The Princess Broken Wolf

9

The sky lighted up with thunderbolts, momentarily lighting up the darkness with a hallowness that chilled everything in a state of shock. A storm, too big for a small town to handle, was coming not far away. Rosamund stood on the terrace, her eyes following the pattern of the lighting. Marcus stood beside her, his gaze void of a thought, just dread. He had felt it in his bones the moment he met Rosamund again, the aura of her and the scent of her drenched in an impending battle. Marcus, being the only child of Pandora, with an unknown father, had always been able to foresee the future through scents. His spell may be able to fight off an impending doom for a small village, but this, this scent that Rosamund was giving off, the scent of a thousand deaths with a hint of cleansing, a freshness devoid of foulness. It came to him in wafts, a death followed by a birth and yet followed another by mornings and nights. Rosamund was the promised Queen he had always anticipated. She was what his mother had called “Azmorgham Iaso”, meaning the Queen with a Fallen King in the Maseerian language. Marcus had wanted to stop the future, turning events into what if’s, rewriting tomorrow with today’s spell, but things just kept…..happening. And now that he had found Rosamund, he knew, this was a chance given by the Goddess to those who could do something. And he just so happened to be among the only two people who could detect and do something about it.

“Rosamund, Listen to me. You need to meet him. You need to be in Karkonz. You are to be there. There is no choice.” Marcus realized this was the first time he ever sounded so desperate.

“I….” Rosamund hesitated. A first for her too. There was a way for her to get out of this mess. Everything was set, with only 9 hours left until the pending departure. It could go on, she could live on without having to sacrifice herself more. She could, for once, live like a free person. She deserved that much. She deserves such freedom the most. But there was this nagging in her mind and her heart, simultaneously cautioning her about the decision she was about to make. And it was the first time her mind and her heart were telling her the same. 24 years of contradictions between her mind and her heart had been a constant battle with her own self. But the lack of that inner battle, the lack of contradictions and sneer and difference, chilled her to her bones.

She understood. Whatever was to happen, she was in the lead to the forthcoming future. Marcus seemed to have caught to her decision as she saw his immediate relief. The tension evaporated in thin air as he turned to his room. A moment passed, without turning back, Marcus spoke, “What is Demir to Lizbeth?”

A small smile grazed Rosamund's mouth as she detected the telltales of jealousy. It would be a lot of fun to see Marcus visibly jealous. But Rosamund didn’t have the heart to hurt one of her friends yet.

“Nothing. They are friends.” Well, everyone of them were friends, so she wasn’t wrong about that. She could hear Marcus mumble while walking away, “It’d be a drag to kill the fourth commander.”

Rosamund chuckled at his arrogance while also making her way to her room. The storm was now pouring hard, there was complete darkness with no light. The smell of rain and mud made breathing easy for Rosamund as she tucked herself in her bed after looking at Lizbeth. The occasional moonlight broke the darkness. Rosamund turned to her side, her mind clearing of any thought. But as she succumbed to a dreamless sleep, she faintly heard a velvety soft voice calling out her name in desperation.

When dusk came, Rosamund was woken by Lizbeth's voice. Abruptly she woke up only to find a clear-eyed, rosy-faced Lizbeth.

“First Commander?” Lizbeth called out while waving a hand in front of Rosamund’s face.

“I am sorry, my mind is yet to wake up from its heavenly slumber.” Rosamund responded, briefly stunning Lizbeth into silence. One thing she had been sure of in her life was that The First Commander, Rosamund Marigold, had not a single iota of humor in her body, and to be able to witness such light hilarity was a treat in itself. In order to make light of the situation, Lizbeth decided not to point it out.

“Can you please unbind these bindings?” Lizbeth pleaded. She would have unbound herself if she could feel even a little bit of mania or divinity in herself. But she couldn’t, she felt as if she was a mere human, without any power.

“Oh. Marcus must have put them on you yesterday. You were unconscious and, due to the poison, your body was convulsing badly,” Rosamund explained, just as the knock came from the door. Not any door, but the balcony door. Rosamund moved to open the door, knowing very well who it was.

