Opening her eyes she saw it, she felt it, and she understood it. Sareem was about to speak when the thimble shuddered and raised itself above her open hand. She held it there for a long moment, before bringing it slightly higher to eye level. Vhalla was actually rather proud of herself for this. Aldrik would have been too, she was certain. Her attention drifted to Sareem; the shocked and horrified look on his face made her lose all concentration and the thimble fell back into her palm.

Vhalla placed it on the table and slowly turned to him. He was staring at her as if she was some monster preparing to eat him.

“That’s why...” Vhalla said weakly, unable to meet his gaze.

“V-Vhalla... Wh-what was that?” he stuttered.

“Exactly what you think it was,” she retorted, defensive and annoyed. She didn’t know what she had been hoping for from him, but it wasn’t this.

He was on his feet in front of her, his arms spread out. “Oh Vhalla, you’re funny, tell me how you did it. It’s a great trick. Was it a string connected to your other hand? Some kind of magnetism? A trick of the light?” He couldn’t seem to let alternate explanations fall from his mouth fast enough.

“You know what it was.” She glared at him.

“No, no, that would make you—” He shook his head.

“A sorcerer,” she finished for him, crossing her arms on her chest.

He took a step back from her, “You, you can’t be.” He shook his head. “You’re not one of them.”

“I am,” she said sourly. “That’s what you want to involve yourself with.” She glared at him with all the icy bitterness that she could muster. That’s right, she was one of them, and they were different and scary.

Sareem shook his head and took another step back. He opened his mouth to speak, his jaw quivered, and then he turned and ran.

Vhalla sat back down at the desk and stared at the book. She listened to his hasty footsteps up the stairs and out of the archives.

The soundless scream of hurt and frustration caught on a sob, and Vhalla lost herself to tears. After crying for an undiscernible amount of time, Vhalla peeled herself from the table and sat straighter. Numbly, her hands returned to their work. She should have known better with Sareem. After his reaction to the simple mention of sorcerers, showing him magic had been foolish. There was no way he was ever going to accept her for who she was, and she wasn’t about to shed tears over someone with such a narrow mind, over a false friend.

Vhalla stopped mid-step, the door to the archives closing behind her. She stared at the tapestry that Aldrik had led her through during one of their lessons.

What was she? Was she library apprentice or sorcerer? She vowed to get serious about figuring out her powers and making a decision soon.

“Vhalla.” She had almost made it to the front desk when her name was hastily whispered from between bookshelves. She kept her gaze forward. “Vhalla!” She pretended not to hear and walked with purpose.

“Master, I finished the first manuscript. I don’t feel well. May I be excused a little early today please?”

The master and Roan both looked up at her with matching puzzled stares.

“Very well, Vhalla. Go ahead,” the master nodded.

“Thank you,” she said politely, bowed, and left. Vhalla pointedly ignored Sareem standing at the edge of the shelves, watching silently as she strode out of the library.

Her feet battered against the stone floor as she marched back to her room. Balling and uncurling her hands, Vhalla struggled to keep a fresh wave of anger at bay. He was supposed to be her friend; how could he react like she was suddenly less than human?

Vhalla stopped and a nearby candle flickered out, then the next—all at once she was standing in the darkness. She swallowed a cry of surprise, all but running to her room.

Slamming the door behind her, Vhalla dug her nails into the grain of the wood and caught her breath. She was already treading lightly. Any rogue and wild emotions could force her decision, and she felt so close to making it on her own. A scent tickled her nose, and Vhalla opened her eyes, her heart slowing.

Laid upon her pillow was a long stemmed red rose. Tied around it was a length of black ribbon by which a note was held to it. Everything melted away, and her hands were soon devouring the token.

Vhalla,

I am sorry I could not steal you away this day. You have my word that tomorrow I shall make every effort.

Sincerely,

A.C.S.

P.S.

When will I see you in black?

Laughing softly, Vhalla curled up in bed holding the flower’s head to her face, inhaling its rich scent. Perhaps she could request he steal her back to that rose garden? Vhalla laughed lightly, imagining her ordering a prince. Somehow, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

A.C.S. she pondered as her lids grew heavy. Aldrik was the A, and Solaris—the Imperial Family’s name— was the S. But, what was the C? Vhalla shook her head, closing her eyes and giving herself to the relaxing scent, a mystery for a later time perhaps. It was barely dark but all she wanted to do was lie there, and stretch her mind as far as she could to find that place that smelled of roses.

MOONLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the glass overhead, and Vhalla tilted her chin to the sky, watching the moon float by. The rose garden was no different at night then it had been during the day. The darkness didn’t bother her; she saw everything brilliantly clear around her. There was a mysterious fuzziness to it if she moved her head too quickly, which was easily explained away as the moonlight playing tricks on her.

She stood and walked to the gazebo door, attempting to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She tried the handle again but found it unwilling to move. Vhalla wanted to be outside.

With only that thought she was standing on the steps and looked behind her. She didn’t recall opening or closing the door. Vhalla walked lightly down and over to the iron gate. He was there, but she didn’t know her way through that hallway; she only knew enough to return to the servants’ quarters. It surely was locked.

Vhalla leaned against the gate and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, looking up at the stars again. On a night so cool and clear it seemed a shame to be shut up in the palace. She wondered if he knew that. It was better outside. Her eyelids felt heavy. She would simply have to wait for him, she reminded herself again. He would come out eventually. For now though, she would sleep while she waited.

Vhalla opened her eyes as though someone had pinched her awake. A headache pounded in her skull. She rolled over into a ball, not even noticing she crushed the beautiful flower that she had slept with all night. Clutching her temples, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if she could will her mind to stop hurting. Vhalla squeezed her eyes back closed; the daylight was making her sick.

Slowly, her body began to relax and the sharp stabbing subsided to a dull throb. The light no longer caused a rebellion of her senses, and she attempted to sit. She dressed slowly. Everything had a delay and a sickening blur to it.

She hid the note in her closet—with the rest. Vhalla put the half-smashed rose with them. It was pointless to try to save it. Flowers began dying the moment they were cut, and she had only helped the process along. Petals hung at odd angles, and its leaves were broken. But her fingers lingered on the soft velvety red, she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away yet.

She paused. Didn’t she dream about roses? Vhalla shook her head; it still hurt and, trying to recall her dreams seemed to aggravate the ache further.