The Rose Legacy

by Jessica Day George

  Anthea looked at the angry red furrow running across the top of Bluebell’s rump where the bullet had plowed up the skin as it passed over her. It didn’t need stitches, but it was no doubt painful.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “My brave girl!”

  She looked back at her mother, who was still standing near the door. Her mother looked mildly amused, if anything.

  “I’ll need to see to Bluebell’s wound, and also check Leonidas’s cuts and—”

  “Oh, does it really matter? They’re just animals!”

  Anthea clenched her fists in Bluebell’s mane. Juniper nuzzled at her hair. Leonidas butted Anthea in the shoulder, his usually prickly thoughts smoother now. And all the while Florian stood beside her, stoic and full of love.

  “We’re going south, aren’t we?” Anthea asked without turning.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You will need to drop us at the train depot outside of Bellair.”

  “Oh, we’re already past that,” her mother said. “We’re almost to Travertine!”

  “Travertine?”

  “Oh yes,” her mother said. “The king himself has asked to see you.”

  Anthea shook her head. “No, I need to meet up with Jilly and get to Bellair. Well, to Bell Hyde.”

  “Oh, you’re off to see the queen,” her mother sneered. “And her charming little country home!”

  Startled by the venom in her mother’s voice, Anthea finally turned around. Her mother was fingering the rose on her lapel, but her red-painted smile had turned nasty.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she said. “We really must get you to Travertine. The king is very interested in you, Anthea, which is why he sent me to get you. On his private train, no less!”

  Anthea blinked several times. “How does the king know about me? How did you know where to find me?”

  Her mother waved a hand, elegantly brushing aside her questions. “I broke with the queen some years ago, you see,” she said, as lightly as though reporting that she had changed hairdressers, “and I went to work for the king.

  “And now he wants you to work for him as well.”

  FLORIAN

  Beloved Anthea was pressed against Florian’s flank. He was pleased that she was with him, but her emotions were a great turmoil. He did not like the train or the motorcar or the woman who smelled of dying roses.

  The Rose Woman talked about kings and crowns, things that Florian did not concern himself over. Anthea was shaking her head slightly, but then she stopped and held very still. Florian willed himself to be still, despite the rocking of the train.

  Florian, his Beloved said into his mind. It was clearer than any thought he had ever had from a human, almost as clear as another horse’s voice.

  Beloved, he said.

  Florian, she said with greater confidence. We must find Jilly and Buttercup.

  We have traveled so far in this machine.

  I know, my darling, I know. But could you call to them? Tell them to keep going?

  I do not know the mare.

  Caesar is with her.

  He is stubborn.

  Not as stubborn as Leonidas, Beloved Anthea reminded him. You are my herd stallion, darling Florian. I need your help.

  I have never been one before, he confessed, ashamed.

  She stroked his neck. She also patted the owl, who was sitting on his poll. Her hand froze again.

  Florian! Can you speak to Constantine?

  Yes. He is my herd stallion.

  Florian! Tell Constantine that we are in trouble! Can he tell Finn that we left Jilly on the Derrytown road? Can you do that?

  I can try.

  Try, my darling! Try!

  27

  THE GREAT TRAIN ESCAPE

  Anthea’s head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

  Her mother frowned. “Anthea, are you listening to me?”

  “Not really,” Anthea admitted. “I’m worried about Bluebell,” she added hastily. “I need to clean the wound and cover it before it becomes infected.” She did feel guilty that she hadn’t gotten started on this sooner, but now caring for Bluebell would give her more time to think.

  “I think it’s wonderful how attached you are to them,” her mother said, sounding as though the opposite were true. “And of course I understand that you must keep Florian. But with so few of them left, and after all the trouble I’ve gone to, to have you join me now that you’re old enough? Well, you understand.” Her mother moved her hands in a graceful gesture, as though urging Anthea to finish the thought.

  “The trouble you’ve gone to?”

