《The Rose's Torn Petals》


 Corpseflowers (Part One)

    In her dreams of Efflorescence, dreamt since she was a child old enough to hear the most wondrous tales from her mother about the magic of the Blossoms, guardians of the world, Triella had imagined the most marvelous of ceremonies, of halls gleaming with lights and spells, none as luminous as the girls inducted into a world of magic and hallowed purpose. They would enter the alabaster halls of the Tower of Rebirth as children and depart as Blossoms, as saviors of the world, as fate-driven warriors of light. As magical girls.


    Triella could scarcely recall a life where she didn¡¯t dream of standing beneath the saintly light shining down from the enchanted glass mosaic at the very top of the Tower, wondering how it would feel to be granted the precious gifts of magic and of sisterhood in the order which had safeguarded the world from time immemorial. Even then, she was all too aware that her imagination would pale before reality.


    And yet none here smiled. The lights were dim and in the graven silence there was no merriment to be found, no pride nor joy. This was two years too early, but cruel destiny dictated that this was to be a generation of Blossoms with barely over a year of training and preparation, flowers blooming from the graves of a thousand dead. It had been only a day since they¡¯d heard the news, a tragedy that had felt unreal up until Triella set foot into this very chamber, finding it smaller than in her dreams. With the lights shining down on her, bereft of any warmth or comfort, it hit her that this was reality, that no one would fix this and take it all back.


    The battle was won, she had heard from Lady Faustyna¡¯s mirthless voice after being urgently summoned from her dormitory in the Academy, but at too great a cost. The Darklords were killed to the last man, but it was too late to put an end to the ritual at the World-Wound. We had to act, or every single soul in the world would be devoured at once by the Great Nightmare. Instead¡­ Instead our disruption demanded a sacrifice in place of humanity. Our own souls instead.


    All at once, all over the world, the Blossoms were beginning to wither, even those far from the World-Wound, even those who had nothing to do with the campaign against the Darklords. Their Red Rose had not even imagined that those monsters could have schemed such evil as the magical extermination of all humanity, and when those plans were discovered, there was no undoing the ritual in its entirety. Dark magic claimed the soul of almost every single Blossom in the world, leaving no more than a hundred survivors of what had, until the past day, had been tens of thousands.


    Lady Faustyna Kitza was known to be a great warrior, but the fear with which she spoke seemed to shrink her until she was little more than a lost, frightened child. The halls of the Academy were all suddenly emptied but for the girls still in training, yet to become Blossoms, and none knew what to do. Only Faustyna had returned from battle, a lone pegasus descending from the skies to the eyrie of Rosa Aeterna Academy. It fell on the few surviving Blossoms to hastily organize this initiation, to replenish their ranks; Triella could tell that Faustyna would have preferred to throw herself from atop the eyrie, but instead she powered through her grief and gathered all the pupils, giving them instructions as best as she could. She was nowhere to be seen in the chamber today. Triella hoped she was alright, but knew that there was no way she could be.


    Triella herself couldn¡¯t even feel the moment of her Efflorescence, as she was, body and soul, overwhelmed by grief and terror. The full scale of loss was beyond her comprehension, so instead her mind was consumed by the realization that picking up the pieces of this catastrophe was to be her duty now. It made her want to cry. She had thought herself prepared to bear any responsibility, but this was too much. They were only a few hundred girls, many of whom had only just begun their training. She was part of the crop of 1878, the year of their arrival and the beginning of their tutelage. We are not even the youngest here, she thought. They were but a few hundred girls, none older than sixteen, the fate of the world suddenly thrust upon their shoulders.


    By her side, a girl fainted. That was not an uncommon occurrence during the ceremony, as Lady Sieglinde shared improvised words through a pitiful voice in a muted, tearful tone, her eyes red from weeping and her legs trembling. It looked as though she might collapse from the dais, too. Triella couldn¡¯t even process her words, nor did she want to. She wanted to go home.


    And then it was done. She was a Blossom now. She realized only when her peers began to scatter, some leaving the chamber to return to the great halls of the Tower, others wandering aimlessly looking for friends or for their instructors. Triella didn¡¯t really feel any different. If there was any change within her, it was either too subtle to tell or it was drowned beneath her more immediate troubles. She had always imagined that this moment would be the threshold between her childhood and the rest of her life, every emotion unforgettable, her body lighter, warmer, as if she was one with the lights. Instead, it was far more subdued, in a way that Triella would have only been able to call disappointing were it not for the great sorrow that brought about this urgency.


    I wish my parents were here. I wish my friends were here, too. I wanted them to see it, see me¡­ I wanted to show them I was not so useless after all.


    But of course that was but an empty hope. This pain was not only her own, for she knew that, for every girl here, that which should be the happiest moment of their lives, shared with all their loved ones, would amount to no more than words delivered by letter or by Farspeech, though how could this be put into words? How to explain that practically every magical girl in the world had died, when Triella still tried to convince herself that this was a nightmare she was soon to awaken from. I want to go home, she told herself again. Home was back at Altengrie, home was yesterday, home was the life and world that were suddenly gone. Home was that which no longer existed, that desperate longing.


    Like so many others, Triella wandered the emptying chamber, hoping to cross paths with someone she knew. At the same time, she avoided looking into the other girls¡¯ eyes, averting her gaze from their expressions of sorrow. Just as she realized she didn¡¯t know where she was going, what it even was that she was actually seeking, she heard someone call her name. Lady Sieglinde herself beckoned for her to approach and join the small crowd gathered around her. Though she was spoken of with great respect due to coming from a long lineage of Blossoms, Sieglinde Imorial was only barely an adult, not even nineteen yet, but suddenly she had become one of the most experienced magical girls still breathing. From up close, however, it seemed that the past day had aged her a great deal. Triella wondered how many of her dearest friends had died. Politeness demanded her to make eye contact, but the sorrow welling up there was too much to bear.


    ¡°Triella, you¡¯re here. That¡¯s good,¡± she said, her voice a pained whisper that demanded effort to comprehend. Some of the other magical girls surrounding Sieglinde were familiar, trainees just like Triella, though she had never grown too close to anyone. She wondered if they would have known her name had Sieglinde not mentioned it. ¡°The others weren¡¯t supposed to leave, I just¡­ Well, I¡¯m not willing to raise my voice in reprimand right now. I assume they¡¯ll return to their quarters at the Academy, so I¡¯ll seek them later.¡±


    Triella just nodded. She wondered just how she would feel if she immediately had to organize such a ceremony and make preparations that used to be the responsibility of dozens if not hundreds of well-trained Blossoms, no more than a day after learning that all her friends had died. Well, Triella didn¡¯t really have many friends, but she could imagine some of that pain anyways.


    ¡°Are there any other Blossoms here?¡± Triella asked, before realizing how foolish she sounded.


    ¡°Us,¡± said Cecilia Kleinfeld, with a hint of sad resignation. Triella wouldn¡¯t call her a friend, but they¡¯d trained together, were of an age, and Cecilia had always seemed polite and pleasant enough. Until she spoke, Triella hadn¡¯t quite recognized her. Before today, Triella had only ever seen Cecilia in her long braids, but haste didn¡¯t afford her such luxuries today. Fidgety, Cecilia wouldn¡¯t stop coiling her white locks with a finger. ¡°Still, I understand what you mean. I asked the same of Lady Sieglinde.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me Lady,¡± she insisted. ¡°We are peers now,¡± when she said it, it almost sounded believable. ¡°Most of the Academy staff is, well¡­ Half a dozen or so remain, though none instructed you. They were all professors, and I have little familiarity with them. Of our Rose Council, only Valchenza remains, so she¡¯ll have to find replacements in short order¡­ Not that she has an abundance of options.¡±


    ¡°I assume you¡¯ll be selected,¡± said another girl that, of course, Triella wouldn¡¯t fail to recognize; Princess Sayuri of Tawarasato, whose Efflorescence had been held just last year. ¡°You¡¯re reliable, Valchenza will want you. I wonder if she¡¯ll ask for my aid, too.¡±


    ¡°I expect she¡¯s looking for people who are competent,¡± said a pink-haired girl whose name Triella couldn¡¯t recall, with whom she had never even talked to because even during training she¡¯d always kept to herself. Ise or something, she thought, uncertain. She had always seemed a rather touchy person, with little interest in approaching others. Still, Triella didn¡¯t expect her to be this blatantly hostile.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Princess Sayuri was taken aback. ¡°You look like you hail from Tawarasato as well. Have I done something to offend a fellow countrywoman?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve lived when so many others have died who deserve the breath you draw,¡± she said. Some of the nearby Blossoms stepped back, and even Sieglinde was too devastated to even attempt to defuse the situation. ¡°Someone like you probably doesn¡¯t even comprehend the weight and sacred duty of a Blossom, so why did you live?¡±


    ¡°I have no answer for you,¡± said the Princess, admirably keeping her calm. ¡°If I have given you any offense in Tawarasato, I apologize. We are peers now, not royalty and subject, so I owe you that much. But do not presume to speak to me about deserving life or death. Sieg, I¡¯ll leave you to your business. My presence here is not welcomed right now.¡±


    Thus, with the grace of a princess, she turned back and walked away before anyone could say anything. Tawarasato was half a world away, but even so Triella had heard some stories about its Princess. A weak-willed girl who meekly withstood any insult, rumored to be so averse to any sort of conflict that she did not even attempt to protest when her younger brother claimed the position of heir apparent claiming gender laws which hadn¡¯t been upheld in Tawarasato for a century. From Triella¡¯s understanding, the whole country was glad when Prince Sayonji did so, as few wanted Sayuri as queen.


    ¡°That was ill done, Ise,¡± said Sieglinde, though without much energy. ¡°She grieves, too.¡±


    ¡°As do we all,¡± Ise did not back down. ¡°Do not lecture me on pain. The blood between myself and the little Princess is of no one¡¯s concern but the two of us, and she¡¯s happy to flee from it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on,¡± Triella intervened, hoping to play conciliator, ¡°but we should just ease on the insults. Sieglinde is right, we are all grieving. That should bring us together, not tear us apart. Whatever it was that you lost-¡±


    Ise¡¯s expression, sour enough already, turned positively hateful at those words, and Triella immediately recognized she should have kept her stupid mouth shut. To her credit, despite her initial reaction, Ise restrained herself from violence, but her eyes gave ample evidence of her temptation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care to hear your barking,¡± said Ise, who began to walk away as her Princess had done, her footsteps heavy with rage. She turned back only for a brief moment, and Triella didn¡¯t dare meet her gaze. ¡°I apologize, Lady Sieglinde. I feel indisposed. We can discuss matters tomorrow, if you please.¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait for an answer. Soon enough, she was gone. Triella didn¡¯t quite understand what that was all about.


    ¡°I probably should have stayed quiet,¡± she said.


    ¡°You should have known,¡± Cecilia said, not without gentleness. ¡°From the look on your face, though, I¡¯m guessing you were never really close to Ise. I don¡¯t blame you, of course, as she cultivated that distance from everyone. Still, surely some rumors must have reached you, right?¡±


    ¡°Not everyone is as well-connected as you are, Cille,¡± remarked another girl Triella was unfamiliar with. She had the impression that she walked into a gathering far above her social class. ¡°Ise tried to hide it from others when necessary, it was only happenstance that I happened to learn.¡±


    ¡°Learn what?¡± Triella asked.


    ¡°Perhaps her family name will clear things for you. She¡¯s Ise Ubami.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Triella really should have kept her silence. Any rube would have at least heard the name Ubami, pride not only of Tawarasato but of the Red Rose. Though in their homeland they were only minor nobility, they traced their lineage from among the very first girls to be chosen for Efflorescence, when the Rose was but a bud, thousands of years ago, handpicked by angels, by kami, by the fae, depending on the story being told. An Ubami who did not bloom to join the Red Rose was quite the rarity, and it was not just their name which earned them their place here but skill proven time and time again.


    ¡°Did¡­ Did anyone survive?¡± Triella asked. Sieglinde¡¯s expression was enough of an answer, but Triella still found it hard to comprehend. ¡°Surely someone had to be spared¡­¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a distant cousin,¡± said Sieglinde with a shrug. ¡°We are yet to confirm every loss and every survivor. But¡­ Well, we expect we would have heard something. Both of her aunts have died, and her mother as well. And all her sisters. Her direct cousins, too, and a niece who had joined our Rose earlier this year. She suffers for them all, but she was closest to Kasumi, inseparable until the elder began her training to become a Blossom. Ise is difficult at the best of times, always preferring to train by herself, but I can hardly blame her for how she is now. I wish I could do something for her, but¡­ But there¡¯s so few of us now, I cannot spare the time to comfort her, if she would even accept my company.¡±


    Triella didn¡¯t know what to say. She wanted to apologize, to say she understood, but it all seemed entirely meaningless now. The notion that any comfort could be offered was laughable. That Ise did not seem to have recently wept appeared unbelievable to Triella.


    I¡¯m sorry everyone you know is dead. I know what it¡¯s like to be all alone like that. As though that was any help, as though it would mean anything to Ise. As if pains could ever truly be equivalent.


    Mercifully, Sieglinde suggested they all meet in her office after eating, to discuss their immediate future. Triella wanted a moment to compose herself, because, like Ise, she did not want to cry in front of anyone. Cecilia invited her to eat together, which Triella accepted, but always she lingered some paces behind the group of girls leading the way, as they reached the Hall of Founders, where visitors to the Tower were greeted by the sheer immensity of the hall and the three towering statues of the three girls who planted the seed of the Red Rose when the world was yet young and even darker than it was now. Triella had thought that she would feel small when she set foot there, but somehow, devoid of life, the emptiness did not make the Hall appear larger but far smaller than it truly was. Life and light revealed its true grandeur, and now those were gone.


    This is where they would have seen me, Triella thought, unsure if what she felt was bitterness or melancholy. This is where I always dreamt I would see the smiling faces of my family, all proud of me. Even amidst the crowd I always recognized them. Those had only ever been dreams, of course, but their kindness had saved her life time and again. But perhaps it was not now that her dreams were stolen from her.


    Perhaps it was when she was but a child, when she witnessed hellfire, red skies, her world coming undone. Somehow she could only remember the smallest parts of that day. The flowing blood, a hint of the stench of smoke, the neighboring house ablaze. She recalled it more clearly than her own home. Clearest of all, though, was the Blossom that found her, saved her, carried her. I was born that day, she sometimes thought. She never learned the name of the girl that had saved her. Most of all she recalled the relieved smile that she¡¯d offered Triella, happy to have been able to find someone amidst the dead.


    Triella wondered if that Blossom had withered, too. She hastened her steps, to join the others, and silenced the child¡¯s voice inside her. For a foolish little girl like her, it was better not to think at all.

 Corpseflowers (Part Two)

    All voices made echoes in the now-deserted Tower of Rebirth, and the faintest whisper seemed rudely stringent, so Cecilia decided to keep her words to herself, even while her fellow Blossoms debated on the next course of action. It is not for us to decide, she told herself, maintaining her calm and refraining from rashness. Times of tragedy demanded urgent action, yes, but the most terrible of paths were taken in haste. Then again, it was unlikely that the Red Rose¡¯s current options amounted to much better than awful.


    Cecilia dare not look up to the statues of the Founders in all their immensity. Each of the three had her hand raised as if to hold the very top of the Tower, though in truth the Tower far exceeded the scope of the Hall of Founders, even if it was the most emblematic part of this center of Blossom power, the only one outsiders were allowed access to, to be awed and humbled by the ancient grandeur of the Red Rose.


    Now it appeared haunted. Cecilia wondered how many Blossoms had died here, their souls ripped from their bodies without warning. There were no remains of what they once had been, no trace that they¡¯d existed at all save for whatever they were carrying when their bodies ceased to be. Broken glass and dropped books, blank scrolls and shattered orbs, quills and briefcases. Not all of it had been collected and organized, leaving Cecilia to the morbid thought of imagining who the owner of each object might have been. Her companions fell into a grim silence, no doubt pondering the same matters. They had not seen it with their own eyes, the fate of these women. Faustyna and Sieglinde had shared few details beyond the fact that all those Blossoms simply withered and faded. Cecilia knew better than to ask just yet.


    Past the statue of Syleria, Font of Fates, wide stairs led to the northern wing of the Tower, reserved for matters of administration. Such few magical girls remained that Sieglinde implied that for now they would all transfer their offices and residences to this wing, for convenience. They had not even managed to finish an accounting of the living Blossoms, but it was clear they were not even remotely close to the amount needed to keep the Red Rose functional.


    They did not need to walk much longer, fortunately. There was no point in maintaining offices past the first floor of the administrative wing, although actually moving through the corridors demanded some patience, as a multitude of crates and stacks of books and documents crowded most of the space available. Hints of marble peered from between the clutter, but all statuary and paintings had been removed, giving the Tower an uncanny and barren appearance. The corridors and hallways seemed to go on for great inexpedient lengths, and Cecilia struggled to picture it full of life and beauty. The Tower of Rebirth, all of it, is a work of art, she had heard from Sieglinde. Now it was like a long-abandoned home, where every trace of its former purpose only made the emptiness more bitter.


    Voices guided them to where they were needed, to the office claimed by Sieglinde. On the door, a different name entirely. Cecilia made it a point not to commit it to memory. That sort of sadness would do her little good now, the sadness of pitying the unknown dead. To feel every emotion that screamed in the midst of tragedy was to be overwhelmed, paralyzed with that pain and cacophony of thoughts. This she had learned from childhood, a lesson well-honed through practice; calm in the midst of chaos, a skill much needed in Eschenstadt and its harsh, unpredictable weather. A hard land that breeds a hard people, was the saying in her homeland, which some saw as a boast but which Cecilia had been taught by her parents was, instead, a lament. This land culls the weak, she heard when she was old enough to understand it. Nature is pitiless and only a clear mind will keep you safe when a storm descends, or the biting winds of winter try to devour you.


    And so she did not react to the sight of Sieglinde still weeping, barely able to compose herself as the newly-made Blossoms walked into her office. She was not alone, joined by two fellow magical girls Cecilia did not recognize. Briefly they introduced themselves; Henriette Valchenza, last remaining member of the Rose Council, a name Cecilia had occasionally heard but never seen in person - clearly this woman was a true believer, for not only were her earrings a pair of ruby roses, her headband adorned with crimson petals, the eyepatch she wore bore the mark of the Red Rose as well. She had a regal air about her, but Valchenza was a distinctly Crecenzan surname, and not one Cecilia recognized as high and noble.


    The other, a dark-skinned girl named Aissa Haidar, seemed to be not much older than the new inductees. Her eyes shied away from the girls who¡¯d just arrived, and she put herself behind Sieglinde, choosing to awkwardly inspect a book she carried rather than acknowledge the new Blossoms more than was strictly necessary.


    ¡°These are the girls you instructed?¡± Lady Valchenza asked, looking towards Sieglinde.


    ¡°I was a coordinator for their year¡¯s crop,¡± Sieglinde corrected, trying to discreetly wipe her tears. ¡°My part in their training was not so direct. I know them all, though. Well enough that you were the first inductees I wanted to meet.¡±


    ¡°What is it that you need us for?¡± Asked Erika Chantesse, whom Cecilia had always found somewhat arrogant, always attempting to take charge during combat drills, and now so eager to be privy to the Red Rose¡¯s plans.


    ¡°There is simply no easy way to put this,¡± Sieglinde began, ¡°but the Red Rose may not survive this. No one is ever prepared for the immediate eradication of almost all of the myriad parts of an organization that has grown throughout millennia, spreading roots all across the world.¡±


    ¡°Are¡­ Are you certain you should be sharing this with us?¡± Cecilia asked. ¡°We are no more than novices.¡±


    ¡°You are our future,¡± Henriette Valchenza said. ¡°We have no use for modesty and meekness currently. We cannot afford to create any distinction between us and you newly-Blossomed ladies. There simply are not enough survivors left to fill each and every position of authority in our Rose. It is true that in ordinary circumstances you would initially be assigned simpler duties before being granted greater responsibilities, and, with time, prestige. That is the natural course of events. Alas, everyone we knew is dead. Aissa, if you¡¯d be so kind.¡±


    ¡°O-Of course,¡± the girl spoke louder and more clearly than Cecilia had expected of someone so demure. ¡°We¡¯ve attempted to organize an accounting of the survivors. No point in tracking the dead when they so ruinously abound. We have companions investigating archives of our Tower and now-deserted offices, to find any important documents so that we can have a clear understanding of all positions that will require replacements.¡±


    ¡°We had a shadow council, wouldn¡¯t you believe it?¡± Henriette remarked casually. ¡°And the shadow council had a shadow council of its own. It seems many of our comrades busied themselves with conspiracies. As though we lacked for work to perform! Well, they are all dead now, and I¡¯ll do what I can to clean up the messes they left for us. Assassinations and coups and plots and secret projects¡­ What a headache. Still, some of our peers deserved to die, if that¡¯s any comfort.¡±


    ¡°Henriette,¡± Sieglinde reprimanded her. ¡°Don¡¯t say these things. Let us focus on what¡¯s of importance.¡±


    Cecilia nodded, just as her companions. She wondered if she was expected to comment on these matters. Despite Henriette¡¯s insistence, it was impossible for her to see herself as an equal. Chains of command existed for a reason, and entrusting the fate of the Rose to girls who up until one day ago still thought they had years to wait before being tasked with the simplest of official duties seemed like a dubious proposal.


    ¡°Is anyone here good with numbers?¡± Aissa asked. ¡°Any experience with accounting, such as a family business? Any valuable contacts, perhaps?¡±


    Some hands were raised. Cecilia recognized Ebriss Sanila and Loreana Neuscius, though she wouldn¡¯t have described them as business savvy so much as scions of fabulously wealthy families.


    ¡°Report to Marinor Mycroft,¡± said Henriette. ¡°She¡¯s the new head of the Office of the Treasury. Our operational costs have suddenly been¡­ Diminished, let us say, and our Rose had many thousands of years to accumulate wealth. Our coffers here are full, and we have some two hundred billion ryals stored in the headquarters of the Scarlet Erarium, and more throughout the world.¡±


    ¡°W-what exactly are to be our duties?¡± Loreana asked. Perhaps she should have thought of this question before raising her hand.


    ¡°Whatever Marinor asks of you,¡± Henriette shrugged. ¡°Sieglinde and I have agreed that all our Blossoms should return to the Tower of Rebirth, at least for the time being, and that entails bringing back all our treasures stored in our safehouses around the world.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t we be leaving the nations undefended?¡± Triella asked.


    ¡°They already are,¡± said Sieglinde. ¡°No one remains in all of Kesver, we¡¯ll probably have to abandon Tel Ubaitha, and half of Eslania simply is no longer under our wardenship. It¡¯s been a day, and already word is spreading regarding the scale of our loss. Most likely, we¡¯ll have to restrict our operations to some core territories as we rebuild.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°I believe that¡¯s a mistake,¡± said Erika, to Triella¡¯s agreement. ¡°We have forged bonds of fellowship with most of the world¡¯s nations, cultivated over centuries, or even longer. We should not abandon them. Even if it¡¯s just to show our presence, I don¡¯t think we should desert all of our branches.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Henriette seemed to actually take the opinions of these novices into account. ¡°I have considered your point, but when I weigh the possibilities, it seems wiser to strengthen our position here.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Stelmaria Cleirn raised her voice, emboldened by Erika¡¯s frankness. ¡°I hail from Loclain. It is only the Red Rose standing between my homeland and ruin. It was always my intention, after Efflorescence, to return to Loclain and fight off the daemon cultists there.¡±


    ¡°Loclain is close enough that we would maintain some activities there,¡± said Sieglinde. ¡°But as for the lands which are most remote-¡±


    ¡°They are not remote to us,¡± Prishia Haresi protested. ¡°Please reconsider. Biratgar, for instance, has managed to peacefully unify its rival kingdoms with the aid of the Red Rose. Without the Rose¡¯s authority, who knows what will happen?¡±


    ¡°I have to agree with her,¡± said Aissa. ¡°We all know that if we pull back our presence, it won¡¯t be Siodrune that will be left to fend for itself, but the other continents. There are Blossoms spread throughout the world, hailing from all nations. Please don¡¯t forget that. You would be tearing the Rose apart, and that would truly be our ruin.¡±


    Cecilia considered replying, saying that it had always been the nations of Siodrune that had given the Red Rose the most aid, but that would be an unfair assessment. Eschenstadt was but a month¡¯s journey by land from the neutral lands governed by the Rose, granted to the Blossoms long ago in gratitude for their protection of the world. The Rose meant to unite the world, and should not relinquish this promise.


    ¡°We have enemies, right?¡± Cecilia asked Henriette. ¡°More than we might even know. This is why you reached the conclusion that it¡¯d be best to abandon the lands we can¡¯t defend with our own diminished ranks.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she admitted. ¡°Not all in the world are fond of our wardenship. There are forces and interests which we never vanquished, only forced into hiding, so to speak. We are fond of believing that we have brought the world under our fold with diplomacy and our protection, but there are nations that might prefer to defend themselves from darkness. Artificers have been hard at work imagining new, more terrible weaponry, so there¡¯s fools who think our magic is no longer needed. Some such fools would kill us to be, as they see it, freed from the bondage of us magical girls.¡±


    ¡°Why do we let these girls dictate our destinies?¡± Sieglinde said, ruefully. ¡°Any Blossoms we leave in our foreign branches will be at risk. I¡­ I suppose you make good points that we should reconsider that decision. But you¡¯ll forgive us, I hope, for being afraid of losing even more of our comrades, our friends.¡±


    ¡°There are other positions to be filled, let¡¯s not forget,¡± Henriette waved a hand towards Aissa. ¡°If we are to continue defending your nations, we must first make sure the heart of our Rose is secured. That will necessitate that we take inventory and make certain that our many debtors won¡¯t brush us off thinking us weak, because right now we must hold on to all the influence we can possibly maintain. Before we decide how to spread our numbers¡­ Is anyone here good with machines?¡± Prishia offered herself, and Henriette wrote her name on the book held by Aissa. ¡°Wonderful. Every single Blossom in the Office of Artifice has died. You¡¯ll have all the keys to every laboratory, here and in the Academy, even the ones nobody was supposed to know about. Be a dear and make sure there¡¯s no machinery that might explode and kill us all, or contaminate us with fumes that will kill us all, if there¡¯s any machines designed to kill people or anything dangerous, for that matter.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll ask your fellow inductees as well, later,¡± said Sieglinde. ¡°Some of our new Blossoms showed astounding potential in lifecrafting, so we might task them with investigating the laboratories for any¡­ Abominations.¡±


    Dumbfounded, Cecilia could just stare. These were definitely things she should not be learning, things that were kept secret for a reason. To so bluntly learn that the Red Rose was involved in such underhanded affairs was a shock that, were it not for recent events, would likely have devastated her. Now, however, that was reduced to an afterthought.


