Reflection- Thorn of the White Rose

by Rachel R. Smith

  Raysel folded his napkin and laid it on the table. “Why didn’t you tell us about the dream right away?”

  “There was so much going on that night—and in the days immediately afterward. My dream didn’t seem very important compared to watching out for the Senka. I wasn’t sure what to think of it anyway. It might have been a coincidence or a one-time occurrence.”

  Raysel’s head bobbed in understanding. “Tomorrow I’ll be meeting with one of our contacts to see if any messages have been received from our village. I plan to send an update on our progress and inform them that we’ve lost our last contact in Silvus. What I said earlier about avoiding contact with Shae is still true. However, this is a special circumstance. If we send your message through our village, one of the Ohanzee messengers can deliver it to her without drawing attention. To do that, I’ll need you to write your message to her tonight so I can take it with me first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll get started right away,” Desta said. She practically bounded back to her bed to begin writing the letter, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Commonplace Things

  Nerissa

  The late morning breeze swept down from the mountains, carrying with it an icy tinge that hinted at the approach of winter. The people walking around Nerissa all rubbed their arms or pulled their cloaks tighter, but she was oblivious to the chill. She was already frozen in another way, her eyes fixated upward, riveted by the sight in front of her.

  There, waving gently overhead, was a sight she had not seen anywhere else on their journey. Her grip tightened on the waxed paper bag until her knuckles turned white. The golden phoenix glinted in the sunlight as the crimson flag of Chiyo rippled against the cloudless sky. A part of her felt silly for being mesmerized by something as commonplace as the sight of Chiyo’s flag. But it wasn’t commonplace—not anymore. It had been conspicuously absent everywhere else or, worse, replaced by the dragon flag of Marise. Yet here it was in Rhea, boldly flying at full staff in the very center of the inner city—as it should be everywhere in Chiyo. And when she was through, it would be again.

  She relaxed her grip on the bag and took a deep breath before continuing toward her destination. Alden likely kept the flag flying more as a symbol of defiance to Casimer than as a display of loyalty. Nerissa knew that, but it didn’t alter the sense of pride she felt at seeing it again.

  Nerissa weaved her way through the shoppers milling around the farmer’s and artisan’s stalls in the city square until she reached the hospital where Rian was being treated. She couldn’t hold back her laughter when she saw that the tailor’s shop next door to the hospital was called In Stitches. Still chuckling at the irony, she pushed open the door to the clinic and was immediately greeted by the pungent odor of antiseptics.

  Aside from a bored-looking receptionist, the waiting room was empty. After a perfunctory reminder that morning visiting hours were nearing their end, the receptionist led her down a wide hallway neatly arrayed with carts carrying rolls of gauze, bottles, and other medical equipment.

  The man stopped in front of a door about halfway down the hall and knocked once. “You have a visitor,” he said as he opened the door.

  Nerissa had taken no more than two steps inside before the man pulled the door closed behind her, clipping the back of her heel in the process. Apparently, the receptionist was in a hurry to return to his boredom.

  Rian glanced up from the bed where he lie on his stomach, propped up on his elbows while reading a book. His open back shirt revealed the gauze dressings that covered from his shoulders to the bottom of his rib cage.

  “Caeneus, I’m surprised to see you. Leal is finally feeling better, so he and Jarold brought me breakfast. Even though the hospital food is nutritious, it’s also terribly bland,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “Jarold told me the twins plan to come by this afternoon, but he didn’t say anything about you.”

  “That’s because I didn’t talk to them until after they came back,” Nerissa said.

  “That explains it.” He closed the book he had been reading without bothering to mark the page and craned his neck to the side to see her better. “They weren’t the only ones to visit this morning though. Raysel stopped by on his way to meet with one of our messengers. I told him you’re not supposed to wake people when they are in the hospital, but he didn’t care. Apparently, even injuries are no excuse to sleep in.” Rian rolled his eyes melodramatically.

  “That sounds like Raysel,” Nerissa said, a slow grin spreading across her lips at the thought. “You’re supposed to bring a gift whenever you visit someone in the hospital, so I have something for you.” She handed him the bag she had brought with her and then took a seat in a chair next to the bed.

  The paper crinkled as Rian peeked inside. He stuck his nose into the bag and inhaled deeply, his whole face lighting up in recognition. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Nerissa’s grin widened. “I remembered that you like cherry cobbler. It’s my favorite too, after all. When I saw it was on the menu at the inn, I asked for a portion for you. The cook kindly made it ahead of time so I could bring it with me. It should still be warm, but if you’re not hungry, you can always save it for later and send the container back with the twins.”

  “No, I’ll eat it now! Cobbler tastes best when it’s warm,” Rian said excitedly. “I can’t eat like this, though.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and dropped his legs over the side. As he did so, the front of his shirt slid up, exposing a well-toned abdomen and a chest covered in gauze.

  Nerissa felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she reflexively averted her gaze just like Raysel had done with her the night before. She realized too late that Caeneus would have no reason to turn away. When she looked again, Rian was sitting on the edge of the bed with a smirk. He had noticed her reaction.

