound reminded her of an angry bull. He was also calling her name quickly, with almost no gaps for her to answer. He is much madder than normal, she thought with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to stay right where she was and melt into the branch of the tree. Indecision paralyzed her, should she try to greet him? Or should she just try to get as far away as possible? What would make the obvious anger less intense? Time? Owning up to her mistakes? Returning to her room? Yet, even as she debated the situation and held still as if she really could meld into the tree, all too soon, she found herself looking down into the reddened, irritated face of Ulric; unfortunately, she was still not part of the tree.
“Princess, what exactly do you think you are doing?”
Now that she was caught, “Meditating,” she said with her best fake-bright tone.
He raised an eyebrow, his dull yellow-brown eyes seeming to take on the angry gleam in his face and dripping off his voice. “You were instructed to fetch History of the Ieshans, Volume III. Am I to take you as too dull to follow directions? Or just too willful?”
Rosalea was silent for a moment, trying to discern a way out of the trap. If she agreed she was too dull, then she would probably receive a number of lashings and be assigned some horrible scribing or copying assignment to expand her knowledge. If she said that she was too willful, then he would do something that would connect to breaking her will… and scrubbing the hall hadn’t been all that great last time. “I am sorry.”
His eyes twitched as he tried to repress an obvious outburst. “Are you coming out of the tree, or shall I come and get you?”
Rosalea didn’t want to go near him. He looked like he was in the sort of mood that as soon as she was within grabbing range she would receive a portion of the lashings coming on the spot. However, the last time he had come up a tree to pull her out, he had turned into a bear to do so. Therefore, she slowly made her way down, cringing as she landed safely on the ground. She stared hard at the dirt and grass, noting how his feet had bent some stalks, crushing them. She could feel him looming over her, and she braced, waiting for the beating she deserved for stealing some time of her own away from him. A gust of wind picked up red dirt around their feet and ferried it away. She’d like to float away from the situation on the breeze too.
“Come along, I have taken the liberty to fetch the volume for you. We must return to the classroom.” His tone was still hard, but it had an uncharacteristic brusqueness to it. He grabbed her elbow and jerked her around in front of him. She had to step lightly not to lose her balance or get the back of her heels stepped on. It was rough, and it made her arm throb, but she found she was most surprised that he hadn’t done something more intense. They walked in silence to the gate, which was opened to admit them, and in silence across the courtyard before she dared a chance to look at him. Why does he not just get it over with? He never waits to beat me.
She looked back at him; his brow was furrowed, and his brown skin still had the faint red hue of wrath. He glared at her; she looked away and did her best to look penitent. Which wasn’t hard at the moment, she did genuinely feel quite sorry to have been caught. She wasn’t the slightest bit sorry for having done it. “Princess,” his voice still very curt, “This is no way for you to behave. You are a figurehead and ruler of our mighty people. If you continue to behave this way, there will be even worse consequences than any I have given to you so far.”
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Rosalea was silent. She had found long ago that it was best not to interrupt him when he was angry. She was still waiting for him to turn violent at any moment. They marched up the main stairs. “I know you do not understand it, but I am trying to protect you. If you listen to me, you will be safe.”
Rosalea stayed facing away from him, but she felt practically every muscle in her body clench. The only thing I need protection from is you.
“There is a lot going on now that you do not know about, therefore, I shall forego my usual efforts to get you to understand the importance of your situation, and just give you this studying time to perhaps understand better where you fit in with history and the future.” She frowned and couldn’t help but glance back at him… that was terribly… lofty of him. Ulric almost never took the high road, and he was always about whatever he could do to get the most direct result. He seemed to understand her confused expression, “Nashota suggested that if you have a deeper understanding, you will behave better.” Ulric met her eyes with continued smoldering ire in his gaze. Rosalea felt that sensation of anxiety expanding in her chest. What could he possibly have her study that was better than his giving into the anger he felt toward her right this moment? Worse, what would Nashota, the Head of the Ieshan Council, have suggested that he would think was a better idea?
He shoved her along through the great hall of the castle. The air was dank and earthy. Rosalea hated it inside, and she didn’t much like the idea that the rest of her life was to be spent in this dull, red-brown, lifeless place. The walls were bare stone, and the stone, being quarried locally, was all red-brown flagstones. It gave all the walls a dingy appearance, like they were always covered in dirt. Ulric guided her up the stairs, and down the left corridor where her classroom and room were.
