Blossom and the Beast (The Alder Tales Book 1)

by RS McCoy

  In a different scenario, she would have liked to relay this story to Da or Hale, or maybe even Gemini. Now, she had no one to tell. A brand new experience and no one to share it with.

  Frustrated and angry, Blossom pushed up and out of the tub and wrapped her body in the soft towel the women had left for her use. She wrung her hair as best she could and felt its familiar bounce, even damp. It would curl up more than usual in this humidity.

  It was then she realized she had nothing to wear. She’d sent the women away with her only clothes. Maybe she should have gone back to her tent for a few extras, but she hadn’t been in the frame of mind to consider it then.

  As it was, she had nothing but a towel to wrap around her figure.

  Blossom padded her feet across the warm wood floor and cracked open the door to the hallway, hoping one of the two women was there.

  Instead, it was one of the Vice Syndicate’s men. “Can I help you, Ms. Frane?” he asked, his head bowed low to avoid looking at her. Blossom could only see the sleek black hair that topped his head and the fiery colors of his Pyro clothes. His face was hidden from her.

  “No, I was looking for the ladies.”

  She started to close the door when he said, “They went out to the wash house. They should return shortly. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “I just need my clothes. I can wait.” Blossom closed the door but re-opened it a moment later. “What’s your name?”

  The man hadn’t moved at all. “I am Druma Warren, Ms. Frane, of the Cougar Clan of Mount Juri.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Druma,” she lied. While Blossom held no ill-will against this serviceman, she wished she’d never known him. She wished she’d never known any of them. “Do you think you could get me something to eat?”

  “The inn keeps a well-stocked kitchen. I could accompany you—”

  “No, thank you.” Blossom didn’t want to tell him that she had nothing to wear. She tightened her grip on the towel about her body and pressed the door closed.

  Alone in the strange room, Blossom felt farther from home than ever. She had never slept so far from the ground, on a floor made of wood rather than dirt. A well-stoked fire burned bright in a low fire place. Beside it sat a soft brown chair that held her mother’s book, and on top of it, Hale’s coin.

  Not his coin, hers. One side left blank where her totem would go. Blossom collected the coin in her hand and stroked the smooth wooden side, wondering what animal would go there. In twelve days’ time, she’d have her answer at last.

  Blossom’s thoughts were shattered by a knock at the door. She froze in fear, afraid it was the Vice Syndicate. A moment later, she remembered it might be the women with her clothes.

  But when she opened the door, there was only Druma. He stood before her with his head bowed low. In his hand, he held out a pile of red and black fabric. “From the Vice Syndicate,” he offered.

  Blossom accepted the fabric and thanked him before closing the door again. In her room, she discovered a bright scarlet shirt, so long it would skim her knees. The second item, a pair of loose-fitting black pants. Both were too large and long for her tiny frame—clearly personal items of the Vice Syndicate—but Blossom pulled on the shirt and decided she would make it work.

  Her stomach growled with impatience.

  As she slipped her arms into the shirt, she couldn’t help but catch his scent on the fabric, a smoky smell that made her nose wrinkle. Still, it was better than her bare flesh or the cold towel.

  Blossom slipped the coin under the pillow for safe-keeping and ventured into the hall at last. The other doors were all shut, but her eyes stayed on the room across from hers. He was in there, sleeping or reading or doing whatever mysterious men did in their free time. She was glad his door was shut and that he couldn’t see her wearing nothing but his loaned shirt. Somehow, she knew he would enjoy that.

  As she started down the stairs, ignoring the pain in her swollen ankle, Druma’s followed behind her.

  “I can find it on my own,” she fussed. She didn’t need to be monitored. Ignoring her, Druma continued, his cat-like steps quieter than she expected from the square-shouldered man.

  Low-burning torches lined the twisted stairs and continued through the hallway on the first floor. Blossom sailed from room to room, past sitting rooms and offices, and found the kitchen at the back of the building. As Druma had said, it overflowed with the Alder Mother’s gifts.

