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In the Trade we were raised.
In the Trade we will die.
three
Survive My Forest
Rainer
Rich, moist soil offers a cushion for my knees as I work, hunched over, tending to the roses. Moving carefully, I clip any dead growth, pruning away the old so new can flourish. Unlike the flora of the forest and the experiments in my mother’s greenhouse, these flowers require a green thumb, hard work, and…fine, perhaps, a touch of magic to survive.
Ideally, roses prefer at least six hours of strong sun per day to flourish. The soil here is impeccable for gardening, but the climate often leaves much to be desired. Though I am not partial to admitting it, a touch of magic—not my own—allows the roses to blossom.
As if responding to my weather-related disdain, a rumble cracks through the sky. I turn my eyes toward the grey abyss above, and a raindrop splatters onto my forehead. One by one, bulbous droplets splash the petals around me. Standing, I swipe my soiled hands on my dark trousers and take a large inhale.
The scent of fresh rain is delectable. Earthy, musky. Dirty, yet clean.
The stone castle to my left stretches into the clouds, the rain darkening its stone.
“Rainer,” a jovial voice calls. My spine goes rigid, and I spin toward the garden entrance, trudging toward my dearest friend as he speaks. “We found another body.” I quirk a brow.” In the woods.”
“Imbeciles,” I mutter.
Kenisius grins from just inside the doorway, out of reach from the pattering rain.
I wipe my brow with the back of my arm.
“You could always keep it for—”
“Send it back.”
His forehead wrinkles. “They’ll think you’re sending a message.”
“Precisely.” I brush past Kenisius, entering into the dim hallway and stomping my boots on the stone floor. He uses an oversized boot to nudge the glass-door shut behind us, and I wince when it rattles with the impact. “What condition is the human’s body in?”
“Worse than last week.”
I glance up to catch him grimacing, pale light from the sconces illuminating his profile. Kenisius is not easily rattled, so the sight sends a flicker of concern through my bones.
“Worse than the male who clawed his own eyes out?” I cock my head with a frown. “How so, exactly?”
“This one chewed off his own foot to escape the vines. Clawed off his own skin in chunks.” He scratches his beard. “It was almost impressive.”
“Hmph.” I inspect my nails, wondering if I have time to scrub them clean before the court meets.
It’s only a matter of time before Terra Court shows up at my door, demanding answers, per usual.
Despite the treaty with the human queen being broken, I still abide the terms. I’m sure I’m the only one who’s even noticed the expiration. Besides, it was always implied that any humans who cross the Gleam do so at their own risk.
I don’t offer protections to the humans, nor do I owe them any. Returning the mutilated bodies is a courtesy at best, an inconvenience at worst. They might see it as an act of aggression, reading into it from the wrong angle, but that has much to do with their inclination of assuming the worst, and their limited perspective.
“Send the body back, Kenisius,” I repeat. “Drain its blood for the trees and send it back over the Gleam.”
Kenisius gives me a mock salute and saunters down the passageway, ready to uphold my orders.
For a moment, I stand in the grand hallway, shadows flickering on the walls from the growing storm. Thunder ricochets through the space, followed by a blinding flash. The rain pounds on the windows, as if its demanding to be let in.
I inhale deeply, letting my eyes flutter shut. Despite the storm’s aggression, it’s a moment of pure peace. Where blood is the lifeline of flesh and bone, rain is the lifeline of roots and roses.
