The White Rose

It was uncanny. Her icy eyes burned with a determination fueled by a vengeance that was not her own to seek. Even from my place down the long hall between us, I could see her knuckles, white from the rage she held in her hands. With the point towards me, she kept her wand forward, a piece she never learned how to use as anything else but a weapon, a weapon that only showed her weakness. Long and delicate, it seemed like an extension of the feebleness of her own fingers as it shook from the pressure she inflicted on it, greater and greater every second she stalled; the recklessness that characterized her adolescence was being subdued by doubt.

I refused to lie and pretend I wasn’t impressed by her ability to have reached me with what appeared to be zero scratches. Briefly, a part of me wondered how she and her two henchmen—henchteens?—had managed to avoid or defeat the guards. Half an answer was offered when an orphaned breeze carried a faint scent of chamomile and rosemary towards me—a confusion potion, weak, but I supposed it had been effective enough. There was something else mixed in the background, something burnt; perhaps another potion, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“What’s your name?” I asked. There was no need to raise my voice even with the distance between us; the walls of this place had been enchanted to allow my voice—cold, uninterested, neutral, and perfectly rehearsed since my school days—to be heard by all who set foot in the room.

I remember the first time I’d heard someone speak to me in this room, when my predecessor still reigned, and I felt his voice being carried by the wind and into my head. To be surprised had been an understatement; the feeling of someone else’s speaking directly where only your own thoughts could be heard.

“Mara.” Her composure was commendable. Even when the astonishment had been clear in the faces of the three teens that still held their places, she managed to keep her mind clear enough to lie to me. A slight frown had appeared briefly between her brows, and doubt had dragged down the corner of her lips just for a second long enough for me to catch her deceitfulness before she schooled her features back to the defiance that had characterized her presence in front of me.

“Clever,” I conceded. “Give your name, give yourself away. The first lesson in black magic .”

“I have no interest in black magic!” A deeper frown and sharper eyes accompanied her leaning forward, her roaring voice echoing through the hall, she looked like a feral cub trying to make itself seem bigger. She was too young, too rash, too heedless. She allowed her emotions to take the reins. One simple comment and she was already losing grip of her self-control.

“I apologize; it wasn’t my intention to make unfounded assumptions.” As pretentious and condescending as it was, I couldn’t help the amusement that I felt washing over me as she tried to be intimidating. It was only superficial—both her attempt and the sentiment it caused in me; I couldn’t keep the unidentified bitterness out of my mind, and a sliver of worry caused a prickling sensation in my brain.

I’ve heard the rumors that traveled between the footsteps of strangers, exchanged through kisses that tasted of alcohol and money in the brothels of the cities. The white sorcerers of the South had found their destined one. The White Rose, they called her; fitting, after all, every rose dries up fast enough.

I took a couple of steps forward, and in turn, she took a couple of steps back, closing in on herself, seeking protection. “Stop! Don’t come closer!” Ignored, she tried and failed to disguise the fear that powered her demand now that I had decided to close the distance that separated us.

The closer I got, the more I could see of her. Innocence still had a home in her eyes; the idealized sense of duty had brought her here. I wondered about the tales they had used to fill her head. I wondered if perhaps in them I was an old hag who would throw herself at her feet begging for mercy. I wondered what she felt now when the only fear in the room was hers.

I stopped, not because of her request, but because I felt him near. Footsteps coming closer and closer, the electric current that buzzed on my skin when he was near; two hearts beating in unison. The thunderous clash of a pair of heavy doors being forced open cut through the silence of the room as the vibrations reached my body. The kids that had accompanied not-Mara reacted as best as they could—even more inexperienced than her—and pointed their own wands towards the figure that had appeared behind me, in between the thrones at the back of the room.

He always knew when something was wrong; he always came to my side. To him, darkness had always felt like home, his willowy frame always dancing between the shadows. Some thought him elusive, but his stillness came with knowledge. The king always listened to the secrets hidden between the silences. Even from farther away, the air felt heavier with him here. Lynx-eyed, he remained in the background as a habit, but with these kids there was not much under the surface; they hadn’t learned anything but to be easily read.

That is why I couldn't help the hollow that formed in my stomach when I realized what the acridness in the air meant: a writhe transfiguration. His voice was directed not to the kids, but somewhere behind them. “Show yourself.” He commanded, and from the other end of the room, shadows moved, smoke dancing together, closer and tighter until the air became solid and another person came into view, someone I once trusted, a man I’d never imagined would be standing in front of me once again.