    ¡°This will all return to haunt us,¡± said Cecilia, joining the others in sharing her thoughts. ¡°Eventually we will have to deal with it, but we¡¯ll be lucky if we make it there. First, then, we try not to let things fall apart too badly, yes?¡±


    ¡°Just so,¡± said Henriette. ¡°We¡¯ll keep all our Offices running and our departments operational. And think about recruiting with haste. It is likely that we won¡¯t be able to be as selective of new talents as we would have preferred, but without numbers we cannot even think of recovering. Naturally, the Academy should be our first choice, as surely some of the students there must show a modicum of promise. Then, well, there¡¯s millions of people in Cartasinde. If we can maintain good relations with the Empire, that would be of great use.¡±


    ¡°If?¡± Stelmaria tilted her head. ¡°Tesmaria and the Red Rose have always aided each other, growing together. Why should it be any different?¡±


    ¡°Because we no longer have the power to match the Empire,¡± Cecilia pointed out. ¡°Though we¡¯d rather look away from this truth, people can be ungrateful. Usually, in fact, they are. All too often, it is not gratitude that sprouts from those who are helped, but bitterness and shame. Pride is loath to ask for aid, humbled by the thought of being in someone¡¯s debt. This, I believe, may be a stronger argument in defense of not relinquishing our presence throughout the world. If we make an effort to display enduring strength, our enemies and allies alike may recoil from their plans of ridding themselves of us.¡±


    ¡°Our enemies are not like our allies,¡± said Triella. ¡°They are not fair-weather friends to abandon us, and you¡¯ll see that, in the end, all peoples will acknowledge how much the Red Rose has done for them, for everyone.¡±


    ¡°But their rulers might not,¡± Cecilia insisted. ¡°The powerful will want further power, always, and with our own waning, even our sworn allies will attempt to bolster their positions and their hold on their lands. They¡¯ll judge that to be only natural. If I¡¯m wrong, then that¡¯ll be wonderful for us. But it is wiser to be cautious, so if we will not retreat to our Tower to gather our strength and defend ourselves, then we¡¯d best have well-laid plans on how to go about maintaining our influence when only a fraction of our Rose remains.¡±


    ¡°And do you have any such plans?¡± Erika Chantesse questioned her, no doubt having notions of her own, with her in the leadership when possible, of course. ¡°The Great Nightmare was destroyed along with its servants, but the taint of darkness still lingers in the World-Wound, and there¡¯s no lack of crises that will intensify in our moment of weakness. There¡¯ll always be enemies to fight.¡±


    ¡°Loclain,¡± Stelmaria insisted on the matter. ¡°The realm is divided between lands under loyalist control and regions overrun by diabolists. It is reasonably close, so we wouldn¡¯t want to let enemies grow in power not far from us. It might be a good place to start, though I acknowledge my self-interest. Rectrix Nathaniella had already insinuated her intentions to send many new Blossoms to Loclain, certainly she¡¯d have mentioned that to you?¡± Sieglinde nodded in affirmation.


    ¡°That¡¯ll require preparations,¡± remarked Aissa. ¡°But the girl is right, we have to begin somewhere. Maintain a skeleton crew in our Tower, embassies and foreign headquarters, until we can replenish our ranks.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± said Sieglinde. ¡°There is promise in this plan, but we won¡¯t set out before we can at least fill all the most urgent positions. That¡¯ll give you time to gather all the details we need to execute this strategy.¡±


    ¡°M-Me?¡± Stelmaria was startled. ¡°I¡¯m no strategist, only a swordswoman¡­¡±


    ¡°You are a strategist now,¡± said Henriette. ¡°And a Blossom, beside. I needn¡¯t remind you of how precarious our situation is, how unprepared we are for this¡­ But if it¡¯s any comfort, it¡¯s not as if our Founders had their future paths traced before them when they took the chance to give life to our Rose.¡±


    It was no comfort at all, of course. Cecilia and the other girls had just found themselves dwarfed by the statues of the founders, each over a hundred meters tall, so how could new Blossoms compare? Perhaps one day the greatness of the Hall of Founders was meant to display how grand the Red Rose was, how opulent and wealthy it had become, how it was the greatest power in the world. Now it only made Cecilia feel far too small and meek for the responsibilities suddenly before them. Even Sieglinde and Henriette and the other surviving Blossoms did not seem to believe they could ever be enough to measure up to the many heroines of the Rose¡¯s gilded past.


    ¡°Cille,¡± While the other girls discussed possible roles they might be able to fill, Triella tugged at her sleeve, a bit too familiar for Cecilia¡¯s liking, but they were both Blossoms now, and would henceforth work together, so she ignored that. ¡°Did you mean what you said? About how all the people we¡¯ve helped might abandon us in our time of need?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± she said. ¡°It is the truth. I have seen it more times than I care to count. A common human flaw. Inevitable, unfortunately. Even men and women we would consider good may fall prey to this selfishness. It is natural to give priority to you and yours.¡±


    ¡°Should we really believe that?¡± Triella was more shaken by her words than Cecilia had expected. ¡°As Blossoms, I always thought we should have some amount of faith in humanity and the goodness within. It must be worth fighting for, right?¡±


    Cecilia said nothing. Triella didn¡¯t seem to actually want an answer, only to voice her fears. Cecilia couldn¡¯t blame her for that. She had fears of her own, but she could not shape them into words. Instead she only shrugged, knowing that it was not a matter of worth. We do not fight because our protection is a reward for integrity, she reflected. We fight because it is righteous, and that is what makes us different from the rest of the world.


    After all, if humanity was deserving of faith and of belief in its virtue, why would it need magical girls in the first place?

 Corpseflowers (Part Three)

    From childhood, Ise had heard so much about the Tower of Rebirth from her mother, from her aunts, from her sisters, that she naturally found her way through the deserted hallways as though she¡¯d walked these corridors many times before, knowing where she would find each stair leading up and up and up, so vivid were the images painted by her family in their tales, so thorough were the documents Ise had consulted since she was old enough to read, old enough to prepare for her destiny as a Blossom. She could find Kirari¡¯s office, the first door to the right on the eleventh floor of the Tower, right next to the archives of the Office of Arbitration. Ise had considered opening the door and walking inside - it had been left undisturbed in consideration for her, but passing by its nondescript door, Ise realized she wanted nothing to do with the ghosts inside. The memories she treasured of Kirari and all her sisters were always going to be with her, so inside she¡¯d find only pain.


    Nanase, too, had her own office here, but the remaining Ubamis of this generation had been soldiers instead. Nanase had only been a few years older than Ise herself, only just joined the Red Rose, but was reaped nonetheless. Her mother had not fought as a Blossom in many years, spending her days tending to the family garden in Enramoto, but she was gone too. Old women who had been Blossoms half a lifetime ago withered the same as girls who had only recently been granted the gift of Efflorescence. Withered. Ise rued that word. Even in death, they were yet flowers, their lives given to the world they so fiercely defended. They were my sisters, Ise thought as she ascended yet another flight of stairs, my mother, my cousins, my family¡­ Dead, all of them. That was the word that all the surviving Blossoms avoided. She saw it in Sieglinde¡¯s hollow eyes. She could not face it. None of them could, though it was the truth. They did not wither. They died. Their bodies were made ash, mist, emptiness. Nonetheless they are dead.


    Her legs did not ache in spite of the strenuous ascent and her lack of sleep. Perhaps it was Efflorescence that kept her from tiring, the power of the magic that was now a part of her. She recalled the words that Kasumi shared with her just before Ise began her training. Kasumi had been closest to Ise since they were children, and there was no one Ise would rather be with when leaving their home in Tawarasato to head to the Tower and its Academy. I can go days without sleeping, Kasumi told her. When I let my magic wash over me, I am cleansed of all exhaustion, all uncleanliness, all but the most severe of pains. She showed a small red line on her arm. A fang the size of my hand nearly cut my arm in half. Now it¡¯s only this scar. She did not sound happy about it. Ise had never understood it until now. Now that she was a Blossom, she didn¡¯t entirely feel like she was more than she had been before. In some ways she was, instead, less. Less human in all these small ways. Blossoms still died in combat, but their endurance and their ability to recover was uncanny indeed. A lost limb could not be regained, but a wound that would cripple an ordinary person for life would heal within months of proper rest.


    Life could not be regained either, she thought. Even the necromantic heresies practiced by diabolists or ancestral cults all throughout the world needed some physical remnant, and the lost Blossoms were less than dust now. Only memory.


    She avoided her fellow Blossoms when they crossed paths, looking away from their gazes, knowing she would find nothing meaningful in their eyes. All engaged in banal duties of trying to pick up pieces, these girls rushed to clear all offices and archives and storerooms of anything that might have a purpose, whether plans or information that could prove useful, buried beneath millennia of bookkeeping and recording. Though on the surface the Tower of Rebirth was already seemingly the greatest and oldest of all achievements, a treasure trove of history, there were also the several libraries and museums in the Academy campus, and - though she did not get into deeper detail - Nanase had told Ise that the roots of the Red Rose breached the depths of the earth, vast underground vaults which dwarfed the surface of the Tower. And then she became silent, an indication that she did not know much more of the subject.


    Nearing the zenith the corridors grew increasingly deserted, until, by the time Ise reached the highest floor of the Tower of Rebirth, she was alone. Here there were exceedingly few actual offices, only some watch posts and paths leading to balconies from which archery and magic could defend the Tower, as well as a small eyrie that was scarcely ever used. This area of the Tower was so out of the way that most never had any business here, and being assigned an office so high up was almost certainly a punishment. It was, thus, quite the surprise to find that she was not alone as she neared the silver doors at the end of the hallway and saw that, behind the dozens of heavy crates scattered just outside, a girl was resting, her back against the wall, head sat upon her own knees in a way that made her remarkably easy to miss, shrinking upon herself. Her grey dress and hair made her blend with the stones of the Tower, but she was more attentive than her appearance might suggest, as she raised her head to look up towards Ise as soon as she stepped in front of her.


    ¡°Ah, sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I-¡± She jumped to her feet, then evidently realized Ise was not the person she was expecting and which she so pitifully apologized to. The slight point at the end of her ears led Ise to wonder if that might be a hint of ielfen blood, a rare sight in the Red Rose. ¡°Are you another of Elanor¡¯s assistants? She didn¡¯t tell me about you, but, then again, she didn¡¯t tell me about most things.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Ise. ¡°You are¡­?¡±


    ¡°Apologies. Ingunn Birtisd¨®ttir of the crop of 1877. I did not expect anyone to seek the Lumenvasculum now of all times without being tasked by Lady Elanor.¡±


    ¡°I will take my leave if it¡¯s a poor time,¡± said Ise, who wanted to walk away simply because she hoped to be alone inside for some time. ¡°I merely wanted to¡­ To look inside. To see the machinery I heard so much about.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, don¡¯t worry,¡± said Ingunn. ¡°To tell you the truth, I¡¯m resting here merely because I just know Elanor would immediately have another demand of me, and I haven¡¯t slept in¡­ Well, I haven¡¯t slept since the last time Lady Elanor slept. Come, I¡¯ll guide you.¡±


    With no choice but to follow, Ise obeyed. For all that she wanted to turn back, it had been an awfully long ascent, and she, too, had something she wanted to avoid. She should still meet with Sieglinde, but she was not yet ready to deal with that. She knew that being ready to handle a crisis was a privilege that none ever had, but, even so, she just wanted a little time, this smallest of indulgences.


    Unbothered by Ise¡¯s silence, Ingunn had plenty to say. She had only just become a Blossom, too, but had served as Elanor¡¯s assistant for some weeks already, and had the eyebags to show for it. She¡¯d even taken the chance to give Ise a small chest to deliver to Elanor, while carrying a larger crate herself. Though it was a very small box, it was heavier than it seemed, filled with metal of some sort, a barely-noticeable ringing accompanying each footstep Ise took.


    Past the doors, a huge circular chamber with spiral stairs surrounding a central pillar which whirred and seemed to vaguely glow. What appeared to be stone from a distance was, on close inspection, a melding of various metals with faint blue veins underneath, the source of said glow, flowing downwards. This must be the apparatus which infuses the Chamber of Efflorescence with the magic that makes us Blossoms. Though at first Ise had seen the blue lines as veins, she soon found herself thinking that they reminded her of roots, actually, an image she supposed was more fitting.


    A brief ascent revealed the full height of the Lumenvasculum, once they reached the second story of the chamber; an array of mirrors and lenses was arranged far above the floor, a dizzying sight, as the clear blue skies were reflected countless times, and as Ise moved, the reflections shifted as well. Now she saw herself, and with her next step the mirrors appeared to tilt, to come closer: the image of the sun was multiplied, and it grew from a small dot of gold to a blinding sphere that forced Ise to look away. She kept her eyes from wandering, then, deciding it was safer to simply follow Ingunn. When she looked up again, she saw the sun replaced by other orbs, huge bright green eyes full of curiosity. Elanor, Ingunn whispered.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit difficult to locate yourself here, if you¡¯re unused to the ocularium,¡± Ingunn told her, and Ise questioned how one could possibly get used to this madness. In between the mirrors, she caught glimpses of crystals and desks full of notes, and when she looked up she saw the glass panels at the top of the Tower of Rebirth. Something seemed wrong, until she realized that, logically, there was no way the glass mosaic could be visible from the Chamber of Efflorescence, or the Hall of Founders. It was either some elaborate sort of glamor, or the Tower was one of the truly ancient structures whose architecture was so intertwined with old magics that it defied natural laws. Most curious indeed.


    She couldn¡¯t even dare to estimate how large this chamber might be, or how tall. The mirrors reflected one another, recreated images of the sky and its heavy clouds, and though Ise heard much about the wonders that could be created with mirrors and lenses, she was certain that there was deep magic beyond her understanding at play here, too. Depending on where she looked, the mirrors seemed to shrink the Lumenvasculum, its walls and glass reaching so close as to smother her, but at times they became so distant that Ise didn¡¯t know how she could possibly find her way out. Ingunn, however, made her way between the strange machinery with little difficulty. These were not ordinary metals or crystals, and the contents of the box she carried were more precious than Ingunn indicated.


    ¡°Two girls,¡± a voice called out from behind a mirror, startling Ise. ¡°A trick of the silver, a multiplication of your image, or two visitors?¡± Ise turned around to track the source of the voice, but nearly jumped back in shock at the sight of the woman before her, eyes almost aglow with a greedy curiosity, cyan hair messily braided. ¡°Ingunn, I recall telling you not to let anyone enter my study, lest they damage my mirror and lenses.¡± My study? That wording seemed almost offensive to Ise. ¡°Although I was half hoping that someone might try, one day, so that I might pluck out their little pesky eyes and see if maybe I could use them to study optics. It¡¯s been some time since I was last given eyes to play with,¡± with a quick step, she stood right in front of Ise, uncomfortably close. ¡°Your eyes are very pretty. A rare color, this shade of pink. Northern Tawarasato? There¡¯s other places with such colors, but you have features of that land, if you¡¯ll allow me to remark on that. Such eyes could work as crying crystals, with some work. If you ever feel like donating them, I would be thankful, and if you could do so within the next two weeks that would be very convenient, as I mean to chart another starfield and will have but a single evening to do so.¡±


    ¡°Elanor, this is¡­¡±


    ¡°Ise Ubami,¡± she said, more politely than this odd woman had been towards her.


    ¡°Ah. Forgive me,¡± she said, taking a step back. ¡°I suspect you are not in the mood for such jests. Of your sisters I knew only Kirari, so my condolences might ring hollow, but I remember her kindness well. And I would not even dare imagine the sorrow that is losing a sister, even one as rotten as mine¡­ It¡¯s a cruel world we live in, or, rather, cruel people we share it with.¡±


    ¡°Your sister?¡± Ingunn asked. ¡°Have you received news from her?¡±


    ¡°Did I not tell you? Well, it wasn¡¯t important to you. Layla is alive, yes. She contacted me through Farspeech. She¡¯s the last remaining Blossom stationed in Mirvholl. The only survivor.¡±


    ¡°Your¡­ sister¡­?¡± Ise struggled to process it, feebly repeating Ingunn¡¯s words like a fool. ¡°The two of you survived?¡±


    ¡°An unlikely coincidence, is it not? You¡¯ve never met Layla, eldest of the Hilssgar daughters, but if we were side-by-side you would have known at once that we are twins. What would you call that, proud scion of your honorable bloodline?¡±


    ¡°A miracle,¡± Ise said, but didn¡¯t believe it. A miracle should not bring about such bitterness as stewed within her. ¡°A sign.¡±


    ¡°Other twins have died,¡± said Elanor. ¡°I know of at least four pairs of Blossoms who are twins, and of course there are many more cases where one sister has joined our order and the other remains an outsider. The outsiders live, of course, but save for myself and Layla, all others are dead. Our bond, it seems, is not magical.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to feel about this,¡± Ise admitted. Once Elanor¡¯s words and eyes softened, she seemed more approachable, and though they were hardly the same, they both knew what it was like to love a sister. That alone made Ise willing to be more truthful with her than she would otherwise. ¡°My sisters were strong, as was my mother, everyone in my family¡­ It is not strength that spares the remaining Blossoms. So many who survived have no worth in life, and many are the honorable dead. If I were but a few years older and had already joined the Red Rose, would I have died as well, spared the pain of seeing everyone I know die?¡±


    ¡°If survival means something,¡± Elanor said softly, ¡°then so would death. If there is virtue in living, would that make the dead undeserving of breath and light and warmth? Whatever meaning you think to reach, the dead will be denied. That, my girl, is the pain of it. That we cannot call it cruel, that we cannot call it a miracle, that to the indifference of chance our words are nothing. Why, with all Blossoms culled, have I survived? I, one of the few who know how to operate the Lumenvasculum which births our new Blossoms? Does that mean something? Of course it does not. To be wounded in a manner so hostile to words and to explanations¡­ Such is our burden.¡±


    Ise said nothing. It was as Elanor explained; there was nothing to be said that had any worth. No condolences, no sympathies, no explanations. For a moment, her own bitterness felt foolish. But it was all she had to cling to, now. Princess Sayuri lived while all her family was gone. The memories were tainted, but her hatred remained pure.


    ¡°I came here to¡­ Well, now that I¡¯m here, I don¡¯t even know,¡± Ise admitted. ¡°Here is where it all happens, right? All of this¡­ Machinery, this magic, this is where it¡¯s combined to to¡­ To make us.¡±


    ¡°A gross oversimplification, but yes,¡± Elanor said. She had Ingunn take the chest from Ise¡¯s hands, and, straining and groaning, take both boxes to a corner of the chamber. ¡°I would love to study the history of the Lumenvasculum, but that would be the work of a lifetime, and first I still need to understand it perfectly. This, the Vessel of Light, the Stardrinker, the Light-made-Blood, is clearly too unwieldy to exist in this form without our Tower of Rebirth already existing, but records show that the Tower was not always this tall. Yet this structure is at the pinnacle. Out of curiosity, I performed some measurements in regards to altitude and pressure and the atmospheric conditions, and there are certain discrepancies between what I determined and what would be expected from a structure of similar height. Were there other, lesser Vessels in the past, to birth the first magical girls? Or did the first Blossoms create this means of eternalizing their legacy?¡±


    ¡°We have plenty of libraries,¡± Ise said, reflecting on how her own sisters would have been curious about this topic. She would have to try to remember to ask Elanor about Kirari - a thought which, she recognized, was the first time the memory of her lost sisters had brought her a feeling other than anger. ¡°Are there no answers there?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, countless answers, many of which contradict one another,¡± Elanor took Ise by the wrist, taking her towards a desk, waving a hand to dismiss all the mirrors and lenses, which retreated into the stone surfaces of the walls and floors. ¡°We have performed many studies throughout our history, but it is the nature of such pursuits that we cannot always reach consistent answers. This is a place of deep magic, bound to both stars and the bones of the earth, and such locations can be almost alien to our understanding. I understand your curiosity in coming here. When you don¡¯t really know what it¡¯s like, it has a strange allure, as though it¡¯s a place of great significance, a locus of destiny, where the meaning of our lives will be revealed to us. How comforting to imagine such a thing exists. But truth is never quite as illuminating as we¡¯d like. Put plainly, we¡¯ve a limited understanding of the magic of the stars, even though our knowledge could already fill a library. We channel this magic into ourselves, like a flower would with light. The enchantments upon the lenses collect light from the sun, the moon, the stars, all of which have the same fundamental power but in practice respond differently. When the time comes for Efflorescence, light is harvested day and night without pause, for a week. Then, the Vessel purifies it, crystallizes it, and uses that crystalline amalgamation as a lens to repeat the process. We do this three times, until the energies are ready to make us more than human. Putting it like that, it¡¯s so simple, is it not? These immaterial mysteries so simply made mundane, the way a metal would go through the refiner¡¯s crucible. And yet it is clearly so much more¡­¡±


    ¡°Starlight¡­¡± She looked up, to see only the afternoon sky. This light which was part of her now had been with her sisters, too, with her mother, her grandmother, all the same light tracing its way back to the very first Ubami. She wanted to reach for the sun and grasp it. She, too, wanted to be bathed in light, to drink deep of the moon and the pale, distant stars.


    With nothing left of her sisters, this was all that remained for her to hold on to. Her mother, her aunts, her niece, her cousins¡­ She wanted to believe it was into this that they withered, into light, into pure luminous memory.


    She wanted it to mean something. Even knowing that it did not, that it could not, she needed it to.

 Before the Veil of Sadness (Part One)

    In the middle of the night, beneath gentle drizzles, Marinor Mycroft was brought from her quarters to the Grand Master¡¯s Archivum to hear a dead woman speak.


    The nightmare I had was warmer than this life, she thought on her way through the dark, deserted corridors, all a blur to her still-weary eyes. She dreamt the world at its end, though in the usual manner of dreams the details departed her soon after waking, leaving behind only images and sensations. In the dream she knew she would soon die, the skies bleeding deep black, suddenly benighted, stars unlike those bequeathed to them by heaven. How she knew the end was to come, Marinor could not tell, but in dreams and in haunting the knowing was sufficient. Though it had been dreadful, she was not alone in that nightmare. Mannaig was with her, and Emeri, Cyrilda, Patricia¡­


    Now, surrounded by fellow Blossoms who had survived by mere chance, she was alone. All of us are alone now. It was a farce, pretending the Red Rose still lived, but Marinor had no choice but to play along, having given her life for her Rose, relinquishing her family and home for something greater.


    ¡°Are we all that remains?¡± She asked, counting the Blossoms by her side. There were not enough of them in the Grand Master¡¯s office for the room to be crowded. Less than twenty, though she could not bear to count in full, as though an exact number would make all the losses more real.


    ¡°In our Tower, yes,¡± said Princess Sayuri. ¡°A handful remain in the Academy, trying to accommodate for all the suddenly-vacant seats. Most of the staff, however, was comprised of outsiders, so things didn¡¯t go to hell like they did here.¡±


    ¡°We have managed to contact most of our embassies and outposts abroad,¡± Aissa showed a list of names. ¡°As would be expected by probability alone, two to three Blossoms have survived in most of our major territories, with some exceptions. Tawarasato is completely unguarded by our Rose, seeing as Princess Sayuri is safe here. But the Blossoms stationed there are all gone now. And Kesver had the good fortune of having six Blossoms survive, quite remarkable for a small territory.¡±


    Marinor did not see how anything could be considered good fortune now, but kept her words to herself. She noticed, then, that someone appeared to be missing.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t Dorthea be here?¡± She asked. The souring faces around her indicated that something was amiss.


    ¡°It was Dorthea that located this,¡± said Sieglinde, pointing to the gleaming green gemstone upon the Grand Master¡¯s desk. ¡°Mostly undamaged, though it was dropped fairly roughly when¡­ When Grand Master Yazhu died and let go of it.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not waste time skirting around the truth,¡± said Elanor. ¡°Dorthea Johansen tried to throw herself off a window after finding Yazhu¡¯s words crystallized here, interrupted by her untimely death. Faustyna just barely stopped her, and when prevented from ending her life, Dorthea began to-¡±


    ¡°To say some very concerning things,¡± said Faustyna. ¡°Unseemly things that no Blossom should say.¡±


    ¡°Tell me,¡± Marinor demanded. ¡°There is no point in hiding horrible truths now.¡±


    ¡°Beloved Dorthea proposed we make a bonfire of Cartasinde and die together in the flames,¡± Elanor shrugged. ¡°Unproductive and excessive, naturally. But grief drives people to madness, so it¡¯s regrettably not entirely unexpected.¡±


    ¡°She is locked in her quarters for her safety,¡± said Sieglinde, ¡°and the safety of others as well. Typically, if a Blossom were to sincerely propose attacking the Empire¡¯s capital for no reason but to kill millions of innocents before we perish, she would be put to trial and likely executed, but-¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t have our courts anymore,¡± Elanor remarked. ¡°The High Arbitratrix is dead, and so are all her underlings. Given the current circumstances, none of us were particularly willing to put down one of our kind.¡±


    ¡°Dorthea Johansen has served our Rose for ten years,¡± Henriette Valchenza finally spoke, more softly than Marinor expected. ¡°Grand Master Yazhu was her close friend, and everyone else she knew has also died. Despair leads us all to moments of weakness and leads us to turn our backs to our better selves. But we can always find ourselves again. So let us give Dorthea the chance.¡±


    ¡°And if she cannot find her way?¡± Aissa asked, to no response.


    Marinor stepped towards the Grand Master¡¯s desk. Documents were placed neatly over its surface, though that was more likely to be the doing of Henriette than Yazhu¡¯s. The dying had more urgent concerns than tidiness, Marinor expected. It was the gem, however, that was of importance here. An Orb of Proxy, it was a recently developed sort of magecraft, idealized by Academy researchers, utilizing the principles of Farspeech, but rather than requiring complex runic arrays to connect speakers between vast distances, the gemstone acted as a replacement for a listener, imprinting upon it the speaker¡¯s voice for later consultation. Were it not for the obscenely prohibitive cost of all the materials required, it might actually have practical use, but, for now, it was mainly a curiosity.