  Her mother actually blushed and lowered her eyes demurely. When Anthea said nothing, Genevia looked up. A flash of irritation crossed her face and was gone again.

  “Your letter?” Her mother opened her eyes wide, expectant. “Making sure that fool Daniel got it into the right hands?”

  Anthea felt cold. She started to shake. Her mother had been lying to her all along: Genevia had been waiting for her on that road, the driver had said so. She had called Anthea “clever.” Here they were, reunited, and first her mother had lied to her, and now that she was telling the truth it was even more horrible.

  “Why would you do that?” Her voice sounded dull. She remembered what Perkins had said before, about her mother running out of information to feed the Crown. “Why use my letter? Why not just tell the king yourself? And why now?”

  When I was finally happy, she added in her mind.

  “Among other reasons, because I knew it was the best way to get you away from the farm. After all those years of Andrew fighting to get you back, I felt that the surest way was to have you be the one who spoiled their big secret.”

  She was so beautiful that Anthea wanted to cry. Genevia Cross-Thornley was even more perfect than Anthea had imagined her mother could be. Beautiful. Elegant. Shining like a diamond. But the things she said were so terrible.

  “I hadn’t planned on bringing you to live with me for another year,” Genevia went on, “but after Deirdre had the vapors over her pregnancy, and they sent you to Andrew, I had to move matters ahead. Your letter was very helpful, by the way.”

  “I wish I had never written it,” Anthea blurted out.

  “Oh, nonsense! Aren’t you excited to come with me? To live in luxury? I thought you wanted to be a Rose Maiden?”

  “I do … I did,” Anthea said, confused. She looked at the rose on her mother’s jacket. “But you’re not one anymore.”

  “Yes, but it makes an excellent disguise.”

  “And … and I would rather be at Last Farm.”

  “And be some sort of … Horse Maiden?” Her mother laughed, a glorious, tinkling sound.

  “Why not?” Anthea felt her heart swelling. A Horse Maiden. That is what she was!

  Florian stamped a foot, Leonidas threw up his head. Anthea stroked their necks, soothing them. Be calm for now, all of you … we’ll find a way out of here.

  “Why not? You silly girl!” Her mother got her voice under control. “Because your father’s family and their foolish nostalgia for these animals is just that … foolish. Once you join me in Travertine, you’ll see. You’ll see my beautiful house, the ways in which His Majesty rewards me—this is the royal train! And it is always at my disposal!”

  “You live in Travertine?”

  She realized that even six months ago she would have been starry-eyed at the promise of a luxurious life in Travertine. But now it just seemed so … pointless. Was her mother really so shallow that she had abandoned her own child just for a big house and fine clothes? Anthea couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “Yes, though I have other residences, by the seaside, in Bellair—”

  Anthea began to stroke Florian’s neck with greater intensity. She couldn’t block out her mother’s words, and began to wonder how close to Uncle Daniel her mother lived. How close to bitter Aunt Anne. All that time alone, being teased by Belinda Rose, being shuffled from house
to house, and Anthea’s mother had been a few streets away, waiting until she was “old enough” to be worth her time.

  “Really,” her mother went on, musingly, “it’s nostalgia on my part, I suppose, that I didn’t do something about that farm years ago. But your father loved it so. I can’t understand why; I think the Ice Fields probably have a more thriving culture.” She shuddered. “I never was sure if the queen arranged our marriage as revenge for my working with her husband or because she thought it would win me over to her cause.”

  “What’s the queen’s cause?” Anthea asked.

  Her mother’s gaze sharpened. Her faintly amused smile vanished. “Enough babbling! Now you must rest!”

  Anthea nodded. There was no reason to deny it. She felt like she might faint again, just so she could lie down. Only Florian and Juniper were holding her up.

  But when her mother turned to leave, Anthea did not follow. “I need to see to the horses,” she said, wishing that her voice sounded stronger.