A maid opened the door for them as they neared, and Ulric let her go after he shoved her into the room. She staggered forward, foot catching on the front hem of the brown dress, and she all but fell, but some wild hopping motions helped her get off the hem and onto her feet. Ulric loomed, and Rosalea quietly stepped forward and immediately sat in her chair. “Read pages two hundred twelve through two hundred twenty. Write a reflection on your slate on any topic you choose.” He tapped her slate as if she would pretend she didn’t know what that was later. “After, complete your embroidery on your skirt with Genya, have dinner and go to bed. If I catch you out of this room, I cannot emphasize how miserable you will feel about the chore I will give you.”
Rosalea didn’t look up. His tone was so serious and angry, that it almost didn’t sound like the threat was a bluff. Still, she knew it was. It was a game they played, what horrible thing could he find to get her to do what she was supposed to? And how many times could he use it before she got immune to it? If he was taking suggestions from the head councilman, currently the actual Ieshan ruler, then he was obviously out of ideas.
She didn’t know what he would do if she chose to not follow directions again today, but she had also never seen him not act out his anger on her, and this reserve had unnerved her. She just didn’t think she could handle provoking him again until a little time for him to cool off had passed. She breathed out a small sigh of relief as he began to move away.
She held her breath again when he paused, halfway out of the room, turned, and one more time, “So, help me, Rosalea, if you leave this room again I will personally see to it that you regret it.”
She nodded, and he departed with a slam of the door. She stared down at the book; it was familiar. She hadn’t recognized the book from the title alone, but as soon as she saw it on her desk, she recognized it. A long time ago, before she started having dreams about fire, she had read it. After all, no one wanted to talk about her mother.
She knew she did not want to read it, and even though it was just the next volume of Ieshan history, she had a feeling she had already very specifically read the pages he had asked for. She knew they were the last pages in the book, and the rest were blank, meant for her own story in history.
Using just one finger she pressed into the pages in roughly the halfway point, and then she opened the book. Some of the pages didn’t follow and she had to pull the book closer, turning the pages. One hundred ninety-six, two hundred six… two-hundred and twelve.
Princess Lindir O’ Valaysha
Princess Lindir was remarkable only that she nearly ended the dynasty of Iesha and jeopardized the Gods’ prophecy…
Rosalea pushed the book away. I promised myself I would never read about my mother again, she thought as she pushed it further from her until it was at risk of just falling on the floor off the edge of the desk.
No one talked about Lindir. She had never been crowned queen. Even Rosalea’s grandmother, Valaysha, was barely a footnote in the history books, an embarrassing second place to a brother reduced to baktya, the Gods' word for “zero.”
It was reserved for only the very worst of traitors.
So, Rosalea, unable to get the information from Ulric, who got especially prickly about the subject and most definitely did not want to talk about it, had just found the history for herself and read it. After that, the dreams of fire had come, and she had spent all her time trying not to think about it since… She turned the book over a few pages, reading the last few sentences before the large header of her own name, with all its blank space beneath.
Princess Lindir’s magic then ran wild, catching the shelter she had made with her lover ablaze, burning them both alive. Fortunately, the child was rescued and returned home. Hope can spring from failure and madness, much like flowers can grow from ashes, so she was given the namesake Rosalea by her rescuer.
Lindir, if she had lived, probably would have been called the Mad Queen, Rosalea thought about her mother as she turned back a few pages, looking at the titles of other Ieshan Queens. Valayasha the Mourned Queen, Rosalea’s grandmother - who had to take the role of the crown unexpectedly when her brother had betrayed Castle Ninevah. His betrayal had caused the castle to fall to their enemies the Uryans, and so they had stricken him from history, all references to his name utterly deleted. Valaysha herself had died in childbirth, attributed to the stress that had come on her so suddenly. Before that was Bellryn, the Unbreakable King who had survived two coups and the loss of both his children and his own parents.
I will not read again how my mother went mad and practically destroyed everything, Rosalea thought bitterly, and she pulled the slate over to herself. I am not my mother, she wrote on it angrily, but I also do not know if there is enough of my great grandfather in me to put the Ieshans on the lee side of the white rose of hope. After all, Ulric had told her dozens of times why she was Rose-a-lea.
The words began to swim as her eyes filled with tears. It was just so much pressure. So many people had told her what her name meant, what they hoped she could do as she grew up, that it was just unbearable. She just wanted to escape it sometimes, and if it wouldn’t have made her like her mother, she would have wanted to run away entirely.
She cried about it for a while, letting the whole misery of the situation settle over her, until it occurred to her that this was exactly why Ulric thought reading a history book was going to be worse than thoroughly thrashing her for running off from her duties again. He was sending his message loud and clear, shape up, or be your mother.
She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and arm, pushing the misery she felt down into the pit of her chest. Shape up or be your mother, she repeated to herself as she thought about erasing the entire slate. Then she didn’t, You win, she thought tiredly. She added one more sentence. I will not find out if I do not try to be more like him.