    A curiosity that better served a dying woman than bringing quill to paper would have. Henriette placed a delicate finger upon the Orb of Proxy, and, once all present assented, a spiral gesture intensified the light and called forth Yazhu¡¯s voice. Though the woman was completely gone, this last ghost remained.


    ¡°I¡¯ve little time, and will be brief. If a Blossom remains after this, I hope this message is found. Elsewise, all is lost. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll feel it, when it comes. I¡¯ve unlocked my archives and have left my keys on my desk, next to a journal I kept. Should you be an outsider, I urge you not to pursue the secrets there, but know you won¡¯t heed my words. If a Blossom, study my journal first, then the archives. The documents sitting upon the reading table closest to the door are ones I¡¯ve selected to be of importance. I also scrawled a list of possible successors. Given the circumstances, you might¡­ You might want to disregard my opinions. If a single Blossom remained to find this message, that¡¯ll be enough. That¡¯s all that shall matter. I pray you¡¯ll have secured the Lumenvasculum; if you haven¡¯t done that already, do so. Just¡­ There¡¯s no time,¡± her voice grew heavy with despair. ¡°No time. No time to explain everything. So many secrets and so many centuries of history¡­ Don¡¯t start over. You can¡¯t start over. The Tower is too important. It must not fall. Beyond the Veil,¡± her words came out with urgency, too urgent for Marinor to make any sense of them. ¡°Yes, look there, and the Wound, and I wonder if you can¡¯t get help from¡­ Ah, no, no¡­ I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ I don¡¯t know how to possibly tell you everything I have to. The crying¡­ I hear it, I hear all the voices, less than they were before. Please, please, someone has to survive¡­ Please, Dorthea, please live¡­ You have to live. After what you did to me, you of all people deserve to live in this doomed world. Heh, if it were only you, you alone of the Blossoms, living to watch everything die¡­ I wouldn¡¯t mind, no, you and that traitor Sylesia, Lenne, your whole coven of whores. If I¡¯d known-¡±


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    There was a lingering, painful silence after that. Then, the gem¡¯s lights faded, and its surface turned dim and cold. Marinor wondered who would have the courage to break this silence, but she shouldn¡¯t have been surprised that after some instants, Elanor offered her words:


    ¡°Yazhu would save her last breath for the sake of cursing someone, yes,¡± she said. ¡°Lucky her, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Better than she deserved,¡± silver-haired Milsanne Hyryssa spat out her words with scorn. Even now she still had the insufferable habit of always having a hand resting on her sword¡¯s pommel, an obsidian rose that Marinor always found tasteless. ¡°Still, she had the grace to leave behind some documents and her journal.¡±


    ¡°Not all,¡± said Henriette. ¡°I inspected everything. In the archive you¡¯ll find a brazier with distinctly recent ashes, and some yearly ledges are missing.¡±


    ¡°Unbelievable,¡± said Marinor. Tasked with the Treasury, she would have certainly appreciated comparing the forged ledgers found in her office with those the former Grand Master had chosen to replace. ¡°Why could she have possibly done that? To preserve her reputation? Did she think there was a chance she might survive? Wait, no, she would have disposed of them immediately if she considered it so important to destroy them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure our gracious Grand Master would have wanted the survivors to focus on more important things than in continuing an investigation into all those missing funds,¡± Milsanne¡¯s tone remained venomous. ¡°Pay no mind to where six hundred million ryals were diverted to, that is of no consequence. She would have burned that evidence before leaving her message to us, and that¡­ That is so petty it beggars belief. We wouldn¡¯t have the means to continue the investigation, and yet she felt it so important to maintain her lies¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, she was a piece of work,¡± said Elanor. ¡°I did not vote for her, I¡¯d like that to be recorded for posterity. Still, I suppose I understand why poor Dorthea tried to make herself fly. Your whole coven of whores, Yazhu said¡­ They were only doing their job, and Yazhu still blames them for uncovering her crimes? Very audacious of her.¡±


    ¡°They are all dead, save for Dorthea herself,¡± Sieglinde pointed out. ¡°I did not know Miss Johansen personally, and this whole affair happened mainly while I was absent¡­ I assume she was close to the Grand Master?¡±


    ¡°You could say that,¡± Henriette said. ¡°She was Yazhu¡¯s prot¨¦g¨¦e, or, rather, one of them. Curious, I would not have expected the Grand Master to have singled her out like that, as Dorthea was only one of several Blossoms to make their accusations public. Mayhaps they had history together, for Johansen to be so affected. Either way, the girl¡¯s homicidal tendencies were¡­ Unexpected, to put it lightly. Did she wrestle with demons unknown, or was it merely a matter of thinking that, as our Order is surely dead and the world doomed, we might as well go out in a spiral of death and destruction? I shall have to question her during a later occasion.¡±


    I wonder how incisive said questioning shall be, Marinor thought but had the good sense to keep her silence. Still, one woman¡¯s madness was hardly their greatest priority for the time being, so keeping Johansen restrained - and preferably sedated - was as much of a solution as they were likely to find now.


    ¡°What of her successors?¡± Marinor asked. ¡°Who in that list still lives?¡±


    ¡°Almost no one,¡± said Aissa. ¡°Were it not for Sieglinde¡¯s name being in this selection, I would have assumed that this is a list of cronies who helped her siphon our funds, but further questioning of those of us that remain showed that every single Blossom suggested for the position of interim Grand Master was, indeed, a honorable and commendable candidate. Too bad they¡¯re almost all dead.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless we will ignore her suggestions,¡± said Sieglinde. ¡°She did not have our Rose¡¯s best interests at heart, and a woman who was about to be ousted of her position does not rightfully have the authority to appoint an emergency substitute.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve no desire to lead?¡± Marinor asked.


    ¡°If I put my name forward and were elected by my peers, I would lead our Rose,¡± she responded. ¡°That is our way. But, right now, we do not need a Grand Master. Diminished and scattered as we are, I believe this would accumulate an excess of authority and power in a single person. Even the best intentions would reshape our Order in undesirable ways. Without a full Council and without a proper chain of command, that position would rule like a despot, unquestioned.¡±


    ¡°Very admirable,¡± said Henriette. ¡°Still, since you are not the Grand Master, you cannot declare that we shall have no Grand Master. This we too shall put to a vote.¡±


    ¡°Of course, let¡¯s hold a vote to see if we should hold a vote. Very tidy,¡± Elanor said. ¡°It¡¯s plain to see, to me, that we should simply continue to do what we have done thus far, picking up pieces as best as we can. Go wherever our skills are demanded. Because the truth is that we don¡¯t have the numbers to even begin discussing positions and offices beyond the barest minimum. We don¡¯t need a full Council and a Grand Master, we need to get things done, and all of us have to know what she needs to do. When the Founders were facing darkness, there was no one there to tell them what duties needed doing, no one to tell them they each needed a badge of office before doing what needed to be done.¡±


    ¡°Miss Hilssgar can speak sense, after all,¡± said Faustyna, her distaste unconcealed, ¡°when she is not uttering improprieties. I can tend to the eyrie. Let me choose two or three girls who have the aptitude for riding pegasi and we can expedite the retrieval of artifacts from deserted Rectories and outposts.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ll give me a day,¡± Marinor approached her, feeling somewhat intoxicated by her drive to act rather than keep on ruminating on past follies, ¡°I can provide you with a list of particularly important items to retrieve. And I could prepare writs to forgive certain debts in exchange for aid, with everyone¡¯s agreement.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that seems promising,¡± said Henriette. ¡°Though we may not like it, we might have to hasten our recruiting process, and I do believe that several of our partners might agree that relinquishing their debts for the small price of allowing us to select promising aspirants amidst the populace.¡±


    That was just what Marinor had in mind, which brought a smile to her lips. Cooperation between the Red Rose and the nations brought into its fold was a thornier subject than it appeared on the surface, and the Rose had learned over the ages that it was best to maintain a cordial and light-handed approach lest they gave rise to waves of mass hysteria as common folk began to fear that the Blossoms were coming to claim their children. In less enlightened parts of the world, even in supposedly civilized countries, fools still whispered of distant, fabled times when the Blossoms would steal away children to indoctrinate as their own. They say the same of the fae, but have never seen that reclusive folk. Opportunists always ignite these easily-molded minds into furors, all to undermine our authority and claim it for their own. It could be harder to convince people that the Blossoms only wanted to save them than to actually help them.


    We have always had to force the world to be better. That was their duty and privilege, even now. Marinor had promised never to forget that, when alongside Emeri she first saw the walls of Cartasinde in the horizon, when they pledged to return home to Loclain, that land always so immersed in troubles, always in need of saviors, always safeguarded by the Red Rose from demons and the fools who tried to bind them. Emeri had said something quite beautiful, at the time, a message Marinor would have wished to preserve for posterity¡­


    Odd, how she struggled to remember it now, how distant it suddenly was. She thought of Emeri by her side in their carriage, thought of her eyes, but the color slipped her mind. Was she smiling, then? Marinor was quite certain she was, but that smile existed now only as memory. Though there were still matters to attend to, she departed the office in a hurry, when Henriette meant to listen to Yazhu¡¯s words again. She could not think of her responsibilities right now, only the voices she could no longer hear, the memories of which she desperately clung to, though by now they were already fading.

 Before the Veil of Sadness (Part Two)

    When Triella felt the weight of the rapier on her hands, taking the measure of its balance and length, and she wondered whether she would prefer to pair the weapon with a shield or parrying dagger, it occurred to her that the rubies that formed the showy red rose that adorned the hilt were more valuable than the sum total of everything the populace of her hometown had accumulated throughout their entire lives.


    On second thought, she reflected as she placed the rapier back on the rack, right next to another work of art masquerading as a weapon, her hometown would not warrant a particularly impressive appraisal, given that it was mainly ash and dust now. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Triella felt like she should apologize for even holding something so priceless, or for directing her gaze towards it, or for being in the same room.


    ¡°Your eyes are the same as Loreana¡¯s when we first took inventory of the armory,¡± said Ebriss Sanilla, who two days ago had been a fellow initiate and peer in training and classes, and was now a quartermaster under Marinor Mycroft. ¡°I assume mine were the same, too. This is a treasury, not an arsenal, its arms and armors befitting imperial halls and opulent galleries. It feels almost a sin to chance such relics to damage and to loss, and one invariably wonders if fellow Blossoms have not, in the past, absconded with some of these artifacts.¡±


    ¡°Has that been a problem in the past?¡± Triella asked, though she hadn¡¯t even considered the possibility, in truth. It seemed to vile to even conceive such a thing, now of all times.


    ¡°Very rarely, but yes,¡± Ebriss admitted. Her eyes full of caution, she watched the other Blossoms as they inspected the myriad weapons and selected the ones that suited them best. No doubt Ebriss and Loreana wouldn¡¯t wish for something to go awry on the very first day of their duties. ¡°Usually, recently-inducted Blossoms would not be allowed access into the armory, but right now we¡¯ve graver concerns than a novice misplacing a timeless artifact imbued with priceless enchantments. Many of the Rose¡¯s most storied treasures were lost when¡­ Well, you understand,¡± Triella nodded. Everywhere, everyone still struggled to put the loss into words. ¡°There are heavy tomes dedicated to tracking each time a weapon is retrieved from the armory, and returned. Certain artifacts are magically tracked, as well. It appears the Office of the Treasury collaborated with the Office of Intelligence to recover any such lost objects.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t have an Office of Intelligence anymore,¡± Triella said, recalling something Sieglinde had mentioned.


    ¡°If you believe that,¡± a voice came from behind her, though Triella had heard no footsteps, ¡°then the Office continues to succeed in its operations,¡± clad in a deep, lovely purple that matched her vexingly long hair, she seemed a noble figure, though fidgety fingers and gentle eyes did not quite match the haughty tone with which she greeted Triella. It was a voice of feigned confidence, one that Triella knew well enough, all her life. ¡°Apologies. A jest, no more. Forgive my maladroitness, I did not know how to approach you, a stranger, but a countrywoman. Triella Amathiste, no?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yes, indeed,¡± Triella clumsily returned the blade she inspected to its rack, and focused her attention on this girl, while Ebriss directed hers towards the Blossoms gathered around Cecilia and Stelmaria, who were in the midst of sparring with one another while putting each available sword to the test.


    Triella was hardly the only Altengrien to join the Red Rose, and why this girl would feel compelled to seek her now of all times was something Triella could only guess. Still, she intended to help if she could.


    ¡°My name is Lun¨¦ciel Satheresia. You may call me Lune, or Ciel, or Theresia, or Luna-¡±


    ¡°How can I help you, Lune?¡± Triella interrupted, putting a smile on the girl¡¯s lips.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been called by a sobriquet before,¡± she said, before catching herself and concealing her grin. ¡°Well, that¡¯s hardly the point. I am one year younger than you, an inductee of this very year, so we¡¯ve not had much contact. Any contact, in truth. Nevertheless I wished to inform you that the Lady Henriette has appointed me to the Office of Intelligence, so I¡¯m attempting to project confidence and- I¡¯m digressing. My point is that I¡¯m seeking compatriots to lend me a little aid. Nothing disreputable, mind you; I¡¯ve no idea what sort of images an Office of Intelligence brings to mind, but I¡¯m not asking you to spy or anything of the sort.¡±


    ¡°You need a favor,¡± Triella concluded, hoping to politely urge Lune to state her point. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I can offer, but my life is the Rose¡¯s, so I¡¯m happy to serve.¡±


    ¡°Good. That¡¯s very, very good,¡± she said, sighing with something like relief. Then, her voice turned softer, almost a whisper. ¡°The orders have not yet been given, as there are still many preparations and decisions ahead, but our seniors have agreed that we must work to maintain our presence in our allied lands. It¡¯ll be the work of a lifetime to re-establish the bonds so laboriously forged over the years, but it must be done, and it falls on us to take these first steps. I don¡¯t know when you will set out, or when, but I have cause to expect that you will be part of the expedition to Loclain, under Lady Sieglinde.¡±


    ¡°L-Loclain?¡± It made sense, of course, but fortunate, in a way. Of course, the land itself was unfortunate, and its people, but Loclain was close enough, and it was the homeland of several of Triella¡¯s yearmates. She wondered if Stelmaria had already been informed of this. With the effort and dedication she put into sparring alongside Cecilia, Triella could only assume she had. ¡°Is it proper for you to mention that to me?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Even if the plans don¡¯t materialize, keeping it a close secret serves no purpose. If I ask you not to share it freely it¡¯s merely because these decisions are not set in stone, and plans are subject to change. Nevertheless, I ask you for help now rather than waiting for everything to be decided to brief you because I may have obligations outside the Tower in the near future.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­ Please, do go on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be brief,¡± she said, having until now not shown the slightest affinity for brevity. ¡°It would be tremendously irresponsible, sloppy and counterproductive to keep detailed accounts of all of our Rose¡¯s intelligence assets, lists of contacts and safehouses and such. Our Blossoms typically operated on a need-to-know basis, knowing better than to risk compromising allied agents and useful informants. And that was an acceptable way to operate before the vast majority of magical girls faded into dust and wind. We shall have to rebuild our networks, and endure the aftershocks as well as we can.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean that the Blossoms alone swear full loyalty to the Red Rose, not the assets used by my Office. The work of gathering intelligence is a complex one, and assets are led to cooperate by a myriad of manners, and equally varied are the ways in which they are controlled. Bribes and less-friendly coercion are typical, but there are always useful idiots as well as the rare enemy willing to turn cloak. We must keep our assets safe and uncompromised, and we are now utterly unable to. We are blinded, to put it plainly. Without our protection, many assets will be killed, others will change their allegiance once more, and many will try to sell any intel they might have on us to our enemies. That would be a lucrative business for them now that our weakness will embolden all our foes, and create many new ones. I would request you to do what you can to protect the ones I have managed to identify.¡±


    ¡°Only protect?¡± Triella expected there would be more to this. ¡°You must be aware that this is not my area of expertise. I don¡¯t believe myself to be a subtle person. Among the other Blossoms headed towards Loclain-¡±


    ¡°I am not asking you to manage any elaborate operations, or to sully your hands in any undue way. Only that you try to locate a selection of assets and offer them asylum, keep them from falling into enemy hands. Is that not what us Blossoms are tasked with? I will prepare a dossier for you with what information I could gather from archives and scattered notebooks. This is not to be the focus of your mission, so don¡¯t excessively endanger yourself or your peers on account of my request. And I only ask you to keep this as private as possible not because I¡¯m hiding anything but because secrets spread freely and beyond our control. I trust all of our bloom-sisters, but when the winds pick up words they can scatter quickly, and in a matter like this we can¡¯t afford to put our assets in such risk. They will doubt that we can keep them safe. The entire world will, no?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why it is so important that we prove otherwise¡­¡± Triella said, understanding. Lune nodded. ¡°I will do all I can, then. I hope it will be enough.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s sufficient,¡± Lune seemed about to reach out to Triella¡¯s hands, but held herself back from doing so. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to retain all of our assets, but we must at least make an effort. Thank you for your understanding; once it is determined what is to be your destination, I will contact you with more details.¡±


    With an overly-practiced curtsy, she bid Triella goodbye, to return to her selection of armaments. There should be no difficulty in this, no great delay. It was only a weapon, after all, and beneath its gilding and enchantments it was the steel that spoke most truthfully with its bite. Still, she was looking for something, for a distant memory. They were shining vines that sprung from the pommel, she told herself, trying to recall the weapon that her savior carried with her all those years ago. She found a falchion that appeared to match her recollection, but that couldn¡¯t be it. It was a larger sword that she carried, Triella thought, but sudden uncertainty made her freeze, a hint of cold burrowing into her chest as she doubted her own memories. How can I recall so little, when it was the most important moment of my life? Triella had hoped that the mere sight of the sword would rekindle the same feelings that burned in her heart that day, but it was only doubt that gripped her instead. In the end, she grabbed a rapier, which to her felt right, proper.


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    It was this blade, she told herself, trying to convince herself of a truth that no one could ever confirm nor deny. Yes, it had to be. A rapier is the most heroic of blades. This is what she would have chosen, my savior. A weapon that wounds so cleanly, unlike those brutish swords that dismember and hack off flesh in grotesque chunks.


    In truth, Triella held the sword somewhat clumsily, her huge, heavy gauntlets not perfectly suited for grasping a delicate sword. She had never earned praise from her instructors for her fencing skills, either, and her more proficient peers rarely asked to spar with her. She approached the training ring where Cecilia and Stelmaria made a spectacle of practice, their battle as much art as it was struggle. Though their blades had been, as a precaution, magically dulled, that didn¡¯t seem to matter as neither of the two fighters allowed a swing to connect.


    ¡°Ah, there you are,¡± Erika Chantesse called her from among the onlookers gathered to marvel at the swordswomen¡¯s dance. ¡°Our seniors are almost done with the rites of pallium, so it will be our turn soon.¡±


    ¡°I like your cape,¡± remarked Riza af-Ahrria, clad in flowing blue silks, quite unlike the heavily-armored Erika. ¡°Are these gauntlets bronze? They¡¯ve a beautiful color. I¡¯m not sure what to expect from the rites. Though I¡¯ve studied some of its theory, most of it is beyond my grasp.¡±


    Triella was uncertain, too. A Blossom could not always carry her weapons and dress herself in unwieldy armors, but nevertheless had to be prepared for conflict at any moment, so beneath her ordinary appearances she always bore her armor, needing only a thought and a gesture to conjure it onto her body in an instant. Transformation, unveiling, cloak-shedding, all these and more terms were used interchangeably, though to Triella they each seemed to imply a different meaning. Some of us, Sieglinde had taught her once, see our lives as Blossoms as extensions of the lives we had until Efflorescence. Some of us see borderlines between those lives. Whether both of these selves are true, whether we mantle a different life, more heroic, more magical, and whether or not that magic is truer than our ordinary selves¡­ That is for each Blossom to determine. Whether the cloak we wear is that of our daily lives, or that of our duties, or if there is no veil at all¡­ You¡¯ll come to realize that in time, as we all do.


    Transformation was to Triella¡¯s liking above all else. She could never let go of her past, but, fighting as a Blossom, she could become more than it, more than the frightened girl shrinking away from the shadows, more than the lonely soul so distant from everything and everyone. She grasped the rapier more firmly than before. It felt right, indeed. Though they were flowers that bloomed in tragedy and dire times, it was only that darkness that granted them light to rival the stars. It was only in the dark that one could be remade, a rising sun, only in the smoldering flames could one be reborn.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not seen Ise all day,¡± Triella remarked. She wished to apologize to the girl, though in truth she didn¡¯t know what good that would do, and hoped that her honest feelings would be enough to ease the tension. ¡°Is she absent?¡±


    ¡°She performed her rites with Elanor and Ingunn in private,¡± Riza explained. ¡°It seems the Lady Henriette had business at the capital and request Ise to accompany her, as well as Princess Sayuri.¡±


    ¡°Sayuri told me that they¡¯d meet with His Radiance the Basileus,¡± said Erika. Triella wondered if the reason Erika eschewed Princess Sayuri¡¯s regal honors was that she truly saw her as a bloom-sister or if she took the royalty of distant Tawarasato less seriously than she did the House of Rosavor. ¡°If I were to guess, it would be to remind him that it is our Rose which has enthroned his dynasty, and that our moment of weakness is not to be taken as an opportunity to push his family¡¯s ambitions.¡±


    ¡°Their ambitions?¡± Triella asked. Erika spoke with confidence, as though privy to the manners of kings and archons and emperors.


    ¡°There has never lived a powerful man who does not hunger for more power,¡± Erika explained. ¡°Even a Basileus - or Basilissa - will always find new horizons to crave, new riches to strive for, new pleasures to indulge in. I wonder what leverage Henriette intends to wield to pressure someone so mighty and to quell such ambitions.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully this does not become another problem for us,¡± said Triella, though she couldn¡¯t quite guess what sort of advantage Basileus Johannes might try to extract from the Red Rose. ¡°Troubles come in legions, old folk in Altengrie would say. We¡¯ll have to trust Henriette to preserve our stability.¡±


    ¡°I have faith in her,¡± Riza remarked. ¡°We are fortunate that the sole survivor of the Rose Council is such a deft diplomat. We owe our peace in Najmail to her intervention.¡±


    Riza spoke with enough confidence that Triella chose to agree with her. It was true that Henriette carried herself with admirable composure considering the horrible circumstances, able to keep her cool when everyone else seemed to reel in the chaos. Someone has to know how to act. Someone has to be able to tell us what to do¡­


    After the sparring died down and the Blossoms who were still undecided on their equipment returned to their selection, Triella found herself by Cecilia¡¯s side, who appeared only slightly spent by her training. She makes it look so effortless, Triella thought, with only a little bit of envy tainting her admiration. Cecilia looked so beautiful, as always, skin so soft and unblemished, her hair braided once again, as though her imperfect appearance during Efflorescence, during mourning, would never be repeated again. She had a way of making Triella feel ashamed of something she couldn¡¯t even put into words. Most shameful of all was how Cecilia had always been nothing but kind to her, words spoken in tones so serene that Triella couldn¡¯t imagine Cecilia ever screaming, or even merely raising her voice.


    ¡°You seem full of certainty, too,¡± Cecilia remarked, almost always the one to initiate conversation. ¡°About what¡¯s to blossom from our chrysalides, I mean. A seed, a chrysalis, a crucible. You understand what I mean?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± said Triella. ¡°I understood after reflecting on why, exactly, this is called the Tower of Rebirth. From youth I knew what I dreamt of becoming, so these matters are just a trifle¡­ I thought myself undecided about the blade I would choose, but that seems foolish to me now. I was never in doubt. In my earliest recollections I could always close my eyes and see me as I am now. This,¡± she extended her arms, clenching her gauntleted fingers, her body clad in as much metal as silk. ¡°In a way, this is our skin, our flesh. I learned to paint solely so I could put into canvas what existed in my mind.¡±


    ¡°I wish to see,¡± Cecilia said, smiling. ¡°If only I knew before that you were an artist as well, I would have loved to see your works,¡± Triella couldn¡¯t hide her flushed cheeks, to Cecilia¡¯s understated satisfaction. Even the way she smiled was graceful. Triella, of course, already knew that Cecilia dabbled in the arts as well, but a sophisticate like her would probably find Triella droll if she tried to converse about such topics. ¡°Look,¡± she spun in place, frills of white and blue whirling gently before settling down. ¡°Lady Dorthea Johansen was helping me with it, before¡­ Everything. I hope she recovers soon, so I can show her, thank her. Couture is a passion of hers, it turned out.¡±


    ¡°She does look almost like a doll,¡± Triella remarked, and though she¡¯d only seen Dorthea a few times, and always surrounded by fellow Blossoms, she was quite striking, brown hair swaying as she moved, so long as to almost reach her ankles. And she was born a commoner, too¡­ ¡°Is the fabric spellwoven?¡± Cecilia nodded. ¡°I figured.¡±


    ¡°Lady Dorthea¡¯s doing, of course,¡± said Cecilia. ¡°That magic is beyond me. I told her there was no great hurry in making my armor-dress, as there were yet years before I was to become a Blossom. She simply claimed she enjoyed the work. She found it put her mind at ease.¡±


    I wish I¡¯d known, Triella thought, wish I¡¯d asked her for help, rather than spend months saving what little money I could muster to pay that haughty seamstress in Cartasinde¡­


    ¡°I suppose the others will have to make do with spare armor and vestments,¡± said Triella. ¡°I almost feel vain, merely for thinking about these matters when so many of our fellow Blossoms have perished¡­ But you understand, don¡¯t you? How much it means to us, to do things this way, just how-¡±


    ¡°-how we have always dreamed of,¡± Cecilia¡¯s words were the same as Triella¡¯s. ¡°When I was little, my parents would speak of my wedding dress, as though that was to be the manifestation of my wishes, so certain were they that I was happy to be betrothed at such a young age. You don¡¯t have that practice in Altengrie, do you?¡±


    ¡°Some nobles cling to that tradition,¡± said Triella. ¡°But most people can choose their love. As much as such a thing can be chosen, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I knew you understood. Choice brought us here, the way we grasped our own desires and ambitions. That is the most important thing, is it not? I always wanted to speak more with you, these past two years. I regret my reluctance. But we are Blossoms now, and shall work together, so I wished to tell you that. Forgive my presumption, but you always seemed so certain to me, whenever I saw you,¡± Triella tried to hold back laughter, but failed.


