My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  With a sigh in her heart, Rosie accepted that she was trapped in the dark -- at least for the time being. No longer having a royal audience, she relaxed out of her princess in recline pose. Her shoulders snapped back, lifting her chest higher as she began to parade back and forth behind the archers at practice. Part of it was nerves and needing to stretch, some of it was curiosity. There was talk that the archers of Highever used a different technique that enabled easier mounted archery. If so, she wasn't seeing any evidence of it. Another thing the Teyrn was hiding?

  "How's it going?" a voice whispered from behind her. Rosie turned to find Anjali standing within reaching distance, her arms crossed and her head tipped down as if she didn't have a care in the world. But she looked up from her bent brow, right into Rosie's lower eyes.

  "Why do you ask?" she tried to not be flustered by the woman's curiosity, bouncing back the question with ease.

  Anjali shrugged and let one of her arms drop out of the cross. "Just wondering if our...what do you call them here? Terns?"

  "Teyrns," Rosie answered quickly.

  "So terns, like the bird."

  "No, it's..." she began to explain the name but caught Anjali's grin rising even higher. She was being messed with. "Close enough." At that the woman laughed, her lips surprisingly crimson for the day. Did she carry a dab of pigment with her or 'borrow' it?

  "You speak our tongue well."

  "Better than I imagine any of you can handle Rivaini," she said, tipping her head as if the conversation was over. Rosie blinked her eyes a moment, hoping for more, before darting away.

  "Oh? Was there a question in there? You Fereldens dodge direct talking more than Orlesians," she muttered while running a hand back through her hair. After knotting the towel on tighter she glanced over at the princess, "What? Not even a raise of the fist or snarl?"

  "It's all internal, believe me," Rosamund tacked on. The crowned princess of Ferelden would fight anyone who dared to call her Orlesian, perhaps the worst insult one could throw around.

  Anjali snickered at her answer, and picked back up Rosie's unasked question, "Assassin, it tends to require knowing a few languages beyond the usual colors, numbers, and where do I find a bush to squat in." She reached over as if to snatch up a bow off the rack but paused, probably due to Gavin shifting closer, his hand still threateningly upon his hilt.

  Rolling her eyes at his jumpiness, they landed upon Rosamund as she added, "Also my mother."

  "You have a mother?"

  "Surprised? Even assassins have to come from somewhere," she snorted at the blisteringly obvious statement. Of course, everyone had to have a mother, but it seemed odd for someone trained in matters of death to have one. As if she should have been formed of clay and baked by the sun, foolish Rosie. She's not a blighted golem.

  "I'm surprised. I thought guilds would take children when they're young. Orphans and the like."

  "That'd be the Crows. What's left of them, anyway. No, we don't operate like that. We're not like the House of Repose either where it's all family lineages and pure blood to draw blood. It's..." her shoulders fell a bit while Anjali stared off towards the north. Somewhere far across the sea was Rivain. Rosie'd never been, though she'd seen a few paintings of the nation that was one part sea teeming with people living right above the waves, one part piping hot grasslands filled with deadly lions, and one part desert with cities bursting from the sands like jewels. It sounded fascinating.

  "My mother wanted me to be cultured," Anjali picked up the edges of her tunic and curtsied. "Well rounded to take on the...family business. I suppose you'd know all about what that's like. Trained from the cradle to be broken and reset into the ideal shape." Her umber eyes burned into Rosie's with a supposed shared past, but she didn't feel the same need to break out of her future -- not often.

  "I wish to be Queen."

  "That's wonderful for you," Anjali smiled, seeming to not be thrown off by their lacking shared moment. "But I didn't. So...I became this instead."

  "A murderer," Gavin spoke. Rosie whipped her head over in surprise; she'd somehow forgotten he was even here. That any of them were here overhearing their conversations. Maker's breath, her tutors would have had a fit. Always be aware of your surroundings. People loved to talk, especially about their queen.

  Twisting her crimson lips over at the boy, Anjali snickered, "Don't forget pickpocket, thief, burglar, and occasional blackmailer if things are a bit slow. We're not just assassins, we're more like a fancy merc group with really good word of mouth."

