Roses Read Online Free Page B

their parents and sorely in need of a commanding presence. The amethyst-eyed child had no one else in the whole realm and Nan’s savageness squashed her. She was shown no mercy.
    There was not one striking incident that did it. There was no sense that she had been pushed past her limit. Rather, it was a slow burn of brutality that could only head in one direction. It started with the sign of respect—the child would press her left hand to her chest and stab the nails into her skin, creating tiny mauve crescents while inwardly hating Nan and clenching her teeth to bite back screams of rage. This progressed to snubbing her nose whenever Nan was not looking, which filled her with secret glee. Then she began moving Nan’s things around the nursery. Not hiding them, because that would be too obvious, but rearranging items enough to make it difficult.
    Emboldened, she went further: not answering right away, not signing respect until told to, not brushing her hair, and so on. Eventually the child rebelled altogether and began sneaking out of the nursery whenever the opportunity arrived.
    And every smarting slap that she received as punishment, every strict reprimand and nasty insult, was worth it. She would not stop misbehaving, for she could not bear it otherwise. Having escaped, she would scurry through the corridors of Rose Herm unnoticed, spying on the servants and, in particularly bold moments, on Ma Dane. At first this was enough to satisfy her rebellious urges, but soon she craved more. She began venturing into the grounds of the mansion and it was around this time that she first met Owaine.

    Owaine had heard of the strange child, as all of the servants had, but he had never seen it. The maids often liked to whisper at mealtimes in the lower quarters of curses and demons and bad luck, but he took little heed of them. In fact, he barely spoke to anyone except to command his stable lads and to exchange a few polite observations with the gardeners. He found the outside servants easier to mix with than the house servants if he needed company, and the feeling was mutual. The house servants thought his lilting accent comical and difficult to understand. They found his manners rough and peculiar, but they did not expect much else from a Hillander.
    Owaine’s homeland was many miles away, in the opposite corner of Pervorocco—a long distance from any city and different in feel, smell, and taste from Sago. In spare moments he dreamt of moist, green hills, cool fog, and the smell of drenched earth. He longed to return to his homeland, but grief and poverty had brought him to Sago to seek work and he feared returning. As stable manager at Rose Herm, he could send a wedge of sticks home each moon-cycle to his daughter, who was cared for by a relation in his village. He missed her dearly, but he told himself that he was better off staying at Rose Herm.
    His job kept him occupied and his rooms in the stable loft meant that he was rarely away from it. Owaine was a skilled horseman and the tang of horse sweat and the scent of hay were his constant companions. They were also what brought the amethyst-eyed child to him.
    One morning he was grooming the carriage horses as usual when he saw something flickering in the shadows of the opposite stall. Comrade, Pa Hamish’s riding horse, was whickering softly and he could hear the soft swish of straw being shuffled.
    Frowning, Owaine clicked his tongue and whistled, wondering if one of the hunting dogs had gotten in there again. Comrade adored petting and would let anyone and any animal into his stall. He had not exactly turned out to be the show horse Pa Hamish had hoped for.
    Owaine approached the stall and peered over the half door, expecting to see a dog or one of Sago’s street cats that often prowled the grounds for pickings. Instead, two violet eyes stared back at him.
    “Urgh!”
    He jumped, causing Comrade to flinch and stamp his hoof in frustration.
    Owaine pressed his thumb and