  Though she had gotten better at blending in with the other men, her guise always seemed to falter around Rian. Nerissa racked her brain to come up with a plausible reason for her response. “That looks awfully painful,” she said as casually as she could.

  “Do I have injuries on my stomach that I don’t know about?” he asked.

  “I meant that it looks like moving would be painful,” she amended.

  “I see. It still is, actually.” Rian pulled the lid off the crock and dipped the accompanying spoon into the gooey treat. “This is almost as good as the sponge bath I got from the nurse last night,” he said. A rakish grin spread across his lips as he spoke.

  Nerissa’s own smile evaporated, and she had to bite back the scathing comment that instantly leaped to her tongue. Instead, she muttered, “I bet,” and forced out a choked laugh. It was a weak response, but it was the best she could muster under the circumstances.

  Rian took another bite and chuckled like he was laughing at an inside joke. Nerissa fumed in silence while he enjoyed the next few bites. She was sure that Raysel would have chided him for making such a lecherous comment, but it seemed better for maintaining her disguise if she played along. Why did he have to say something like that right when she was starting to think fondly of him?

  When Rian spoke again, his voice took on a serious tone. “The cuts must have looked bad yesterday, but the doctor said none of them are very deep. Aside from those, I have some bruises and soreness from being thrown into the wall. No head injury, fortunately. There’s nothing that won’t heal quickly with proper rest. I’ll be released in a few days once they are sure that the wounds are healing well and no infection has settled in.”

  Nerissa’s head hung in remorse. Whether she was irritated by his earlier comment or not, he was still here because he had been hurt on her behalf. “I am sincerely sorry that you were injured. I wasn’t cautious enough, and it resulted in you being harmed.”

  Rian’s spoon clattered against the rim of the ceramic crock. “How can you say that? You were the one who stopped the spirit. You stayed when I told you to go back without me, and you carried m
e out of the cave,” Rian said, his voice bristling with disbelief.

  “If I had been able to lift the strongbox on my own, the trap would never have been triggered,” Nerissa argued.

  “It wasn’t possible to open it without taking it out of the chest first, and the box was very heavy. I’m not sure if I could have lifted it by myself either,” Rian said.

  “I don’t know what you mean. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have been able to lift that box as readily as anyone else. I need to focus more on my training.”

  “I got hurt because our mission was dangerous, not because of some so-called shortcoming of yours. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

  Nerissa was reminded of when he said those same words to her in the cave, and her heartbeat picked up pace. She had disregarded the sentiment thinking that Rian was delirious at the time, but could he actually have been speaking the truth?

  “I don’t know what to think when you say things like that,” she blurted out without thinking. As soon as the last word rolled off her tongue, she began mentally berating herself. How was she going to explain away her reaction? This was no time to misconstrue Rian’s intentions or to hear in his words what she wished to hear. He saw her as Caeneus—a friend and comrade—and nothing more. The chair legs rasped across the floor as she jumped to her feet and turned so he wouldn’t be able to see her face.

  But, as it turned out, she hadn’t misunderstood Rian’s feelings. He lurched to his feet and seized her wrist, pulling her toward him.

  “Finally, a crack shows in your facade,” Rian said. “And I wasn’t even trying to draw it out of you that time.”

  “Draw what out of me? W-what do you mean?” Nerissa stammered, unable to break away from his lazuline eyes.

  “I know you’re only pretending to be a man. I realized that a long time ago,” Rian answered.

  All hope of Nerissa salvaging her disguise vanished when Rian lifted her hand and softly pressed his lips against the back of it. Her racing heart beat once in a single, resounding thump. Countless men had kissed her hand before—it was a commonplace, courtly greeting. Yet never before had one sent her senses reeling the way this one had. Its warmth lingered on her skin long after he withdrew.

  Nerissa yanked her hand out of his grasp, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. “That’s absurd,” she said, but she was too flustered to put any conviction behind the words.

  “I don’t know why you’re pretending to be a man, and I don’t know what you’ve done to change your voice. But I know you are a woman,” Rian said. His words were earnest, emphatic. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t intend to tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret. I’ll help you keep your secret.”

  “How did you know?” Nerissa croaked. It was obvious that continuing to deny the truth would be pointless.

  Rian’s expression eased. “I met you on the night of the masquerade. You were wearing a mask so I couldn’t see your face, but I would never forget your eyes.”

  The breath caught in Nerissa’s throat at the inflection in his voice when he said “never.” There was a tickle in the back of her mind, like a nebulous memory was floating just beyond reach. Though she struggled to find the connection, the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came.

  Rian continued. “I recognized you again after our first sparring match. I deserved to taste the dirt for going all out on you like that, by the way. I knew those green eyes had to belong to you or a close relative. Since the Ohanzee women don’t take part in training, I wasn’t certain if you were really you or one of your siblings.”

  Nerissa squeezed her eyes closed as understanding dawned on her. “And then I told you I was an only child.” He was sharp. What else had he managed to figure out about her?

  “Exactly,” Rian said. “You looked so shocked before. Did you really not suspect I discovered the truth about your disguise?”