  "Is that why you have a scarlet tattoo?" Rosie asked, gesturing to the drawings circling Anjali's eye.

  The woman drew her fingers up around it, trailing the ribbon of ink and she winced. "That's why it's red, but...that's all I want to say." Her wide nose bunched up and she whipped her head a bit, "The story's not very interesting. Though," her words turned coy and she eased closer, "if you get me drunk enough I might show you some of my other tattoos."

  Blisteringly aware that there were dozens of people listening in, Rosie drew a hand up against her cheeks in a vain attempt to hide her blush. Hopefully it looked as if she was trying to tuck her hair back. Gulping, she steadied herself and smiled, "I will take that under consideration."

  This other woman -- imposing, carefree, eyes of a gemstone, and voice as full bodied and rich as a fine merlot -- coughed a moment and whispered, "Well, how about that."

  "Tell me," Rosamund sputtered out, trying to make up for her folly, "of your friend. She is an assassin in your order?"

  "Was," Anjali slid back to the side, her arms crossing her chest as if to form a blockade. Her once open body posture instantly folded in on itself. "Rather doubt they'd want to let her back in after this stunt."

  Folding her hands primly on top of each other, Rosie steadied her shoulders, "What is she to you?"

  The locked up stance faded in an instant and Anjali's dancing smile lifted even higher, "Curious if there's a bit of competition?"

  "No," Rosamund gasped out, her ice white face blushing like a sunburn. "No, no," she shook out a few more times, growing more foolish with each. It was impolitic to assume such a thing, nor should she care. Nor did she care. "I am only wondering if you were close...as in you know her well."

  "Yes," Anjali's words dipped down into a maudlin tone, though that mischievous smile playing with her lips didn't fade. "I was the one who came across her, found her I guess you could say. Pulled her into the loving embrace of killing people for money." She clucked her tongue and sighed, "Shows what I know. No good deed and all that. Invisible though the web may be..."

  Rosie blinked a bit at her words trailing off, "I don't know what that means. A web?"

  "'Invisible though the web may be, the spider's fangs will still sting.' Old Rivaini saying, I guess. I thought everyone used it. Means..."

  "Even if you failed to spot the dangers ahead, they will still harm you," she explained, nodding her head. A useful aphorism, certainly one that felt as if it applied to politics.

  Anjali stuffed the heel of her hand to her chin and gazed at Rosie, "Tell me again how you exist. No one that beautiful should be so dangerously smart either. Right, baby Knight?" She reached over to nudge Gavin in the ribs. The Squire was kind enough to stare ahead at the sky while Rosie felt herself melting into the ground. Why was it so damn difficult for her to talk to this woman?

  "He knows what I mean. Same problem, different face," Anjali waved it away without thought. If she intended to push both the princess and her guard to bumbling flop sweat and shameful blushing she pulled it off. For a brief second Gavin's striking gaze met Rosie's and she could almost sense a confession in his eyes. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear it.

  Stepping back from the assassin, Rosamund threw on a small smile, "Thank you for your limited information. I pray more will be forthcoming."

  "Uh," Anjali staggered up out of her cocky lean, "sure. I mean, I'll tell you what you want to know if you ask it."

 
; Rosie turned away from her to try and steady her nerves, but in doing so faced down the row of archers that were finishing up with their rounds. A pair of younger men were slapping each other on the back and commenting on the groupings, when one with floppy black hair caught the princess' wandering gaze.

  "Your Highness," he stuttered, uncertain what to do in the face of royalty. With a trembling finger, he extended the bow downward to her. "Would you like to have a try?"

  "I..." Rosie's fingers glanced across the polished wood, tracing up and down the black finish that glistened in the sun. "Yes, I think I would."

  "Okay," the man released his grip, dropped a few arrows into the bucket on the ground, then turned to shout at the others, "Clear the lanes! New shooter!"

