My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Sapheela..."

  "Stop! Stop using words of...you cannot treat me as if I am something special in one breath, then walk away in the other."

  Her eyes closed tight, Anjali wincing as she whispered, "I am walking away because you are special."

  "Horse shit!" Rosamund cursed, causing the woman to snap back in surprise. "You're scared, and you think that if you do this alone it will turn you into a hero or a martyr, but that's stupid. Idiotic. Foolhardy! Work with us, help us. Give us direction to flush out your friend. If we go in with a plan, we can protect the royal family. We can stop her before anyone else is hurt."

  Anjali paused, a hand to her lips as she watched Rosamund practically begging. She had the princess of Ferelden nearly on her hands and knees pleading with her to stay because...because she didn't want to go back to the emotionless, frozen heart she had before. She couldn't lose her.

  "You are excellent at debate, but know nothing of this dirty business," her head hung down. "I thank you for your time, Princess, and your attentions." With her torso bent in a bow, the assassin began to walk backwards away from Rosamund.

  "Anjali!" Rosie shouted, but the woman didn't rise. She didn't turn from watching her either, umber eyes honing in on the Princess that kept shouting her name louder. In the misty fog of the rain, it only took another four cries of her name before the assassin vanished from Rosie's view.

  She should go after her, drag her back, make her help.

  She'd hate you for it.

  Good. So what? What's a little hate if it protects the royal family?

  Anjali...

  Closing her eyes tight, Rosie tipped her head back to the sky. Rain built its house of water upon her face, the purity cleansing away tears rolling off her. You knew it couldn't last. It was a moment, a tryst in the woods. Nothing more.

  Certainly nothing more to her.

  "My Lady," a voice called beside Rosamund and she snapped her head down fast to turn to it.

  Karelle stood there far above her, extending a towel to protect Rosie from the rain. "Your father would have a fit if you caught your death in this. Come, let's get you inside before you freeze."

  She nodded, her heart buried deep inside a locked chest where no one would touch it, and no one could see all the cracks shattering it to pieces. "Karelle," Rosie spoke while clinging to the old Chamberlain's arm for guidance.

  "Yes?"

  Turning over her shoulder, Rosie tried to pierce through the mist to see a brown shadow but all that remained was grey fog lapping against the desolate horizon. "I want us on the road by tomorrow. We need to warn the dwarven Queen that she's in terrible danger."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Wolf's Bite

  All she could hear through the swishing of the trees was a voice calling for something. There were no obvious words, but the intent was there -- wanting attention and growing more indignant for not receiving it. Rosamund didn't much care at the moment, her fingers drifting up and down a small sprig of herbs. She wanted to pretend she wandered away from their caravan to pick them, but in truth she had no idea they were here.

  At least her selecting a knife off the rack served some purpose, as she exhumed the thick and sticky stems. With a quick slice, Rosie lifted the fragrant herb that smelled of licorice and bore tiny, white flowers. At that she paused, her lips falling into a frown while she glared at the poor sprig as if it too betrayed her without thought.

  The voice was growing closer, more easily finding her. She could move on, deeper into the woods to have a few more moments to herself. For three days she had to act as if everything was fine. They'd allow a bit of concern about whatever political maelstrom they were about to walk into, and maybe even a tear or two for their deceased squire but anything more drew questions from those around her. In particular, they wondered why the princess' dour turns seemed to coincide with an assassin vanishing into the fog.

  "Rossie!"

  Blinking off her hazy focus upon the white flowers, she whipped her head up in surprise. No 'My Lady' or 'Your Majesty.' That could only mean two people were chasing her down on foot. As she turned away from the dip into an underground cave, Rosie eyed up Myra with her cheeks pink and hair tugged back tight in ribbons.

  "My," she began, before scrunching up her face and trying to lift her voice to something approaching happy. It wouldn't reach that high, but anything was better than eternal sorrow. "What are you doing out here?"

  Her sister skidded to a halt, a hand wrapped around a stick she must have plucked from the ground. "Er, I was gonna ask you that. Wait, did you do that on purpose?"

  Rosie shrugged, but couldn't deny a small smile at the thought.

