A Red-Rose Chain

“How’d you know we were here, Marley?” asked Walther, reaching for another lavender cookie. The pink ones and the yellow ones were still relatively untouched, but he’d eaten nearly a dozen of the purple cookies. “All the rose goblins are either here with us, or they’re off telling the King all about how Ceres is leading us astray and shouldn’t be interrupted. You shouldn’t have been able to find us.”


Marlis’ head snapped around, eyes narrowing as she focused on him. “My name is Marlis,” she spat. “As for King Rhys, he is preoccupied with the preparations for war, and as he had no need for me, he generously allowed me to come and see my old nursemaid. Now rise, and answer for your trespasses!”

“No,” said Walther mildly. “Eat a cookie. We saved the saffron ones for you. I know those were always your favorite. Here.” He reached for the tray of yellow cookies. It was only because I was so close to him that I saw the light dusting of powder fall from his hand to mingle with the thin layer of powdered sugar atop the cookies as he picked up the tray and held it out toward his sister. He was using the countercharm.

Ceres was as close to him as I was: she must have known what he was doing. She didn’t say anything about the powder. She just took another sip of her tea and said, “You’re too tense, my darling. Have a cookie. Stop threatening my guests, who are here by my invitation, and not for any other reasons.”

Marlis hesitated. At least she took her hand off the hilt of her sword. I appreciated that.

But Ceres wasn’t done. “If you do not have a cookie, I’ll have to assume that you don’t respect my hospitality, and remember that slight when next you seek solace in my chambers. I love you, Marlis, but you’re not the girl I raised. You haven’t been since that outland King came and took your open eyes away.”

“I don’t believe this,” muttered Marlis. She strode across the room and snatched two cookies from the tray—one in each hand. Taking a large bite of the first, she chewed with an exaggerated motion meant purely to make sure we all knew that she was eating the cookie. Ceres watched without comment.

Marlis swallowed.

“See? You always feel better when you have a cookie.” Walther picked up one of the purple cookies. Following his lead, I snagged a pink one and took a bite. Candied rose. Naturally.

Marlis looked at him blankly. There was an open confusion in her face that hadn’t been there a moment before, like some thin, undefinable veil had been stripped away.

“Have another cookie, dear,” said Ceres, her voice holding the note of command that has been used by parents and teachers since the beginning of time.

Automatically, Marlis put her second cookie in her mouth. This time, her chewing was less exaggerated and more mechanical, like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. Ceres glanced to Walther.

“What did you do to your sister?” she asked.

“Isn’t that a question that should have been asked before you fed her the second cookie?” I asked. “As, you know, a thought?”

“Walther has never poisoned Marlis before, so it seemed unnecessary,” said Ceres.

I really didn’t have an answer for that. I sat silently for a moment, trying to come up with one, before I finally shrugged and reached for another of the rose cookies.

“Do I know you?” Marlis was still staring at Walther, making no effort to hide her confusion. “Do I . . . you look like my cousin.”

“It’s me, Marley.” Walther put his last cookie down and stood. They were almost the same height. She was a tall woman, and he was of relatively average height, for a man. Expression sheepish, he spread his hands, and said, “I go by Walther now—that’s my name—but you used to call me ‘Waltrune.’ If that helps.”

“Truny?” Marlis squinted at him, like she was trying to confirm what he was saying to her. “But that’s silly. Truny was my sister.”