Bloodrose

Chapter 3 - Red

“Bada…” Emilia's voice came as a soft murmur, a lilting thread of sound barely louder than the whispering wind outside. She stood in her pale lemon dress, lace frilled around the collar, her small hands clutching the hem of her mother’s skirt.

Gray paused at the doorway, hand on the knob, the shadows from the hall casting angular lines across his face. Slowly, he turned. Behind Emilia stood Helena, silent and watchful. The light from the window caught her hair, painting it in faint golds and coppers, though her expression was pale with worry.

“Lia,” he said, voice gentle as he stepped back into the room. He knelt before his sister, his long coat pooling around his boots like dark water. “Brother has to go out for a while.”

“Again?” Emilia tilted her head. Her curls bounced slightly, and her lower lip trembled—more from confusion than from fear, though both emotions flickered in her wide eyes.

Gray hesitated, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. There was something fragile in the moment—something fleeting. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But I’ll bring you something when I return. A gift. Something shiny. Would you like that?”

Emilia nodded, though her smile trembled and did not quite reach her eyes.

Helena stepped forward, a crease in her brow. “You’ve barely slept since the last time,” she said. “Even Emilia notices. Gray… must it be tonight?”

His gaze remained on the child for a heartbeat longer before lifting to meet Helena’s. “Yes,” he answered, though the word seemed reluctant on his tongue. “There are things out there only I can deal with.”

“Then promise me you'll return,” she said.

A silence passed—weighted, brittle.

“I promise,” he said at last, voice low. Then, quietly, he added, “Take care of her. If anything—”

“Don’t,” Helena interrupted, clutching his arm. “You always come back.”

He smiled at that, though the smile was worn thin. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything.”

As he left, the door clicked shut like the close of a chapter. Outside, the wind stirred the hedgerows and trees, rustling like something restless—whispers carried far on unseen currents.

Inside, Emilia asked softly, “Ma… where Bada go?”

Helena pulled her close, wrapping both arms around her daughter. “Just to meet with the King,” she whispered. “He will come back.”

***

Kael sat cross-legged beside the road, the dust of the earth warming beneath him. He stared with quiet fascination at the passersby: women in skirts that caught the wind, men whose boots shone from polish, children laughing in packs too swift to follow.

Then, one figure caught his attention—a man with white hair, unnaturally pale even in the amber light of late afternoon. The man examined trinkets from a jeweler’s stall, his fingers lingering over earrings, then brooches, before finally selecting a pair of golden earrings inlaid with glittering stones.

Kael leaned forward slightly. “Bet those cost a fortune,” he muttered to himself. “Gold and sparkly…”

“Which one?”

He turned, startled. His father stood behind him, two steaming bowls in hand. “Pops!”

“I brought soup,” his father said, handing one to him before sitting on the stone ledge beside him. “They let me take extra from the worksite today—must’ve been in a generous mood. Lots of mushrooms. Even a bit of meat.”

Kael took a sip, the warmth spreading into his limbs. “This is the best soup ever.”

His father chuckled. “So? What caught your eye?”

Kael pointed at the stall. “That man with the shiny hair. He bought earrings with diamonds. I think he’s rich.”

“Is that what you think?” his father mused.

Kael nodded. “If you’re rich, you can buy anything, a nice house, delicious food. Maybe even get married with one of those big dowries. That’s what some of my friends were talking about today.”

“A dowry, huh?” his father smiled, sipping from his bowl. “Old customs. Still talked about, I guess.”

“Yeah. Like you give gold or land to show someone you’re serious about marrying them.”

“Interesting perspective.”

Kael glanced up. “Isn’t it true, though? Being rich means you don’t have to worry about things.”

His father didn’t respond right away. He stirred his soup with slow motions. “Maybe,” he said. “But money doesn’t buy everything.”

Kael wrinkled his nose. “Like what?”

“Peace,” his father replied. “Or time. Or love that stays when the coins run dry.”

Kael thought about that. “Still... I want to be rich.”

His father laughed and ruffled his hair. “That’s fine, Kael. Just promise me you’ll always remember this soup.”

Kael looked into his bowl. “Yeah. I will.”

The warmth in their silence held like a lullaby. When they finished, his father stood. “I’ll return these to the kitchen.”

“I’ll come too,” Kael said, hopping up and brushing the dust from his shorts.

Together, they walked along the dirt path, their shadows stretching like spectral twins in the fading light. Kael kicked at a stone, idly watching it tumble ahead—until he paused.

A flicker of red.