Suddenly, it all made sense: the ease with which the trio of children reached the heart of the castle, the lack of commotion that should’ve accompanied their arrival, the innocent self-trust that allowed them to believe they were strong enough. The amusement I’d felt before was gone. The girl had been brought here with lies disguised as promises, and she was none the wiser. She believed in him just as I once did.

“What did they tell you to bring you here? What did they promise you?” I asked her, breathy words fighting the knot in my throat. What did they believe was worth her life?

I saw her eyes widening just for a second before focusing on me again; her trembling lips showed indecision as she thought about the script that had been ingrained into her brain until she found her response. “To end your putrid reign is reward enough.” As a companion to her words, a smirk appeared on the man’s face, satisfied by the suicidal warrior he’d helped create.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” I saw the surprise on her face as she registered the sudden sadness in my words. “Then, what am I—”

“What are we guilty of?” The king demanded, stealing the words from my lips.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words left her lips. “You’re evil.” Her succinct judgment of our character made her seem even younger, like the words spoken by a toddler who’s mad at you after being reprimanded. If just one question had fissured her façade, then perhaps she could see the weakness of their argument.

“How many before her?” My question was now directed towards him.

“I have no idea—”

“How many children have died before her?” The three teens in front of me jumped at the sound of my voice as I demanded an answer from him. “How many children have you lied to until you found someone who endured enough?”

“What is she talking about?” Mara asked him, her hand lowering slightly, her knuckles recovering some color as being distracted caused her to loosen the hold of her wand.

“Don’t pay attention to her nonsense; she’s just trying to confuse you.” His voice forced its way between his gritted teeth, and the grin he still showed became predatory. At the implicit command of his words, she turned her attention back to me, the frown deeper than before and her lips pressed tightly together into a thin line; her whole body tensed before she let out a whisper.

I recognized the words she started to mouth, an offensive spell. White sorcerers always prided themselves on an imaginary sense of magical purity; to them, the rest of the magical paths were twisted and unnatural, even when those paths could lead you to better and stronger results.

Swiftly, my fingers waved in between us and her wand flew away from her. She tumbled backwards, colliding with her companions.

“How old are you?” I asked her. The fear of being proven insufficient made way for the bafflement she showed after my question; her offended expression would’ve been comical in another context. “Just answer.”

“Seventeen.”

“Do you know how old we are?” With a tremor, she offered a slight shaking of her head to show her ignorance. “Forty-five.” That’s twice your age, twice your experience.”

“She’s strong enough,” the man argued in her favor, but something in his face made me suspicious; stupidity had never been one of his flaws.

“You trust him,” my words weren’t a question, just an observation. My eyes lingered on him, trying to decipher the trick; my words spoke to her, wishing I could take her away from his claws. “Perhaps you should consider which stories you believe.”

“Why should I believe you?” She asked without the sharpness that had characterized her vengeful voice before. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t scared, she wasn’t the savior she was forced to embody, she was just a teenage girl.

“Because I trusted him too.” And with those words still hanging between us, he made his move.

The ground below my feet shook with the thunderous force of an explosion; then another and then another. Screams from every corner of the castle reached my ears. Smoke began rising and entering through the windows. I’d sent a silent message since the children stepped foot in the room; with the guards mobilizing away from their usual posts, the explosions had been placed without much disturbance. How many people did he have? How many had infiltrated our ranks? How long had our castle been at risk?

My eyes scanned the room; the risk of the structure collapsing became more important than his presence until a movement of his hand caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. A blade of light came from his unsheathed wand towards the ceiling above where the king stood; his palms on the ground and his lips moving in a silent spell, magic flowed from his body to the damaged structure as he tried to contain the destruction.

I heard the metallic screech of a chain being cut just as I ran towards the back. My body collided with his, pain exploding in every part of my body that hit the ground, but I managed to create a shield around us before the chandelier fell on top of us. With his spell interrupted, the seismic force of the explosions resumed, and the walls and ceiling finally fell.

I have no idea how long we remained immobile; whether it was seconds or hours that passed was inconsequential, but strong winds finally dissipated the smoke and the air filled with debris. The man was nowhere to be found, but the children remained. Three bodies now lay unresponsive under rocks and metals. The tiles under them were now tinted red. After all, they had only been a distraction.