  Nerissa shook her head. “How could I possibly have known?”

  “Didn’t you wonder who put the bottle of perfume in your pocket?” he asked.

  Nerissa’s mouth fell open. The perfume...that had been a birthday gift from Raysel, hadn’t it?

  “When we were in Niamh, I passed by a perfumery, and the scent reminded me of the one you were wearing at the masquerade,” Rian said. “I slipped it into your pocket when we stopped to reattach your prosthetics. You must have been surprised when you found the pouch, so I wondered why you never said anything about it.”

  “I really couldn’t ask around without compromising my disguise, could I?”

  “That’s a good point, but I think there’s more to it than that,” Rian said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he watched her expression change. “I think someone else already knows your secret too.”

  Nerissa said nothing to confirm or deny his assertion, but it didn’t matter.

  “Raysel’s your guardian. He knows. I’ve suspected that from the beginning,” Rian asserted.

  Nerissa sighed in defeat and rubbed her forehead. There didn’t seem to be any reason to deny Raysel’s involvement. “Yes, Raysel has known the whole time.”

  Rian nodded, satisfied. “There’s one more thing I want to ask. What is your real name? It can’t really be Caeneus.”

  He puzzled out all of that, but he still doesn’t know who I really am, she thought. She couldn’t remember anything about the day of the masquerade, but if he didn’t know her name, they must have met after she changed costumes. Her chest ached with a longing to tell him, to have him know who she really was, but secrets were best kept by the fewest number of people possible.

  Her lips twisted into a brittle smile. “If you know my real name, what is the point of a disguise?"

  This time, it was Rian’s face that took on a shocked expression. “The Chiefs said you lost your memories. Do you actually remember that night?”

  Nerissa cocked her head in confusion. “I don’t remember anything between going to bed the night before the masquerade and the time I woke up in Einar and Ildiko’s house. What made you ask?”

  “Your answer just now. That was almost the exact answer you gave me when I asked your name at the masquerade—” Rian answered.

  A knock on the door cut Rian short, and a male nurse opened it a second later. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he scolded and, surprisingly, Rian dropped onto the edge of the mattress without protest. The nurse turned to Nerissa next and said, “Visiting hours are over.”

  “Don’t forget to take this back with you,” Rian said, holding out the bag with the now empty crock inside. When Nerissa reached out to take it, Rian whispered in her ear. “Remember when I said I had been trying to draw the truth out of you? He’s my nurse. I made the sponge bath comment earlier to try to get you riled up enough to give yourself away.”

  Nerissa glared at him, but Rian simply smirked up at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “As soon as you are better I am going to make you pay for that,” she hissed.

  The same rakish grin from before spread across Rian’s face again. “I hope so,” he said as she was ushered from the room.

  Their conversation would have to be continued later, but Nerissa wasn’t sure if she should look forward to it or dread it. As much as he may be able to tell her about the night of the masquerade, she also knew he wouldn’t give up on trying to puzzle out her true identity.

  And she wasn’t sure that she truly wanted to keep it from him anymore either.

  Chapter 7

  Thorn of the White Rose

  Raysel

  A bell jangled overhead as Raysel stepped into the luthier’s shop. There was no sign of the instrument maker amid the violins and other stringed instruments on display, nor behind the counter where bows, strings, and bags of rosin hung in neat rows. He was pleased to find that the shop was empty of other customers as well.

  Gasparo, the proprietor, was one of several Ohanzee informants in Rhea. Raysel made a point of
casually browsing the violins while he waited to be greeted. Until he knew whether it was Gasparo or one of his employees working today, it was best to maintain the appearance of a customer. His eyes wandered to the window where he could see a constant stream of passersby. Who could say whether or not there were curious eyes among the milling crowd? Though he was always cautious, Brigs’ recent betrayal had elevated Raysel’s sense of suspicion to an entirely new level.

  Just as his patience was beginning to wear thin, a gray-haired man pushed aside the curtain separating the shop from the workroom.

  “How may I help you?” the man asked tersely, peering at Raysel over the top of his glasses.

  “Are you Gasparo?” Raysel asked.

  The man nodded once and raised his eyebrows impatiently.

  “I’m here to pick up a violin for my band leader. He sent it here to be restrung and to have the scroll replaced.”

  Gasparo’s attitude changed abruptly. His brow creased, and he spoke slowly as if searching for the right words to say. “Yes, and I believe he also sent four bows to be rehaired, did he not?”

  “With only the finest stallion hair,” Raysel confirmed.

  Gasparo rubbed his hands together and stared at Raysel’s sword in awe. Then he strode over to the door, locked it, and dropped a closed sign in the window. “It’s been many years since I’ve met with one of the Ohanzee in person. For a moment, I worried I had forgotten the code phrase,” he said.

  “Can we speak somewhere more private?” Raysel asked, directing a pointed look at the shopfront window.

  “Of course! Of course! No one else is here now, but please follow me. There are no windows back here.” Gasparo parted the curtain leading to the workroom and gestured for Raysel to enter.