  “Very well,” her mother said. “Don’t be too long. I will tell the cook that we are ready for dinner.”

  When the door shut, Anthea turned at once to Florian.

  She started to pull a spare shirt out of his saddlebags, but she didn’t have the willpower to get dressed. Instead she unbuckled the straps and let the bags thud to the floor. Then she slid Bluebell’s saddle off the poor mare’s back. There was no time to bandage her wound, it would have to wait. Anthea untied the lead lines and looped them over the horses’ necks, knotting them to their saddles so they wouldn’t trip over them.

  “Listen,” she said to them when she was ready. “Florian is your herd stallion.”

  Florian is your herd stallion, she repeated. You will follow him. And me. We are going to jump out of this train, and we are going to find Jilly. And Buttercup and Caesar and Campanula. She knew the horses’ names would mean more than Jilly’s. No matter what: Follow Florian, find Buttercup and Caesar and Campanula.

  She took hold of Florian’s bridle and pulled his face in close to hers. She could feel his hot breath blowing on her neck and see the worry in his eyes. To her surprise, tears filled her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks.

  “My love, my love, do not forsake me,” she said.

  She went to the wooden door of the train car and studied it. It opened like a drawbridge, doubling as a ramp to drive the motorcar up and down. On one side it had a simple latch that Anthea lifted, making the door rattle. On the other side it was secured with a padlock that pulled and clanked as the train moved.

  Anthea studied the car next. It was the exact model that Miss Miniver drove.

  Knowing that her mother could be back at any moment, Anthea moved quickly. She took Florian’s heaviest saddlebag and stuffed it in front of the driver’s seat. She adjusted the wheel, the clutch, and released the brake.

  Then she hit the starter and leaped back.

  The car roared to life. It shot forward at an angle, ramming the side of the door where the lock was. With a horrifying squeal, the padlock broke. The door slammed open, bouncing and scraping at the ground as they raced along, and the car roared down it to crash into the trees.

  Florian caught Anthea as she fell back. He bent his knees and rolled his shoulder, and she was on his back. She hiked up her nightgown and dressing gown, made sure that Arthur was safe in her pocket, and squeezed Florian with her knees.

  He needed no further urging. Just as the door into the train car banged open, Florian staggered down the shuddering ramp with the other horses struggling along at his heels and Anthea clinging to his back.

  Florian surged through the trees, getting out of sight of the train, and Anthea stuck low to his neck even though it pained her wounded side. When they could no longer see the train behind them, Anthea tried to turn Florian to the south, toward Bellair, but Florian would not turn.

  Finally Anthea stopped fighting him and let him stop. The other horses crowded around her, and she reached out a shaking hand to each of them.

  You are wonderful, so wonderful, my darlings! she told them.

  Bluebell was not doing well, but she lovingly blew on Anthea’s knee when Anthea stroked her and brushed her forelock out of her eyes.

  “We have to go to Bellair,” Anthea said.

  Florian turned north and west. He whinnied, and Anthea caught an image of Buttercup in her mind. She remembered her mother’s words: they were past Bellair already.

  “Oh,” she said. That is my good, brave boy, she said to Florian. Now find Jilly!

  28

  MIGHTY LONG ROAD

  Anthea did not become aware of the rain until it had soaked her through. She had a vague sense that she had a fever, which had started not long after they had found the road. The rain cooled her fever, at first, which was good. But then she began to shiver, which was not good. That was when she began to notice her surroundings and the chill wetness of her scant clothing.

  “Florian.” Her voice was little more than a croak. Florian, are we on the right road?

  He nodded and sent her the reassuring image of Buttercup and Jilly. She sagged in the saddle again, relieved.

  Leonidas, hovering at her knee, whickered anxiously and nudged the reins.

  She realized, after a moment of shock, that he was worried that she was angry with him. Also, it bothered him that she was not holding Florian’s reins. She took them in her chilled hands and he relaxed, his head rising and his small, pointed ears flicking forward.