  "You know too many trixsy moves from all those fancy political schools."

  "Not enough, I fear," she mumbled, her heart barely thudding in her chest. The tears festered inside of her rotting like rancid milk because she couldn't let them out. If anyone knew, if anyone cared, they'd care a great deal about this. And they'd be...disappointed in her choices. For certain.

  Myra, as flippant as a sunbeam, drifted around the small glenn. She jabbed at a few of the similar herbs with her stick before turning to Rosie. "Are you taking clippings? What in thedas for?"

  "Every little bit helps," she whispered, already bent over to slice off another.

  "Well, yeah, but you know what that is?"

  "Elfsbane," Rosie smiled from her botany lesson before turning over to her half-blood sister. "It's...it doesn't really hurt elves."

  "Duh," Myra sidled closer, "be right silly if a tiny plant could do something to a full grown person. Unless it's poisonous, but then... Why's it called that?"

  "Superstition. People thought that hanging it around your windows and doors would prevent elves from breaking into your home."

  At that she snorted and rolled her eyes harder, "Sure. It's the elves ya got to look out for. Not like the humans are gonna take all your stuff and kick you to the alienage and be all -- you should be grateful! I mean, um..."

  Rather than let her dangle, Rosie sighed, "I understand. Though aren't you more human than not?"

  "Sorta-ish. I forget how it all is supposed to work. Doesn't mean I can't care, though."

  "You have that luxury," she muttered rolling the elfsbane into her pocket to save for later. It wasn't good for much beyond adding a bit of spice to tea. Whatever affect it supposedly had on elves must have been back in the old days because none cared now.

  "So..." Myra bounced back and forth on her heels, "I can't help but notice there's someone missing from the ol' royal train coming 'round the mountain. If we had a mountain, aside from the Frostbacks. We should get more mountains."

  Rosie wanted to whip her head away in annoyance, but it was difficult with her sister. Perhaps that was why, despite Myra being the bastard, born of the only woman the King loved, that Rosamund and Cailan couldn't hate her. She was so much like their father not just in face but thought, words. He'd have done the same in her place here, obfuscated with some silly comment about nothing in particular. And all his children adored him for it.

  "What of you?" Rosie tried to turn the scrutiny back, but Myra didn't understand.

  "Pretty sure I'm still in the caravan, unless this is your way of kicking me out."

  She said it with a laugh, but there was always that otherness clinging to her. Neither elf nor human. Neither legitimate nor hidden bastard. Myra was confounding in so many ways. "I mean...your heart and it's," Rosie sucked in a breath at the word. "I should not have brought up the heart."

  "Yeah," Myra thudded a fist to her chest, "feels like I got kicked by a mule. And a healthy one too, not like the sickly thing Bann Loren had when I was little. What about you?"

  "I'm fine," Rosie said so fast Myra folded her arms and glared. She may have received many things from their father, but her glare was not one of them. Hers cut to the quick like green acid. "As well as I can be."

  "What happened?"

  "In truth, I don't know,
" she'd gone over it numerous times in her mind, trying to understand where everything fell apart. What she could have done differently, how she could have convinced Anjali to stay. With her? With the caravan? Why? Because she...

  "You were in pretty deep, huh?" Myra asked, her normally flighty voice weighed down in its mirrored pain.

  Rosie began to shake her head no, but with each twist it pivoted until she was emphatically agreeing. She didn't want to be. It was a moment here and there, nothing more. Not as if she'd dreamed of umber eyes examining her naked body, or waited in anticipation for each touch of soft crimson lips. That would be foolish.

  Congratulations, Princess Rosamund. You crowned yourself the fool.

  Wiping a hand under her nose, she focused on her sister instead, "You were as well."

  "Yeah," Myra flinched, not happy about having herself so exposed to anyone, "I guess. I dunno. I just..."

  "Do you want to talk about what happened?" Rosie extended a hand she should have before. How long had her sister been hiding the breakup from her, from everyone?

  "Not really."

  "It's good to cleanse the soul."

  Green eyes rolled at her, her sister glaring at the phony aphorism. "Maybe, but...it's complicated stuff."

