Rose Borne

by Phoenix Briar

  Finally, she stood and looked over at the breakfast table—but there was no food. “Hm…I wonder if we’re eating somewhere else…” As if in answer, a dress shimmered on her bed, although she was quite sure that it had not been there before. Keturah walked over to it and admired it for a moment. The dress was a beautiful pale blue with a heavy, damask bodice and skirts and sleeves made of a delicate sheer fabric. The bodice was embroidered with what she assumed were diamonds (although she wouldn’t have known the difference from diamonds to quartz to glass). She brushed her hand gently over the beautiful piece, but then anger clenched her chest.

  “No,” she said resolutely and glared at the thing, retracting her hand. She stepped back from the dress and said again, “No. I refuse to wear any such thing. I won’t do it.” She huffed through her nose, feeling the room tremble in frustration. “No!” she shouted at the thing. “Do you mock me, you stupid magic? I am not some lady! I refuse to be insulted with this!”

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  All at once, Alvaro’s room felt alive with magic. His magic was linked to his emotions and his thoughts, and so if there was something to distress his programmed orders here, then it was surely enough to upset him as well. He grabbed the mirror by his desk and growled in haste, “Show me,” and the sight before him nearly made him drop the mirror.

  The dress sat up, sleeves cocking like a woman with her hands on her hips. This only proceeded to terrify and enrage Keturah further. “No!” she shouted and launched herself at the dress as if she would strangle the invisible wearer. “I am not some doll for you to dress up and parade around! You do not own me! I belong to no one!”

  In the mirror, the black-haired woman launched herself at a delicate evening gown set out for her to wear, and she was clothed only in a plush, green towel. It was not so much her appearance or even the unlady-like outbursts from her that startled him. What startled him most was her face, the complete and utter fury in her eyes, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. He had no doubt that if a person had been inside that dress, they would have been dead. He tried to think, to summon some way to soothe her, to uncover the source of her agony, but he could think of nothing and only sat in stupefaction as he watched her.

  At long last, the screams died, and the woman calmed and stepped back, fixing her towel before she could make a perverted voyeur out of Alvaro (for which he was glad, as he had no desire to be thrown in with that lot). He sighed, wondering at what scars the woman must hold to so violently attack anything suited for her sex. What demons possessed her? He shook his head and ordered the mirror, “Give her whatever she desires.”

  He could feel the magic’s confusion and stubbornness, and he smiled a bit, understanding. Alvaro wanted nothing more than to give her the finest silks and jewels, to adorn her as though a queen, so stricken was he by the fire in her eyes and the fierceness of her spirit. But that, he saw clearly, would not bring her happiness at all. “Think of something mother would wear.” The Lady of Darkwaters always dressed regally and yet with functionality and practicality in mind. He was not sure if he could imagine the lovely Keturah in a man’s clothes enough to force his magic to obey, but surely, it would obey for a functional dress and the lady-thief’s happiness.

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  The dress quivered in her hand, and Keturah let it go, stepping back, breathing hard and braced a bit like she was expecting a fight. But the dress lay still and harmless before fluttering out of sight where it lay. “Mother…” Jacob stood in the doorway, watching her with big, brown eyes and looking a little terrified.

  Keturah realized now that her face was wet, and in a huff, she wiped away her tears furiously, gasping her breath. “I’m fine,” she whispered, readjusting her towel which had come a bit loose in her fight with the evening gown. “Go on to dinner, Jacob…I’m not hungry…” But Jacob didn’t move. He stood there with a nervous expression, fiddling with the hem of his pale blue doublet and looking anxious. She sighed. “You won’t go without me, will you?” He shook his head after a moment of hesitation. She huffed a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, catching a glance at her reflection.

  Startled, she looked down at her arms. Not a scratch on them. She touched her face but there was no pain, no cracks in her skin. She sighed and said, “Okay…I’ll go too…just let me get dressed…” Jacob nodded and hesitantly left her alone, closing the door behind him. Keturah looked over at the bed, and very hesitantly, a dress came into view. It was a baby blue, but it was made of warm velvet. The bodice was embroidered only with a dark blue thread in some sort of floral design, and the sleeves were a simple blue satin. It was still much nicer than anything she would have wanted to wear, but she could feel the room’s anxious eagerness to please her.

  “Much better…” Keturah said softly, quietly. “I’ll wear this.” So she pulled on her chemise, and even the petticoats, although the corset remained untouched, and she finally pulled the dress on. She straightened it out and laced up the back before looking over at herself in the mirror. What she saw did not please her though, for although she was in fact pretty and looked every inch a lady, it reminded her of things she would rather not be reminded of, and a bitterness sank into her heart.

  Jacob was so pleased with himself and impressed with her, that she put her frightened thoughts out of her mind and smiled softly at him. Keturah showed him how to hold his arm out for a lady, and she let him lead her down… although to where, she had no idea. Candles directed them from the hall to the staircase and down to the entry room. From there, opposite the ballroom, a door opened which led into the dining room. Still, the room was dark, and Keturah could scarcely see except for the sconces on the wall and the single candle poised eagerly on the table beside two place settings, one at the head of the long table, the other at the left. Everything was so beautiful, so richly decorated, silver all gleaming eagerly on the long table, the end of which was cast in pure darkness.

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  Many thoughts buzzed through the Guardian’s mind, none of which he would speak out loud. Instead, he merely sighed and dragged himself to his own bedroom where he washed. He moved to the bed to find clothes for the night and instead found a silk doublet, a fine, white shirt, and a pair of lambskin slacks. He chuckled at the attempt from his own magic, but shook his head.

  “No. I will not be joining them.” He wanted to. Oh, he very much wished that he was any other man who could go downstairs to entertain his guests, to talk with the beautiful lady or to play with the small child. The thought of such normal interaction pained him so, but he glanced into the looking glass by the heavily curtained window and grimaced.

  No. That was not his life. Even without the small horns protruding at the crown of his head, his face and size were more than enough to keep him confined to his own chambers. No. Let them eat in peace and safety. The woman seemed to have enough nightmares already. He did not need to add to them. And so, he sighed and pushed the fine clothes off the bed and crawled under the covers in only his towel since his magic stubbornly refused to give him suitable night clothes. And there, he slept, the silence of his apartments sinking like a lead stone in his chest.

  ◆◆◆

  Keturah sighed and gave Jacob an encouraging smile, letting him show her to her seat before helping him to pull his chair up to the table. The dining room was silent, and Keturah was afraid to even breathe too loud. She kept trying to tell if anyone else was in there with them, but she could hear and see nothing to suggest such. She reached for one of the trays to serve Jacob’s plate, but a serving spoon moved in front of her hand and quietly deposited food onto her place and Jacob’s as well. She put her hands in her lap anxiously and waited as the other dishes did the same, filling her glass with red wine and Jacob’s with what she assumed (and tested) to be water.

  They ate in silence, the only sound being of their cutlery tapping the plates quietly. It had been a long day, and there were too many shadows in Keturah’s eyes, even with the warmth of the candle light glow. Wh
en they were both finished and the dining room had again fallen into an awkward sort of silence, heavy and uncomfortable, Keturah stood up quietly, her hands in front of her, and said gently, “Thank you,” before helping Jacob up and out of his seat.

  There was no response, no sign of anyone even living in the manor, and she left that room as quickly as she could without seeming rude. Jacob was stumbling over his own feet, but Keturah made him walk, sleepy as he was, up to their room. She undressed him and tugged his nightshirt over him before tucking him in.

  She left his door half open this time, and when she returned to her own room, hers was left that way as well, and the magic obediently did not touch it. In her own room, she wearily pushed the dress off of her as though she was happier to be rid of it than the cuts that had been on her arms and face. This time, she took a moment to pull on her nightgown and, hazy with wine, nestled herself under the covers and to bed.

  Chapter Ten

  Jacob did not wake Keturah that night, and she did not sleep half through the next day. The sheer curtains remained, and with the dawn, Keturah rose as well. She yawned and pushed herself up, dragging herself out of bed. She rubbed her face and went and sat at the breakfast table where a plate and hot tea were waiting for her. She allowed herself some time to wake up, eating her meal and drinking her hot tea before turning and pulling on the cotton and wool dress, much like the one from the day before except dark red. There was also a scarf in matching colors and a dark red, almost black, cloak. She pulled them all on, then her stockings and boots, before she left her room.

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  There were no words to describe just how much Alvaro hated that mask. It was plain, simple, and even. But it was such a heavy thing to wear, as if reminding him of his burden. But to go without it would be foolish. He grabbed it and kept it with him as he made his way out into the darkness of the very early morning and out into his own plot of a garden. He had tended especially to this place with warmth and sunshine and water. Many of the flowering plants still would not bloom or even grow, but the grass was green, and the place as a whole did not appear quite so desolate as the rest of the garden.

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  Meanwhile, Jacob was still snoring away in the other room, and Keturah smiled softly, going to him. She woke him, although only enough to talk to him. “I’m going to get started early,” she murmured softly, laying beside him and stroking his face. “Don’t be afraid if you wake up and I am not here. I will come back for lunch, alright?”

  “Mkay…” was the sleepy response, and she sighed and hoped that he remembered before tucking him back in. She was much more comfortable with finding her way now, and Keturah moved with fearless assurance down the hall, the spiral staircase, through the ballroom and glass room, and out into the garden. She sighed, tired, but happy. The morning was still very young, crisp and nice. The dew lingered on the dead things, but it did little to take away from their decrepit ugliness.

  She sighed and headed down the walkway and straight for the shed. Jacob was not here to talk to her, so she crept along silently, her mind lingering in her own thoughts. She went to the shed, but just as her fingers brushed the handle …she heard something. To hear anything in this place was a wonder at all. There were no birds, no squirrels, nothing to make the slightest hint of sound (unless one counted the fish). But there was a sound now.

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  Alvaro felt something of a giddy excitement today, to be able to practice the skill that his lady guest had mastered. Alvaro crouched down by the first bed, setting the heavy mask beside him, and he began to trim at the nearly dead things. He cut down until he found the green, and he pulled out the plants which were dead through and through. He worked for several hours, so caught up in the fever of his work that he barely noticed the rising of the sun, nor the sound of a woman in the larger gardens. He shifted from one bed to the next with a grunt and then began working again, his mask never far from reach.