    ¡°Apologies. Surely you can¡¯t mean me.¡±


    ¡°I do. What I said before, about the chrysalis, the crucible, your understanding of rebirth¡­ Many of our peers did not need to be here, you see. I¡¯m not saying they don¡¯t deserve it; they are talented girls, all hard-working, all admirable. But princesses could have another life. Noble ladies have left a life behind that they can yet return to. They are not like the first Blossoms we look up to with such awe, who had to fight for the world, as no one else would or could. You may not see this confidence in yourself, but I do. There is nothing else you would like to be in this life. For those as you and I, there was no choice but the chrysalis. I won¡¯t ask you to tell me why you feel so strongly about this dream, not until you¡¯re comfortable, but that is the certainty I saw in you. Like me, there was nothing else you would ever become. Such larvae will always emerge winged and colorful, beautiful butterflies. At least I think it¡¯s a beautiful thing.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± said Triella. Behind them, the Blossoms had begun to disperse, ready to make their way to the rites of pallium, to don these new skins of silk and steel and sorcery. ¡°I¡¯m glad you chose to talk to me.¡±


    ¡°We are friends, are we not?¡± Cecilia asked, with a hint of vulnerability behind her gaze. ¡°Even if we did not know it yet.¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± said Triella, smiling. ¡°Of course we are. The two of us are Blossoms, after all.¡±

 Before the Veil of Sadness (Part Three)

    An anxious hand gripped tightly the pommel of the sword, even now more comfortable in strife than at peace. How many generations would one have to look back in order to find someone who called Loclain home but did not know war throughout one¡¯s life? Stelmaria was touched by it from birth, her father buried in a mass grave at a hallow¡¯s field, to safeguard the eternal rest of those who died feltouched, playthings of diabolists. Some pox took her mother, or so she was told. There was no way to know. This blade I must take to Loclain, she thought with urgency, wishing to rush towards her homeland just as she had wished after her Efflorescence.


    She restrained her impatience once again, knowing that alone she would not suffice even to replenish the losses the Rose suffered there. If she could, she would have petitioned every single Blossom with a modicum of authority to back her intentions for Loclain, but Stelmaria Cleirn was hardly the only girl afeared and thinking about home. They all had something - someone - they wished to protect. Why else would they have come this far?


    Eagerly waiting, Stelmaria found herself by Cecilia¡¯s side again, on the far side of the armory and closer to the ritual chambers. With so many initiates gathered here, it almost made her forget the earlier sight of the Tower deserted, a place of empty spaces and haunted by the traces of all the life that was suddenly snuffed-out. There ought to be thousands of Blossoms here, coordinating the complex operations and affairs of the Red Rose, as it had always been. Though every Blossom was a soldier in her own way, it was not only in the field of battle that they waged war, nor only against abyssal incursions and forces of darkness. All these armaments made available to them did not emerge from nothing, but were the work of the Rose¡¯s own artificers. When she grasped her sword, Stelmaria thought she could feel the weight of centuries upon it. How much effort had been put in its make, how much mastery? Ordinary steel did not properly imbibe the complex enchantments woven by the rune-rister¡¯s craft, so even the metal was the product of an elaborate, toilsome process. It was an odd sensation, that of bearing an item of such power.


    Even if, in the end, it is a sword, and all swords serve the same singular purpose.


    Soon enough, they were summoned to one of the Tower¡¯s many chambers of runic resonance, where more complex spells were woven, an intricate ritual formed by the arrangement of lines aglow all along the pure white floor. Stelmaria made certain that she¡¯d be one of the first to arrive, while many of her peers lingered in the armory, still undecided over their arms and armor, their reborn, blossomed selves. But Stelmaria was already a soldier, a warrior long before starlight made its way into her soul, binding her to ancestral magics both above and below, star-patterns and leylines united in their sacred covenant that birthed a magical girl. Most Blossoms had seen their fair share of danger, for darkness lurked everywhere in the world, but Loclain was direr still, assailed by cultists seeking to purchase in blood the favor of demons. Though all the heresies were condemned by the Red Rose, demon worship was an ancestral scourge deserving only of death.


    She tightened her grip on the sword, just once, before letting go.


    ¡°Come in, come in,¡± urged Margalit Zariesh, on her knees reinforcing the runes inscribed on the floor, deft fingers filling all the frayed spots with the drops of a golden, luminous substance and mending the glyphs back to perfection. Vita Lucis, perhaps? These magical essences usually were studied only during the last year of a Blossom¡¯s instruction, so Stelmaria couldn¡¯t recognize these glyphics, or tell them apart. ¡°I shall be finished with the preparations in a moment, so please wait.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you to your positions,¡± a dainty girl extended her hand, her voice bereft of warmth and eyes that avoided the Blossoms before her. When questioned by Triella of her identity, she responded in a voice that was little more than a whisper, ¡°I¡¯m Professor Almicar. Your Ruby Blossom requested I lend my assistance in preparing your rites of pallium. Each of you, stand on a spot like this, if you please.¡±


    She guided them to a set of a dozen identical glyphs, and Stelmaria stood upon the center of the circle. The inscriptions were far too small for Stelmaria to make sense of the runic incantations, and the sigils seemed infinitely elaborate, splitting, spiraling and growing in complexity the smaller they became, coiling around themselves in golden lines glowing softly, so softly.


    ¡°The spells will require only a minute,¡± she explained. ¡°While Margalit channels the energies through the runic circuit, please keep your movement to a minimum to ensure stability. Do not leave your circle until instructed.¡±


    ¡°What happens if we leave the circle?¡± Erika Chantesse asked. Stelmaria almost didn¡¯t recognize her in this armor. ¡°I ask purely out of curiosity.¡±


    ¡°Your pallium may become malformed,¡± Professor Almicar said calmly. ¡°When you transform, your armor might lack some pieces, or its steel might be unusually brittle. Your chosen pallium might meld with your clothing underneath. If luck disfavors you, the fabric or metal could fuse with your flesh. Separation would be quite painful.¡±


    ¡°How does the process work?¡± Cecilia asked. ¡°We have not finished our magical studies at the Academy, so these advanced sorceries are beyond our grasp,¡± though she said this, Stelmaria had a suspicion that Cecilia might have tried to study glyphics on her own, as the girl always studied all topics in advance, as if insisting on, every time, being able to show others how much she already knew.


    ¡°I am aware of your circumstances. It is not possible to reduce a complex topic to simple terms, so I cannot give you a perfect explanation, but these complex runic patterns are fashioned so as to emulate the language of creation and the hidden forces beneath our perception, allowing us to rewrite some such laws. Reality settles into defined, stable forms, and through magic we attempt to revert it to a more malleable state. Think of writing on a page, its ink dry. To a limited degree, magic reshapes the laws writ in that ink. Glyphics simply allow us a greater level of complexity in such rites.¡±


    ¡°They seem exceedingly complex indeed,¡± Stelmaria remarked. It hurt her head to try and follow the lines and their patterns.


    ¡°By that principle, you can recognize the mundane as a realm of thresholds and of dualities. Is, is-not. As Blossoms, that is pertinent to you. A seed can sprout into a flower, but the flower shan¡¯t return to that seed. Yet you cross the boundary between the human and the magical, able to shift between them as needed. Transformation. Pallium is an extension of those notions. The armor you have clad yourselves in is you. In transforming, a magical girl does not do something as crude as conjuring her armaments from a hidden dimension, but she reveals and manifests the unseen, the is-not, not ¡°pulling¡± it from elsewhere but converting it into is.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°So it is always with us?¡± Triella asked, right as Margalit finished her work and rose to her feet.


    ¡°A flawed, improper description. It is not with you because it is not. But it can be, and thus it becomes in contradiction of reality¡¯s antipodal decrees. The runes rewrite this law, that a thing inhabits either the category of extant or nihil. When dealing with such abstractions of reality, we rely upon the abstraction of language to interact with such forces. But as you can surely discern, such rites impose their own limitations. Your Tower was constructed upon ground which is favorable for weaving of deep magics, but even so these complex glyphics lack the ease of less restrained spells.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± said Erika, who did not seem to understand it at all. ¡°How very¡­ Strange, and most curious.¡±


    ¡°Such is magic,¡± said Margalit, standing before the new Blossoms. ¡°Heh, most of the others who went through the rites of pallium weren¡¯t half as curious as you girls. I don¡¯t know what to expect from the near future, but should any of you wish to further your magical studies, please reach out to me. Your remaining education will have to be more practical than expected, but we¡¯ll need new talent to continue our proper operations. I¡¯d rather not imagine what could happen if all the myriad spells within the Tower were left unmaintained for long.¡±


    ¡°That will not come to pass,¡± Cecilia said with such certainty that Stelmaria almost believed she had reason to be so confident. ¡°Our foresisters mended the world long ago in lesser numbers and without our Tower and assets. Let their example inspire us and drive us ever forward.¡±


    ¡°Well said, well said,¡± Margalit covered her smile with a hand. ¡°All is ready, so we may begin. Has Professor Almicar explained to you that you are to stand as still as possible, taking soft, slow breaths?¡± The Blossoms nodded, to Margalit¡¯s satisfaction. Stelmaria took one last lengthy breath as the woman stood before them, and Almicar turned her back to look elsewhere, uninterested in the girls before her.


    Margalit¡¯s staff touched the floor, a deep red light blooming from the blood diamond and making its way down the twisted white wood of the staff, painting it with its colors before the line reached the runes at Margalit¡¯s feet and illuminated them, rendering the chamber aglow in pale scarlets. Quickly, far too suddenly, the runic circles were all alight, afire, alive, and kept on burning brighter, revealing glyphics along the walls, lines that reached the ceilings and coiled down the pillars of white now suddenly reddened. Stelmaria did not move, nor did she breathe, nor did she blink or look away. She could not tell how much time had passed, nor how much time it would take, and Margalit before her remained so perfectly still, the blue and white fabrics of her dress frozen in the midst of their sway, those colors unblemished by the reds shining everywhere, made all the more vivid by contrast.


    The lights died down all at once, no trace left behind of their gleam, the red seeping back into that great diamond, the whole chamber made a perfect white again. Stelmaria felt nothing, no magic, no warmth or touch within. And yet she was changed, she could tell that much, the same as she could tell after her Efflorescence. With a thought, her blade concealed itself, then the silk-made-steel of her rosen regalia. When they faded, she could not see a hint of magic, of light or mist, but when the other Blossoms with her recalled their trappings then transformed them again, they were, for a brief moment, cocooned in lights so bright they were the purest colors imaginable, yet they did no harm upon her eyes. She opened and closed her fist, and though the pommel of her blade was no longer there, she felt the same comfort she did whenever she held it.


    Born in armor, blade in hands, beneath bleeding star and the sign of the Sword. The lullabies of Loclain were thought grim in other lands, but they¡¯d always been a comfort to Stelmaria. Far gone were the years when the glint of starsigns would decree one¡¯s fate, but for a warrior the Sword was an auspicious sign nonetheless. She wanted it to be, at least.


    ¡°How much time has passed?¡± Asked Triella. Each of the girls nearby had a different answer. A second, a minute, a single lingering breath. Margalit consulted her pocket watch, giving the glass a gentle tap with a manicured fingernail.


    ¡°Some ten minutes, it would appear,¡± she said, with little certainty. It could not be true, as certainly Stelmaria could not hold her breath for so long. Her peers expressed doubts among themselves, too. ¡°Discrepancies in one¡¯s perception of time are inevitable when meddling with fundamentals of reality. Rest assured that it is only perception which has been altered. This chamber is perfectly isolated from any leylines or starpaths, so time has not been affected at all.¡±


    ¡°Has this been a problem in the past?¡± Cecilia questioned. Margalit awkwardly looked away to avoid answering.


    ¡°Let us not dally here,¡± Erika called on her fellow Blossoms to leave, just as soon as Margalit turned to inspect the tears upon the runes, preparing for necessary repairs. ¡°We should not keep our sisters waiting needlessly.¡±


    That was true enough. Their curiosity could scarcely be sated, and any explanation was sure to be beyond their understanding. Understanding, too, was a generous word, as the truth was that while it was possible to discern cause and consequence and learn how to produce specific results, explaining precisely how magic operated was regarded as a fool¡¯s errand, as though trying to describe each note of a symphony in words. They were different languages entirely.


    Stelmaria noticed then that her fist was clenched again. I understand the blade¡¯s language well enough, she thought. This was no different from metal being put to the test by fire and hammer, molded and beaten into shape. She thought of her earliest days, before even the most distant memories she still held on to; a child given to the Rose after the passing of her parents, relinquished to an orphanage helmed by Blossoms of Loclain. It mattered not to her what the truth might be. She might as well have been born there, on a bed of flowers, amidst petals scattered everywhere. The governess she knew as a child was a Blossom, she recalled, and almost certainly dead now. Miss Ardialle, always generous with treats but rarely with time and affection. The other ladies at the orphanage would surely suffice in keeping its doors open and the children fed, but Stelmaria recalled only a few of them, and even those memories now seemed to belong to another girl she scarcely recognized, bright-eyed chanteuse that she had been, before she learned her true calling was the blade.


    A past to feed the worms, she thought. Dead with her parents, with her governess, her lost prince, her demon-haunted home. Briefly she unsheathed her sword, fed it drops of her own blood, her index finger ascertaining its sharpness, promising it more exquisite blood in the future. A weapon forged by the Rose, wielded by a weapon forged by the Rose.


    Her homeland beckoned, and there she would find rivers of red to spill.

 Before the Veil of Sadness (Part Four)

    A thousand years built Cartasinde, a thousand more grew it into the sprawl it was today, and a mere two hundred made it empire. Nearing the palace, the streets turned marbled, the buildings on the sides grander in their gildings, and lords and ladies were everywhere, each trailed by an entourage whose numbers betrayed which of them were princes, dukes and margraves, and which were merely thegns or baronets. Everywhere, the red banner of the Imperial House of Rosavor and their gold-crowned roses. One could almost believe that they endured millennia standing loyally along the Rose, but Ise read her histories well enough to know that her own bloodline preceded the Imperial Rose by thousands of years. This proud Basileus was no more than a footnote to the Ruby Blossom.


    Sitting opposite to her in their stagecoach, Henriette Valchenza paid little attention to the city outside their windows, instead writing careful notes on a little black book. She kept track of debts and favors called, and every few minutes the coach would stop for her to briefly visit some noble of significance, always returning with a full purse which she handed to Princess Hiramatsu by her side.


    ¡°Are there yet many stops before the imperial palace?¡± The princess asked Henriette. ¡°I did not know our Rose was owed so many outstanding debts.¡±


    ¡°These are merely the ones paid in gold and ryals, contracts and letters of credit,¡± she said. ¡°The ones we can most safely enforce. Word has already reached the city, of course, how could it not? And far beyond, too, as no nation was untouched by the loss we suffered. We cannot ascertain the extent to which the world knows of our tribulations, but for the time being our frailty is not yet fully revealed. Give it a month, and half of our allies will have delusions of defiance. Disloyalty will follow, so until then, we must strengthen our position.¡±


    ¡°That they would be so ungrateful and petty as to see our loss as a mere convenience to their own plots, that they would relinquish their duties for finding us toothless¡­¡± Ise felt no need to conceal her fury. To think of these fat pampered nobles and richlings whose wealth and safety was built atop the bones of her sisters and her mothers¡­ She turned wroth eyes towards Sayuri. No Hiramatsu had ever been throned until they bound their fortunes to Rosavor.


    ¡°Our hour of darkness will reveal resentments long-hidden, I fear,¡± said Henriette. ¡°I¡¯ve known many who longed to free themselves of what they thought was the yoke of the Blossoms, our thorns keeping them in our bindings. Many who think that their centuries of peace are owed to their Basileus and his shroud of gold. Our triumphs have cost us dearly, in a way. For much of the world, the fell horrors we fought were distant rumors and whispers. Why then should they be feared? The half-witted see their safety and prosperity and think it a natural state of affairs, rather than something paid for in blood. Our blood,¡± she sighed. ¡°Such is the folly of man. Mayhaps we shan¡¯t need the Blossoms, for when have you last seen the corruption of demons and dark magics? And should darkness fall, their armies will suffice, their burgeoning industries and sciences. They think us artifacts of the past.¡±


    ¡°But our loss was for their salvation,¡± said Sayuri. As she spoke, the coach halted briefly, to make way for a passing prince of Graufor. ¡°All life would have been extinguished if not for the sacrifice at the World-Wound¡­¡±


    ¡°So it is,¡± she said, turning to the princess. ¡°Still, it will mean nothing to them. They can believe it our lie, or simply give it no importance. Have you ever known anyone to turn aside the prospect of growing their own power or wealth, or their freedom? ¡®Tis human nature. We cannot change it. Good or ill, it is what we dedicate our lives to defend. We must take the needed precautions to maintain our strength as best we can, so that the world won¡¯t suffer for its ignorance and short-sightedness.¡±


    Hatred washed over Ise, and, an instant later, shame. It was not for acknowledgment that the Blossoms fought, but simply because someone must. It was not theirs to judge the peoples under their protection, but, given the powers they were entrusted, they were to fight the evils that none could. Kasumi, Nanase, Kirari, Haruna¡­ It was for something greater that her sisters fought and died for, so Ise knew she should not dishonor their memory.


    ¡°What sort of reception should we expect from the Basileus?¡± Ise asked of Henriette. She had little love for the House of Rosavor and of the changes their dominion had brought to Tawarasato, but for the sake of the Rose she was willing to stifle her opinions.


    ¡°It is the wont of men in high stations to reach ever higher,¡± she said, adjusting the bright red blossoms along her headband. Ise would have presumed that the crimson rose on her eyepatch would be a sufficient statement of loyalty, but perhaps not. Henriette clad herself in enough roses to suffice the whole Rose Council which she now survived. ¡°The Red Rose has long outlasted the cycle of empires and nobility, so the ascension of Rosavor two centuries ago mattered little to the Rose¡¯s long-term plans. True, the imperial lineage has had quite the appetite for expanding its grasp and influence, gathering so many nations under the shroud of empire, but that was not contrary to our Blossom¡¯s will. Now Basileus Johannes may think himself and his brood to have outgrown our covenant. He is not a dishonorable man, I¡¯ll grant him that, but he is uninspiring, unremarkable, ordinary save for the power he was born into. He is an easy enough man to befriend.¡±


    ¡°So I presume it is his children which worry you,¡± said Sayuri. ¡°And his siblings. And his nephews and nieces¡­¡±


    ¡°I will put it plainly,¡± Henriette sighed, ¡°seeing the litters of white-haired pups that spring forth from their beds, I would be tempted to believe the Basileus intends to raise an army from his kin. Alas, it is too late for the Empire to adopt the ancient tradition of certain Ubaithan breeds of putting their surplus scions to the sword. Johannes has been generous to his kin, perhaps too generous. Each one feels entitled to lands and reigns and privileges, and they have felt free to cultivate their ambitions. I mistrust Prince Baldwin, as he has the characteristic greed of a second son who feels the call of conquest to leave his brother¡¯s shadow. He is no friend of the Rose, or of anyone who would hinder his ambitions.¡±


    ¡°Is it true that Princess Ingrid dabbles in diabolism?¡± Sayuri asked.


    ¡°None speak of it in the imperial halls, but yes,¡± said Henriette. ¡°She was rejected by our Rose, and I fear she still holds on to that grudge. It was shortly before I ascended the Council, and there were whispers that my predecessor¡¯s dismissal was a concession to the Crown, as she had signed the order to refuse Ingrid¡¯s Efflorescence.¡±


    ¡°Why so?¡± Ise knew less of the imperial politics than she perhaps should, having focused her studies on spear and spell, as the youngest of five sisters was not expected to meddle with political matters.


    ¡°Princess Ingrid was a fine magical talent as a child, as half a dozen dead kittens would attest to. A shame that her talent was in the contorting of entrails and the burning of flesh. The Basileus hoped that the Red Rose might tame her, or at least conceal her, but the Council was unwilling to turn bloom-sisters into the minders of a coddled child. And, besides, it was a firm gesture and reminder that the Ruby Blossom does not serve Rosavor cravings. It sends a good strong message, you see, to coldly rebuke a Basileus from time to time. Mercifully, Ingrid has no prospects of being crowned. The imperial line is not so degenerate as to leave her unpunished after her killing of her handmaiden, so her research expedition to the Swallowed Coast is really exile.¡±


    ¡°What fine allies we are saddled with,¡± Ise sighed. ¡°Are you certain my presence will be a boon?¡±


    ¡°Johannes respects the name Ubami,¡± said Henriette. ¡°When he¡¯s not putting children into the world, true and baseborn alike, he fancies himself an erudite, so he has studied his histories. The ones writ by our Blossom. Be respectful towards him, but not supplicant. He knows to respect your family¡¯s devotion to justice, and he is willing to be content with concessions and presents that would not whet his kinsfolk¡¯s appetites. If we can leverage that and steer him towards an acceptable direction, all will be well.¡±


    ¡°And if we cannot¡­?¡± Sayuri asked.


    Henriette turned her gaze outside, again, her eye focused on something far away. It was natural for her to take on such responsibilities as the sole remaining Blossom of the Council, but none could ever be prepared to shoulder such burdens alone. Even the other survivors had looked to Henriette for guidance, and she could never refuse. Not when the alternative was leaving the Rose in the hands of those such as Princess Sayuri.


    ¡°The Blossom has endured a dozen succession crises,¡± Henriette shrugged. ¡°At times we backed the winning side, but on other occasions we have erred. And neutrality has often served us just fine. However the centuries sway, we withstand the winds of history by bending and bowing as necessary, but never breaking and never straying from our purpose.¡±


    The remainder of the journey was mostly silent, save for Ise¡¯s occasional questions whenever she passed by an unfamiliar sight, when she could not discern the purpose behind a building¡¯s ornate fa?ades. That is a branch of the Scarlet Erarium, Henriette explained, for the patronage of the wealthiest and noblest in Cartasinde; that is the manse of Lord Feithsar, a benefactor of the Ars Innovatio Guild; that is a military academy unaffiliated with our own Rosa Aeterna. The grandeur of Cartasinde astonished Ise, though when she looked into the far distance and managed to catch glimpses of industry smoke and humbler districts downhill, cancerous growth seemed a more apt term than grandeur. Cartasinde was half a dozen cities built atop one another, a dozen empires atop the bones of fallen dynasties, the remnants of cultures and languages still lingering under the sun, structures built on the husks of temples and mausoleums of old heresies now verboten. It had as many names as it had centuries, too.


    The Tower of Rebirth had many names, too, and it was a city on its own, and Rosa Aeterna Academy was larger still, but Cartasinde dwarfed them both manifold. Its sheer scale imbued it with a sense of wrongness, at least to Ise, but her peers didn¡¯t seem to think similarly. How one could ever grow used to this sprawl was beyond her.


    The stagecoach¡¯s next stop was when they finally reached the outskirts of the imperial palace; gate guards requested that Henriette identify herself, and state her business. Minutes passed as authorities in increasing standing were brought one after the other to repeat the same questions each time. A captain of the guard, an usher, a steward and a seneschal whose exact distinction eluded Ise, and, finally, one Minister Faris entrusted with matters of foreign affairs, which, Ise supposed, might as well include the Red Rose. What she did not understand was why the former minister had been replaced; Ise was not so ignorant as to be unaware that the ministry was last held by a Vadurian woman, and Faris was neither.


    ¡°Esteemed guests, welcome to the Rosencourt, seat of His Radiance the Basileus Johannes Valdemar Rosavor, our Most Luminous Defender and Shield of all Peoples,¡± he proclaimed to all who could hear. A crowd was gathered around the stagecoach, curious onlookers whispering to one another. ¡°My Ladies of the Blossom desire an audience with our Basileus, to which I extend my sincere apologies for our lacking reception. If you have sent word in advance, I regret that our recent reforms have caused the neglect of certain protocols, so our Basileus has not been warned of your intentions and is currently preoccupied.¡±


    ¡°No matter,¡± said Henriette. ¡°His preoccupations are of lesser priority than our Rose¡¯s business. It will be his desire to be informed at once and have us brought before His Radiance. Impress upon him the urgency of the matter.¡±


    ¡°I shall have a page send word to His-¡±


    ¡°You will impress upon him the urgency of the matter,¡± Henriette insisted. ¡°Only someone of your station can speak with words loud enough to convey how important it is that he grace us with his attention.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± said Faris, unwilling to continue his questioning in the face of Henriette¡¯s firmness. He waved a hand at the guards and then departed.


    Not long after, the coach was moving again, entering the imperial gardens with its topiaries and fountains, all adorned with the flora of many lands. The grounds were roamed by fowl walking freely, by beasts from all corners of the Empire, though the most exotic - as well as the most dangerous - were kept confined in the lakeside menagerie. In the waters of the ponds that littered the sides of the road through the gardens, marvelous fishes formed gleaming rainbows as they swam together. Ise tried to locate the nishikigoi that had been a gift from the previous Peony King, Sayuri¡¯s grandfather. They were easier to track by night, when they glittered under the moon, so today they evaded Ise¡¯s sight.


    Courtiers and nobles from everywhere in the Empire paused only briefly to gaze upon the emissaries of the Rose, before going on their way, wherever it might be. Ise would have found it amusing, were she in a mood to laugh, how in appearance at least the bustle of the palace was alike that of the Tower of Rebirth in its better days, but where there all the Blossoms had their own singular purpose and duties, Ise found it hard to believe that each and every of these courtiers had much of a reason to be there save for the currying of favor and aristocratic indulgences. Here beneath the shadow of the Tower of Rebirth, within the reach and wardenship of the Ruby Blossom, they were free to enjoy their peace at no cost to themselves. That is what we are sworn to protect, she reminded herself, though the sight of noblemen too fat to walk unaided soured her thoughts. Not all of the millions of mouths of Cartasinde are so amply fed, nor all of its homes unmolested by soot and grime.


    When the coach halted at last, Ise was the first to step out, quickly followed by her companions. Henriette said a word to old Veyre who guided the stagecoach, and with a grumble he drove away, leaving the three Blossoms to be guided into the palace by a dozen strangers all speaking at once in a dozen voices and accents and not one word that Ise could understand, so with Henriette and Sayuri she merely followed the crowd inside.