  "He didn't," Rosie reached over to wrap a protective hand around her sister, "there wasn't any pressure?"

  Snorting, Myra laughed, "From Gavin? Because he's sooo the type."

  "Then you...?"

  "No, he did it. Sort of. It's...complicated, okay. Look, I get you're trying to be all big sister to distract yourself but I'm good. Not great, but fine. Talked it all out with Bryn."

  Myra was trying to smile it away, but Rosie frowned deeper. Her elven friend wasn't even kin, but that was who Myra treated as her sister. Even called her as such. So while Rosie was left in the dark, Myra ran to her friend and bared her heart and pain.

  Staggering back, Rosie tried to brush off a silly tear clinging in her eyes at the thought. Myra caught on quick, her locked off stance fading to concern, "Shit, Rossie, what is it? Her?"

  "No," she licked her lips, feeling more wounded than it should be possible for a heart to be and still remain beating. "I thought...I understand, no I don't. Do you think me so cold and uncaring that I wouldn't care to talk about you -- help you when you're in pain?"

  "Ah shit, no, that ain't it at all." Myra stamped around, easily kicking apart a few seedlings that barely took root. "It's just, you were busy with stuff. You're always busy with stuff, important crown stuff, and I didn't want..."

  Six years was a great gulf of difference for the two. While Rosie was figuring out schooling and forming friendships, Myra was mastering walking and how to put food in her mouth. By the time Myra reached the point of talking and building her personality, Rosamund was off to various finishing schools. Though their father would sometimes stop by and bring his other children as well, it was for brief spurts. And Myra, the little girl with the big blond curls was always running off and getting into trouble.

  She hoped that as they grew older the differences would shrink, and maybe she'd be more than an occasional groan and object of authority for her sister. Perhaps that was never to be the case no matter what she did.

  "I can't," Myra sputtered out, breaking Rosamund from her glare, "talk about what really happened. It's...it's--"

  "Complicated?"

  "Yes, and also bad. Not that he did anything bad, or I did. Just...a secret, kinda thing."

  "Does your elven sister know?"

  "Some of it," Myra confessed before wincing, "but not all. I don't, just trust me, okay. I didn't think you'd want to have to listen to me bawling my eyes out, or going on and on in despair, so..."

  She drew her tongue over her teeth seeming to count them in thought. "I figured you were too busy with your girlfriend to want to simmer in my sadness."

  Rosie gulped in the air, her head dropping low, "The Maker has a way of humbling us."

  "Shit, Ros, you didn't need no humbling. Ah crap, do not tell me you're taking this as a sign."

  "Why not? Is that not how I should read it?"

  "What? Fucking no. Come on, you were with one girl. One. There's like...okay, I don't know how many girls are out there, but a lot. I could ask Lunet when I get back to Denerim cause she'd know, much to her wife's consternation."

  Rosie couldn't stop the laugh at her sister's attempt to race in tell her to buck up. It was so genuine, Myra truly thinking that all she needed was another pretty face to revive her heart. "The old there's plenty of fish in the sea routine?"

  "Okay, a mermaid might be tricky, but I heard of a guy up north..." she began before cracking a smile. "Don't, just keep out here with us, okay."

  "Myra, I don't have a blighted clue what you're talking about."

  "That's fair, I'm not sure myself. But I'm tired of crying, of curling into a ball and doing my best to not act like it feels like someone slapped me in the side of the head."

  "As if all the color of your world's been drained."

  "Your stomach's trying to puke itself," she nodded.

  "And happiness is as impossible as walking on a cloud."

  "Ya know," Myra jabbed at the air, "you could try to walk on a cloud, but I think you'd get one step before woooosh. Aaahh. Boom."

  Rosie sighed, wanting to throw her arms around her sister. She knew Myra's thoughts on such family contact and settled for a half hug instead, "There are other boys out there too."

  "Maybe," Myra muttered, "none as cute as him though."

  "On that I shall have to take your word."

  "You have to at least give me he's got pretty lips. Super pretty lips, that are warm and squishy, but strong too..." her head hung down to her chest and she groaned, "And I just made myself feel worse. Great."

