A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

The Other Princess

The sudden rustle of the dried rose petals set in basins on my window sill are the only hint of her arrival. I brace myself as Mother enters my bedchambers without knocking. She never knocks. I clutch my quilts tightly to my chest, but it's no use. Mother flicks her finger. Most people can't follow the rippling energy of Mother's gloriphagy. But I catch the slightest aura of lavender as the air shimmers in a mirage and slams over me. The force of her will smothers me and I can do nothing as the heavy covers slide away like water and fold into a neat square pile at the foot of my bed.

She's not getting my pillow. I roll over and crush my pillow against my head.

"Rosavere, you choose the most inconvenient times to be amusing," Mother chides.

I wince at her measured voice and wish she'd yell at me just once. I can't argue with that soft, relentless undertone that always corners me into submission. I'd rather face a dragon's searing flame than the calm force contained within her. The constant use of black orchid oil gives her the visage of a girl in her early twenties, but I know the iron will that lies behind her mask of youthful innocence.

Mother taps a silk-soled slipper impatiently, and I grind my teeth as the weight of each footfall resonates in my bones. "The maids have drawn your bath, but inform me that you have yet to grace the waters with your presence," she continues. "Surely you're not ignorant that there are only twelve hours remaining to prepare for the betrothal ceremony?"

Ignorant? Each hour I lose cuts like a serrated knife. "Grant me one last min—" I mumble.

My pillow explodes after that. I sneeze as feathers tickle my nose. I suppose I should be grateful she didn't accidentally turn the pillow stuffing into fire powder. Gloriphages are born with unsealed souls, able to warp objects by infecting them with their raw spiritual energy. But only the truly skilled can keep their disposition in check—if they so choose.

"Really, Rose." Mother brushes away the storm of goose fluff from her slim shoulders. "I wish you'd be more considerate. You know how much I hate to lose my temper."

I sigh. Nothing ever explodes when I lose my temper—but not for lack of trying.

The wound has long since healed on my left palm, but I can still feel the thorns of my golden christening rose pricking until the hot red had beaded much too fast on my skin. I'd merely wanted to become stronger to help Mother, for her to see me as someone powerful like her. I was so certain that I could force the metal flower to crumple and warp in my grip, to loosen my spirit from my flesh and bring on a Bane.

When the Starfall drowned our world over eleven hundred years ago, it burned with magiation that brought the three Grand Banes—verdai, gloriphagy, and geomagy. The first would never be mine as verdai was lost with the elves, and Snow stole geomagy from me as only a firstborn Leonesse may be gifted with that elemental magic. But while my half sister shared King Markham as sire, only I was a gloriphage's daughter. It should've been such an easy thing to will the useless ornament I'd clutched in my hand into a cunning dagger! Of course, by the time Mother had found me, all the gilt petals were stained slick with my blood and I lay sick with dizziness on the floor of my bedchambers.

"Imbecile!" Mother had seethed as she bound my throbbing hand. "A Grand Bane is nothing to be envied—they are not gifts, but barely tamed curses! Hundreds of gloriphages have ripped their spirits free from their flesh and died because they didn't realize the boundary of their own strength. Yet the worst fate belongs to those who survive only to waste away as living corpses, unable to even raise their little finger. Swear to me you will never do anything so monumentally foolish again!"