    Past the huge, ostentatious gates, the wealth of the Rosavors revealed itself to all, demanding attention wherever one turned to look. These halls might have been beautiful once, but now every corner bore some display of opulence, some proof of imperial hegemony. An excess of crystals, statues and busts, paintings with distinctive styles of different nations and decades, each framed with ornate gildings. Past the grand foyer, Ise stopped trying to identify each distinct treasure, understanding that it didn¡¯t matter what they were, only that they symbolized the wealth accumulated by the many empires that called Cartasinde their seat of power over the ages. Spoils of conquest, whether wrought by the steel and fire of war or by the ink of treaties; the House of Rosavor had spread its dominion primarily through the latter, but the threat of arms was always there, embodied here by the gilded warhorns of Shinbesse, runic blades of the many nations of Siodrune, the elegant armors and crests of Eslanian dynasties.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The office they were brought to, in contrast, seemed plain, though anywhere else it would have been quite magnificent, tall walls adorned with massive maps of the imperial demesne, opposite to immense bookshelves bearing thousands of heavy tomes, all fine leather, each cushioned seat around the reading room made of pristine, magnificent woods, armrests carved with immaculate details, which Ise¡¯s untrained eyes struggled to identify properly. Located some distance from the throne and the principal halls of the palace, where balls were held and dignitaries were received with great pomp, the Basileus¡¯s private offices didn¡¯t need to present imperial power in so crude a fashion. A page opened heavy mahogany doors and urged the visitors step inside for their meeting.


    The Basileus would have never received them alone, but the two closest to him, Basilissa Sigrun and Prince Baldwin, very well may have been the most unwelcome sights, the two of them the very portrait of the ambition Henriette had decried in confidence. She called for Sayuri and Ise to follow at once, and they did without question, until the three stood before the Basileus in his office, sitting at the head of his long table while his brother and wife stood by his side.


    ¡°It is customary to kneel before His Radiance,¡± declared the Basilissa, extending a pale arm, ¡°and to kiss Her Radiance¡¯s ring.¡±


    ¡°We are not subjects of Rosavor, but allies in unique standing,¡± Henriette said with no hesitation. ¡°You would do well to enlighten yourself on the minutiae of the terms of our covenant, Your Radiance.¡±


    ¡°And you would do well to mind your tongue before the highest authority on this earth,¡± said Prince Baldwin.


    ¡°Brother, do not antagonize our esteemed guests,¡± said the Basileus, without great firmness. ¡°The Lady Valchenza is correct in that the terms agreed upon by my ancestors relinquish our friends of the Rose from the trappings of courtesy and noblesse. I have read the documents signed then, as well as its amendments.¡±


    ¡°Such terms were signed when there were more Blossoms drawing breath,¡± said Baldwin. ¡°Hundreds, thousands of them close to our capital. Now such terms may require negotiation.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. But I mislike your tone, brother, especially when you stand before the scion of House Ubami. To stand before one of such a storied lineage honors us all. I am sorry for the loss that has afflicted you all. All realms mourn the passings of countless young guardians, reaped before their time.¡±


    Not all were young, thought Ise, thinking of her mother. She accepted the condolences coldly, with naught but a curt nod.


    ¡°Nevertheless, we are not the Red Rose,¡± said Baldwin. ¡°Merely its allies, no? You come now seeking our aid, but surely you understand the concessions we will require. The Empire has grown thanks to its own strength, and it is not ours to rescue you expecting no recompense. That is your oath, not ours.¡±


    ¡°We understand,¡± said Princess Sayuri. ¡°We expect nothing to be given freely. My family are supporters of your dynasty¡¯s reign, and I understand well enough that the Rose¡¯s intentions do not always perfectly align with the plans of great men. You wish to change the world, and our Rose is slow to change. None would fault your frustration. The Red Rose thinks in centuries, beyond the lifespan of one person, no matter how high. At times, however, we must expedite our reforms.¡±


    Ise wondered if Sayuri had rehearsed her words with Henriette, playing the princess allied to the Empire more than the Rose. It was a clever ploy, Ise admitted. Fool that she was, Princess Sayuri was a loyal Blossom, and, if she was anything like how she had been in Tawarasato, easy to manipulate. Everything that her family had gained they owed the House of Rosavor, so her presence here would serve as proof of good faith.


    ¡°And what aid do you need from us?¡± Asked Sigrun. ¡°A thousand young girls, that you might select the worthy?¡±


    ¡°We must recruit anew, and with urgency,¡± said Henriette. ¡°New harvests must be held throughout the Empire to replenish our ranks, and for that we need your consent and assistance. In usual times, our cultivation is done gradually, as we tend to our Gardens,¡± she said, using the old-fashioned term for the separate regions under the wardenship of the Blossoms, from which every year they recruited a number of young girls with promise. ¡°Noble and common children alike given to our Order, winnowed and inducted into Efflorescence. It is a great honor, but we limit the number of chosen both to ensure we can manage the education and care of future Blossoms and so as to allow the populace to prepare, to prevent any suspicions that we are raising armies and may ever dream of subjugation. This arrangement has worked well, but in the coming years we will need a greater harvest.¡±


    ¡°I will speak plainly to you,¡± said Johannes. ¡°Oft do I hear whispers from my vassals that the influence of your Rose is all-encompassing, and to their detriment. Everywhere, children are taught your histories, your values, and are brought up under your authority. Often you stand in the way of desired changes, and with the Rosa Aeterna under your control, all advances in the sciences happen only in accordance with your priorities.¡±


    ¡°It is almost as though you seek to maintain hegemony of the arts and instruments of war,¡± said Prince Baldwin. ¡°That way you may remain the world¡¯s sole defenders. Perhaps if further studies on forbidden sciences and substances could be freely performed, mankind could vanquish its own demons.¡±


    ¡°You do not begin to imagine the consequences such a mistake would bring,¡± said Henriette. ¡°Even against your will, we shall spare you this lesson. Nevertheless, we will hear your other demands. Just not this one. Ours is a duty that we must never relinquish.¡±


    ¡°But surely you may relinquish some of the exceptional privileges you were granted in the past,¡± the Basilissa retorted. ¡°Though we shan¡¯t demand you release your grasp on the Academy, the passing of its directing council means there is no better time than now to restructure its organization. Let talented academics unaffiliated to your Rose determine the future of research and knowledge, less bound to your decrees. By all means, you may retain some positions¡­ Merely not all of them.¡±


    ¡°And we would rather you uphold your supposed neutrality by giving up your say on imperial succession,¡± said Baldwin. A bold play, to put it charitably. Ise wondered if Johannes was in full agreement, but the Basileus remained stoic. ¡°Though you have nobility, even royalty within your ranks, you are not princesses or high ladies whilst serving the Rose, so it seems improper, to me, that you have such sway in the imperial election. Kings have the right to select among themselves the Rosavor to take the throne next, and they carefully and wisely listen to their own vassals, each with their own considerations to make. Many are displeased by the disproportionate influence you Blossoms have.¡±


    ¡°If relinquishing our voting rights in the imperial succession would alleviate this displeasure, then that is a fair price,¡± said Henriette. ¡°But not, I presume, your only one.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± said Sigrun. ¡°Allowing you to expand your numbers so dramatically and in short order is a great deal of freedom we offer you, and a great privilege. The cooperation of the world in your time of need, too, cannot be freely given, considering the toll it demands of us all. If you alleviate some of your grasp on the affairs of the nations, then you¡¯ll avoid a great deal of trouble by those who feel you are strangling them. His Radiance has a duty to all under the mantle of the Empire, and he is no tyrant to simply decree that all must follow his decisions. As such, our terms must include prizes to be given to our vassals, that everyone might be satisfied.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve my own thoughts on the matter,¡± said Johannes, ¡°but please, brother, you are well-traveled and in frequent correspondence with kings and grand princes, dukes and men of great power and esteem. You know what they desire.¡±


    ¡°To be freed from certain choking arrangements,¡± he said. ¡°The Rose has many commercial interests, especially when it comes to the development of the newfound lands and bounties of Aztormol. In addition, your oversight of the governance of the kingdoms under imperial protection has been¡­ Less than welcome, at times. You Blossoms may have forgotten, but most of us mislike the feeling of always being watched, of having to follow the paths you¡¯ve laid before us. We are not children to be coddled and controlled lest we misbehave.¡±


    That is exactly what you are, Ise thought, biting her tongue. She wished she had more to add, but this was not her expertise. Henriette had assured her that merely being a reminder of the esteem and history of the Rose was enough, and that it was important for Ise and Sayuri to further their education in diplomacy. Still, this was not Ise¡¯s way. Nanase and Kirara were better-suited for negotiations and wars of words. Bitter longings settled in her heart, and Ise had to turn away for a moment, only listening to the conversation behind her as she tried to find a window to gaze through. She caught glimpses of the gardens, made colorful behind stained glass, but that was hardly the calm she sought.


    ¡°That is acceptable,¡± said Henriette. ¡°You may tell your kings and lords that they shall be freed from our advice and guidance. But they will fully cooperate as we garrison our outposts and headquarters with new Blossoms. We will still do our duty as bastions of the realms, rooting out all evils and all black magics. The Great Nightmare is slain, alongside his dark acolytes, but safety and peace are ever ephemeral.¡±


    ¡°So be it, so be it,¡± said the Basileus. ¡°Limit your presence in the provinces to a defensive one, and grant all nations greater autonomy where it comes to education and development. Certainly there¡¯ll be other requests, but for now-¡±


    ¡°Repeal the Decree of Heresies,¡± Prince Baldwin interrupted his Basileus. Ise turned back at once. She could not see Henriette¡¯s expression, but knew it could not be a pleased one. ¡°The high and lowborn both long for it, however much you¡¯d like to pretend that is not the case.¡±


    ¡°Your Radiance,¡± she said with a softness that belied her tension, ¡°this meeting would be most productive if held in the absence of your kin.¡±


    ¡°The insolence-¡± the Basilissa began, but her husband urged her to be silent.


    ¡°I must insist,¡± said Henriette.


    ¡°I will not leave my brother alone with three Blossoms,¡± said Baldwin. ¡°This is-¡±


    ¡°Necessary,¡± Henriette did not turn away from the Basileus, disregarding the other two. ¡°It is a matter where your partiality would hinder negotiations. And there are truths which are for the ears of the Basileus only, not his consort or his brother.¡±


    ¡°So be it,¡± Johannes made a dismissive gesture. ¡°If pertinent, I shall share it with you in due time, wife, brother. Please, leave us. I expect this will not take long.¡±


    Sigrun looked as though she had more words to utter, but as soon as Prince Baldwin merely walked away without a word, in spite of his belligerence, the Basilissa followed in a silence most sullen. Then, when the door shut behind the Blossoms and Basileus Johannes, the man let out a lengthy sigh.


    ¡°You mean to discuss matters of succession, I presume,¡± he said, rising to his feet. ¡°Your partiality would hinder negotiations¡­ The meaning is plain to all. What is it? Do you not intend to give up your say on succession, is that it? I¡¯m afraid that is not up for debate.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Your Radiance,¡± said Henriette. ¡°As promised, we won¡¯t interfere. In fact, we hope that the day of your succession is still far ahead of us. You hope so too, I am certain.¡±


    ¡°All men hope to postpone death.¡±


    ¡°Though it comes alike for the poorest pauper and the most illuminated emperor,¡± said Henriette. ¡°You love your family. It has always been a trait the Rose respected about you. And so you are aware of the growing divisions in your own House.¡±


    ¡°Even the blind could see that,¡± said the Basileus, who suddenly looked quite tired. He was not at all an old man, though aged and starting to wrinkle, but he had never been as robust as his younger brother, so even once age began to wither him, he would do so gracefully rather than shrink into a shell of himself. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course. Mayhaps I have sinned in loving too deeply and too freely. I have adored both my departed wives,¡± he said, and the myriad fruits of his loins were proof of that truth. ¡°Neither of their passings extinguished my passions and my desire to love. Alas that an abundance of children cannot be merely a blessing, a succor as I age. I know that when death claims me, my sin of love will have consequences.¡±


    ¡°None would blame you for that,¡± said Ise, thinking of her sisters. To her, a large family had always been a blessing.


    ¡°My Sigrun wants one of hers to take the throne,¡± he continued, ¡°as she fears for their positions if left unshielded should succession meet with a terrible crisis. Some of my eldest children see the youngest as threats, not wishing their heritage further divided, and of course they¡¯ve their qualms with the offspring of my other wives. Elena¡¯s children despise Vicinna¡¯s, and though such bad blood has mostly eluded Sigrun¡¯s children, I worry nonetheless, as every father worries about his children once he is gone.¡±


    ¡°There may yet be time for hatreds so incensed to dissipate as the years go by and youthful passions and ambitions are mollified. Not all are as Baldwin.¡±


    ¡°You may speak of him in a manner that I cannot speak of my brother,¡± he sighed once more. It seemed his lot in life to sigh over his family. ¡°I love him, but he has always wanted me to name him my preferred successor even after my firstborn, Lauritz, came into this world. It must ache, to be so near the heights of power but to never be able to claim it. He is a proud man, and the years made him resentful. As did the business with his daughter the Princess Ingrid. His wife bore no further issue; unlike me, he has no more love to give, so his line shan¡¯t expand. Though I doubt that even having one of his own children throned would satisfy him. He is not a bad man, in truth, neither disloyal nor treacherous. But even the highest have their unsatisfied ambitions.¡±


    ¡°What of your own ambitions, Your Radiance?¡± Henriette questioned, but he did not reply. ¡°There is one fatherly ambition that we can aid you with, if you will allow us. Princess Krisolde, Princess Ryscrux¡­ As your youngest, there are no expectations that they¡¯ll be elected your successors. But nonetheless they will be seen as pieces of the dynastic board. And though we all pray for every succession to be bloodless and amiable, we have read the histories of the realms, have we not? What I offer, thus, is their safety. Let them join our Rose. In so doing, they will relinquish their claims to succession, which were never realistic or desired, if you¡¯ll allow me the assumption. Her Radiance should be pleased to have her girls shielded from the distasteful affairs of inheritance, and Prince Baldwin won¡¯t argue against the safety and well-being of his nieces, and won¡¯t press the topic of the Decree of Heresies.¡±


    ¡°And you have two of your own among the imperial bloodline,¡± the Basileus smiled sadly. ¡°They are good girls. I had hoped that they might keep me company in my old age. I never wished them to be part of the ugliness of politics, that they might marry for love. As I married their mother. But their birth denies them those freedoms. How curious that even to your Rose they are used as temptations to make an arrangement more agreeable.¡±


    ¡°They will be cared for,¡± Sayuri promised. ¡°I can attest to that. The lords of Tawarasato were not fond of the imposition of equal inheritance determined by the Empire and the Rose. It was safer here, as a girl, than to be involved in dynastic plays. With the Rose now weakened, those impositions may be undone.¡±


    ¡°Is that so, child?¡± Johannes looked into the princess¡¯ eyes. ¡°Are you at peace with your lot?¡±


    ¡°I would have been the first queen of Tawarasato in millennia,¡± she said. ¡°I am not so brave. And I know that this was not a decree that the realm happily accepted. For whatever my word is worth, I promise you that I am happier now than I had been at home, and safer as well. When I relinquish my duties as a Blossom, in the future, I may yet marry for love, and live pleasantly, freely. Even princesses and queens cannot boast of that privilege. And your daughters will be close. They will see you grow old, and will be by your side, and so will their children.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Yes, yes, I can accept that,¡± he said, seemingly deep in thought. ¡°I¡¯ll leave my daughters in your care. But you must tell me true of the calamity that has befallen your Order. Only then will I consent.¡±


    ¡°Very well. The Great Nightmare, deep within the World-Wound, neared completion of a ritual to claim all souls on this earth. Our sisters who fought there, faced with no choice and no time, interfered with those deep magics, and instead it was the majority of the Blossoms who paid the price. Such is the truth of the tale. The less the world learns of how close it stood on the brink of annihilation, the better. The full extent needn¡¯t be announced. And the ritual site has been wiped out, the leylines themselves reshaped by such profound spells. It cannot be repeated, and shall never happen again.¡±


    ¡°Never?¡± The Basileus asked, looking deep into each Blossom¡¯s eyes, in turn.


    ¡°Never,¡± said Ise. ¡°We promise.¡±

 Sprout and Phoenix (Part One)

    She woke from the same dreamless sleep she had known each night for the past week, and before anything else, as an impulse, sought the sword kept by the side of her bed. Stelmaria could scarcely recall when this habit had been formed. It felt as if she had done so her entire life, but of course she was not born with a blade in hands. Alert as soon as she opened her eyes, she quickly rose from bed, and reached for the clothes she had set aside the past night, readying herself for the day in instants.


    The orphanage, she thought. That was when I first wielded a sword. Then, of course, she had kept it a secret from the staff, or at least she thought she did. Years had passed and now she doubted that they were unaware, but instead took it into consideration for her induction into the Rose. Young Alton always said she was stupid for keeping the sword under her bed rather than finding a hiding place somewhere in the woods where they would spar, but Stelmaria wanted her sword close, should she have urgent need of it upon waking. It was an attack in the middle of the night that saw her hometown butchered by diabolists, and though the orphanage was safe under the guardianship of the Blossoms, Stel was determined never to be caught defenseless again, driven into desperate flight.


    Her quarters were quite unlike the old dormitories, though, so crowded and noisy. She had been given a bedroom of her own, spacious and comfortable, more lavish than even the royal quarters in the austere castle of Iserncredel where at two-and-ten she had been made the youngest kyneguard in history, even if mostly as a ceremonial office. Her years studying for her Efflorescence were but a lapse in the struggle she¡¯d known all her life, which she would soon return to. In time this peace would be a distant dream.


    Stelmaria tried not to become too familiar with this comfort. It was not for the sake of opulence that she had become a Blossom, so this was not to be her life. She was early to rise, and her one indulgence before carrying on with her day¡¯s duties was to take a moment to inspect the bundle of letters stored within her nightstand. It had only been the past year that Stel finally felt safe enough to not need to carry the letters on her person at all times. Even so, every morning she made sure that each and every one was there.


    A letter from Alton, taken to be a blacksmith¡¯s apprentice in Greylin. Letters from the governess Ardialle and her advice for life far from Loclain. A letter from cousin Erno, the last family she knew to be living, whom she¡¯d never heard from since he left Loclain in 1877, one year before Stelmaria was called by the Blossoms. Letters from her peers at the opera house she divided her time with along Iserncredel; in the end, it were sword and armor that fate had chosen for her.


    The letter from Prince Lauryn, the scent of jasmine long gone from the pages, the flowers long withered. The letter from Princess Judithe, who praised only her voice and songs and not her strength and skill at arms. Dead, the two of them, and in her vanity Stel blamed herself for not being there to guard them. It matters not that the Gairning Host slew them through subterfuge. If I could not have saved them, I should have died with them, as did the kyneguard who burned or drowned when their ship was sunk. Instead she had been safe at Rosa Aeterna.


    She stored the letters away, then set out for the day¡¯s duties. The great halls wherein the Blossoms would feast were far too great for the diminished numbers that remained, the same as the massive kitchens now unstaffed. Stelmaria wondered if she would take offense at being given kitchen duties when she was a soldier, or if the Blossoms that worked there ever resented it. The Tower was to have only magical girls as permanent occupants, and having servants to clean and cook for them was seen as decadent in an unseemly way. The heavy grimoires containing the many regulations, principles, philosophies and practices of the Rose explained it as the need to avoid the Blossoms being seen as superior to the men and women they were sworn to protect, that if they had an extensive staff of servants they would be their own sort of nobility, and would court resentment. A courteous justification for keeping outsiders away from our secrets and treasures, Mariamu Eifor had said during class once, a statement which earned her a reprimand from their professor and as much laughter as uncomfortable silence from her peers.


    Today she did not have to cook, for which the only people more grateful than Stelmaria were those spared her meals. At Rosa Aeterna they were expected to cook only rarely, as the Academy was not subject to the same absence of servants as the Tower of Rebirth, but many still did so, in the interest of sisterly companionship and of sating their cravings for foods they longed for, so far from their homelands. It quickly became clear that Stel had no talent for it, while Triella and Prishia became all the initiates¡¯ delights, as well as Odarka¡¯s ielfen delicacies, for those who could get over their prejudices.


    Here at least the Tower was not so deserted, though it was still overlarge. Here a thousand Blossoms could be seated and feasted, and in better times that must be a great sight to see. Now only some sparse groups were scattered here and there, most of them faces Stelmaria oft saw in the Academy, but there at least they mingled with outsiders to their Order, and the conversations were always so loud and frequent and full of merriment - and concern in seasons of examinations and provings. Here, it was despondency that reigned amidst the magical girls, death and grief the prevailing topics.


    Though thinking of breaking her fast on her lonesome with her sad plate of thin porridge and bland fish, she was beckoned by a familiar ensemble sat round emptied plates and cups. Erika Chantesse was the first to call out to her, waving and bidding her companions to be silent.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Come, Stel,¡± said Erika, ¡°sit with us.¡±


    There was no cause to refuse. Alongside Erika were Cecilia and Triella, Sieglinde and soft-spoken Lukia Alberta, whom she scarcely knew but by name.


    ¡°Good morrow,¡± she greeted them, but soon found them to be mirthless company. It was not just to break fast together that she had been invited to join. ¡°There is a grimness to you. Is something amiss?¡±


    ¡°Ill news,¡± Erika explained. ¡°Faustyna and Lun¨¦ciel both have confirmed it, and so we were discussing the matter.¡±


    ¡°Our losses have already emboldened our foes,¡± Sieglinde said. ¡°The Gairning Host has raided some villages on easternmost Loclain, fishing hamlets for the most part. No great bounties to be won, but no resistance either. Some two thousand refugees have sought aid at the gates of Louerhaim, and Lord Auschar has sent troops to repel the invaders, but they¡¯ll likely retreat back into their holes and bide their time.¡±


    ¡°That is their way, yes,¡± said Stel. ¡°I take this to mean that we will expedite our journey to Loclain?¡±


    ¡°Just so,¡± said Lukia, whose words were so quiet that Stelmaria had to make an effort to hear them. ¡°I¡¯m aiding with setting aside funds and resources for such an expedition. It¡¯s a costly affair, and most of our holdings within Loclain have been neglected for the past few decades.¡±


    ¡°Our predecessors supported a doctrine that valued mobility and speed of response, rather than permanent fortifications,¡± Sieglinde explained. ¡°Loclain is too vast, and the Gairnites have been limiting themselves to skirmishes and raids rather than mass mobilizations. We have cause to believe that this won¡¯t be the case for long, however.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± Triella asked.


    ¡°Our sources indicate that the internal struggles of the Host for dominance have been resolved. Lesser warlords were either killed or brought to heel, and the scattered enclaves are threatening to unify.¡±


    ¡°How does the saying go about those lowlifes?¡± Cecilia asked, to which Erika was quick to respond.


    ¡°It¡¯s our fortune that the Gairning Host kills its own as much as it kills outsiders,¡± she said. ¡°Something to that effect. Demons are not particularly selective about sacrifices, so they¡¯ll eagerly consume demon worshippers as well, and this has kept those savages busy getting each other killed rather than joining forces to kill everyone else instead. Rarely does a higher breed of fiend actually try to wage war against the armies of Loclain and the Rose.¡±


    ¡°Every time they tried, they were driven back to their pits,¡± said Stelmaria. ¡°Even a beaten dog learns its place in time, but these mongrels always come back as soon as they sniff out weakness. Still, not enough time has passed for the Host to so swiftly begin making moves, so this must have been happening beneath our notice for some time now.¡±


    ¡°We know less of their practices and beliefs than we would like,¡± Lukia remarked. ¡°Very rarely was a gairnman captured alive, and even less frequently has questioning yielded any result.¡±


    ¡°Animals have no culture,¡± said Erika.


    ¡°That may be so, but nevertheless, there is a logic to their internal conflicts,¡± Lukia continued. ¡°Their seven Great Sects war among themselves to determine which is most fit to lead the Host, and we¡¯d do well to take notice of which way these winds sway. As of Faustyna¡¯s last reports, many and more have begun to march under the crimson banner of the Red Princess.¡±


    ¡°She is no princess,¡± snarled Stel. ¡°Merely a bastard daughter of a bastard father, latest scion to a line tainted with the foul blood of treason. You do her an honor she does not deserve by calling her by that title.¡±


    ¡°What then would you have me call her?¡±


    A corpse-to-be. Hanging by her neck or drawn and quartered would be ideal, but as long as she was dead the world would be a finer place. There was no doubt in Stelmaria¡¯s heart that the order given for the killing of Judithe and Lauryn had come from that diabolist¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Names are of no consequence,¡± Erika declared. ¡°Let us not lose sight of what is pertinent. Loclain is close and its perils, for the time being, boil beneath the surface. They have not yet become a crisis. And, to put it in no uncertain terms, we need experience. Our training still demanded two years of our time, but we cannot wait so long.¡±


    ¡°Hence we will complete your education in the field,¡± said Sieglinde. To Stel, this was good news - or, at least, as good as they could be given the circumstances. ¡°Training of initiates falls under my authority, so I mean to see it finished. In distant yesteryears, our predecessors lacked the luxury of honing their skills far from danger and the field of battle, and had to learn as they responded to the myriad threats stalking them. That is the essence of our history. I refuse to believe that we are so much their lessers that we would fail where they succeeded with scarcer resources and more pressing concerns.¡±


    ¡°This Tower¡¯s name was not idly chosen,¡± Lukia suggested. ¡°Birth is a bed of agony and first breath is followed by tearful screams. Why then should we expect rebirth to be any less painful?¡±


    ¡°How eloquently stated,¡± Erika smiled, though her eyes still welled with her usual understated melancholy, her every expression of joy or mirth always seeming somewhat feigned. ¡°What, then, is to be our path moving forward?¡±


    ¡°I had word sent to Agaepsonia to prepare for our arrival. We will muster our strength there, in the mountains of Loclain, and make it the heart of our operations once more. There is no better-defended bastion, no better place from which to make our presence felt. Let the Host rue their boldness and believing us weak, and let the world see that we are far from broken.¡±

 Sprout and Phoenix (Part Two)

    The child dreamt of light and of the heroines of a hundred tales, of white ships in gleaming seas flying flags in bright red, of triumphs immortalized under banners of rose fields so vivid they were fire. There was considerably less glory in accounting and inventorying crates of common goods the way a dockside worker might. That the Rose could never function without an extensive support network was not unknown to Marinor, of course, but nevertheless bitter thoughts burrowed deep within. Those who save the world cannot do so without the aid of those who feed them, she told herself, knowing it to be true but struggling to believe it.


