The smell of liss was sweet enough that Cecilia could almost understand why so many fell into its jaws. There was an eerie beauty to the substance as it gleamed a soft blue within glass canisters, and in these wattle-and-daub hovels they were in fact the only beauty to be found. The floors were sticky with mud and sweat, and in this den the few chamberpots scattered around the parlor were overflowing. No furniture remained in the building, which was now entirely dedicated to the haze of liss, day and night.
She had forced the addled onto the streets, and her sword and authority as a Blossom served to command the overseers into compliance, even as they mouthed off ineffectual threats. I have powerful friends, said the man with the rotten teeth and lips so cracked and swollen they looked more wood than flesh. Cecilia had not been cowed by such empty bravado. His methods could intimidate the vulnerable and wretched, but as soon as he understood his words meant nothing to a Rose, he turned meek and surrendered without a fight. His enforcer had shown what he thought was boldness but was ultimately folly; he lunged towards her with cosh in hand, but he was clumsy, unskilled, and Cecilia quickly subdued him, breaking his arm and pressing him against the filthy wooden walls until he relented. The two were now manacled, and come the morning would be found by the city guard.
“You hold here a rather abundant supply of this filth,” Cecilia said, peering into the lucent substance in the vial. In the dark, it glowed faintly, and from the streets its light could guide the afflicted even beneath a moonless midnight. “If all those canisters were to shatter, would it be difficult to replace them, hm?”
“Girl,” said the liss peddler, in a tone that Cecilia misliked, “you’ve never seen the bliss before, have you? You look too clean to ever been in a place like this. If you shatter all that liss in a small cramped space you’ll be laughing yourself breathless and crying yourself blind.”
“I don’t make it my concern to learn about these instruments of torpor,” she snapped at the man. “Small wonder that filth is such poison, and that you’d feed it to the weak-minded for coin. Have you no guilt whatsoever?”
“I never forced them to take the vials to the flame just for a sniff of bubbling bliss,” the man shrugged. “They walked into the den of their own will, and gladly emptied their wallets to get their shillingworth of joy. One coin, one good long snort. It was a fair deal. If they felt I was taking advantage, well, then they could just go elsewhere.”
“As well sell them the air they breathe, if such is your shield.”
“What is it to you, meddling Blossom? Will I find you in taverns spilling mead and wine onto the floor? Do you think there are no paupers there, no drunkards going home to beat their women bloody?”
“You are a Gairnite, are you not?” She asked. The man did not respond. “Only a Gairnite would weave such sophism and call it wisdom. Worry not. The justice of men has your kind marked for execution, but the Ruby Blossom’s red is not that of spilled blood. I will dispose of this filth you’ve brought to Leyrvallti, and you’ll be on your way. You be sure to tell your masters that Loclain is the dominion of the Ruby Rose, not of you idolatrous outlaws.”
“You really do believe your words, don’t you?” The man spat at her feet. “You really do refuse to allow us our own decisions, for the good and the bad. That is why you so despise our gift of joy, our blessing of forgetting. You could not care less about any harm those wretches might suffer, only that this was not done in a manner of your choosing and your control. That’s how you see people, isn’t it? To seek pleasure in ways to our liking… That is heresy.”
She glared. A man manacled and on his knees ought not to speak so boldly when granted mercy undeserved. Perhaps she had not yet done enough to ply him into a useful lure.
“Enjoy this pleasure, then,” she said, tossing the vial at him and his enforcer. Blue dust was carried upwards by the wind, sparkling and lighting the room as though the sun was risen. The two men began to cough, to laugh, to spit. “I thank you for warning me not to be too close to the fumes. Have a good night, gentlemen. The guards will escort you to your accommodations.”
With luck they would be convinced that she was foolish enough to believe that. Sieglinde and Stel were certain that the city guard was paid by the Host to feign blindness to their deeds, but exactly how deep that infiltration went was uncertain. Cecilia doubted that the remaining canisters of liss would be disposed of. They fetched too tempting a price, and, Stelmaria had implied, even men who would otherwise be honest, when in the midst of dishonest comrades, would become complicit, not for greed but their own safety.
“I’ve known many who opened their hands to accept bribes not because they longed for it but because they feared what fate might befall the one trustworthy man in a room full of treacherous ones,” she said.
“A fine justification for what is nevertheless a crime,” Yawen had no sympathy. That was hardly unexpected. “When all men claim that they worked their evil deeds simply because they feared the evil men around them, the end result is that they all have been touched by evil. And every man who harbors thoughts of ravin and selfishness sees those traits in every man around him. Evil is easy,” she proclaimed. “You need only convince yourself that it is the state of all men, and then you wash your hands of guilt when you follow your nature.”
“But Lady Yawen,” Triella foolishly interjected. “Haven’t you said that evil surrounds us, and that it is the nature of man?”
Cecilia tried not to think back on her gaze. Triella was too honest, that was her great inadequacy, the same one she shared with Ise—who would have expressed her disdain and annoyance at the comparison with words of utmost honesty. Cecilia knew when to hold her tongue.
Thus she said no more to the guards waiting outside, nor to the squalid souls recovering from the narcotic haze of liss. How one could choose to embrace a life like this was simply beyond her understanding. And to think that villain dared to merely call it a gift of joy, or a decision that ought to be respected.
