The Silver Rose

01 | Thunder

FIERY LIGHTENING CRACKED OPEN THE THUNDER-RIDDEN SKY WITH LINES OF DIVINE SILVER. Rosaline shuddered as the whistling cold wind blew past her, and grew paler with each heavy step.

     They were letting Aaennines out of the country. Dracia and Mervothe were working together to provide shelter and relief to refugees.

Dracia was freeing them from a war they had waged themselves. But the closer she got to the gate, the worse her chest felt. She didn't know why the dracian monarch would do this, and it was clear that he had some hidden agenda.

She silently passed by a soldier with a heavy breath hung in her throat but he said nothing. She was certain no one would even pay her a second glance, given her terrible condition. But, there were too many soldiers at this check-post, as if in search. Or perhaps because it was close to Mervothe's border.

She passed another soldier and Rosaline's doubts began fading. She'd be out and away from Aaenna sooner than she'd imagined. She'd trade her brooch in return for some food and a cart to the peaceful east. Something. Anything.

But never closer to nobility.

With each step, her chest eased and air filled her lungs. The massive metal gate which was built into the wall of Mervothe's border town towered over the lot of them.

There were soldiers in blue uniforms, kind and providing. Mervothees. They belonged to the neutral territory that was in the centre of Faylarka. Mervothe was always neutral, always offering. And beyond them were stone-faced soldiers of the Silver King. Dressed in black uniforms, each and ever limb of them adorned with sharp metal and shields. Ruthless and unforgiving.

The metal gate stared down at her as she passed through it, not one word exchanged. The wind blew again and a streak of her dirty fair hair slipped out of her hood. She quickly pushed it behind her ear before anyone could see.

One more step, and she'd be free—

"Lower your hood, please, Miss."

Rosaline's blood ran frigid in her veins, every hair upon her skin reacting, every nerve in her body beginning to shiver.

She could make out the soldier's leather boots from under her hood. He was dracian. She stood frozen on her spot, mind scrambling for excuses. But fear numbed her tongue, her limbs. She couldn't breathe.

What would she do now? She couldn't run. There were too many soldiers, they had horses and she was too weak.

"Please, remove your hood and identify yourself, Miss," the soldier said. "It's the General's order."

Oh, curse that General! Why wouldn't he leave us alone?

Another moment passed as she stood, silent and trembling. It was a miracle itself that she was still standing and not weeping at her cruel fate on the ground. It was mercy that there wasn't an arrow through her chest, yet.

"Miss, if you don't take your hood off, we will have to lead you to the General's tent."

A shiver crawled down her spine. No. Not him!

She opened her mouth to finally speak, perhaps offer reason, conjure some excuse to escape, but the sound of metal unsheathing itself sent fear down to her marrow. She stumbled back, her eyes still on the ground. The people behind her shrieked, gasping.

The soldier who'd been asking her to remove her hood took a step in front of her.

"Wil, get that sword away. You're scaring them," he reasoned. "They're only refugees."