  There were baskets of a dozen different fruits, fresh breads, and vegetables imported from the Hydra aquaculture farms far to the west, and cured meats of every kind. Blossom skimmed the rows, snatching at handfuls of berries and hunks of bread, filling her aching stomach.

  Druma only stood back and watched her.

  When she remembered his presence, Blossom looked over and asked, “How long have you served him?”

  “I came into his father’s service as a boy. When the Vice Syndicate underwent transformation and earned his position, I chose to serve him in his father’s stead.” Druma eyes flickered, as if there was much more to that story that he didn’t want her to know. Or maybe the Vice Syndicate had threatened him into silence on the subject.

  “You chose him?” Blossom asked, her mouth half-open with a torn bit of bread still hanging out.

  Druma crossed the kitchen and fetched a pitcher of water from the counter. He poured a cup and handed it to her as he said, “You’ll find him to be a complex man.”

  Blossom shoved a handful of strawberries in her mouth and turned away. She wasn’t in the mood to decipher riddles.

  In the dim kitchen, Blossom could see the cougar’s silhouette tattooed on his neck, filled with the word PYRO in black and red. “Once you get to know him, you’ll see.”

  “What if I don’t want to get to know him?” Blossom was the definition of not-interested.

  Druma sighed and pressed his lips together. “Then you’ve put us all in danger.”

  Affliction

  THE TWO WOMEN shook her awake well before dawn, fluttering about her room and fussing over her hair before she could even open her eyes.

  “Leave me be,” Blossom said with no small amount of displeasure.

  “But Ms. Frane, your carriage is ready. The Vice Syndicate waits for you,” one offered, her voice as smooth and sweet as honey.

  “Then let him wait.” But even as Blossom said the words, she knew she was in no position to make such demands. She pulled herself from the bed—so soft she’d barely slept—and found her clothes, cleaned and folded on the chair.

  As she predicted, her hair was a tangled, curly mess, but she didn’t bother to fix it. Instead, she collected the clothes Druma had given her last night and made for the door as quickly as possible, eager to leave the two fussing women behind her. At least the Vice Syndicate was quiet.

  Blossom flung open the door and found Druma posted outside, guarding her. His eyes were sunken and dark with fatigue. She knew he hadn’t slept. It was clear Blossom wouldn’t be the only one tired today. A part of her felt guilty for having a bed to sleep in while he was out here, likely miserable trying to stay awake. Then again, he chose the service of the Vice Syndicate. She’d had nothing to do with that.

  She returned the borrowed clothes to him and started down the stairs. Outside, she found the same fine carriage as they’d used the day before. The mere sight of it made her want to bolt into the woods. She dreaded being locked up again.

  When she climbed inside, she found it empty. So much for making the Vice Syndicate wait for her. Given a moment of privacy, Blossom checked her pockets for her book and coin, determined to keep them with her. Satisfied she had everything, she leaned against the back of the seat and waited.

  “Have you changed your mind?” The Vice Syndicate’s voice startled her a moment before his serious features appeared in the small doorway.

  “Changed my mind about what?”

  “The carriage. I thought you would rather travel in less confined means, so I
sold it to the innkeep. I can purchase it back if you’d rather—” He didn’t get the chance to finish as she barreled out of the carriage, determined to never see the inside of one again.

  So early in the morning, the only light came from the inn’s multitude of torches lining the exterior of the structure. There, behind the Vice Syndicate, stood a pair of cinnamon horses so dark they were near black in the scant light.

  Blossom approached the horses, slow and steady as she knew they liked. When she was close enough to the first, she stroked the mare’s nose and petted her neck, feeling the strength of her muscles.

  “I don’t mean to enable you to leave my company,” the Vice Syndicate said behind her, closer than she realized.

  His sudden proximity set her heartbeat to hammering. Her breath caught in her throat as she fought to regain her composure. “Then why aren’t you making me ride in the carriage?”

  “Because you hate it.” His voice was low and quiet, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear despite the fact they were alone.

  Not wanting to give him any more opportunity to change his mind, Blossom stepped alongside the horse. She gripped the saddle horn in one hand and lifted herself up, settling her feet in the stirrups and ignoring the lingering pain in her ankle. From atop her horse, the Vice Syndicate looked so much smaller.

  He gazed up at her with a curious smile before rounding the second horse and mounting it.

  “The morning ride will be long but we should reach the capital by midday. From there, it’s only a few hours more.”

  It was then Blossom realized he meant to use a portal. Reserved for the ultra-wealthy and high-born, the portals offered transport between the capital and the four major cities. Only her second day away from her family and she was going to experience one of the most reserved luxuries in the realm.

  She bit her lip, disappointed in herself. How could she harbor even the slightest excitement so soon after leaving her family? It felt disloyal to her brothers and her father to feel anything but grief.

  The Vice Syndicate tapped his horse’s flanks with the heel of his boot and started them off on their journey. Blossom followed as he rounded the inn to where Druma and the other serviceman sat in wait atop their grey horses. Then, all together, they trotted into the consuming darkness of the Alderwood.

  Blossom assumed they were headed north toward the capital, but without sunlight to guide her, she really had no idea. She could only trust them, trust the Vice Syndicate.

  By the time the morning light found its way between the dense alder canopy, her back and hips ached. It had been months since her last trip on horseback, and that had only been an hour-long journey to meet a Hydra trader—wood for water, as it had always been for the Bear Clan.

  Today, Blossom’s lower half hurt something awful, as if it might cleave off and shatter on the ground. So badly her legs longed to straighten, but she refused to complain. She shifted her weight to alleviate some discomfort, but it always came back minutes later.

  Blossom guessed it was about midmorning when the Vice Syndicate stopped his horse short for no apparent reason and dismounted in a single motion. She watched him as he neared the side of her horse, and when he reached her, he extended his hand to help her down.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  The Vice Syndicate pressed his lips together in that amused way of his. “Please, Ms. Frane. Even experienced riders need to walk a bit.”

  Blossom swatted his hand away and climbed down on her own. She didn’t need help from him or anyone else.

  She regretted the dismount as soon as her boots touched the ground. Bolts of pain shot up her legs as the blood flow returned. Her hips ached so badly she struggled to stand up straight. Despite her soreness, Blossom did her best to keep it from her face.

  The Vice Syndicate collected her horse’s reins and led them on foot. “Do you miss the carriage?” he inquired.

  Blossom shook her head. She would never miss it.

  Several quiet minutes passed, the only sound the clop of horse hooves, before he asked, “Have you ever been to Seraphine City?”

  She didn’t miss the change in his tone. Gone was the smug arrogance he’d used with her father as well as the amused tone he’d had when they’d first met in Da’s tent. If anything, he seemed curious.

  “I’ve never been outside the Alderwood.” She waited for his answer, which would no doubt be condescending, but none came. Surely someone as well-off and well-traveled as a Vice Syndicate would pity a girl who’d never been away from home.

  Instead, he asked, “Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

  Blossom’s eyes went wide in surprise. It took her several eternal seconds to get a question across her lips. “Why did Parson say Pyros are dangerous?”

  Without pause, he answered. “Because our totems are predatory. Aeros have aerial totems, birds and bats, and such. Terras have woodland totems. Pyros are predators, though some are more dangerous than others.”

  “And what about you? Are you dangerous?”

  With his hands clasped behind his back, the Vice Syndicate nodded. “Absolutely.”

  His calm sureness unnerved her. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. A new kind of fear surged through her.

  “Anything else you’d like to know?” The Vice Syndicate continued, his tone as casual. As he waited for her to reply, she pushed back her anxiety, and when she hadn’t answered, he turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming as he watched her.

  So, Blossom asked him the only question that came to mind. “What did you offer my father?”

