Page 7 of The Rose in the Shadows

Wordlessly, the guard held out his hand, and the glass rippled. It shook briefly before disappearing entirely, allowing her to enter my space. I stared at her wide-eyed. That couldn’t be possible.

Tsking, she grinned at me. “As if that’s the strangest thing you’ve seen today. Now come, I had to guess your size, but I think I did fairly well.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward her, shoving the bundle of black fabric into my hands and looking at me expectantly. Instinctively, my eyes flickered to the guard standing only feet away with eyes bearing into my soul. After an awkward momentary silence, Iris followed my gaze and giggled.

“McCarther, do take up your post again,” she chastised. “You’ve seen enough of this poor girl.”

He grunted but left nonetheless. She had brought me a plain dress, just as Clayton had instructed. It was a deep black woolen fabric with no jewels or embellishments. The long sleeves wereloose, and the gown fell neatly to the ground without any frills or pleats. There was nothing truly noteworthy about its design, spare its neckline. It was cut low, exposing the flesh on my breastbone and, by default, laying out my tattoo for the world to see.

“Turn,” she commanded, and she began lacing up my bodice.

After tying the corset, she directed her focus towards my hair. Her fingers worked quickly, tying back my long blonde locks in elaborate braids to keep them out of my face. Determined to bring color to my cheeks despite the lack of rouge, she took it upon herself to squeeze them tightly with her thumb and forefinger. The sharp pressure made me bite down on my lower lip but I didn't bother to protest.

“You’ll be presented in front of the Council,” she said, voice low, eyes darting out to ensure the guards weren’t overhearing.

Gratitude overwhelmed me. She had remembered her promise.

“Council?” I questioned.

Her eyes flashed again to the corridor outside my cell, and she pushed me back further against the wall. She handed me the boots, and I set about tying their many laces.

“What Council?” I whispered, now suddenly conscious of my volume.

She kept her head close to mine, bowing down to help tie my other shoe.

“The Council of the High Houses. Each House of a High God has a representative on it, all except for House Hyrax right now. They’re the governing body of Athenia, but the Dragon has the final say on all matters, including your case.”

Dragon. Clayton had mentioned the Dragon. “The Dragon, that’s Clay’s father, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yes. Only address him if he asks you a direct question. And only address him as ‘your majesty.’ He’ll likely bring in a Truthseeker for the interrogation.”

I shook my head, frowning, as my fingers finished the final loop on my boots. I could hear the guard outside coming closer. We were running out of time for her to explain much more.

“Truthseeker? What does that mean?”

“From House Herea, of course,” she explained, voice betraying her surprise that I didn’t already know this information. “The Descendants of the Goddess Herea.”

The door above the stairs let out its signature squeal as it opened. We were out of time. I could hear the boots of guards beginning to pass through. Sighing, she pulled me to my feet and ran her hands down the fabric on my shoulders, smoothing it into place. I grabbed onto her hand, gripping tightly.

“What do you mean they’re Descendants of a Goddess?” I demanded in a clipped and hushed tone.

“We’re all descended from the Gods,” she replied as if that much should be obvious. “If the powers don’t give it away, the Marks will. We’re all born with them, symbolizing our ancestors.”

She tapped her fingers against the tattoo that lay on my collarbone. The tattoo she had deemed the Mark of Hyrax.

Wait. I wasn't -

I couldn't be the Descendant of a God.

I didn’t have time to question her further before the guards entered my cell and began pulling me out. Iris followed us, holding onto my hand for as long as she could, her face a mask of confusion and concern. Then, as I was pushed toward the stairs by the guards, I finally let go of her, catching the sight of a small black apple etched into the skin of her wrist - a tattoo quite similar to mine.

We’re all descended from the Gods.

The guards surrounded me, close enough to be a silent threat, but dispersed enough for the prying eyes lining each side of the hall to glare at me as we walked by. I imagine they wanted that. They wanted people to know they were punishing me for what happened on the bridge.

Even ifIdidn’t know what that was. Even if I didn’t know what I was being punished for.

I couldn’t help but gawk at the palace decor as they rushed me through the winding passageways. I struggled to appreciate it the way I wanted to, but what I could see was positively awe-inspiring. Massive arches extended nearly twenty feet high, their stark white walls embellished with elaborate golden sculptures and finishings. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sending sparkles of colored light onto us. A fresh garden of roses, tulips, and perfectly manicured shrubbery was visible through the towering windows.

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