“There is a perfectly working door,” she said while letting Marcus in. He merely shrugged in reply, his eyes falling on Lizbeth.

Lizbeth felt her heart beat a little faster at the sight of the stranger whom Rosamund knew. Looking at him intently, she saw the same opaque eyes similar to those of Pandora’s, his white hair freely moving with the light breeze. He was tall and well built, had a sharp face with a slightly crocked nose that made him a bit more human than his otherwise ethereal self. He wore an open white shirt with black pants and a black cloak. A side saddle bag attached to his hips. A huge blade was strapped to one of his arms, seemingly small compared to his muscular limbs. He moved with the grace of a wild cat, beautiful but deadly, and he was making his way towards her. His hands touched her hands. Muttering a few words, her bounds came undone. Without saying anything, he held a small vase with a green liquid against her face. Lizbeth's eyes flickered at Rosamund, who was silently watching the two of them. A little nod from Rosamund confirmed that this stranger was a friend not a foe. In one gulp she drank the liquid, her taste buds dancing with the sweetness and freshness of mint. Sometimes the looks of things could be deceiving, Lizbeth decided.

The breakfast went on. Everyone was eating silently in Rosamunds and Lizbeth’s room. Edward and Demir had come to their room immediately when Rosamund told them that Lizbeth had woken up, fresh and clear eyed. Demir had claimed he had slept soundly, knowing full well a brute like Lizbeth could come out of anything. Relief was evident in everyone’s faces when Lizbeth laughed. The breakfast was a much anticipated event. With heaves of sausages and bread, broth made of sheep’s bones and a fatty dish of bone marrow, and a cup of camel's milk, their hunger was swiftly dealt with.

“I think we should stay here for a few more days till Lizbeth is fully recovered.” Edward spoke while everyone was having their second cup of milk. Rosamund felt herself harden under everyone’s eyes. Feeling a heated gaze on her side, her eyes met those of Marcus. Carefully putting her cup down, Rosamund began in an emotionless voice.

“I need to go back.” collectively, everyone took a sharp inhale, aside from Marcus who was more of a relief.

“What are you saying? We have been through this.” Edward said, directly looking at her with hard eyes. Rosamund matched a stern gaze of her own with his.

“ I will go.” she said, with absolute resolution in her voice. Only she would know the slight shiver that passed through her.

“Rosamund, First Commander…everything has been set. The ritual” Demir gazed pointedly at Marcus.

“Send a gloom to stop it, Edward. I will be going. That’s it.” Rosamund woke from her seat. With ease she made her way towards her bed, her things laid out on her bed sheet neatly.

“You need to listen to me, Rosamund,” Edward began, followed by Demir’s grim agreement.

“Lets do as we say, Rosamund. It will be OK. Lets go with the plan we discussed.” Lizbeth pleaded. Everyone had something to say yet Marcus remained silent, reminding her of the conversation they had. With his silence, she was more sure than ever. She trusted her, not with her own life but with everyone else's. One life for all.

“Harmd” Marcus slowly whispered, freezing everyone on their spot apart from Rosamund. Everything froze around them, the clock ticking, the tapping of the rain on the window, even the crackling of the woods. Rosamund deduced what he was doing, making it easier for her to slip out and yet it was difficult at the same time. She wanted her friends to last goodbyes, she wanted to hug each one of them, maybe let go of a few tears. She wanted their reassurance. One would believe she was childish, even stupid, to hope for ease when she was a trained assassin. But she did hope she couldn’t kill the monstrous part of her that wished to be loved and petted with soothing promises of freedom and happiness. But she can’t ever let herself crumble in front of anyone. She couldn’t let anyone see her so visible and weak and Marcus had known. She didn’t know but she was thankful.

“ I will take you there. The spell will be broken in 30 minutes. 5 minutes for Lizbeth.” Marcus spoke as he climbed from the wooden slab holding the roof. Rosamund could only nod in return, her throat tight, her chest painful. It had to be done and the only consolation for her as she made her way out of the room was the thousand lives she would be saving in return for her own.

She could only hope her death would not be painful.