  While stepping up to the line, Rosie kept plucking at the bowstring as if she was trying to play the world's most dull lute. It was a nervous habit, twanging the string back and forth while her heart kept bouncing about in her chest. As she arrived in position, she moved to raise the bow, then turned to look at the archers dispersing to watch. Wonderful, she was going to be an attraction for today. Come and watch your crowned princess fire a shaft of wood out of a stick and right onto a pile of painted straw. Clap and cheer as if it's the most marvelous achievement in thedas.

  When she turned away to try and focus, a voice whispered from behind her, "You ever fire one of those things?"

  She didn't hide the smile lifting up her cheeks at Anjali's seemingly honest question. "A bit," was all Rosie would say.

  "Here..." Despite all the archers watching, the squires, and anyone else wandering by, Anjali wrapped her fingers over Rosamund's left hand. At the contact, her entire arm went limp, allowing this other woman to raise it easily into position.

  "You want to hold it straight, like this," the assassin explained, "but keep your elbow bent." Her firm but winsome fingers trailed off of Rosie's hand, skirted down her forearm, and then tugged out the crook of her elbow. Could she feel her trembling skin below?

  Anjali smiled, "Keeps you from whipping your arm flesh off."

  "Right," Rosamund nodded, her voice clogged in her throat.

  "Now..." Gripping back onto Rosie's left hand, Anjali slid in behind her. Rosamund's heart danced up and down in her ribcage as she felt this other woman's breasts pressing against her shoulders.

  Either unaware of the panic inside the princess or hoping for it, the assassin glided her fingers across Rosie's right hand and lifted it to clutch onto the bowstring. "Oh, right," taller than her, Anjali's breath parted through Rosie's hair at the top of her head, increasing the trembling. How was she supposed to shoot like this? "Forgot the arrow part."

  In bending over, Anjali's hand gripped onto Rosie's hip for support. It was a friendly move, simple, understandable to aid her reach. And making her mouth run dry. "There we go," she laughed, dropping the arrow above the bridge they made together with their fingers. "All that's left is to pull the string back."

  It'd never been easier to draw a bow than having another woman's shoulder muscles tug it back with her. Rosie twisted to the side, fully perpendicular with the target at the other end. In doing do, she felt her backend bump into Anjali's...um, front part. The assassin gave no hints that she was bothered by it, her body molding around the back of Rosie's.

  "Line up the shot by closing an eye and staring down the arrow," her intoxicating breath tickled over the back of Rosie's ear and she was helpless to disobey. "Okay," Anjali whispered. "All that's left is to...let go." Her hands dropped away from the princess' fingers, but she didn't step away. Instead the assassin wrapped a hand around Rosie's waist, her forearm locking in right where the princess' stomach was rippling like waves.

  Let go. Closing her eyes tight, Rosamund tried to put away the sounds of the rest of the fighting, the knock of the wind, the burn rising in her arms from taking so long. Only the arrow. Her breath held tight in her chest and she was about to loose the arrow, when Anjali's hand ever so slightly caressed right over her belly button, the tip of her pinkie dipping inward.

  Fingers slipped, the arrow cracking through the air. It barely burrowed the head into the target, while Rosie gasped in surprise. A round of polite clapping rose from the spectators, but her eyes were staring madly at the ground while dangerously lewd thoughts tried to take hold in her brain. Shaking them away, she glanced over her shoulder to find that Anjali had stepped back. She too was politely clapping her hands, an impressed turn to her lips.

  "Not bad, your Majesty. You hit the target. A few more arrows and you..."

  Sucking in a breath, Rosie yanked up an arrow, nocked it into place, and fired before she even anchored her thumb to her cheek. It struck right beside the bullseye. Another two more filled in the closest circle, before the fourth finally hit dead center. Smiling at her proper accomplishment, she dropped out of her archer's stance.

  "You might manage to do what you just did," Anjali stuttered, her jaw hanging so wide open it looked as if it broke.

  With a shrug, Rosie leaned towards the woman. "Thank you for the lesson," she whispered.

  "Yeah," the assassin blinked a few more times, her eyes still burning through the grouping at the end of the lane. "Yeah, no problem."

