“My work here is done,” the sorcerer declared. “Let’s admityour parents and Madame Hendricks, transfer the contract, and then I believe you have a party to attend, pretty rosebud.”
The memories blurred after the imposing Madame Hendricks accompanied her parents into the chamber. They talked business for a very long time while Rose fidgeted, uneasy with the still-prickly net under her skin, though all the adults assured her the sensation would quickly fade. She wouldn’t even notice the blood geas after another day or so. As long as she obeyed the implicit will of her contract holder, they would never have to command her and she’d never feel any pressure from the enchantment, which would bind her until she paid off her debt.
And, in truth, she never had felt that pressure of a direct command again. But then, she’d never had cause before to rebel. She might have one now. Did she dare test the invisible collar that restrained her?
Shaking off the chill of those dark thoughts, Rose made herself take note of the changes to the room, the clear passage of time since that day. The “poppy” moniker clearly came from a painting on the flat part of one longer wall, which she was sure was new. It depicted an endless field of scarlet poppies under a stormy sky. The heavy overcast of the storm muted the otherwise bright colors of the poppies. The dark color of old blood, the blossoms tossed in the wind so vividly and silently depicted. Was there a message in the artwork? It seemed passing strange.
She whirled around as the door opened behind her, feeling oddly caught out, as if she’d been looking at something she shouldn’t.
“Rose?” her mother gasped, quickly shutting—and locking—the one door. “It really is you.” She didn’t sound at all happy about it.
“Lovely to see you again, too, Mother,” Rose drawled, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” her mother said, coming around the table that nearly filled the room. “Of course I’m happy to seeyou. I’m just surprised.” She embraced Rose, lightly and briefly, as her daughter had always preferred—if she had to be hugged at all—then pulled back. “How did you get here—were you, can you walk the Dream now?”
Despite everything, Rose felt a flush of pleasure as she nodded. In all the turmoil, that achievement had gotten lost. Yes, she’d taken that final step without Master Zoltan’s permission, but she’d done it. Successfully. And more than once. “Yes, but it’s a secret. You understand.”
“I’m so proud and I do understand. I won’t tell. But, you don’t have permission to be here,” Shoshan said, not a question. “Do you have any idea how much trouble—”
“It’s important,” Rose interrupted. “There’s something I have to ask you.”
“You couldn’t write a letter? You have to come here and talk to me in the poppy room, of all places. The one room in the entire keep that screams something secret is happening.”
Just then, Durst knocked and, upon being admitted by an exasperated and annoyed Shoshan, left a laden tea tray. Locking the door yet again, Shoshan put her back against it, looking decidedly cornered. “You’ve been indiscreet, Rose. What servants know, everyone will know.”
“I was as discreet as I knew how to be,” Rose replied, angry and weary. She’d never really seen much of herself in her mother, but she certainly saw Thorn in her, so that said something. “I knew we’d need the wards for this conversation.”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Shoshan asked, aghast. “That would be a terrible complication at this point.”
Rose snorted. “I’m a sorceress who’s able to physically walk the Dream and you think I’d mess up basic birth control?”
Shoshan stared at her a moment longer, a feral glint in her eye. “If it’s about your pending contracts, you know I can’t—”
“I know,” Rose said, a little too tersely, cutting her mother off.
“Has your father been bothering you about your decision—pushing you in any particular direction?”
“No.” Though the question made her wonder about her mother’s concern. A conversation for another day. “Mother. Mum—can we sit?”
Tentatively, Shoshan parted from the bulwark of the door and eased up to the closest chair, which happened to be the farthest from Rose. She considered a moment, whether to allow the comfort of distance, but went with what Sebastien would do with his charming ways of persuasion, and settled into the chair right beside her mother, pulling in close enough that their knees brushed.
“You look very pretty,” her mother offered. “That gown flatters you.”
“Thank you.” Rose accepted the peace offering for what it was. “How have you been?”
Her mother laughed, a brittle sound, and waved a hand at nothing. “Fine. But, you didn’t sneak out and walk the Dream here for small talk.”
“No.” Rose took a breath, then despite her previous impatience, found the question hard to speak into life. “Am I truly your only living child?” she asked baldly.
Her mother blinked at her. Looked around the enclosed, warded room. “I had a few miscarriages, and of course your twin sister who died the day she was born.” Shoshan’s beautiful face became shadowed with old, but what looked like sincere, grief. “But no other living children.”
Rose closed her eyes briefly and rubbed her forehead. “A funny thing happened,” she began, her voice surprisingly uneven. She hadn’t anticipated feeling this emotional. Something about sitting down with her mother after such a difficult day made her feel young and unsteady in herself again. “Mum, I met my identical twin.”
She’d expected any number of reactions, but not perfect calm. Her mother’s face became a serene mask, only slightly quizzical. “Oh, my love. No, you didn’t.”
Rose waited, but Shoshan said nothing more. No questions, no explanations, or further denials. “I did,” she finally replied.
“No, you—”
