"White Rose Falling" by Jennifer L. Post

            Sleep eluded her, no matter how determinedly she sought it. Perhaps it was the way her bed curtains shone ghostly pale in the moonlight that kept her awake, or the nightingale singing so very sweetly on it’s favorite branch outside of her window. It certainly could have been either; but after some quiet consideration, Klennesta decided that the real problem was her mind. It was simply too busy thinking to rest. Despite her best efforts it would keep repeating scenes and phrases over and over again.

Connections, secrets, there was nothing there she had not already figured out before. Yet her thoughts continued to spin, like a wheel going faster and faster, trying to find something she had overlooked, something she had not thought of. Was there another way, another chance?

With a sigh, Klennesta pushed her coverlet aside and sat up. This was pointless. She could go over the facts a thousand times, or a hundred thousand times. It was not going to change the answer. And if sleep would not come to her well then…

Well then, it was a lovely night to walk in the gardens.

The curtains made the barest whisper as she brushed past, her bare feet made no sound at all on the thick rug covering the floor. It took only a minute or so to locate her slippers, and a lacey dressing gown to cover her shift. Then she was tiptoeing to the small rosewood door beside her window, letting her hand run along the inlaid silver vines before she carefully lifted the latch and slipped outside.

She felt a stab of envy for the two guards on the other side of the door. Both were reclined against the wall, sleeping soundly. Old Granden did not pause even a second in his light snoring as she slipped past. Envy quickly vanished as her thoughts began their whirling again. It ought not be so easy; but it was… it always was.

            Her mood was strangely quicksilver tonight. Worry vanished almost as quickly as envy had, washed away by the flood of moonlight teasing soft luminescence from even the darkest flowers. Sweet scents arose all around her. The fluttering of the leaves, the alluring splashing of nearby fountains, and sweet night birds calling out to one another were a soft symphony. If ever a balm for the soul had been concocted, this was it.

Disdaining the shining white pathways, Klennesta wandered among the shadows of the trees and let herself be soothed, let herself be calmed and comforted. They spoke truly when they said that here, in the palace gardens, lay the very heart of Estava. When one walked the paths or lingered beneath the trees one felt as if the peace of a whole millennium, the carefree joy of an entire nation, was held here for safekeeping. In the day it was dazzling, in the night surreal. One minute there was like an hour walking in a dreamscape. What she would not give for only ten more minutes of such peace.

As if her thoughts guided her feet, she found herself emerging from the trees into a wide, circular clearing. A large pillar, with three intricate statue maidens perched atop, dominated the area and instantly caught one’s attention… mostly because of the truly enormous rose bush that wound around it, trailing branches clinging to the maidens’ feet. Not red roses, but white.

Klennesta rushed through the grass to bury her face in a blossom the size of a saucer. She smiled as the heady scent surrounded her. White roses, the symbol of peace, almost every home in Estava had one or two growing somewhere about. This bush was old, as the garden itself… possibly even older than that. Her many times great grandfather had planted it here in honor of the Rose Sisters and their barrier, which had finally brought peace to a kingdom long ravaged by war.

Had they known, those brave three, what would come to pass hundreds of years after their deaths? It was said they had the Sight. Had they seen, as she did almost nightly now, the beautiful gardens roaring with flames, the white walkways stained red with blood and swarming with goblins?

Her smile faded as she moved back from the rose, considering it. They must have known; for had they not left the roses as a reminder, not only of what the barrier was made of, but what it meant? If only the king could see that, if only he would listen to her discoveries and heed the visions she had received. Truly harmony was to be cherished, but complacency was not. Even these flowers of peace had thorns, thorns that ought to remind them how dangerous was their enemy, and how high the price that had been paid to free Estava from him and his hordes.

Yet people took the gift for granted. The roses’ silent warning was unheeded, forgotten. Such a thing could only end in sorrow, and in blood. Any careless gardener could tell you that.

With delicacy, Klennesta stretched out her hand and broke the rose off just above the first spear-like thorn. She held it in both hands, staring at it as she stepped away from the maidens and their roses. Her thoughts were once more dark and troubled. Even peace, it seemed, was a two-edged sword in this imperfect world.

As she turned to leave the Rose Sisters behind, a movement in the shadows caught her eye and ended her contemplations. She was no longer alone. Her heartbeat quickened as she watched a cloaked figure approach.

“Vesta…” The figure stopped before her, throwing back the hood to reveal the round and worried face of her own handmaiden.

“Yes your highness,” the girl said quietly.

So, Klennesta thought, I am found. Her moonlit walk was over. It was time to leave this pleasant dream and sleep at last.

“Princess, I am sorry… what if I cannot do it? What if I cannot...” The expression in Vesta’s deep brown eyes was clear even in shadows. Klennesta found it in her to smile softly and loose one hand from the rose blossom to settle comfortingly on the other girl’s shoulder.

“You will. Things are as they must be, you know this… and I trust you.” How she did not choke on the words she did not rightly know. Her stomach was twisting into knots.

“Nessie… Nessie I am sorry.” Vesta’s eyes darted away and her hands twisted and twisted around a roughly flute-like object she held within the shadows of her cloak. It’s bumps and spines dug into her hands.

Klennesta leaned forward, feeling as if she might run, and softly brushed her lips against her best friend’s forehead.

“Go,” she whispered, and Vesta darted away as if burned by her touch. She felt heart twisting like her stomach. Oh sisters, if there was only some other way! If there was only someone else she could trust!

But there was not. There was only this one chance to make them see, to make them look beyond their barriers of roses and denial before it was too late. And Vesta, Vesta was the only one she could trust to get what was needed and to act…

So she stood in the ankle deep grass, trying to still her pounding heart. Willing her feet not betray her, Klennesta buried her face in the wide petals of the white rose.

“Sisters,” she whispered, her voice almost a sob, “if ever you loved Estava… do not let me run!”

It seemed like the rose’s scent was all around her, holding her. Peace, it was there. Her heart stopped its frantic pounding.

There was the barest snick, like a pin pricking her neck, and then shards of pain erupted all through her, stealing her breath so that she could not even cry out. Eyes wide, gasping, Klennesta bent double, stumbled, and then fell to the ground. Spasms of pain contorted her face as her fingers ripped and tore into the grass. The rose blossom fell beside her, crushed by her convulsions.

When Princess Klennesta of Estava at last lay still in the shrouding grass, the handmaiden flung her dart-gun into the trees. Goblin crafted, as was the dart she had used. The guards would find it, the healers would recognize the poison, and all would go according to the plan…

Sobs racked Vesta’s body as she rushed to the side of her mistress, her friend. She would never, never forgive herself! But she could not falter, not now. She had promised. Five minutes Nessie had said; five minutes at least she had to wait… and then their thousand years of peace was to come crashing down with the sounds of her screams.