    There was more vanity in her than she had known until now, she realized while writing down lists of supplies to be loaded into wayns, predicting how many ryals the expedition to Loclain might require for unexpected expenses, and setting aside equipment to resupply Agaepsonia, which long held only a token garrison. Marinor didn¡¯t have to be a Blossom to do this work. It had always been her future, daughter of traders that she was. There were no statues sculpted for merchants, she thought, until realizing that there were, but it was by their own design, not to commemorate any true heroics.


    Is that all I want? A statue? Praise? That, too, felt wrong. It was not glory that she wanted, that infantile aspiration, and she was a middle child, so she knew how to be silent and do her duty whether or not there was any gain. But Loclain was her home, and she should fight for it. Fight for it.


    The Rose was, in truth, far too great a canvas for it to be shaped by the actions of a girl alone, even the newly-ascended head of the Office of the Treasury. The sums she handled and the funds she had access to were incalculable, enough to inspire wonder even in the daughter of Loclain¡¯s wealthiest clan. The nobility of the House of Mycroft was a purchased title, not even one hundred years old, acquired by a resourceful grandsire who used it to open doors that led to the family¡¯s splendid wealth. But they had no storied lineages nor the blood of kings or heroes. Steel and steam had made their fortune, but this sort of wealth and the progress it brought was of the future, and Loclain, for good or ill, clung to its past.


    And the Tower of Rebirth was older still. The only reason a number could be reached when counting the worth of the treasures kept here was that some such relics were priceless, beyond the means of the Basileus himself. Know the value of all things and not merely their price, her mother had advised her in her childhood. The Lumenvasculum itself and the gifts it could bestow were a prize beyond measure, the Vessel of Light alone sufficient to make the Ruby Blossom the oldest, greatest power in the world.


    I should just hand them some billions of ryals and that will last them this expedition and a hundred more. That would require letters of credit, however, and slips of paper and contracts had value only as far as they were acknowledged as legitimate. Even cold silver and gold and gleaming jewels were worth little when one could not trade them. In Loclain¡¯s most savage regions, there was no sum that could buy one¡¯s life and safety.


    Footsteps interrupted her thoughts and tedious toil, two arrivals from the sounds of it. Marinor turned back to greet them, expecting her two adjutants, Ebriss and Loreana, but was met by other girls instead, one whose company she quite welcomed, and the other not so much. Stelmaria and Elanor must have crossed paths on their way to the Office of the Treasury, as Marinor could not imagine them being together otherwise. It took a sort of patience to endure Elanor that Stel lacked. For that matter, so did Marinor, when caught unawares.


    ¡°You are frowning,¡± Elanor called out to her. ¡°I suppose that, given the circumstances, it would be unusual if you were smiling.¡±


    ¡°Is there something I can help you with?¡± Marinor asked, not particularly interested in indulging Elanor in her boredom. From Stelmaria¡¯s awkward, fidgety demeanor, it didn¡¯t seem like it had been her intention to accompany Elanor.


    ¡°My, you assumed that I had come here to ask you for something? Miss Mycroft, I assure you that I am the one who means to offer aid. You¡¯re making arrangements for the journey to Loclain.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°I was affirming that, not asking. I already know the answer. It is the most pressing matter currently, after all, and the rest of your Office is preoccupied with¡­ Other affairs of consequence, I suppose. All eyes will drift towards Sieglinde¡¯s expedition, and it must bear the fruits of triumph, because our Rose needs a victory desperately. My sister has informed me that she intends to return to us only when she can bring good news about her duties at Mirvholl, and who knows when that¡¯ll be. I can¡¯t imagine what there is to be gained in that savage, plagued hole half a world away, so she might just be avoiding me, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Your point being¡­?¡±


    ¡°Are you in a hurry? From what I can tell, you have nowhere to be. But I suppose Stelmaria does, so I¡¯ll be brief,¡± said she who had never once been brief. ¡°Sieglinde must succeed, for if our Rose cannot safeguard Loclain not too far from us, then our authority is but a wisp of smoke. But Sieglinde is in many ways a traditionalist. The Blossom that forged her is no longer the flower we now must tend to. Lady Varvozi has asked that we take some measures to ensure success.¡±


    ¡°That is not her authority,¡± Marinor complained. Priscilla Varvozi was the newly-appointed head of the Office of Nunciature, so it was diplomacy which should concern her.


    ¡°As of now, authority is fluid, and within the reach of those who grasp for it. You would do well to remember that, and the high position you find yourself in. You may be unwilling to overreach, but your peers won¡¯t be. The Office of Deterrence has expressed discomfort in Sieglinde bringing such a small force with her. You are requested to provide funds for the acquisition of contracts with mercenaries.¡±


    ¡°Lady Santia can ask me that herself.¡±


    ¡°She is quite occupied, Miss Mycroft,¡± said Elanor, and Marinor wished she could be anywhere else. Let someone else deal with these mundane matters while Marinor joined the girls headed to Loclain. That¡¯s what she should do. ¡°The Office of Artifice has also offered aid,¡± she seemed particularly excited about this, proudly pointing to the large metal case she had brought with her.


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    ¡°Have they made you a messenger, now?¡± Marinor asked. Elanor didn¡¯t seem to realize the offense that was meant, so Marinor decided to make it clearer. ¡°They¡¯ve reached for power, as you said, so why have you not done so?¡±


    ¡°Because I know better than to expect the stone beneath and around us to bend with no repercussions. The Tower has known many names and many titles through the ages, and I find the most evocative to be Stonetree. An ancient thing, a fathom beyond what one lifetime can begin to grasp. There is a danger to seeking this sort of power, or to have it thrust upon you. That danger has no allure to me. Whether I could shape the stones or be shaped by them is an answer I¡¯m content with closing my eyes to. But you are here now, and if your naivete allows your fellow Blossoms to use you to further their ends, I fear the consequences that would have upon our troubled house.¡±


    ¡°You are generous to freely share your insight,¡± Marinor said, ¡°which I will keep in mind. Now, I believe Stel wanted a moment of my time, too?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± she said, though Elanor, unaware that those words were Marinor¡¯s way of politely telling her to leave promptly and not return, remained there, always with her easy smile. ¡°We¡¯ve not had many opportunities to talk as of late. We¡¯ve all been busy, you more than most. But I could not bear to depart without meeting you one more time.¡±


    ¡°Do not speak like that,¡± in Stel¡¯s company, Marinor soon found herself at ease, almost enough to forget the irksome presence nearby. ¡°As though it were a final meeting. If you do, you¡¯ll tempt me into relinquishing my duties and joining you in Loclain. Perhaps I¡¯ll do that regardless.¡±


    ¡°You should stay,¡± she said. ¡°Though were I in your position, I would find that impossible, too. What is home but a place we must fiercely fight for? When I arrived here, it was always with the intention of returning to Loclain at the end of my initiation. It feels bitter, then, to advise you to remain here, when you are the most familiar face I found in the Rose. I am grateful for your care and aid in my years of training, particularly when you are but two years my elder, if that. I have relied upon you in my time here, as have many of us girls from Loclain. At times I wonder if it was too unfair of a demand upon you.¡±


    ¡°It was always my pleasure, and my privilege,¡± Marinor spoke truly.


    ¡°All the same, as much as I would be glad to have you by my side, I think it is auspicious to have such a position occupied by a daughter of Loclain. I am certain that our home will not be forgotten, with you here to fight for it in your own way. If ever you think that what you¡¯re doing is not of the utmost importance, remember my words to the contrary. I feel comfortable knowing that should we ever need resources, reinforcements, we can rely on you.¡±


    ¡°With you flattering me like that, I¡¯ll be sure to hide away some sweets in your purse,¡± Marinor giggled.


    ¡°Heh, to this day I find it hard to believe you¡¯re not an eldest sister. You have that demeanor about you.¡±


    In truth, my bloom-sisters are closer to my heart than my siblings by blood. They had never been part of her life, Marcel preoccupied with an heir''s education, Elric a difficult, unpleasant child.


    ¡°You¡¯d make a fine older sister,¡± Elanor intruded. ¡°Adequate, certainly. I have an eye for the matter, I¡¯d say. Ah, Miss Cleirn, I have a gift for you! An opportunity to play the elder sister, what a treasure. You needn¡¯t even thank me, for I am only looking out for you¡­ But you will thank me, for you are a polite young girl.¡±


    ¡°T-Thank you¡­?¡± She said, confused. ¡°A gift¡­?¡±


    ¡°Here!¡± She reached for a tome within the bag she carried, and put it onto Stel¡¯s hands before she could react. It was a heavy volume, bound in unusual leather. A brief glimpse inside revealed a dense read, endless pages writ in letters that demanded squinting eyes to make sense of. ¡°Know thy enemy, and they shall keep no secrets from you.¡±


    ¡°Is this¡­¡± Marinor had an inkling, but surely Elanor wouldn¡¯t be so audacious. Then again, Elanor seemed to find outrage and surprise quite curious.


    ¡°One of the Tomes of Birthright and Dusk,¡± she said, beaming. ¡°I took it from the Office of Arbitration, as there was no one there to protest, and no knowledge is so dangerous that it does more good buried than studied. You may find it illuminating. If we are to wipe out the Gairning Host to the last man, you¡¯d do well to understand their superstitions and follies. I could not locate the other Tomes, however. There ought to be twelve others, but we¡¯ve secured only the fifth, the Book of Grief and Dust. Rather edifying, in its own way.¡±


    ¡°I cannot take this,¡± Stelmaria said with unconcealed disgust. ¡°It is¡­ It is one of the foulest heresies. Every tenet of the Sect of Dusk is one of the dark blasphemies we fight to quell. There is nothing worth learning here.¡±


    ¡°Then burn it,¡± Elanor shrugged. ¡°Feed it to the beasts, if you¡¯d prefer that. But I have read it, and I must insist that the refusal to engage with these heresies and to understand our enemies¡¯ beliefs is why they have managed to endure. Why do they fight, knowing they relinquish their lives in taking up arms against the Ruby Blossom? Why would they pledge so much to mindless chthonic monstrosities, rather than our kin the Nightshades of Mahenvort?¡± Marinor held her tongue and refrained from reminding Elanor that implying those felbirthed witches barring the gates of hell were their kin was uncomfortably close to heresy, too.


    ¡°So be it,¡± said Stel. Whether she truly acquiesced or simply wished that Elanor be silent, Marinor couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°Anything that can expedite the deserved end of diabolists is worth consideration. Thank you, Lady Hilssgar.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, aren¡¯t I oh so helpful, and you so endearingly courteous? I¡¯ll try to give more gifts to you, when you return triumphant. Whenever that is.¡±


    ¡°It may take some time,¡± Stel admitted. ¡°Even longer, if not for Marinor remaining here. Save for you,¡± she turned to face her, offering one of her rarest, purest smiles, ¡°all the friends I care about will accompany me to Loclain.¡±


    ¡°If you treasure them so dearly, my heart will be at ease, confident in your safety,¡± Marinor said. ¡°I know them to be fine, reliable young ladies. Not that much younger than myself, in truth, so I should perhaps not speak so much like your wise elder¡­¡±


    ¡°Good fortune to you, then,¡± said Stelmaria. Elanor, likely bored of this sentimentality, finally departed, granting the two the privacy of a tight embrace, and Stel the bold gesture of laying her lips on Marinor¡¯s hand, her chivalric manners unforgotten, quaint as some might find them. Marinor found their honesty charming. ¡°Though you do so despise them, I ask you the indulgence of a farewell.¡±


    Marinor had expected this. She offered Stel her favor, the way noble ladies so commonly did in olden years, with a peck on the cheek and a ribbon tied to the hilt of her sword. A brief melancholy glinted in Stel¡¯s eyes, memories of the fallen prince and princess, both of whom she championed eagerly.


    ¡°Until we meet again,¡± Marinor promised. ¡°In a freer, brighter Loclain.¡±

 Sprout and Phoenix (Part Three)

    They all were already awake come the dawn, for long was the road to Agaepsonia, burdened by wayns heavy with supplies, pulled laboriously by sumpter donkeys and a pair of lumbering pachidons from Durdvizal, bred to be better-suited for lengthy travels than ordinary elephants. Cecilia could not imagine herself getting used to such creatures and their odd proboscis, as fascinating to her as they were unpleasant. That these beasts had larger, wilder cousins in far corners of the world at times felt unreal. As the Blossoms set out under banners of red petals, led by Sieglinde, Cecilia kept her distance from those mystifying animals.


    ¡°The others don¡¯t seem to find them so unusual,¡± Prishia said to her, smiling. ¡°They are a common sight in Biratgar. Very intelligent animals. Helpful, too, and though it may be a strange way to describe a beast, they are¡­ Polite. Very considerate, for their size.¡±


    It was not their size that irked Cecilia, but those slimy, slippery trunks. Surely there was a touch of magic in their birth, as nature would never spawn such beings. Eschenstadt was home to blighted playthings of evolution, but at least those parodies of life were not quite so repulsively springy. The words she wished to use to describe them were not to be said in polite company, and would redden a lady¡¯s face.


    They followed the road north, led by Sieglinde. Most of the present company was known to Cecilia, though some were unfamiliar faces. Several were her flourish-mates, fellows from the sowing of 1878, and the ones she did not know well, she assumed, were natives of Loclain like Stel. It was little wonder that Stelmaria and Millicent Auschar traveled ahead of all, for the sake of scouting though no dangers would be found this close to the Tower of Rebirth, in the heart of Siodrune. Cecilia knew Millicent mainly by reputation, for, though she had been many times invited to tea parties and social occasions organized by Lady Auschar, the host tended to be strangely distant for a woman so preoccupied with forging bonds of fellowship with her bloom-sisters. Like Stel, Millicent often lobbied about gathering support for Loclain, so the two had cause to celebrate, despite all sorrows and adversities.


    About the Academy now and then one could hear an unkind whisper of the Loclainites¡¯ insistence, as though theirs was the sole nation in need of reinforcements. Cecilia reprimanded them when she could, though they inevitably reached Stel¡¯s ears, and no doubt those of many compatriots. The aspish tongues of fools could not be stilled long, and even in better days both Rosa Aeterna and the Stone-Tree itself were mired in selfish inclinations. Some among us know what it is like to see perils at home, Cecilia had told Stel not a week after they began their instruction together. Not all are so coddled as to lift one¡¯s blade only in ceremony.


    Still, Loclain was a crueler land than Eschenstadt, where nature was pitiless but the lands nevertheless untainted by diabolism. Little comfort for those buried in snows or eaten alive by beasts that their souls would not be made into tokens of bargain, but such was the truth. Cecilia could only guess what it was like to live so close to one¡¯s sworn enemies of centuries, all too willing to partake in any atrocity.


    Come noon, looking back revealed the soot-veiled fogs of Cartasinde still in the horizon, beyond the Tower of Rebirth itself, now only a distant line. Ancient as the city was, old enough to outlast dynasties and to witness the world change countless times, it was only in the past hundred or so years that Cartasinde grew bloated with wretched life and abject misery. Now, though it was the wealthiest, greatest city in the world, it was a blight that demanded a disgusted attention even from afar. The Academy and the Tower were both distant enough that the stink did not reach them, mercifully. That such disparate places existed so close together, feeding off of one another¡­ No place was perfect, but Cecilia still found herself missing Eschenstadt.


    The expedition ate a humble lunch, stopping by the side of the road north. Filling enough, though just one day ago they tasted far more delectable meals in the Tower of Rebirth, which was not yet so distant to be out of sight. But the road was no place for lavish meals, and for the sake of discretion they would avoid any inns on their way to Loclain, and thus avoid a meal that threatened to have any noticeable flavor. Even inns were an uncommon sight on the way north, as Loclain was hardly inviting to travelers. Cecilia had not seen a single soul save for her companions after departing, and knew well enough that if she did, most likely they would be refugees headed south. Responsible people don¡¯t go to Loclain.


    Not a single soul, she thought again, thinking of their departure. In other times, an expedition of the Red Rose would have been seen off by crowds, by friends and families and authorities, all wishing them good fortune. But now was no time for the Rose to flaunt itself and bring attention to its newfound frailty and peril. They were but some few dozen girls, nowhere close enough to being able to hold a nation together. Yet that was all that could be spared.


    ¡°In truth, we have always been lost,¡± Sieglinde had told her companions. ¡°The Blossoms that came before us, who have also known horror and strife, also feared, as we do, that they were not good enough. No one is ever prepared. That¡¯s the bitter truth of it, our glory and our ruin. Heroism is the most frightening virtue ever demanded of us. Only a fool is free of doubt and fear that she can never measure up, that she can¡¯t compare to the names spoken with admiration and love, the ones fit for the histories. We forget they were girls like us. No more and no less.¡±


    As she washed a handful of dirtied cutlery on the cool waters of a nearby creek, she realized she couldn¡¯t see the great founders of the Rose cleaning dishes, putting clothes out to dry, digging up holes to bury one¡¯s nightsoil in. By her side, Triella toiled wordlessly, her work slow and meticulous. Cecilia couldn¡¯t quite explain it, but though they¡¯d known each other for two years now, something about their bond felt like it had changed after witnessing her squat on top of a hole. Discretion was not a possibility on a long journey, but still there was something odd about the whole situation. Mayhaps I am more of a squeamish prude than I gave myself credit for.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°They don¡¯t put these parts in the history books,¡± Triella remarked, quite jovial. ¡°But Amaryllis the Fair had to wash on the road somehow, just as the First Blossom had to stop to make water, the same as the Frostbane and Siliya il-Santarini contracted lice and had to shovel mud.¡±


    ¡°I had not thought that way,¡± Cecilia admitted. ¡°I had not taken you for one so accepting of these¡­ Lowly realities of our journeys and missions. You always did love the grand romantic tales most of all.¡±


    ¡°And I still do,¡± she said, ¡°but I needn¡¯t reject the truths, or despise them. All the women I adore and see in my dreams were of the same flesh I am made of. Blood and bone and sinew and all that entails. If they were not, then we would be lost, for we would never be able to follow where they have trod.¡±


    Cecilia held her words. She knew less of Triella than she thought, it occurred to her. At some point she had simply begun to think of Triella as a girl living her most luminous dreams of being one among the Blossoms of their exalted order. During their education, it seemed enough to know that.


    ¡°I rarely had to wash pots and pants back in Eschenstadt, at home,¡± she said. ¡°Once or twice to learn the toil behind it, but rarely were my responsibilities so¡­¡± Menial? ¡°Domestic. Though my family was not wealthy, we were sufficiently well-off to have help at the house.¡±


    Perhaps help was a dishonest work for paid servants, Svea and Luze, those two aged maids who had lived with and worked for the Kleinfelds since her father was a child. At the Academy Cecilia had mingled with daughters of great privilege, ladies promised great fortune and power from birth, even if they had been denied Efflorescence, but she had also known girls like Triella, who were plainly not born to significant means. It made Cecilia feel¡­ What was it that she felt? She would never feel ashamed of her proud House, but Triella had rougher fingers even before martial training extracted its toll from all the chosen of the Ruby Blossom, and the memory now brought her some discomfort.


    ¡°I briefly helped at a manor in Verilert,¡± the choice of words seemed to amuse Triella more than anything. ¡°It was a pleasant enough experience, and my needs were taken care of, but I did not feel it could last forever. Though I was a companion of the daughter of the lady of the house, we would not be children forever, and in time I would no longer be able to remain by her side as she was introduced to parties, feasts, and grand gatherings. And I did not wish to spend my life in one place, as the wrinkled housekeeper had.¡±


    ¡°At such a young age you were employed? Is that common in Altengrie?¡±


    ¡°Somewhat more common than in Eschenstadt, to my understanding,¡± said Triella. ¡°Less common than in some other lands, though. I shan¡¯t complain of my lot in life, for in many ways I was more fortunate than most. Nowhere is life overly kind to orphans, and I have always been able to fend for myself without great sacrifice. Were it not for this dream, I could very well have been glad to be taken in as an apprentice and to learn a trade. For a time I learned the cordwainer¡¯s trade, but I did not have the patience for it. Come to think of it, I lacked the patience for such artisanry.¡±


    ¡°I struggle to see you performing such work,¡± Cecilia admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I would have done if not for the Rose. My parents had expectations of me, to be certain, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But no girl dreams of having her fate determined from birth,¡± said Triella, ¡°to follow in the footsteps of her father or her mother, to know from childhood what one is meant to be.¡±


    ¡°Quite true,¡± said Cecilia, ¡°which is precisely why we have chosen the life of a magical girl before we turned fourteen.¡±


    Triella smiled, showing her crooked teeth. Cecilia could tell that she made an effort to be as ladylike and courteous as their many highborn companions amidst the Blossoms, but now and then she would laugh most earnestly, and Cecilia found it almost charming. I never learned to laugh like that, she would think. No wonder I¡¯ve always been judged cold.


    ¡°Surely I¡¯ve some manner of life experience to brag about,¡± said Cecilia. ¡°I¡¯m quite adept at lighting a fire, and I know a thing or two about chopping wood. In Eschenstadt, you have to be able to do that. There are times where, even in our largest cities, you cannot leave your own home when the world is swallowed by heavy snows. All children learn of Rutgar the Fool King, who so feared assassins and spies that he expelled all servants from his castle, and froze to death come winter, his once-portly body now gaunt from starvation.¡±


    ¡°Is there truth to that tale?¡±


    ¡°As much as in any tale told to children,¡± Cecilia shrugged. ¡°No doubt the moniker of Fool King was graced upon him after death by his successors that sought to sully his reputation and those of his bloodline. The truth is devoid of simple lessons of morality and clear conclusions, and as such it makes for a poorer story.¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Triella stepped away from the creek, her work done at last. ¡°I suppose I prefer the story, the folly of this dead king. The stories outlive the truth. And if the truth dwells in its time and the stories in years past, in a way they are more truthful than truth.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± said Cecilia, who didn¡¯t actually quite follow. But Triella seemed certain enough of her words, and in speaking of this, there was a wonder in her eyes, one that Cecilia couldn¡¯t bear to quell. Every time she felt she understood the girl before her, she realized that in truth she knew little and less of Triella Amathiste, save that they were Blossoms together, last wardens of the world that saw its guardians culled pitilessly.


    And let this be enough, she decided. She thought of the solitude of their departure, the loneliness of this road of well-worn stones. It was to be a long path ahead, in more ways than one. The flat expanses ahead gave unbroken views of the path to Loclain, as uninviting as the lands they led to.

 Sprout and Phoenix (Part Four)

    How many days had she been here, in the dark, beneath the cold, ancient stones of Sk?rdsta, not knowing if other Blossoms yet drew breath, if she was all alone in the world, now, soon to wither until there was nothing left of her? During the first days of her confinement, Vira had thought that the worst part about her cell was the stench, her pail overflowing on a corner of the enclosure, until at last some gaoler remembered its existence. But somehow she got used to that. It was the darkness that ate at her soul. When her captors arrived with food and water, the relief was almost greater for the torchlight that accompanied them than the scarce meals. Yet it was always brief, and Vira was soon returned to the dark. By now she knew better than to beg. A gaoler soon learned to see prisoners as things rather than people, or he would not do well at his task.


    She placed the palm of her hand but an inch before her eyes, and saw nothing in the complete absence of light. During the brief moments of respite, when a meek orange glow revealed blackened silhouettes, Vira would inspect her own body, as if to ascertain that she was real. She felt real enough, pained and weak and frightened, but no words were spoken to her, and she could see her surroundings only for a moment, so in time she began to wonder if she had ever been more than a ghost fading in the shadows. Left in silence, soon learning that all her words would be ignored, it became easy to believe that the plates and cups left on the grimy floor were meant not for her but for rats and worms.


    I never found any rats, though. Here was not a place for life. So what did that make her? It was never knowing how many days had passed that was the worst, that and the darkness, though they really were one and the same. This had always been a land of short days and lengthy nights, but now Vira missed those sad grey skies.


    Please accompany us, my lady, her hosts had told her, and fool that she was, she obeyed. That day, now a lifetime ago, if not another woman¡¯s life, had been a haze of sorrow and harrowing silences. Dead, all dead, she heard again and again, and when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice failed all her words but for all? All of them, all of the Blossoms, all of my sisters, all of us? She roamed Sk?rdsta as if lost in fog, headed nowhere in particular, the familiar stones suddenly too distant, the walls too far apart, the ceiling stretching higher than the skies, everywhere an empty space, and in the staff of the castle a newfound emptiness in those pitying eyes. Poor thing, some serving maid said, she¡¯s lost her wits. It was not her wits that Vira had lost, of course, but her bloom-sisters, her life, her heart. None had any news to share with her in any further detail, and the castle doors were barred to her, so that she would not run away before all was clarified. Fool of a child, she thought of herself now, they could only restrain you because you allowed them. Now they put these manacles on you, the left cold and the right always warm¡­ Warm like flesh.


    Her magic was gone now, stifled like a whisper in a storm. That a prison would have hex shackles was hardly surprising, but somehow it still felt like this was what stung the most in this betrayal. Few born in these cold wastes ever learned to weave magics, yet the gaolers had dozens of shackles stored away. Such was Vira¡¯s shock and despair that day that she hadn¡¯t even considered that. She only realized she¡¯d been manacled after the torches had been lit and extinguished five times. Then, all her rage pouring out of her at once, she called forth flames to sear her captors and to melt the bars before her. But only a choked scream came out, and with it her tears, her sorrow and agony.


    She resolved to die, then, refusing the food and water brought to her. But that was too slow a way to die, each moment spent in pain and awareness of the light slipping away, and somehow death must have frightened more than life because at some point she found herself kneeling as she licked her plate and bowl clean, like a hound. She decided, then, that she would live, for knowing little else. She felt repulsive, her food - whatever it was, for in the dark she could not see - dribbling down her chin along with thick water, her hair in knots and her body reeking. Life, she thought ruefully.


    They said no words when they locked her here. Then again, if they did, Vira would not have noticed. When she lost her fellow Blossoms, her friends here and elsewhere, everywhere, there ceased to be a world outside of her head. Even here she spent most of her days retreating inside. It was better than dying, in a way, for at times she could cease to exist entirely, helped by the silence and the darkness. She would halt her breath, her slightest motions, and stifle her own thoughts. I am nothing, she told herself until she didn¡¯t need to remind herself of that, until she became nothing and no one, devoid of past and future, just a part of the darkness.


