Night Rose, page 2
“Hey, Bria,” he said as if he’d just caught up to her and was greeting a friend. She returned the smile.
“Nice job tonight,” Briatta told him quietly, turning forward but watching him from the corner of her eyes. He ran a hand through his hair with his free hand, blowing out a puff of air.
“It could have been smoother. And we’re late,” