𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐄 𝐋 𝐄 𝐕 𝐄 𝐍

𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧

The sun is high as Briéa and Reihan return to the Arcane. Bright rays of light reflect off the snow that's stuck to the ground. Reihan takes out the last of the pins in her hair and shakes her curls letting them fly wild around her.

"Remember when you used to think your mane would disappear with age," Briéa says while tugging on one of the brown coils. Reihan smacks her hand away and smiles.

"Oh, to be young and naive," she says as if they weren't still young and naive.

Past the gates of the Arcane, towards the farthest edge of the grounds, is a pavilion. New and made of sparkling white stone. The base of it is a mosaic of the gods gifting the world with their Divine Art, the magic that breathes through every tree and rock and dark crevice and asscrack. The Divine Art surrounds men but not all see it. When Briéa first saw the mosaic she looked to Ennell and called it tastelessly tacky.

She still stands by that.

Seated in a crescent, underneath the domed roof of the pavilion, lit braziers in each corner is the Rose Council. Ennell sits at the center, Zaara not five steps behind. Reihan looks to Briéa and catches her staring. Not in longing, but in contempt. A life that would've been, a life that was ripped from her leaving her with nothing but bloody hands. Beside her, Reihan sighs.

"Ennell will always have an open seat for you, you know?"

Briéa just shakes her head, not looking away from the pavilion. "The council is no longer my destiny." She squeezes Reihan's hand and starts to back away. "How fulfilling could a stuffy council had made me anyway?" Briéa doesn't give Reihan a chance to counter. "I'll see you later." She nods and walks away towards the crescent. Reihan takes her spot towards the edge. A sour taste builds on Briéa's tongue.

Her mind will not be changed. If anyone knows that it should be Ennell.

Ennell knows many things. She knew that Briéa was alive, not dead like most believed when she disappeared without a word for a year. She knew that Briéa was the true identity of the mysterious Crimson Reaper that went about terrorizing soldiers. And she knew that Briéa would eventually find her way back to the Syndicate, and the council, and her. Ennell knew all that and that is why she was not surprised when a Briéa, who was only a year older but a different woman entirely, staggered to the gates of the Arcane, caked with dirt and blood and scars. But Briéa will never forget the faint flicker in Ennell's eyes when she surprised the Thorn for the first time.

"It's good to see you again." From the other side of her desk, the Thorn poured Briéa some tea. Ennell added no more than a spoonful of sugar to hers, rested back in her chair, and stirred her drink, watching Briéa as she stared at her cup. The tea sat in it, steaming and hot, something she hadn't had in a while, but Briéa didn't move.

After a while, Briéa broke the silence. "You knew." Not a question. A statement. Ennell drank from her cup.

"Of course."

"Then you know why I've come back." Another statement. For the first time that night, Briéa looked to Zaara. A flash of something crossed her face... relief? Briéa didn't know, and before she was able to think about it any longer it disappeared and Zaara settled back into her usual stone-cold stare.

"Do you know why?" Ennell had asked.

It grew quiet once more. A year of hunting those who took her sister had not quenched the bloodlust as she thought. A year of instilling fear and cutting threads of life and she is no closer to finding peace, no closer to finding a world where she can live where Aesira does not. A year later she now understands there is only one thing that will satisfy.