    But then the light would briefly shine upon no one, and meeting the empty gaze of her captors she was reminded she was someone, she was Vira. Try as she might, she could not become a thing, she could not return the embrace of the dark. A moment later, when it returned, when the gaolers departed, Vira Ulkatsil would be all too aware of herself, of being alive, of every pain in her body. And she would think of her fallen sisters, and weep.


    How many hours pass when I sleep then wake? Have I slept only once today, or twice, thrice? She had once started pacing in circles and counting her steps, but she lost count at some point and stopped. She would have screamed in frustration if she thought it would make a difference, but of course it would not. She could scream until her voice was gone and it wouldn¡¯t matter.


    Soon she realized she could not speak anymore, when her bloom-sister asked her a question and she tried to answer.


    ¡°I wonder why you were spared,¡± said the sister without a face and without a voice. Yet she felt so real. I¡¯m mad, Vira thought. They were right, I lost my wits. ¡°Bite out your tongue and join us. We await you.¡±


    Forgive me, she would have said if she could.


    ¡°This is not your fault,¡± it said, or she said, or something said. ¡°Death merely forgot about you.¡±


    It was her mother she saw then, her mother she heard, her mother she remembered, her mother she reached for but grasped only air.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go,¡± she managed some words in a frail voice. ¡°Don¡¯t go. I¡¯m alive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll forget about you too. My child of scorn.¡±


    Vira jumped to her feet. These are my thoughts, not a ghost. She knew it could not be her mother, because her mother would not have given her the satisfaction of cruelty. Mother would have preferred to pretend such an unsightly thing was not there, this thing that reeked and shat and pissed.


    The torches blazed again. She heard a man¡¯s voice, and wondered how it was that her mind had spoiled to the point of imagining a voice she never heard before. But they approached her cell, the guards, and after these long stretches of silence the noise was deafening, just as Vira¡¯s eyes started to hurt when the lights lingered. The men¡¯s lips were moving, too. They were real - this was real.


    ¡°Come with us, please,¡± the man spoke not unkindly, so Vira wondered if he had been one of her captors all this time, suddenly seeing her as a person. She hadn¡¯t paid attention, for once she understood that they would ignore her words she didn¡¯t direct her gaze towards them. ¡°Lord Stensrud wants to have a word with you.¡±


    My host, she thought, but not quite. Gorne Stensrud was not lord of Sk?rdsta, but the province¡¯s lord was sworn to him. My lord¡¯s lord wants a word, she thought, almost stumbling as she shambled along by her gaolers¡¯ side. Ah, but this castle¡¯s lord is not the lord of the province, it occurred to her, and she started to laugh. Last she knew, Stensrud was not king of this frigid shithole, and even that pale land whale paid homage to the Basileus. And the Basileus suckles on the teats of the Rose. She laughed loudly now, as loudly as her strained voice allowed. The guards must truly think she had gone mad, and Vira almost agreed with them. On and on this chain of allegiances stretched until it closed in on itself. The serpent swallows its own tail, the flower seeds its own buds, and man takes his shit and eats it.


    ¡°How long have I been imprisoned?¡± She asked, and the men did not reply, but this time they had the decency to appear ashamed. ¡°Surely you can answer that without your master¡¯s approval and words. I¡¯m not asking why I was imprisoned.¡±


    ¡°Lord Stensrud will explain matters to you,¡± the man closest to her said. He had a youthful, clean-shaven face, which made him quite different from his peers, burly and rough men whose scowls and rustic vestments firmly placed them within the exalted tradition of the men of Valkeavise who praised their past as reavers and warriors to pretend this country was anything but a miserable sunless graveyard for those in the winter of their lives. Young men that had good sense and talent would rather leave this place than serve here. Was this soldier, then, a lackwit, or a cripple?


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    Vira accompanied them wordlessly after that. Every cell she walked past was vacant, and most of the torch sconces were empty as well. That was unsurprising. The dungeons ill suited what today was a castle with more history than purpose, seat to a lord with more pride than influence. Hundreds of years ago, Sk?rdsta had been wealthy, the jewel of a petty kingdom long since subsumed into Valkeavise. If her memory didn¡¯t fail her, Vira recalled that these lands had amassed riches through trade and farming, harvest and market, but today one could be fooled into thinking otherwise, what with how her hosts of Balleborg adorned their halls with swords and shields and oriflammes. Men with good sense would have known to boast that they¡¯d known centuries of peace and that they were farmers, fishermen, artisans, and that their people were fed and clothed through harsh winters.


    But if men had good sense, she thought, the Red Rose would have no reason to exist. These lands were no longer wealthy, its harvests no longer plentiful and now its people knew hunger. But Lord Balleborg could boast of keeping relic weapons in his vaults, and enough people learned to fill their bellies with pride.


    There was not much color in the castle¡¯s halls, nor sufficient light, but Vira could tell when she left the dungeons. I¡¯ve not forgotten what this place looked like, at least. I must not have been confined for too long. It was dark enough to be midnight, and the castle was mostly empty, though it had never been the most bustling of environments. Only guards remained now, a sparse garrison fit for an impoverished House. When Sk?rdsta housed half a dozen Blossoms, it could be said to be formidably-defended, though there had not been cause since the unification of Valkeavise for conflict to reach this deep into the country. Fifteen or twenty soldiers are more than sufficient to guard mounds of snow and yak dung.


    Three lords awaited her at the audience chamber, which was also the castle¡¯s feasting hall, council chamber, and had been a throne room for petty kings forgotten to history. Stay, Sergeant Agnur, said Lord Balleborg to the clean-shaven youth that led his household guard. Torgir Balleborg had a smooth face as well, though his hair was long and untamed. He never did manage to grow a beard, to his embarrassment. Gorne Stensrud, by his side, had a fine manly beard he stroked with obnoxious pride, though his short tidy hair was more fitting of a cosmopolitan Tesmarian fop than a warrior. Duke Hallgor Lovas, however, was a proper Valksman, in appearance at least, though he made a significantly less striking impression with his hair and beard white and brittle, his eyes milky. He may have been an actual warrior, in his prime, and not too modest to refrain from putting his own deeds to song, of battles waged in the far north of the kingdom. There was no mention of how Blossoms, too, fought and bled upon the ice there, for they did not fit tales of warring glory. Nevertheless, a warrior who¡¯d grown old deserved some respect, if only Vira were in a respectful mood.


    ¡°I am here, my lords,¡± she said, ¡°and your business must be urgent indeed that you¡¯d not allow me the dignity of washing and dressing myself in something more seemly than rags. Forgive me if I reek.¡±


    ¡°That was ill done, keeping you there,¡± said Duke Lovas. He squinted to get a better look. ¡°I pray you¡¯ve not been harmed. That would be most unchivalrous indeed.¡±


    ¡°No harm save for being chained and restrained,¡± she said. ¡°I should like to know what crime I¡¯ve committed, for I seem to have forgotten. In my folly I have also found myself confused, as where I come from, an accused learns the nature of their crime before imprisonment.¡±


    ¡°As of now, you make me wish it was to teach you some courtesy,¡± said Lord Stensrud. ¡°Your attitude ill-fits your station. You very well could have been kept there in the dark, which you mustn¡¯t forget.¡±


    ¡°I see. I apologize for failing to express all the gratitude I feel,¡± she said, then held her tongue. Lord Balleborg rubbed his eyes with his gauntleted thumbs. Why wear your armor day and night, my lord? You impress no one.


    ¡°It was¡­ Folly, to imprison you,¡± Torgir Balleborg said. ¡°A decision taken too quickly, out of¡­ Out of concern, after what had happened. All Blossoms gone¡­ We were afraid, my lady. We did not know what had happened, we did not know your intentions-¡±


    ¡°You did know,¡± said Vira. ¡°All dead, I heard. You must have gotten news. None felt inclined to share them with me in detail, however. Nor to let me depart.¡±


    ¡°For your safety, you should not have left,¡± Balleborg said, gently. ¡°We heard¡­ We heard little, yes. No details, not initially. We feared¡­ We feared that all Blossoms had been¡­ Had been lost.¡±


    ¡°All save me,¡± she said. She was beginning to understand, then. ¡°Until you learned that was not the case.¡±


    Lovas nodded. Vira wondered if it was shame that she saw in his furrowed brow. It should have been.


    ¡°Yes, well¡­ Mistakes were made,¡± said Stensrud. ¡°As they are wont to be, when decisions are taken in haste and fear. That is the unfortunate truth. Lord Balleborg informed me and immediately understood that he had acted in folly, but you must understand his fears. To release you would risk retribution, for in your grief you might not have forgiven his error. That is all.¡±


    That is all. They were lying to her. They had to know that she knew that. She could not accuse them, not still manacled and weak. Not without knowing more.


    ¡°More Blossoms remain,¡± said Duke Lovas. ¡°More than we could tell at first, thank the stars. Your Tower of Rebirth stands, and your Order, damaged as it is, has pledged to continue to safeguard the world from vile darknesses and infernal magics.¡±


    You know my bloom-sisters are not all gone, so you can¡¯t act against us without punishment. When you thought us broken and gone, you seized your opportunity when you were not under our watch to¡­ To do what, exactly? This she could not tell. She had to ask carefully, understanding her situation was precarious indeed.


    ¡°Your Rose doesn¡¯t know you survived,¡± explained Balleborg. ¡°And, to tell truth, we scarcely know how to justify your treatment to your Stonetree, so their queries have gone unanswered. We cannot ignore the Tower of Rebirth forever, of course. Therein is our complication, and my folly¡­¡±


    ¡°There were talks of secession,¡± Lovas said bluntly. ¡°In the confusion, in the uncertainty, some ravens flew, some words were said, signals were given, scrying fires were lit. Valkeavise has not partaken of the fruits of empire that the southron realms grew fat on. The future that is spreading across the lands, blooming forth from Cartasinde, will leave us behind. But Rosavor is too far to reach us, and we are perhaps too insignificant, we dared believe. Their imperial grasp writhes with your vines and roots, so with the Red Rose withered, perhaps¡­ Perhaps the world was ripe for change.¡±


    And there it is. It was not the worst scheme, if the Blossoms were truly gone. Without their power to keep the kingdoms together, it was indeed the ideal time for independence. But it was far too hasty. Why would the lords of Valkeavise think they had such a brief window of opportunity?


    ¡°Have my lords brought me from the depths to ask that I sing a more agreeable tale to my bloom-sisters? They would not be glad to learn that you have imprisoned me in an attempted move towards rebellion, but I needn¡¯t tell them that.¡±


    ¡°We should like to remain within the graces of the Blossoms,¡± said Lord Stensrud, begrudgingly. ¡°Not all of us feel that way, however. There are a hundred lords in Valkeavise, not all quite so reasonable and capable of changing their minds when faced with new information, like myself.¡±


    Ah. So you gave the order.


    ¡°From what I can see, you are all loyal friends of the Ruby Blossom and of the Rosavors,¡± she sang the song they would demand of her, ¡°and have nothing to do with this vile talk of rebellion. Do I dare ask how many of your fellow lords have succumbed to this madness?¡±


    ¡°We dare not answer,¡± said Balleborg.


    Most of them, then. Still, it would have been easier to have my head and be done with it all. I am living proof of your ambitions, restrained not out of loyalty but because the opportunity you saw was but a mirage. If Vira would only tell the truth, who could tell what punishment would befall them¡­? The only risk greater and more idiotic than arresting her was freeing her.


    ¡°We need the Rose,¡± said the sergeant behind her, whose presence Vira had almost forgotten. Her shackles were enough proof that they did not trust her, and Sergeant Agnur¡¯s spear was further certainty of that. ¡°We do not have the strength to fight so many remaining Blossoms, and even if we did, why should we? My lord of Balleborg, I tried to tell you that this was a mistake. And my father-¡±


    ¡°I know what you said,¡± Lord Torgir interrupted him. ¡°Speak not of your father, not here and not now. What matters now is showing the Lady Ulkatsil how apologetic we are. And how we need her help, her good word, her strength of arms.¡±


    So you lords are fighting one another. Vira was impressed, she had to admit. Most countries would take longer than a month to descend into civil war. For a bunch of farmers and merchants playing at being warriors with a glorious past, they were combative enough. Vira stared again at the scared faces of the lords before her, though they tried to conceal their concern with pride, grit, strength. Somehow Vira did not feel so compelled to burn them alive anymore. The Red Rose lives, she thought, and it was enough to make her feel hopeful, even forgiving.


    ¡°I understand it now, my lords,¡± she said, politely, sweetly, words with courtesy that almost concealed the stench of her own piss and sweat. ¡°None need know about your lapse in judgment, for your loyalty shall serve as atonement. I will help you keep the peace as best as I can, and perhaps even bring a swift end to this talk of rebellion, of which you have never played any part. The Rose rewards its friends, you may well know.¡±


    ¡°We would¡­ We would be most grateful for your aid,¡± Lord Stensrud looked like he was in actual physical pain when he had to swallow his pride. My life is in his hands, but he knows that his is in mine as well.


    ¡°But of course,¡± she said, bowing low enough that they could not see how she grinned. When she looked at them again, her face was kindness itself. ¡°Valkeavise are our stalwart friends in the north, a bastion against the evils in the World-Wound. And us Blossoms live to serve.¡±

 Sprout and Phoenix (Part Five)

    ¡°Bryony?¡±


    ¡°Purity, I¡¯m certain,¡± said Mia, who always spoke without thinking, never afraid to sound stupid.


    ¡°That¡¯s wrong. And you, Serra, what do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think¡­¡± She paused. Hers were always lengthy pauses, for she was always too afraid to sound stupid. ¡°It has broad symbolism, depending on culture, region, nation, province, and possibly time period. Its characteristics also allow a great range of interpretation depending on the onlooker.¡±


    ¡°If I wished to be serenaded by meaningless braying, I¡¯d have a conversation with an ox,¡± Diantha sighed. ¡°Indeed, an ox would be a worthy intellectual adversary to the two of you. Combined. The bryony is the source of mandragora, so wherever it grows folk have associated it with vital forces. But it is poison as well, bane of many an alchemist. It is a useful essence, however, both medicine and poison, as the most potent reagents tend to be. Shamans and wise women have learned to use its ominous properties to bottle delusions for ritual purposes.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ It represents vitality?¡± Mia asked.


    ¡°Fertility. Abundance. The life that flows beneath the soil. That is its principal symbol, almost universal amidst cultures.¡±


    ¡°I did not know that,¡± said Mia.


    ¡°You would if you had read the scriptures I assigned you,¡± said Diantha. Fool of a girl. Both of them, in fact. Serra is no less foolish for keeping her mouth shut. ¡°Up until the Lyerne Conclave of 1813, the Academy made use of corporal punishment in the upbringing of a Blossom. When I look at the two of you, I find myself almost able to understand what it was that led a Blossom to beat a pupil bloody,¡± still, caning a student to death had been a step too far, even for the sorriest of lots. But her two apprentices could do with a little intimidation.


    ¡°The Conclave was held after that girl died, right?¡± Asked Serra.


    ¡°So you know something, at least,¡± said Diantha, eyes drifting towards the landscapes outside. Traveling by motivus engine always made her feel sick, but it was the swiftest way to reach Vaduria. ¡°The girl did not die, she was killed. An important distinction, wouldn¡¯t you say? It was barbarism, of course, the Conclave had the right of it. Still, I find that a student must be nourished with plenty of food for thought.¡±


    They said nothing, for a while, though there was no silence at all. This might be a private coach, but there were a dozen other wagons behind, and a motivus was a shrieking, heavyset monstrosity. Far be it from me to question progress, but some of us have grown too comfortable with being swallowed by a contraption of metal, steam and arcanima. Most of the Empire had not yet received these veins of steel, but their adoption was a fast boon to commerce and industry, and, hopefully, to transporting Blossoms across two kingdoms in good enough time that Vaduria might not dive into war. A contentious people, these Vadurians.


    ¡°Lady Maglora?¡± Mia asked, raising her voice. I¡¯m not a Lady, Diantha thought, annoyed. ¡°You were making a point¡­?¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course,¡± she said. Diantha had a way of being distracted by stupidity. She had spoken too harshly; she regretted some of her words, when she remembered that the girls before her were fourteen years old. I only truly became a Blossom when I came of age. These girls are too young. ¡°Buds beyond the rose bloom from the soil. Some centuries ago the bryony was the symbol of the orders of alchemic arts within our Rose. The rose subsumed it. And the imperial fritillary?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Mia was about to say something foolish, so Diantha braced for it. ¡°Could it be¡­ Imperial power? Dignity? Authority?¡±


    ¡°Those who see the flowers as golden crowns might agree,¡± said Diantha, pleased that Mia was merely imprecise rather than entirely in error. ¡°But more pertinent to us is the way its shape is reminiscent of a bowing head, as though weeping, shedding tears of nectar. They grieve for all that is gone from the world, be it old magics, beasts hunted to extinction, great heroes and forgotten lands. There was a memorialist order within our Order, whose sigil was the fritillary. Some centuries of our oldest archives were penned by the hands of Mourning Sisters long ago. They no longer maintain those archives, however.¡±


    ¡°What happened to them?¡± Asked Serra.


    ¡°The rose has subsumed them,¡± she said simply. ¡°That is its wont. The rose is a predator among symbols. It has come to represent anything, everything, nothing. There is strength in that, for there is strength in words, and I don¡¯t mean it only in terms of magic, but in thought. There is no specificity to the rose, for it consumes all meanings. It symbolizes so richly and abundantly that it has come to symbolize nothing. And whatever you desire. A useful symbol, a useful idea, for our noble Order. The rose is love, mystery, grace and gratitude and desire and sorrow, a broken heart. It is a symbol of agony and of ecstasy.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Serra¡¯s eyes met her. It was rare for her not to avoid other people¡¯s gazes. ¡°If the rose is anything, if that makes it everything and nothing, what does that mean for the Ruby Blossom?¡±


    ¡°It is as I told you. Words carry power, a fact that you as a magical girl must never forget, because magic, too, is a language. When we think of magic, we imagine fire and light, miraculous displays of might that alter the world, and that is true enough, but most importantly it is change, and words allow transformation. Our magic is so powerful because the rose has eaten all other symbols, absorbed them unto itself. Thus it has altered the world in a concrete way, shaping beliefs and ideals. Do you follow?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± said Mia. Though it was hard to find cause to praise the girl, none could deny her honesty.


    ¡°You will,¡± Diantha sighed. ¡°Continue studying. Hedge wizards, children and outsiders have the luxury of seeing magic as tools, as formulae, but as Blossoms you are expected to cultivate a more profound understanding of magic. For we do not wield it as though it were purely external, but we become it in Efflorescence.¡±


    The two girls nodded, swore they would study, Serra making a point of reaching for a heavy tome by her side, then opening a page at random. With the motivus at full speed, however, she quickly grew sick with the motion, and set aside her book. Mia, meanwhile, stared at the world outside with fascination. Diantha saw no need to interrupt. This private wagon was comfortable enough for a lengthy journey, though nowhere near as long as horses would require, and machinery did not need rest like pegasi, nor did it involve the laborious process of changing steeds. Even if a journey required passage through multiple stations, a train was, supposedly, entirely reliable and predictable.


    Certainly this was a more luxurious and comfortable form of travel, once one got used to the strangeness of it all. My buttocks are not sore or numb from being atop a saddle all day, she thought, nor am I expected my full attention at all times. And no girl would spill her first blood upon these fine cushioned seats the way Diantha did while horseback, all those years ago. Such a mercy to be spared the embarrassment.


    She turned her gaze outside, to the countryside of Vaduria. Her own grandsire would tell her what a shock it was to see Vaduria adapt to modernity so swiftly. When he was a boy, the only tales of Vaduria that would reach the rest of the world were whispers of how it was a backwards, miserable country, a land and people full of pride and little else. Its population was, for the most part, one step above chattel, composed primarily of serfs bound to the land and eking out an existence hardly worth living. Here reigned the world¡¯s longest lasting unbroken royal dynasty¡­ But that was before Diantha¡¯s time. By her birth, that bloodline had already been consigned to history, snuffed out to the last child who could claim the name as inheritance, the same name as the land they governed. Vaduria the nation lived on, Vaduria the dynasty had seen its members hanged, beheaded, immolated.


    What does it say about the world that, following such barbarity, Vaduria quickly made progress towards prosperity, towards justice? Now its people were truly free, citizens of the Empire, and they chose their own rulers. Train tracks spiderwebbed the country, as did telegraph wires, both to a limited extent but to a greater degree than even many wealthy, stable nations. Most of the world relied upon letters and messengers, so in Vaduria one could see an image of the future.


    Though Mia and Serra stared in awe at the metal spires and abundance of opulent stopping stations for the flux of motivi, Diantha knew better than to see only the surface. The road from Cartasinde to the capital Eluriel was an exuberant display of progress and the promise of a new world, but it meant that now there was even less of a reason to stray from the principal trade routes. Vaduria was huge, and these newfound bounties did not come to all of its provinces equally. If things remained this way, all Diantha could accomplish would be postponing the brewing conflicts.


    They were the minority, those who enjoyed the gains of progress. Within the cities and the townships blooming around the railroad, houses were erected in steel and concrete, adorned by glass panes, buildings large, tall and proud, but in the rest of Vaduria, far from the eyes of outlanders, the common folk of the land dwelled in daub-and-wattle shacks as their fathers before them. The future bore no fruit for them.


    ¡°Lady Maglora,¡± Serra whispered, though there was no one to hear. ¡°Do you think there¡¯ll be war here?¡±


    ¡°Without action from our part, yes,¡± she said bluntly. ¡°Elsewise we would not be here. Ours, however, is a diplomatic mission. We were not granted Efflorescence to wield our magics against unruly peasants. But diplomacy is its own battlefield. It is easier to kill someone than to understand them and to reach an agreeable conclusion.¡±


    Far easier, that¡¯s the truth of it. Killing monsters was one thing, fellow humans something else entirely. It was too grim a deed to expect from such young girls only recently blossomed. It was, in fact, a harsh thing to demand of anyone, even if some of her bloom-sisters thought little of it.


    The rest of their journey was silent, unremarkable. If they would not do their required readings, there was no point in attempting to educate them. Diantha had never been a great teacher, either, and neither had she the slightest desire to instruct anyone. Alas, it was not by choice that the Ruby Blossom found itself so direly diminished. We require someone in Vaduria, Valchenza had told her, and I¡¯ll assign some initiates to remain under your care. See that they are taught all that a Blossom must know.


    Teach them yourself, was what she wanted to say. Grief was still with her, and, still bearing that pain, how could she move forward? How could any of them? She could scarcely fault Dorthea for breaking.


    They slowed down as they neared the station in Logrorem, but some hundred paces from the old graveyard that had been the city¡¯s lone claim to significance for most of history. Now that it had the good fortune of being directly between two grand capitals, it at last saw enough visitors to once again be more than a withered corpse. Like Vaduria herself, this city had been mighty once, but that was long ago, in another counting of years entirely, when Vaduria was not province but empire, when its greatness was neither a fading memory or a prayer for the future. The station was pristine and clean, but not far from it the graves were overgrown with weeds and thorns and worn stone markers memorialized ancient rulers of whom naught remained but their names in writings so old one could scarcely recognize it as the same language they spoke today.


    ¡°Is this the same city as it was then¡­?¡± She wondered out loud. Her pupils did not answer, merely staring at her, puzzled. ¡°That¡¯s true, you wouldn¡¯t recognize the importance of Logrorem. This was a great city, then a ruin, then a husk, and now this. There,¡± she pointed at the large banners at the entrance of the station, blue on green and adorned with three black hounds.


    ¡°What are we looking at, Lady Maglora?¡± Mia asked.


    ¡°Must you call me Lady?¡± Diantha snapped. ¡°I work for a living, you lackwit, and, because I have no say in the matter, we are bloom-sisters now, light preserve me. You would have seen that banner before if you used what little wits you were given to study the most superficial of histories. They are the colors of Ancient Vaduria, and every fool of a noble in this country claims this heritage some way or another. That was thousands of years ago, so the symbols have eroded to the point of nullity, but the Vaduria of old was oft at odds with our Rose, with Tesmaria, which did not call itself an empire then. The blasphemies had a hold here, in the Cult of the Hound, or the Ravenous Mouth, or the nameless heresies in the coast, where stunted infants were given to the seas. The country has died and has been reborn again and again. I told you about the power behind symbols and words and ideas. What say you of a symbol that was broken, then mended, then broken again, its pieces lost, scattered, before being made whole with disparate fragments?¡±


    ¡°I take it that there is a strange sort of pride amidst Vadurians,¡± proposed Serra. When she actually had the courage to speak, she usually was not wholly ignorant. ¡°To cling to the past takes a queer drive to force the symbols to endure. Our Rose is old, too, is it not?¡±


    ¡°Our Rose?¡± Diantha was amused. ¡°I see what you mean. We have endured millennia unbroken, however. That is our difference. Our forebears have remade themselves, reshaped our Order, but it has never ruptured like Ancient Vaduria. The Vaduria of today is¡­ A wight, an animated corpse. Thousands of years ago, the midnight hound was the sigil of emperors, but when their line was extinguished in battle and the nation fell to ruin, the hounds devoured the dead and became ill omens, pariahs killed on sight, despoilers of the perished. Now they grace these banners before us. Loyal beasts, these hounds of kings and emperors. I would like you to keep these considerations in mind during our time in Vaduria. This is a nation which clings to a past that was never real, at the same time that it desperately reaches for a future it is yet to invent.¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°I understand,¡± said Mia. Diantha hoped she wasn¡¯t lying. This would be an unfair burden to place on the shoulders of two young girls even if they were bright and reliable. These two¡­ ¡°A tumultuous land, a troubled people¡­ They need us, don¡¯t they?¡±


    They all do. Like it or not, they all do, even those who don¡¯t realize it. Those need us most of all.


    As the train stopped, Mia hurriedly got to her feet, before Diantha told her to remain seated. The girl did not understand it yet, but in time she would: a Blossom was sought, never the seeker. Valchenza might have gone to the Basileus a beggar, but I¡¯ll be feeding the worms before I show any deference to pigfucking parvenus who only some decades ago learned that cutlery is for dining and not for combing one¡¯s arsehole hairs. That girl Teana, oldest of her wards and tasked with inspecting the other coaches to ascertain who else might be journeying to Vaduria, was not good for much but she was a marvellous cook. Diantha would have rather hanged herself than eat the dishes of this sty of a nation, so she was quite grateful that someone was of use.