  ◆◆◆

  Afraid of frightening whatever it was rustling and making the oddest little snaps of sounds, Keturah moved soundlessly, trying to divulge its location. And at last, she found herself at the lattice that blocked the way to the lord’s garden. That was where it was coming from.

  Surely if there were fish there might be something that had been permitted into the garden. With scarce contained excitement, Keturah moved the lattice away and bit her lip, ducking under the hole in the wall and coming through the other side. And then she stopped. That’s where she saw him.

  His back was to her, and he was hunched over one of the beds. It was then that she recognized the snipping sound as pruning shears snapping away at the dead parts so that they would bloom beautifully in the spring. Keturah realized that she was holding her breath and released it quietly, slowly. She knew now why the door was so large. Even hunched over like he was, the Guardian was nearly as tall as she was, and she knew that he would be much taller at his full height.

  Still, she could see nothing particularly odd about him. He was surely a great giant of a man, much like the Eastern Darkwaters who had brought her here in the first place. His skin was tan and by the look of it, thick and tough. His shoulders were massive and broad, and were it not for the evidence of flesh on his body, Keturah would have guessed that he was an ogre before a man. But at least from the back of him, he seemed very much an ordinary, if not large, man. Keturah moved softly, quietly, around the bench in front of the hole in the wall and onto the actual pathway.

  Her heart was pounding. But…she wasn’t afraid, really. He and his magic had cared for her in ways she had not been pampered in years, and true to his word, and the Lady Darkwaters’, no harm had come to she or her son. She did not think that he would harm her now. But…she really had no idea what to expect from the man who had banished or frightened all others from his home.

  She tried to think of something to say, to let him know that she was there so that she did not frighten him or that he did not accuse her of spying on him. But there really was no delicate way to do either, so she simply said, “So, you are the Guardian, then?” with a slight accusatory note in her voice.

  He seemed almost blind and deaf to the world, at least until a woman’s sharp voice alerted him. Alvaro dropped the shears and cried out in alarm, checking his instinct to turn and face the intruder and instead to stay with his back to her, trying to catch his gasping breath as his wide eyes focused on the garden bed in front of him.

  The sound of Alvaro’s cry was so loud and so sudden that it shot straight into Keturah’s core. She sucked in a breath, any cry she might have screamed frozen in her lungs. The cry was not like anything human she had ever heard in all of her life. It roared like a bear’s, low and deep, and the whole earth trembled with it. Even in the distance, far from the gardens, birds shrieked and left their safe havens for the sky. She should have run. She told herself that she should run and bolt for the other part of the garden. But even if she had wanted to, the woman simply could not move.

  “I am he,” Alvaro said at last, and his voice was much softer now. He always tried to soften his voice when he spoke to others. If he did not watch his tone, he easily sounded as though he was bellowing in a terrifying and gravelly voice. He did not want to frighten her. He was partly sure that he already had. He could still feel her behind him, and he only hoped that was not because she had collapsed. He did not think he could forgive himself if just the sound of his voice had made her faint.

  His whole body trembled. She could see it. His arms, his back. The great beast of a creature in front of her—surely no man but an ogre (if she had not known better)—was trembling all through his form. That combined with his softened voice, while still harsh, made her at least decide that she would stay. Her legs were shaking too, but Keturah drew in a firm breath. Lady Darkwaters had promised…he would not hurt her. There was nothing to fear. So she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again when she realized that only made her all the more afraid. She drew in
a few steady breaths and watched him.

  But she forced herself not to think on his size or stature. That was only going to terrify her more. Instead, she focused on the way he trembled and the way he carefully, hesitantly, grabbed for a mask by his side, fitting it to his face. He was afraid. But what did he have to fear from her? She was about as big as one of his legs if not as tall. Surely he had nothing to fear from her…

  Alvaro stood to his full height, his back still to her, and he said softly, “I have overstayed my welcome. Excuse me.” He bent to his sack of tools at his other side and began gathering them. He wanted to run. But if he panicked, then he was sure that she would as well. Oh, there were many things in this world he did not want, but most of all, he did not want to frighten the woman with the two-toned eyes. He simply would not be able to bear watching her scream and run from him. So as much as it pained him, he moved slowly and carefully, gathering up his things and trying to look as small and harmless as possible while keeping aware of her movements.

  Keturah had waited for almost two days to be able to see the Lord of the Manor. She wanted to see him. She wanted to know what rumors were true and what she really did have to fear. If he left now, then she would never get her answers. And so, with great trepidation, the stubborn young woman moved between the great beast of a man and the door, something that did not go entirely unnoticed by him.

  She was blocking his exit. Why? Why would she do such a thing? Did she not understand that she was between him and leaving? Why would she want him to stay? Alvaro became ever the more panicked because of his nervousness and because of his wild, irrational hopes. Some of them, however, sprang to life when her low, calm voice, called, “Overstayed? But…this is your garden. If you want me to leave, then you need only say so.”