  Crimson tattoos that crisscrossed her body, hips that curled outward towards a supple bottom. Calves thin but powerful that ended in long and lean feet with surprisingly cute little nails, rounded like plump kittens. Oh Maker. She was in deeper than she feared.

  "I wish I could mourn, cry, do all that stuff you mentioned," Rosie blubbered, wanting to be free of all of this mess, "But..."

  "Are all them standing around ladies giving you shit for it?"

  "They don't know, aside from Tess, but she's playing along with the others."

  Myra extended a hand as if she had plans to take over the entire forest, "Here's what we do. First, we steal a bottle of booze from the stores."

  "I'm princess. I don't need to steal."

  "Psh, and I'm the bastard daughter who the King let's get away with murder. I could walk right up to the steward and say, 'give me that bottle.' The stealing's the fun part. Then we get drunk, cry over some really treacly story. Bryn has a few."

  Rosie snorted at the thought, "My ladies in standing are practically drowning in them. Which heartache do you want? Chevalier who is promised to another, Chevalier who's a total arse the whole time but she loves him anyway, or Chevalier who dies just after their consummation and of course she winds up pregnant?"

  "I knew the court reading was bad, but...what's with all the Chevaliers? Don't tell me they got a thing for horses up in the higher stands cause..." Myra began to chuckle at the thought before shuddering. "No, what we need is one of Bryn's old elf stories. Everyone's bonking everyone before a fight breaks out and kills half the cast. Lots of eye gouging to get through though."

  "Sounds..." Rosie scrunched her nose up, not in a particular mood for graphic violence. But maybe that was what her sister needed at the moment. "Like a plan," she amended with a smile.

  Myra snickered and sighed. Together both sisters began to move out of the clearing, when a low growl erupted from the trees. Myra froze, her head swiveling around in concern while Rosie tried to follow suit. Another growl broke, lower and to the left.

  "Uh, Rosie, you have any idea what noise wolves make before they're about to attack?"

  "No, why?"

  Her sister's eyes bugged out and
she pointed towards the underbrush, "Cause we just found out."

  Snarling from the dark shadows of the forest emerged two wolves. They looked battered, mange having rotted their hair to reveal scabs of grey skin below. Ones ear was ripped off but both mouths were full of fangs being bared down upon what could be the first sign of food in some time.

  "Myra," Rosie tried to slide in front of her younger sister, but they were pinned by the wolves. They could try to run, not that it would help. Her heart pounded, Rosie glancing quickly from both rabid mouthed beast to try and keep them in view. Together both sisters stepped back, slowly, as if the wolves would suddenly realize they didn't want to eat them.

  "Nice doggies," Myra whispered in a calm voice, when one snapped, its jaws biting through the air where her hand had been. "Okay, not so nice. They looking a little...bad to you?"

  "Not the time to care, Myra," Rosie muttered. She drew her fingers tighter around the knife in her hands, but it was at best five inches long. It would strike, but not without putting her hand and arm right in the wolf's biting range. Why didn't she take her sword with her?

  "P..." Rosie tried to swallow the shake in her breath, "please tell me you have a weapon."

  "Stick," Myra raised her little stolen switch as it could do anything. She lifted the branch up a bit and waved it towards her wolf, the notched ear. It didn't even blink at the leaves and twigs scraping near its eye. Something was very wrong with them.

  "Oh," Myra smiled wide, "and this." While the wolf was distracted by her stick attack, she lifted up her fist boiling in red fire. Rosie had only seen her use if effectively once, and even then it ended in disaster. What if she set the woods aflame? They'd be trapped here in the middle of a forest fire.

  Sliding to the side, Myra waved her burning fist right in front of the wolf and a lick of flame more controlled than usual, leapt from her fingers and right onto the mangey fur. It shrieked in pain, forgetting the food before it and scrabbled into its brother. Fires danced from one wolf to another, both now panicking as the stomach churning scent of burning hair filled the air. Smoke billowed from the attack, tinging the crisp forest air and making it hard to breathe. Both wolves were dancing on their paws, eyes wide in terror, while Myra kept her hand raised and fingers out.