The Silver Rose

01 | Thunder

THE LIGHTENING CRACKED OPEN THE DARK SKY WITH LINES OF DIVINE SILVER.

     Rosaline Myracle remained unfazed, her eyes on the people in front of her. 

     Amidst the agony of war, some man had managed to make two children laugh. The boy, merely eight or nine and his little sister giggled softly. There was no other guardian in sight except for the old man who'd been with them since the night they'd spent in a barn. 

     Two boys ran past her to join the line ahead.

     A blotch of mud landed on Rosaline's cheek. She didn't have the strength to lose her temper so she simply wiped her cheekbone with the back of her hand and pulled the hood of her cloak even lower, sighing. The cloak that was once a rich blue and embroidered with golden strings now had stains of mud and blood and god knows what from the days she'd spent hiding in barns and alleys and then the forests. The worst part was that it was no longer warm. 

     She didn't exactly care anymore. She was always cold these days, and wet. She hated it.

     She raised a hand to wipe sweat from her forehead. Her skin felt hot. She sighed through her nose. Not another fever.

     The children laughed again, the elderly man now being joined by another as they smiled at the children. She looked at them with droopy eyes. She missed laughing. She didn't remember the last time she'd laughed, let alone even cracked a smile.

     It'd been a while since she'd even seen her face in a mirror.

     Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she glanced up and noticed the Gate of Mervothe in the distance, standing high and mighty, ready to offer refuge to stranded Aaennines.

     Rosaline's breath hitched as she noticed a dash of black. Even the laughter died next to her.

     Dracian soldiers.

     There had been whispers about the dracian king providing aid to Mervothe to foster the rush of refugees coming in their direction. Of course, the neutral realm of Mervothe wouldn't decline, it was small and land-locked.

     Besides, no realm would ever decline anything from Dracia.

     It was the biggest, most powerful realm in Faylarka at present. There was nothing they did not possess. 

     The Gate came closer and Rosaline clutched the brooch in her cloak pocket. It was made of pure gold and was encrusted with eastern emeralds.

     She planned to sell it to get new clothes and a cart to the peaceful east. Perhaps Alle Shaeras or the islands of Marai. Anywhere, but Aaenna. 

     She'd sworn to build a life for herself at her father's grave and she would do it. No matter how, no matter how far she had to travel. 

     The people ahead of her were asked to fall into a line. The boys that had run past her were in the front. There was man standing on the other side of the gate, dressed in blue. There was a table beside him on which was kept ample parchment and quills.

     Rosaline tucked her dirty golden hair back and took in a deep breath. She needed to act well, act like she was just another stranded aaennine in search of refuge. 

     If they knew who she was, she'd be in grave trouble. 

     If they knew what she could do, she could face a fate worse than death.

     "Give your name alongside the ones you've lost," a loud voice announced. "If we find them, we'll reach out to you."

     Rosaline's legs were shivering, but she continued to walk. She kept her head low and eyes on the ground, her lips pursed.