    ¡°We wait,¡± Diantha told her pupils. ¡°We wait for Teana, that we needn¡¯t be caught unawares by unwanted companies as we leave. And we wait for our esteemed host to come receive us.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were supposed to meet Sir Petri in his estate,¡± said Mia. ¡°I thought-¡±


    ¡°Thinking ill suits you, sweetling. Traditionally, the noblest party waits for the lower to make their way for the meeting. You may believe it a meaningless formality, and you¡¯d be correct, but outsiders treasure their formalities, and must be made to remember their place. For a prince perhaps we might meet halfway, but for a man who married into a low rung of nobility? That would be undignified. Petri aims to bolster his station and to test us in our moment of weakness. He is free to do so. Our Rose can outlast the likes of him and his backwards country. Give him the smallest concession and he will pay you with further disrespect, and his masters will think us abased. And make no mistake, he will be disrespectful when he comes to us, for he is a prickly man, as are all insignificant men who overreached for ranks and stations they are too small to fill. Keenly aware that his name and heritage are but raindrops to the storm that is the Rose and her millennia.¡±


    Her Lillia had taught her that. She had been the daughter of some Crecenzan noble of no real import, and knew well how this sort of ambition and arrogance could sprout. Those who stand higher than most men but gain little concrete power from it are desperate, impatient. They¡¯ve tasted prestige and in doing so grew hungry, aware of a world that most folk never would, but as they are, they would only ever feel like mere guests. Just two years ago, Lord Nironi had attempted to use his daughter¡¯s esteemed position as a Blossom to gain access to his uncle the Marquis of Adernia and assassinate him, as a sequence of tragedies had left him with no other heirs. Lillia denounced him herself, and watched his hanging with no emotion. Afterwards she merely stated that her pride was worth more than a mere Marquis.


    She couldn¡¯t help a sad smile. Such memories made the waiting go faster, and Serra and Mia seemed content to converse among themselves, so Diantha afforded them some space, rising to her feet and waiting on the other side of the coach, reaching for a pitcher of water.


    Two knocks on the door announced Teana¡¯s arrival. She always knocked twice, even when it was wholly unnecessary. That was her idea of politeness, even after being told that when she was expected, she was free to simply walk inside and that her knocking was loud and annoying. Diantha told her to come in, and Teana did so shyly, her every movement fraught with an odd servility, the obsequiousness of someone eager to please, as if afraid they were not good enough for the station they occupied. For Teana, that much was true, of course, but that didn¡¯t make her any less irksome. A Blossom ought to carry herself with pride, because no matter how she might struggle inside, to the world their Order must be immaculate, effortlessly powerful and noble. Just because one is a fool, one mustn¡¯t carry oneself as a fool. Her Lillia was fond of saying that. She had been the cleverer of the two, but that did little to spare her from death. It fell on Diantha to be wise and strong, now.


    ¡°Sir Petri won¡¯t be long,¡± said Teana, standing before her companions. She always avoided Diantha¡¯s gaze. ¡°It seems that he quickly realized that you expected him to come to us.¡±


    ¡°We expected that,¡± Diantha corrected her. ¡°To outsiders, we ought to present an united front, stalwart and formidable. Be that as it may, I expected more resistance from him, a certain stubborn pride. It may well be that Vaduria is more desperate for assistance than I had guessed.¡±


    ¡°Does that change any of your- our intentions?¡± Mia asked.


    ¡°If that is indeed the case, then perhaps it does. If nothing else, it would make it easier to navigate the political games here. Whenever us Blossoms are called to other lands, things rarely are as simple as merely defending the country and its people from darkness - or from themselves, more often than not. Always we are tangled in interests, and woe if a Blossom in turn tangles her task in her own inclinations.¡±


    ¡°It feels as though it would be easier to simply do what we are tasked with doing,¡± said Teana. She either stated what was plain to see or absurdities that Diantha scarcely comprehended. ¡°We just have to pacify the growing discontent-¡±


    ¡°Are you stupid? Be grateful you have me or you¡¯d be taken advantage of by any louse out there speaking with a measure of authority. Kings and lords and fools alike all wish to use us to their advantage, so if you actually embrace the tasks they give you then you¡¯ll be a catspaw who furthers their ends. Pacify those rebels, they¡¯ll tell you, and if you are a good little obedient pawn you might just be crushing some starving peasants or some inconvenient lordlings. Our so-called allies would borrow our authority to better their positions, so if you never learn anything from me - and you seem determined not to - please learn not to trust these dirt people. These outsider lords are ticks in men¡¯s clothing. Rather than blindly listen to them and do as they bid, our authority is to be wielded so as to perform our own investigations and studies and reach our own conclusions, our own solutions.¡±


    ¡°I see. I suppose I ought to focus on gathering intelligence.¡±


    ¡°Desperately,¡± she said, and looked outside. Sir Petri approached in his finery, accompanied by pompous-looking attendants. ¡°I¡¯ll speak, you will do so only if spoken to, and Sir Petri may find it beneath him to exchange words with initiates. That shall be to your advantage, now and in the future. Remain unassuming, meek, and men may reveal more to you than they otherwise would. Now, quick, these are our arrangements. Three Blossoms will be hosted in a property of Sir Petri¡¯s ownership, a fine hotel not far from this station. It receives a fair bit of patronage from travelers on their way to the capital, who must stay the night in Logrorem. But we have our sweet Teana with us, and Sir Petri had not accounted for her, but as a most gracious host, and eager to stay on the graces of our Rose, he will generously invite you to his own estate on the outskirts of the city and far from the noise of engines and of the populace. He may not actually like doing so, but he will do it, and you will strain your wits to learn as much as you can there about the political affairs of Vaduria.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    I suppose that¡¯ll do.


    ¡°The two of you will share a bedroom,¡± Diantha explained. ¡°They¡¯re spacious and comfortable, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have a fine rest. You¡¯ll need it, as tomorrow our journey will be lengthy and tiresome.¡±


    Mia nodded curtly, but Serra did not hide her smile. It was fortunate that Diantha had been tasked with mentoring two girls who were so close. Such bonds ought to be cultivated, so Diantha would push them in that direction. Just like Lillia and I. Their mentor had been a harsh woman, too, who wielded her tongue like a lash and was never known to say a kind word. That was for the best. Diantha found comfort from such torments in Lillia¡¯s arms, in her lips, in her bed. Lillia was so kind, she thought, recalling the way that, whenever Diantha was deserving of scorn, Lillia would appear an even greater disappointment to their teacher, so that all punishments would befall her rather than Diantha. Madam Faschial never cared that corporal punishment was abolished, Diantha remembered that very well. Even Lillia¡¯s efforts hadn¡¯t fully spared her the beatings, but Diantha was grateful for her efforts anyways. At times she thought that perhaps this might further Mia and Serra¡¯s bonds as it had hers and Lillia¡¯s, but she never found it in her to raise a hand on her wards.


    These two stand more evenly, both of them almost useless. Lillia was special, my better half. I owe all I am to her. The tradition of coupling Blossoms had faded thousands of years ago, but Diantha saw that as folly. None fought more fiercely than one with her lover at her side. None more wrathful than one who watched her lover die.


    Lillia faded in her sleep. At night we held one another, but come dawn I was all alone in bed.


    Sir Petri was ushered in by his attendants, whom he dismissed upon Diantha¡¯s request. He wasn¡¯t even pretending to smile. That was for the good: annoyed people were thoughtless and ill-suited for diplomacy, and may well reveal more than they should. The sooner they learned the details behind these talks of rebellion, the sooner Diantha would figure out what was to be done here.


    ¡°Good Sir,¡± she extended a hand, offering him to sit. He refused to, preferring to stand. He was awfully tall, and perhaps proud of it. He did quite impressively tower over three teenage girls, while Diantha compensated for some of her disadvantage with her large, wide-brimmed hat. ¡°Greetings to you. I am so thankful you have come to receive us,¡± she offered him her hand, her rose ring gleaming with magic. A simple spell, but it was impressive how much a little light could do to impress and cow an outsider.


    ¡°Lady Maglora,¡± he said, reluctantly taking hold of her hand and kissing her ring. The tip of his warm lips brushed up against her finger. Unkind thoughts swam in Diantha¡¯s head. ¡°You are enchanting. And these are, ah¡­ Your little seeds?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no Lady, though you would be a gentleman even if you had not been knighted,¡± she said. He would not fail to be stung by those words. ¡°These are my pupils, Mia, Serra and Teana.¡±


    They greeted him shyly, but pleasantly enough. Children were always far more agreeable when they did not speak. Still, as expected, the sight of a fourth Blossom visibly displeased Sir Petri.


    ¡°You are a professor, am I correct?¡±


    ¡°It is one of my duties, though I am primarily a Blossom, and merely a guest lecturer at Rosa Aeterna.¡±


    ¡°I understand. I presume that you do not teach arithmetics, then? You informed me to expect three guests, and so I made such arrangements at the Hotel Calipetri, but I count four Blossoms here. Surely you would not mistake three and four.¡±


    ¡°Is that an impediment, Sir Petri?¡±


    ¡°I would not like it to be said that I have failed to offer my guests the hospitality of Vaduria.¡±


    ¡°My, that would be vexing indeed. Surely you have quarters at your own estate? My sweet Teana is not demanding. I¡¯d rather you find private quarters for my darling, but we would never want to inconvenience you-¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. So this was all the extent of his patience? His courtesy did not last half a dozen sentences. ¡°Lady Maglora, I¡¯ll be honest.¡±


    ¡°I would not expect otherwise, Sir Petri.¡±


    ¡°We need more than three novitiates to uphold the peace. I understand you have suffered difficulties, but my liege lords would have desired more experienced hands¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have no cause to doubt the worth of my most capable wards, Sir. I selected them myself, and I have an eye for greatness.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of your boast,¡± he said. ¡°You, girl.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Serra Ablya, Sir.¡±


    ¡°Do you know anything of Vadurian history?¡±


    ¡°I have several books on the topic. Though I must admit they are not of Vadurian authorship.¡±


    ¡°Books such as¡­?¡±


    ¡°I, well¡­¡± She faltered. ¡°Well, they are¡­ Basic textbooks, really¡­ Introductions to finer details of the lands of Siodrune. I haven¡¯t really reached Vaduria, though. The chapters are ordered alphabetically.¡±


    ¡°I see. And you did not consider prioritizing the study of the land you would be defending?¡± When she had no answer for that, his annoyance grew, and he approached her companion instead. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Mia Svenilah, my lord! I mean, I¡¯m sorry¡­ Sir. Sir Petri.¡±


    ¡°You appear to be quite warm. Too warm, I¡¯d say. But it is not winter, and, besides, Vaduria is not a cold country.¡±


    ¡°I-I see¡­ I thought it¡­ Ah, I apologize for making¡­ For making assumptions. Of course Vaduria is a warm country. You have, I think, uh, beautiful¡­ Deserts, no? Not too distant from Tel Ubaitha¡­?¡±


    ¡°Mercy,¡± he sighed, then turned to Teana. ¡°Your hair is the color of lively grass¡­ A Crecenzan?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m Teana Precci, my lor- Fuck.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Yes, a most impressive crop,¡± he said, looking down on Teana. ¡°Are you a sproutling, child? You have the look about you, the gormless airs of children stumbling. Are you what the Rose has to offer, now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ What¡­?¡± Teana began to stutter. ¡°I¡­ You¡­ What¡­ What are you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Splendid, they sent me a¡­¡± He grumbled, and for a second seemed to consider his words. Alas, he failed to consider them long enough. ¡°I did not know that Rosa Aeterna had begun to accept retards-¡±


    Diantha smacked his face so harshly she could have killed him had she only mantled her armor and magic. He was fortunate that it was mere silk that struck him. Nevertheless it had been enough to scatter blood and teeth along the beautiful brown floors beneath their feet. It had been too long since she last had the pleasure of hurting an outsider. As Petri tried to recover and get back up, Diantha looked down on him with disdain.


    ¡°Your owners do not value your tongue, Sir Petri, so there would be no protests if I pulled it out with my bare hand. It is your good fortune that I¡¯ve no desire to touch such a repulsive worm. If you think yourself valuable enough for your masters to antagonize my Order for your sake, you may go ahead and try me. There are cells in the depths of the Tower of Rebirth shaped just like a man, quite uncomfortable for lads far slimmer than you,¡± that was a lie, but it did not matter. Fear, for the nonce, strengthened the Rose¡¯s position. ¡°These maidens have traveled far to safeguard Vaduria and your lives, your families, and your precious rocks and rags and cowpies. They are to be treated with more respect than the whores you¡¯ve fathered.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ You¡­!¡±


    ¡°Me? Have you words to say to me?¡± She placed her foot in front of his head as he struggled to his feet. ¡°No? Then run along home, have someone escort Teana, and pray tell your masters that I will save your country for you, and won¡¯t even require thanks. As fine a bargain as you can hope for. Now begone from my sight. I want only to see you again as a figure seeing us off as we depart, shrinking as you become more distant.¡±


    Grumbling, protesting, he still obeyed, a hand on his cheek, quickly leaving the Blossoms alone once more. Their relief was evident, as, even if Sir Petri had not been such an unpleasant host, it was far too soon to cast these girls into diplomacy, at lands far from home. Teana approached her, embarrassed, showing a hint of a smile.


    ¡°Thank you, L-Lady Maglora-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a Lady, you simpleton¡± she repeated, annoyed. ¡°And you needn¡¯t thank me. I plainly could never abide insults towards my sweet, treasured wards.¡±

 The Scourge upon the Lands (Part One)

    Rarely had Triella been called an exemplar of intelligence, but she had enough wits to assume that it was an ill omen to pass by masses of refugees who were headed in the direction she had just left. Unwashed and hungry they were, and scared, and worst of all, there were so many of them. Triella had no illusions about Loclain not being exactly as horrible as Stel had often described, nor had she doubted the concerning news that began flowing south right as the Blossoms were culled by cruel fate. Even so, it was only upon seeing over a thousand frightened and weary peasants that the scale of the threat became truly clear to her.


    ¡°The Gairnites have grown bold,¡± explained a man whom Triella and Cecilia questioned alongside Sieglinde. He carried even less than the rest of the refugees, and was alone, with no family accompanying him. ¡°Here,¡± he pointed at the map Sieglinde brought with her. She allowed her younger bloom-sisters to ask the questions, and only took notes when the man answered. A finger black with soot called attention to the southeastern parts of the map, beyond the jagged mountains that surrounded Agaepsonia. He had come a long way from home, and still had many more miles to go before reaching Cartasinde.


    ¡°Were your villages attacked?¡± Cecilia asked.


    ¡°Some, aye. Most of the folk here abandoned their homes before they could be put to the torch, though. When word reached them of the Gairning Host¡¯s advance, few chose to chance their lives. Wise. Those diabolists are out in force, I tell you, and are uninterested in taking prisoners or leaving anything unburnt. Outriders came to my village and set our homes ablaze, but they were not the main force, or else I¡¯d not be here.¡±


    ¡°You say word reached these people¡­¡± Triella remarked. Some parts of Loclain might have warning fires, but her guess was that the warnings were given in person, hence this intense flux of humanity departing Loclain. ¡°What sort of word?¡±


    ¡°The grim kind. This lad arrived bloodied from the town of Silvanis, with a gruesome tale to share. He was hysterical, poor thing, like a woman, but none could judge him too harshly when he explained what happened. He was the only one allowed to leave, to spread word of the atrocity. Silvanis was thoroughly despoiled, both the town and its people. Fifty of the townsfolk were chosen to have their hearts ripped from their chest in sacrifice to demons, and the rest were thrown into a pit and burned.¡±


    ¡°If they wanted this tale to spread,¡± Cecilia said, ¡°then the Host likely wanted all settlements there to be deserted. What for? If they wanted sacrifices, they would not have allowed their quarry to leave Loclain. It¡¯d be our great fortune if they started to sacrifice one another, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°No such luck, my lady Blossom.¡±


    ¡°I thought as much. Mayhaps they mean to draw us out. To measure our strength and the numbers we are committing to Loclain. No doubt the¡­ Our difficulties are known to all.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± the man said meekly. ¡°That is why¡­ Not to imply that we¡¯ve no faith in your Rose, but¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t need to say any more. It wasn¡¯t a matter of faith. The Red Rose could maintain its accelerated pace in recruitment for a decade and it wouldn¡¯t come close to regaining its former ranks. And the sudden loss of so many Blossoms could not be concealed. The Gairnites wasted no time in seizing this opportunity.


    ¡°For much of my life, we could live undisturbed by the Host,¡± he said. ¡°They demanded tithes, but we were spared their raids. We were too afraid of seeking help from the Blossoms of Agaepsonia, because it had always been easier to give a portion of our harvest than to chance retribution. Our folly, perhaps¡­ But not one we deserved to pay so severe a price for.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± said Triella. ¡°I understand¡­ I understand all too well what it¡¯s like to live in such fear that you dread retaliation as though they could do worse to you than they already do every day. Even though such arrangements cannot last forever. The demands would grow ever more unreasonable, but by then you¡¯ve grown tangled deep within the situation. But we are here now. We will keep you safe.¡±


    ¡°We thank you, my lady Blossom,¡± he said, words well-rehearsed, betrayed by his fidgety hands. Triella could not fault him for this, either. Such small comfort it was to see your saviors arrive after your home was already burned and your people butchered. He must judge us to be but children. And is he wrong?


    They lacked for numbers, but their supplies abounded, so they shared with these desperate people, so plainly relieved to enjoy a full meal after weeks of running. They did not seem quite so withered afterwards, the children less scrawny, the elders less decrepit. Dignity has a way of making you human again, she thought, recalling the weight of a plate, so heavy on bony hands, the biting pains of deprivation and the relief that came from a full belly and a cup of water. She wondered if, all those years ago, the Blossoms that had saved her understood the significance of their deeds, just how much they meant. Only those who knew hunger and fear could truly understand, but it mattered little. Even if they did not fully know what that pain was like, that weakness and dread, it was love and duty that put them in Triella¡¯s path, that had them receive a thousand half-dead refugees with smiles and kindness. Triella smiled, too. She smiled, and looked each and every person in the eyes as she handed over some food, some drink, some words of comfort.


    Not long after, a man was seen looking for a Blossom, one whom no one could claim to know. Must be some madman, Erika Chantesse said. Many who lose their home and their families tend to lose their wits as well.


    ¡°Well, who is he seeking, then?¡± Triella asked, returning alongside her peers to the line of wayns, as some of the refugees were back on the road due south.


    ¡°Someone named Vilrema Acatlis,¡± said Riza. Triella tried to conceal her understanding, though she had always been ill-suited for subterfuge.


    ¡°It might be a trick,¡± she lied. ¡°That¡¯s a blatantly false name. Give me a moment and I¡¯ll go question him.¡±


    ¡°Should I accompany you?¡± Cecilia asked.


    ¡°Best not to,¡± Triella came up with an excuse as quickly as she could. ¡°Let¡¯s not give him any cause to believe we¡¯re suspicious, or he might not cooperate. Besides, Erika¡¯s most likely right that he¡¯s mad. If so, I¡¯ll politely send him on his way.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Her companions had no cause to question her, so she left them to seek this odd stranger, knowing full well that he was no madman. Vilrema Acatlis, it was true, was no real name that anyone in Siodrune was likely to have, and thus it was a perfect code to identify one of the Rose¡¯s assets. It was one of the names in Lune¡¯s notes, to let Triella locate those she sought - and, in turn, a safe way for them to reveal themselves to the Blossoms without fear. Triella found it ingenious; she wouldn¡¯t have thought of that on her own. She wondered if that was indicative of Lune¡¯s competence or her own lack of wits. Better perhaps not to know.


    ¡°Lady Acatlis has turned to tailoring,¡± said Triella to the man. His posture was stiff and awkward, and his relief was evident.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask her for green trousers, then,¡± he said. Triella tried to recall what exactly that indicated. Each asset was assigned a different response, and green trousers were for¡­ Some man named Jerik, if she remembered correctly. There was too much to memorize, and though to her it seemed needlessly convoluted, she trusted Lune and her predecessors that this secrecy was needed. Triella reached into her bag and produced a small sealed envelope, placing it discreetly into the man¡¯s hands.


    ¡°We can talk here,¡± said Triella. ¡°Amidst these travelers, do you suspect anyone of being a Gairnite agent?¡±


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± he said. ¡°Then again, the point of agents is subtlety, is it not? But there¡¯d be little to gain from hiding amidst this group¡­ If the Red Princess seeks to wield tools of subterfuge, I¡¯d wager it would be one of the hundred or so poor fools who decided to remain in Agaepsonia.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where we are headed,¡± said Triella. ¡°So I shall keep an eye out. Tell me what you¡¯ve learned.¡±


    ¡°Other than the ruin brought upon your Rose?¡± He blinked hard, as though he hadn¡¯t slept in days, which may well be the case. Triella noticed his sheathed sword, and knew there would be few fighters in this mass of humanity, and they would be afforded very little time to repose. ¡°We don¡¯t know the extent of your loss, and I believe neither does the Gairning Host, hence their open aggression and provocations. Though I suppose it¡¯s not my place to make such assumptions, so forgive me for that.¡±


    ¡°Worry not. The Rose thanks you. We are not yet ruined, I promise you, and we will not have your loyalty go unrewarded. The papers I gave you will grant you passage to a safehouse in Cartasinde. Now, there¡¯s more I need from you.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll tell you what I¡¯ve learned. Mostly I received reports from our other friends in Loclain, some of whom informed from within the Host¡­ Of those I know very little. Word is that some of the Host¡¯s ranks were purged when the Red Princess consolidated her power. But I know no more than that.¡±


    Though concerning, these news were not surprising. If the Rose¡¯s informants were ever found out, there would be no mercy for them. I¡¯ve no option but to presume that they¡¯re all endangered to some degree. If the Ruby Blossom could not protect its own allies, there would be no salvaging its reputation, and with most of the magical girls dead, they would not be able to walk back from that. I must find them. I must save them.


    ¡°We shan¡¯t abandon those who have kept faith,¡± she promised. The man appeared doubtful. ¡°There is more on your mind.¡±


    ¡°There is. We have passed by Agaepsonia, I told you that much, but those of us who are here did not stay because we felt our chances there were slim. The Blossom there, she¡­¡± He hesitated. Triella urged him to speak freely. ¡°She¡¯s been holed up inside Agaepsonia since¡­ Well, you understand. She guided hundreds of survivors to the safety of the castle, but would let none inside, forcing them to, instead, settle the outer fort rather than grand Agaepsonia herself. The outer ring is safe enough, but it is guarded only by walls, not at all like the narrow passages and tall towers of the main citadel. Truth be told, Agaepsonia is too large. It is too large for a thousand refugees, certainly too large for a lone Blossom. The outer ring was built precisely for practicality¡¯s sake. But Her Lady  Blossom is said to roam those empty halls alone now, eating very little, refusing to contact anyone and disposing of the few messages that made their way to her.¡±


    Could it be grief? To watch one¡¯s world upended after a single catastrophic day could damage the most stalwart minds, and not everyone was so strong, not even Blossoms. That is not my concern now, but it shall be, soon. Triella recalled her own childhood, when she was as lost as these people. The first Blossom she saw was, in her mind, the Blossom, the way all Blossoms everywhere was. And I never even learned her name. She asked for no thanks, and smiled so softly, so kindly¡­ But a Blossom who locks herself away from the people that are rightfully her responsibility to defend could hardly inspire a child to dream of magic and light.


    After requesting a list of the aliases of possibly compromised assets, Triella excused herself, and bid the man goodbye. Jerik, I think is his name, but she would never know. Once he melted into the marching crowds, he was gone, nondescript, his features quickly fading from Triella¡¯s recollection. That was for the best. What mattered was the names she had, and their assigned stations; they were many, too many for Triella to investigate on her own, but Luneciel had made it clear that it was best to refrain from sharing any information about her task. Triella would not immediately betray her trust, even if she knew that her fellow magical girls were themselves worthy of trust.


    Still pondering these matters and questioning what her next step might be, she watched the crowds pass her by, now fed and somewhat recuperated, and - she hoped - most importantly, their faith in the Rose renewed, if only a little. When at last they were gone and the Blossoms alone trod this worn path, their footprints indistinguishable from the hundreds by their sides, Triella found herself alone with Ise, the other Blossoms lingering behind. Neither of the two said anything, but the discomfort still irked Triella. I should just leave her be, she thought, but they were sworn sisters within the Rose, meant to face the future together¡­ But that did not seem to be something Ise would appreciate hearing.


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Triella began, awkward. Ise did not pause nor turn her head towards her. ¡°Loclain is a strange land to you as well, is it not? Though far more distant from your homeland than from mine¡­¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± said Ise. Triella had expected harsher words, and was surprised at how gentle Ise¡¯s voice could be. It was a cold softness, but not unkind. Yet, though her temper had cooled since the first time they talked, when Triella so gravely blundered, the way she carried herself had a familiar sorrow and rage, one which Triella knew too well. ¡°I offered my name to Sieglinde. I would not have been summoned to this task otherwise, but it was not my desire to sit idly and wait at such a crucial moment.¡±


    ¡°Most of us have volunteered,¡± Triella said, as though Ise wouldn¡¯t already know such an obvious fact. ¡°For Stel¡¯s sake¡­ And because I know what it¡¯s like to lose your home.¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­? You are from¡­?¡±


    ¡°Altengrie,¡± she said. ¡°The Nighting Coast, before it¡­ Well, you know. It¡¯s not on the maps any longer.¡±


    ¡°So you do know,¡± Ise said, but did not elaborate, leaving Triella wondering what exactly she meant. I know what you¡¯re suffering, she thought, though she wouldn¡¯t say it to Ise. I know what it¡¯s like for your world to end and for everyone you love to die. But those were not words of comfort. That would never ease such burdensome grief. ¡°I know of Loclain only what I¡¯ve studied. They are a resilient people, to have only now begun to leave, and those are but a fraction of the people of the realm. That resilience is both our glory and our shame. It is a remarkable thing, to be strong¡­ And regrettable as well. For none have ever chosen to be strong. Strength is forced onto us. What are we to do but to endure whatever fate ordains?¡±