The Blue Rose

by Seoran Worg

  ***

  I feel soft pull in my hair when Leni, my maid, braiding my long, thick hair. I glance down and read his letter once more. He says we will go to my father after the apprentice tournament finish. It is mean tomorrow. I want it to be over soon, yet I don’t want it to be real too.

  Gingerly, I touch a thumb sized stone that come with the letter. It is a brown smeared with grey color.

  Why he still doing this?

  I remember the stones he sent me all over the years since my sixteen name day. It always came with a short letter that said from where the stone came. I thought he started to see me as a woman back then, but apparently not.

  I should throw those stone away. But those stones are dear to me. They are my constant companion. And I was happy whenever I received one, and always curious what the place where it came from looks like. I imagine I am there with him. I even dared to write him, asking more about the place. But his answers are always so short and matter of fact, yet it makes me oddly pleased and happy for short while. His letters are just like him, and I am afraid that I like both of them.

  I shake my head. I shouldn’t thinking of him.

  “My lady,” Leni scolds me.

  For a moment, I forget that she still doing my hair.

  I should focus on the tournament. It will start in less than an hour. And it is more important now.

  I exhale loudly. This tournament and him are vexing, draining my energy.

  I know this tournament is hopeless case too, for my power, the ice within me is a weak one. It can’t hurt even a fly. The only one who impressed with my meager power is John Worg, Sean’s cousin. And it is because John is Unblessed, unlike us, disciples in Varan Castle, my soon-to-be opponents.

  The pretender, the disciples call people with weak gift. Maybe we are, for our power is useless in real war. The most I can do is cooling my room in summer time. And the real Ice Blessed warrior should able to freeze or cut the enemies with their power.

  “Finish, my lady,” Leni says in soft sigh, “Even dressed simple like this, you still look ravishing.”

  I know that. This is the beauty I get from my great-grandmother. She was one of those royals. Come along with it is her gift, her pale changeable brown eyes that will turn blue when we are angry.

  I stand up, and pat Leni’s back, “Thank you,” I say before I march to the yard below.