Far from torchlight and gleaming glass, Cecilia travelled hidden by night, to return to the inn. She tried to focus on the sounds around her, expecting perhaps footsteps to follow, but there were too many sounds in Leyrvallti for her to be able to tell them apart. Whispers and words, a chorus of insect songs, the wind whistling as breezes squeezed through the narrow pathways of the town… It had been some time since Cecilia had last been in a place that was so alive. This paled before Cartasinde, of course, but Cecilia had never liked the Empire’s capital, its hysteria resounding day and night without respite, the evenings so illuminated that at certain areas it was bright as morning… At least Leyrvallti slept, even if did so very lightly, with unease.
Three of the Dawners awaited her in the dark, which they melded into with an ease which belied their names. No dawn comes that is not preceded by the dark, Valentin had told her. If we are to safeguard daybreak, it is that darkness we must inhabit, rather than wait to greet a dawn that has arrived without our aid. Not all sellswords were so well-spoken, Cecilia had to admit. Neither did they often grow old whilst remaining within a free company—though Cecilia knew better than to prickle their pride by calling them mere mercenaries.
“Kleinfeld,” Valentin greeted her. She did not know the names of the two men by his side, but they were considerably younger, though their thick beards obscured their age somewhat. “How was it?”
“As expected,” she said. She did not mean it as a boast; what hope could ordinary men have in battle against a magical girl without the benefit of surprise or superior numbers? “One surrendered without a fight. The other did not. No blood was shed, and his arm should recover in time. Even so, it was foolish of him to even try.”
“Most like it was desperation rather than a lackwit’s confidence,” Valentin proposed. “Perhaps he feared you meant to kill him and that no recourse was left to him but to fight.”
“Liss is valuable,” said the shorter of his companions. “A small whiff or taste is enough for pleasure, and the damnable substance is easy to transport, light, and can last a while. Liss peddlers buy their canisters to last.”
“So it is not the Rose which he feared,” Cecilia understood. “But the price of losing that filth. Their Gairnite patrons would be most displeased, yes… To their good fortune, I’ve not destroyed all of their liss. For I’m a naive and sheltered Blossom who’s too innocent to the ways of the world, and could never conceive that the honorable city watch would have a hand in the illicit trade.”
“Fortunately, she has us,” Valentin’s eyes smiled though his mouth did not, “wise to the ways of scoundrels and scum. We’ll track their movements and learn which among the guards are in the Host’s pockets, which are mere opportunists, and which ones are faithful.”
“I’m certain Sieglinde can make use of any of those,” said Cecilia. “You will only watch, yes? I suppose it’s best not to frighten our quarry. When shall we meet again?”
“My hope is to have at least some information to share come next sunset,” he said. “I will send someone to your sojourn.”
With that, they parted ways. For all that Yawen, Stelmaria and Erika whinged about the low character of their newfound allies, Cecilia found them reliable and courteous enough. Their Order’s ill repute was justly earned, but perhaps time had curbed their violent excesses.
Sunrise followed a dreamless sleep. Used to waking early, Cecilia was the first to meet with Sieglinde to break their fast together. There was more work to be done today, though for the most part the Blossoms would be waiting for the Host’s reaction, if it came at all. Yawen set out past the city gates to track any suspicious movement coming from the east and towards Leyrvallti. She’d even promised not to kill anyone.
“I’ve tasked the Dawners with following the city guard,” said Cecilia. “We expect that the guards won’t properly confiscate or destroy the remaining liss, so knowing where it’s taken should give us more direction.”
“I’ll see about arranging a meeting with the captain of the guard,” Sieglinde said. “Perhaps the mayor as well. I only wonder when the best moment to unveil our presence would be… For now, you are the only known Blossom. An arrogant pupil with delusions of authority. Best keep it that way. In the meantime, Triella has been admirably assiduous in working with Stelmaria to identify figures of note within the city. Merchants with connections that might be links in the Host’s supply chains, known malfeasants and citizens of import.”
“As long as she’s safe,” Cecilia remarked, though if her pursuits soured, Triella still had the strength of a Blossom. “What of Ise? And Erika…?”
“For now, Ubami waits. Her countenance is distinctly that of an outsider, so she would not disappear amidst the crowds as is ideal. And Yawen did not require aid, which she was emphatic about. As for Erika, I have given her the liberty of utilizing… Other methods, we may say. Subtle spells to harvest whispers, she said. I allowed her, once discretion was assured. It appears to me that she has misjudged the difficulty of wielding such magic outside of a controlled environment as in the Academy, but it is for the good that she makes the attempt. In truth, I’d rather she didn’t require my permission, but it seems the mantle of leader has enveloped me.”
“You are, among us, the best-suited to lead,” said Cecilia. Sieglinde seemed to find that amusing.
“Yes, I’m a full four years your elder, what a great authority I am…” She wiped breadcrumbs from the side of her mouth. “Our numbers were so direly diminished that our Rose has had to find leaders in those such as Diantha Maglora, Milsanne Hyryssa, the younger Hilssgar… And I’m certain they question my own authority. I am your mentor, not your master, so I’d rather cultivate your talents than dictate your every move. As ought be done, were your education not suddenly interrupted.”
“Even so…” Cecilia didn’t want to question Sieglinde, but that still felt wrong, somehow. “In a task of such importance, is this the wisest course…?”
Sieglinde smiled, and set aside her cutlery. She didn’t seem as tall as Cecilia thought. Had she only noticed it now…? There was a softness to her dark blue eyes, an almost adolescent tenderness.
“All tasks are of importance,” she said gently, “where the Ruby Blossom is concerned. And none have ever felt ready when they had to answer their life’s fateful call. We may not even know that it has come, but nevertheless we act, unprepared and uncertain… All of your bloom-sisters have begun writing their own answers, letter by letter, whether they are aware of it or not. And so are you.”
The Rose's Torn Petals 