Page 2 of Petals for Vicious Secrets

From her spot at the top of the tree, she saw some people carefully walking through the woods. None saw her. She wore brown clothes that hid her well in the woods, all part of the elaborated plan her mother had successfully completed for years. Their bodies were similar: slightly muscled, not too tall, not too thin. That made it easier to share the few clothes they had. The main difference between her mother and her was the hair. Mother had short light brown hair, yet she had almost-black hair, long to the end of her back, usually plaited in two braids on the sides to keep her comfortable while running or training.

It had probably only been an hour since the Trading had started, and the silence grew louder around her. Occasional branches snapping in the woods revealed people walking around them. She thought she could wait a bit more before heading home. Then she heard the scream.

A female scream, loud enough to know it was somebody nearby, and with pure rage and pain in it to know someone had been badly hurt.

I am safe here. No distractions. No pity for others.

Another high-pitched scream made the branches and leaves shake, closer this time. As if the trees were not happy about it. From her branch, the dark-haired woman saw a man dragging a hurt female through the woods. A white-haired young woman with her hands tied in front of her.

She recognized the dark clothes of the blue-eyed woman that had ceded the vials to her. The vials to potentially save her mother. By tying a piece of cloth around her mouth, the man silenced her screams. The woman kept kicking her legs with energy, even though one leg had a cut that was big enough to be visible from her spot at the top of the tree.

She felt a knot in her stomach as she felt the panic in the kicks of the white-haired young woman increase. A young woman that could be the same age as her. That would die at the hands of this man if nobody helped her.

No pity for others. This is the Trading. We all know what we come for. We all know what can happen.

She knew how to fight. Her mother had taught her how to defend herself since she had memory. “You can only trust yourself, always be prepared to strike and save your live,” she always repeated.

“Don’t bother with the kicks, Nina, you know how this is going to end. You’ve seen it coming for weeks,” said the man with a bored hand gesture while looking at the sharp dagger in his hand.

The white-haired woman stopped kicking and looked at him in the eyes. There was rage in that stare. From the top of the branch, the dark-eyed woman could sense the hatred that flowed between them two.

“It is very easy. You just need to tell me where are you hiding your little brother, and I’ll let you go,” he continued. The dark-haired woman very much doubted that was going to be the case. He added, “Or if you choose not to help, I will kill you, and when I find Raoul, I will kill him, too.”

Her feet moved unconsciously on the branch, quiet with the expertise of doing so during years, but the blue eyes met her dark brown ones for less than a second. She could see the defeat in them. The impotence. The fact she was assuming this was her end. And her brother’s end too, apparently.

She assessed the situation. It was only this man, and the tied woman underneath her tree. She could easily take over one man and then help her get out of here. It was just him. She could do it. It was not risking too much. A voice in her head told her this was exactly what her mother always told her to stay away from: trouble that was not directly related to her. But this woman, this Nina, had helped her. Without her, there would be no vials in her bag. Thanks to those vials, she maybe had a chance to help her mother live through next week.

Without thinking about it again, she unsheathed two of her daggers. So long, sharp and pointy that they almost looked like spears. She grabbed one in each hand and carefully moved through the branches to position herself on top of them while he continued talking with the same bored voice.

“I don’t have many places to be today other than here. Which works out well, as I can enjoy your death. We’ll take it slow. There is no rush. So where shall we start? Shall I break the bones of your arms or shall we have a different type of fun as starters?” he asked while stretching his wrists and looked at her with a satisfied smile. Nina had stopped moving, her breath steady and charged with fear. The only noise coming from her was the dripping blood from her leg, now making a small puddle.

He took one step, and a dagger neatly stuck his foot to the ground. His scream was short and acute, his eyes moving around desperately to see who threw the metal weapon.

The dark-haired woman jumped to the ground, landing quietly within arm’s reach of the man, and spiked the spear on his throat in a neat strike. He could only open his eyes wide while he choked on his blood and fell face-up on the ground, his stuck foot bending in an awkward position.

Nina's blue eyes were wide, looking at her with a combination of awe, relief, and horror. Did she think she was going to hurt her?

“I will not harm you,” she said. “If you want, I can untie you and try to fix your leg so you can get out of here.” Nina nodded, a tear appearing in the corner of her eye.

She removed the cloth from Nina's mouth and undid the tie that held her hands together.

“Why?” was all Nina said, relief tears now silently flowing down her cheeks.

“You were generous before,” she said while cutting with her hands a long piece of her shirt. She started wrapping it around the cut on Nina's leg like a bandage.

“I need to go, but I can help you get somewhere safe first,” she said while looking around the trees. They were too visible sitting there on the ground, and the blood puddle would start attracting animals soon enough.

“Thank you. He would have killed me. The last time I barely escaped,” she said. Her white hair was so bright it was impossible to camouflage in the woods. “What’s your name?”

The dark-haired woman hesitated. Giving out one’s name was like giving one’s hand, and hadn’t she just done that.

She swallowed, and opted for the truth. “My name is Hope.”

2

Lenna

After a long day, all Lenna could think about was the tremendous waste of time that her political education had been so far. Surely there had to be more interesting things in Terrha to worry about than the topics her father forced Leo Pharlin, her mentor, to cover. She was fed up of going over and over the geography of Thyria, the names of every single living and dead member of the Houses, the lines of succession from the very beginning, and House disagreements that had happened so many years ago no one she knew was even alive.

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