  Turning towards the archers who were all staring at the ground, or stirring a foot in the sand, Rosamund put on a big smile. "Thank you for the opportunity, gentlemen," she said, handing back the bow.

  "You're welcome," a different boy dashed forward, he skin red from so much sun. "You can, you can come back and do that anytime you want."

  "You both can!" another voice shouted from the back, which caused all the other boys to spin around and tell him to shut up.

  Feeling proud of her minor accomplishment, Rosamund nodded her head at Gavin who was glaring at his feet, then at Anjali. Her pearly teeth were nibbling upon her juicy bottom lip while she seemed to be staring at Rosie with new eyes. Unable to hide the skip in her step, the crowned princess began to march towards the oncoming advisor storm. A long, meandering tour would do her good. She needed to cool down immensely after that.

  "If I require your assistance again," she turned over her shoulder to speak to Anjali, "I hope you are available."

  The assassin smiled wide, "For you, always."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Closet

  Barely any light flickered over the crispy vellum in Rosie's fingers. She tried to inch it closer to the candle, but the tallow dribbled lopsidedly into the saucer and the white stick was teetering close to giving up the ghost. At most she had a few more minutes before the final flames would extinguish themselves. Certainly she could rouse a servant and ask for another, but in the process would wake up her handmaidens and anyone else who would have to make it their business about what a princess was doing up at this late an hour.

  Not that it mattered. She'd tried to tear through what aging documents the royal advisors would grant her, searching for a hint of what could have her father sending secret messages to the Teyrn, but there was nothing. It was like trying to build a puzzle in the dark while someone attempted to shout the directions to you through a wall. Her only hope was in stumbling purely blind into a secret room (Which never happened. She and her father once pulled on every single sconce in the palace just to see), or tricking the Teyrn into revealing his schemes in the middle of dinner.

  What were they up to?

  Her dad wasn't entirely without wiles, though he used them so rarely most people treated them as rare as a dragon sighting. And when he did get personally involved in a matter it meant it was something thedas changing. Even though she was very young, she remembered all too well the guarded looks and pursed lips when Tevinter buckled from some war that involved the fade itself. Officially, Ferelden had no stake in that fight, but she knew her father. He was there, guiding whoever was on the front lines as best he could.

  Why couldn't he tell her?

  The only messages she got from the crown were all "Have fun, keep safe. Your mom sen
ds her love. Try to keep your brother out of too much trouble. I doubt you can pull that off with your sister. Dad." It appeared important, Rosie quick to hide away the message as if she too was privy to whatever was going on, but it only left her feeling more childish.

  For the Maker's sake, she was twenty four and would one day rule this nation. She deserved to be told of such things.

  And whining about it would only get her more slammed doors. No, what she needed was to be sneaky and clever. To find a way to view the Teryn's private documents locked away in his office...which required a thief. Blowing out the candle, Rosie quickly wrapped a robe around her sheer nightgown. Normally, she'd prefer something substantial in the event any manner of person came running through but the night air was sweltering, summer in its full press.

  The rooms gifted to the future ruler were well furnished. In the bedroom proper Tess and another handmaiden were fast asleep, while Rosie's bed sat undisturbed and no doubt perturbed at such a slight from her majesty. Outside of the sleeping area were sitting quarters, which she hadn't moved out of in hours. Unfortunately, they also left a few bedrolls and the like under the roof of the rooms for some of her personal servants and others that couldn't handle the heat of sleeping on the ground outside. Those were the ones that had Rosie most concerned. With careful, laborious movements, she tiptoed upon the creaking floorboards, always glancing back to make certain no one roused unexpectedly.

  If they heard her, they gave no hint -- the back end of the room little more than a pile of black shadows sawing through lumber. It wasn't until she slid out the door and successfully closed it that the full force of what she was planning struck her. This was madness. Go back to bed. Wait until the morning and ask the Teyrn. Be sweet. That was always her mother's approach. Charm people into doing whatever you want, which explained Cailan's hobbies well.