  The Vice Syndicate adjusted his grip on the reins before he answered. “I offered him my niece, among other things.”

  Blossom half-tripped on her own feet before she regrouped and caught up to him again. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because Raene is a sweet girl deserving of a good family, and I convinced your father that a tiger’s blood would be a fair trade.”

  “Isn’t it though?” Blossom thought Da had gotten the better end of the trade. A tiger in the Alderwood would be a formidable asset. No wonder he’d agreed to let her go.

  But the Vice Syndicate shook his head, “No, Ms. Frane. You have no equal.”

  Blossom couldn’t figure out how he managed to be a heartless uncle and charming suitor in the same small breath. Maybe Druma had been right. Maybe the Vice Syndicate was a complex man.

  “Your father wouldn’t have let you go for any less. You should know he demanded a high price. I believe he meant to frighten me away with his offer.”

  Blossom had to smile at that. It was just the sort of thing Da would do—always toying and tricking. It was the fox in him, refusing to lie still. Da was one to play games.

  Then Blossom realized what he hadn’t offered. Giving up his niece meant he’d bargained fairly rather than threatening her family with a criminal’s execution. She had no idea why he would have done such a thing.

  “May I ask what Hale gave you?” His question snapped her back to the present like a spring twig.

  “No, you may not.” Her brother’s name was a knife to her heart, a crippling reminder of that look on her brother’s face when they’d pulled away—those last words on his lips she hadn’t been able to return.

  Blossom stopped in her tracks and returned to her horse. She climbed into the saddle before the Vice Syndicate could even think to argue. He pulled the horses to a stop and separated the reins before handing hers up to her.

  “Only another hour, Ms. Frane.” The lightness in his tone was gone and that calm confidence returned. She wondered if maybe he was angry with her. If so, he hid it well. He was so collected, she found him nearly impossible to read.

  Then again, she didn’t care if he was angry. His feelings meant nothing to her.

  As the Vice Syndicate promised, they rode for another hour, the trees becoming smaller and smaller as the minutes passed. The wide, flat stumps of alder trees littered the forest. From the ashen-grey co
lor of the wood, she knew the trees had died before their harvest, the only legal way to collect alder wood. The resulting lumber was brittle and stiff, but the Alderai was clear in his decree. No living alder trees were to be harvested.

  The Bear Clan made a good living off such useless laws. By harvesting the trees a year or two before their death, always a century after the start of their life, they could sell good, strong wood that resisted water and rot. It was good for buildings, bridges, boats, and a whole host of other items. The most valuable substance in the realm sat right here in the Alderwood, and it was illegal to obtain.

  The gaps in the canopy grew larger as the trees grew less numerous. Blossom felt the forest fading around her. More and more harvested stumps stood where alder trees had once grown tall. Finally, a large stone wall appeared on the horizon ahead of them.

  And then, as if someone had drawn a line, there were no more trees. The last stretch to the wall was barren but for low shrubs and grass. The midday-sun shone so bright she lifted her arm over her head to shield her eyes. Blossom had never seen so much open space anywhere other than from the top of a remnant. The sight made her head rush with blood and she wondered if she might topple to the ground.

  Druma must have seen her sway. In one moment, he called out to the Vice Syndicate, and in the next, they were pulling her from her horse, peeling her fingers back from the reins.

  “Ms. Frane?” the Vice Syndicate asked from above her, only the silhouette of his face visible against the bright sky behind him.

  “I’m fine,” she said, though her weak voice betrayed her lie. Her legs felt wobbly and crooked, and her head spun and dipped. She felt like she might fall despite how she lay on the grassy ground.

  “Are you dizzy?”

  Blossom nodded and instantly regretted it. The movement made her head spin worse. She clamped her eyes shut, but nothing seemed to help.

  Hovering over her, the Vice Syndicate barked commands to his servicemen, but Blossom ignored them. If she thought of anything but the breath going in and out of her lungs, she might be sick again.