A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red

Fall of Queens

Living dark. The shadow of the Orune looms over Faylen as his golden pelt ripples, twisting like smoke and settling in a cloak over the broad shoulders and ebony skin of a man. Micah clenches a broken flag pole between his teeth; the same splintered pole that Faylen had impaled him with on the south turret. The huntsman lunges downward, ramming the red-stained edge through Faylen's back with such force that his breast plate shatters in front where the wooden tip erupts through his chest.

I pull away as his chokehold loosens. Death veils the fierce copper magnetism of Faylen's gaze as his eyes lock with mine one last time, blood gurgling from his lips and drowning his final bravado. His body falls before the huntsman.

"T-thank you, Micah," I stutter as I drag deep, greedy breaths into my chest.

Micah ignores me. A guttural growl escapes his throat as he tosses the Sarevali prince onto a banquet table in a crumpled heap of armor. The Chief Hunter of Albemar collapses to his knees in the square, clutching the gaping wound in his middle.

"Take Snow. Run, Rose," Micah rasps, his voice unused to speech. He sniffs the air, and I wonder how much of him remains the Orune even now. "Soldiers breach the gates-"

"We're leaving together," I start, but Micah's head has already bowed against his chest, eyes closing as he slips into unconsciousness. No! I will not lose them all now-

The rustling of sicklethorn startles me, and I turn just as Jack screams out in pain. The fat red vine strangling his left arm is being drawn out and absorbed by the tangled net holding the three elves captive. But they are its prisoner no longer; the sicklethorn mass glows a brilliant ruby as each heart-shaped leaf singes into ash. Soon only Jack's vine cluster remains. A sick fascination falls over me as I realize that the trio of elves must be dredging every last drop of verdai in their veins to incinerate it, sacrificing precious life for Jack's liberty.

"Stop," Jack demands weakly as the wrench of the vine tugs his body towards their prone forms. "You're killing yourselves!"

The elves only pull harder despite the ghastly pallor of their skin. "You were always the strongest of us, brother," Quintus whispers. The frail boy gives a brutal twist that uproots the sicklethorn vine from Jack's palm.

Jack grits his teeth but allows no sound to escape this time.

Unan opens his burly fist and tosses two crumpled slips of color that land beside Jack's face; a pair of white and red rosebud sprigs from Isabeau's solarium.

"Stuck-up Crying Moon brat, don't count us corpses yet!" Tria grumbles. Her head lolls weakly against Unan's broad shoulders as she bestows one last scowl. The three elves curl into fetal position, closing their eyes as if locked in a trance.

Terrible timing for a communal slumber-

A troop of red-hooded Sarevali soldiers fan into the square as they hack through the last wild rose vines barring them entrance. The soldiers spot us immediately and raise an alarming din as they notice Faylen's corpse sprawled across the banquet table. Too weary to rise, Jack stabs the two rose sprigs into the scar on his left palm, but the dual corverums generate only tiny briars devoid of thorns. He's lost too much blood to command his verdai!

I stand transfixed as smoke from the fires raging through the palace curls through the melting frost stars and shredded ribbons of my ruined wedding gala. Scattered screams and the crackle of pyrehawk flames fill my ears from beyond the walls as the city of Leona falls to her Sarevali invaders. It takes all my will not to let the ash choke my courage to cinders. Only Mother's laugh startles me out of my spiraling despair as the glint of swords close in around us. I glance down at her and blink as the veins in her body glow bright amethyst-Astra is using pure gloriphagy to pump her own heart!