  “You are a strange beast,” she croaked at him. “I’m still not sure I like you.”

  His head went down, and she felt a pang of guilt.

  Her throat was so dry it felt like every word scratched and left a scar inside her mouth. She opened her mouth to the rain as it poured down. She even put the tail of her sopping-wet hair in her mouth and sucked some of the moisture out of it. It tasted like sweat as well as rain, and she shuddered. Then she began shaking so hard that she feared that she would rattle herself right off Florian’s back.

  “Miss Miniver, you should see me now,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Dropping the reins again, she hugged herself. She was cold and wet, hot and parched at the same time. The steady throbbing of her side, in time to her heartbeat, had been going on so long that she no longer noticed it unless a particularly hard shiver made the muscle twinge.

  She hunched over and put her arms around Florian’s neck.

  Florian, I’m dying.

  His ears went back and he began to walk faster.

  I won’t make it to Bell Hyde.

  He began to jog. She made a small noise of protest at the jostling, and he went even faster until he was moving at a nice, smooth lope.

  Anthea settled into this new pace. It made the rain stream back along her cheeks and cool them a little. It was like being rocked, too, and she let her eyes fall closed. Rocked. She remembered her mother rocking her, singing—no, not her mother: her father. Her father had rocked her to sleep, and sung to her.

  “Hush ’bye, ’bye, don’t you cry,” Anthea sang brokenly. “Go to sleep, ye little babby. When you wake, you’ll have sweet cake, and all the pretty little horsies.”

  That was all she could manage, and then it made her cough. When the coughing abated, she thought of Jilly, singing as they had ridden along on their exciting mission. Before the tractor, before Leonidas in the snare, before the bullet in her ribs and the one that gouged Bluebell. Before her mother.

  Jilly’s exuberance that day seemed to be years ago now. And her own unease over … what? That someone would see her wearing trousers, riding a horse? Who would care what she wore? Or if she rode a horse or kissed a boy? Or was shot or died of a fever on the side of the road?

  “Only you, my Beloved,” she whispered to Florian.

  She remembered Jilly’s song again.

  “My love, my love, do not forsake me,” she whispered to Florian. “My love, my love, do not forsake me.”

  Florian began
to run.

  FLORIAN

  Beloved Anthea’s thoughts were muddled, her emotions dull. Sickness came from her in waves.

  When she began to fall sideways, Florian neighed in terror. Leonidas immediately pushed himself against Florian’s shoulder, taking some of Beloved Anthea’s weight to halt her fall.

  Florian continued to run.

  Leonidas matched his stride perfectly. Although broader in build, he was the same height and length of leg as Florian. They were able to run in tandem, with Beloved Anthea half lying on Leonidas’s back, her legs loose on either side of Florian.

  If Beloved Anthea falls— Florian began.

  She will not fall, Leonidas interrupted.

  Florian felt a rush of gratitude toward Leonidas.

  The mares, too, called encouragement from their place behind Florian. They kept their pace well, so that Florian had no need to worry about them. The mare Holly said that she would keep pace with the injured mare Bluebell, should she fall behind, and they would come after. The mare Juniper said she had neither fear nor tired legs, and to go at greater speed if needed.

  So Florian ran.

  He ran until his heart pounded and his lungs screamed for air. He ran until each hoofbeat sent a shock up his legs. Beloved Anthea had her hands wrapped painfully in his mane as well as the reins so that she did not fall off, but her body was too loose on his back, filling him with greater fear. Leonidas called out that they must slow down, even as he continued to keep pace with Florian. The others cried out their sorrow, but they could run no farther. Florian left them behind.

  He called out to Constantine, telling him to come, swiftly, and collect the mares. Telling him to bring the Soon King, and gather their scattered herd, because Florian could not.

  Florian was not a good herd stallion.

  He was the Beloved of his Beloved, and he would not forsake her.

  29