It vanished just as quickly. Something—someone?—had turned the corner near the supply shed. He blinked.

“Pops,” he asked, “do people wear red to work here?”

His father raised a brow. “No. Mostly grey, and brown. Why?”

“I think I saw something,” Kael murmured. “A person... or cloth maybe. Just moving fast.”

His father laughed lightly. “These places play tricks. Shadows, light, wind. Let’s keep going.”

Kael followed, but his stomach tightened.

Whatever he saw—it didn’t feel like cloth.

It felt like a sign.

***

“You’ll look darling in this dress,” Helena cooed, holding up the red garment for her daughter to see. "Do you like it?"

“Like!” Emilia clapped her hands. Her curls bounced as Helena helped her into the dress with careful hands.

“There,” Helena said, smoothing the fabric. “Ready to see the new building?”

“Ready!” Emilia giggled.

They descended the staircase, where Alois waited in a long coat the color of twilight. His expression softened at the sight of them.

“That dress suits her perfectly,” he said.

“We’re ready,” Helena replied, adjusting Emilia on her hip.

Alois opened the door. “Let’s go to the orphanage. It is almost finished. Just needs paint, flooring, and removing the scaffolding.”

The carriage ride was brief. The sky hung heavy with burnished clouds as if time itself slowed to witness the coming moment.

The orphanage loomed ahead—no longer skeletal beams and rubble. It stood proud, still unfinished but full of promise. Warm tones painted the exterior, and inside, workers bustled with brushes, hammers, and plans.

Alois stepped out first and helped Helena and Emilia down the carriage. The child shrieked in delight at the sight of the painted animals on the garden wall.

Kael wandered near the entrance. His father was talking with the foreman, and Kael kept to the edge—curious, but cautious. He ran a hand along a low fence and watched.

That flash again.

This time, it laughed.

A little girl.

She darted between hedges, her red dress billowing like fire in the wind. Her laughter was clear—childlike, but not entirely normal. It rang too perfect, too crystalline. Kael stood still, heart quickening.

She stopped beneath a tree. Her curls caught the light. Her eyes—dark and thoughtful—locked onto his. For a heartbeat, she studied him. Then… she smiled.

Kael didn’t smile back. Not because he didn’t want to—but because something about her smile rooted him in place.

Then she turned and ran to a woman nearby—her mother, maybe—who took her hand and guided her inside.

Kael exhaled only once she was gone.

That red—it was no warning.

It was a thread, pulling.

***

Outside the Palace Gates

The great bronze doors of the royal palace groaned as they opened, spilling Gray into the open night. He stepped onto the stone steps with the weary precision of a man who had fought battles without ever drawing a blade.

The air smelled of iron and ash—burned incense from the palace shrines mingling with the scent of distant rain. The meeting had run long again. The King’s questions, though carefully couched in courtly language, had grown increasingly pointed.

“Have there been any… incidents, Lord Gray?” the King had asked, eyes sharp beneath his gilded circlet. “Unusual reports among the border towns?”

Gray’s fingers twitched at his side even now.

“Nothing that cannot be handled,” he had answered smoothly. He recalled the brief confrontation he had had last time with someone he knew from his past. Always the most dangerous kind.

Now, as he descended the marble steps, the darkness of the night stretched long across the palace courtyard. The horses were already hitched to his black carriage, the sigil of the House of Blackwood painted in silver along its side—a crescent moon split by a sword.

A footman opened the door for him.

“My Lord,” the boy said, bowing.

Gray nodded, climbed in, and pulled the velvet curtain shut behind him. The inside of the carriage was dark, lit only by the flicker of a single blue lantern—an old warding flame meant to keep away lesser spirits. It hummed softly in its iron cage, pulsing like a heartbeat.

He leaned back into the seat, gloves still damp with the sweat of tension. His reflection in the small glass pane above the lantern was pale and drawn, white hair falling across his brow in disarray. He looked nothing like the young son Helena used to see, nor the father Emilia believed only to be her brother.

He was neither a son nor a brother. He was a man shrouded in secrets he wished to bury.

Outside, the hoofbeats started up—clop-clop on the stones, steady as a war drum. The carriage rolled forward, past iron gates and silent statues of angels too stern to weep.

He reached into his coat and withdrew the velvet pouch containing the earrings he’d purchased earlier. The gold caught the lantern light, flashing with quiet fire.

A gift for a daughter who didn’t know the truth. A penance he could never pay in full.

Gray closed his eyes.

It would be a long ride home.