But she didn’t address the thing that most people were afraid of, the thing that made Ulric even harder on her. Lindir’s lover, Rosalea’s father, was a Uryan. He was among the last captives brought into the Ieshan fortress because she had run away with one of them. But the thought of putting it on the slate, to tell him not to judge her for her parents, was there for a moment. Then… she let it go. It felt too shameful to own up to even for herself.
She felt so empty somehow. The day’s efforts to be free seemed so childish that it was hard to imagine what she thought had justified it at the time. It didn’t feel fair, abandoning her people wasn’t the same as going outside, was it? At least if he just went ahead and beat me, I could be mad at him. She understood, Ulric was trying to make her “right.” He was trying to make her not her mother, and most definitely not her father. But it was so unfair. Just because she grew from the ash, did it mean she couldn’t ever be herself?
She thought she was done crying, but more tears began to well up. She moved to the bottom of the slate, and she began to write watery smears of white against the black slate. I am sorry. Can we compromise and have more lessons outside? I want to be good.
But she couldn’t think of what else she wanted to write. It was too complicated, and too hard to focus on. I think I just want Genya.
She scrubbed her face dry on her sleeve and tried not to look like she had just been crying like a child; then, she went out of the room, a few feet up the hall and into her own receiving room. She’d had a little say with time over the decorations in this room, usually as rewards - or Genya’s clever conniving to switch up things to things she would like - so she had thick, soft, forest green rugs on the floors. There was a lot less gold and silver, and instead tapestries that depicted the forest, the local landscape and skies and not just royal and intricate designs intended to show off wealth and strength. Those tapestries had been moved to the council room. All of Lindir’s things had been banished from the castle, except her war fans, which Rosalea had never learned to use, but had hung on a wall so that the black and red dragons seemed to nuzzle each other on them.
Genya wasn’t there. She was out doing laundry. A different maid said she would get her. And so Rosalea just balled up onto her chair and tried to pretend she wasn’t utterly miserable. She was grateful when the sympathetic maid brought her a big cup of water and a little bread with some jam. Eating and drinking made her feel better as she waited for Genya. I hope Ulric does not insist that I do something to actually show I read the history again, she thought, staring into a tapestry of a rising sun on a gold desert landscape, the arches casting long lazy shadows in the image, with the figure of a woman - Iesha - walking into it. It felt ironic that Iesha’s act of rebellion, leaving behind a world that rejected her and her powers, leading people off into the red deserts, this act of abandoning others made her a hero, but it made her however many times great grandchild into a villain to do the same act.
Rosalea looked up with enormous eyes at Genya when she finally walked into the room. She was very dark, even compared to most Ieshans, with very curly thick dark hair and bright friendly brown eyes. “I see,” she said in her other-country accent.
She moved over to Rosalea, and even though Rosalea was getting a little too big for it, picked her up and cuddled her in her lap in the chair. All Rosalea’s attempted resolution to be a little less childish dissolved as soon as Genya said, “Don’t worry, you’re all right.” It wasn’t all right, and so Rosalea cried yet again.
Rosalea’s mother had died in a fire, and she and Genya looked exactly opposite of each other. But it didn’t change the fact that Rosalea had Genya in her life for as long as she could remember. From the moment they had retrieved her from Lindir, Genya had always been there looking after her. Genya once told her that the saddest day in her life had been the day she lost her own child and would not be able to have another. She had also said it was the happiest day in her life, because the Ieshans picked her to be Rosalea’s nurse. When Rosalea watched other children with their mothers, she didn’t think about Lindir; she thought about Genya.
With a little time, and enough gentle questions, Genya slowly got out of her what had upset her and would just softly and rock her a bit. Rosalea calmed down and was glad that Genya wasn’t judgmental like everyone else. Maybe it helped that she wasn’t an Ieshan at all, but instead originally brought here from Dyran. “Genya, do you remember my mother at all?”
Genya breathed out slowly and then in as she squeezed Rosalea extra tightly against her, “A little. She was very pretty and very strong, but she hurt a lot. I didn’t get ta be around her much, since there was no need for me back then. But ya know? It does not matter. Children’re never exactly their parents. Someday ya’ll figure it out and be ready ta try being that person.”
It made her feel better. She procrastinated for a moment, staying as a ball in Genya’s lap for just a little longer. Things were comfortably silent for a moment. “I overheard Ulric is very… excited about the lesson for tamorrow.” Rosalea looked up at her. “Magic,” Genya smiled.
Rosalea closed her eyes. She didn’t know if she was ready for that lesson. She took a deep breath in, and then out. “I am supposed to finish my skirt tonight.”
Genya smiled, “Let’s get started then,” she said.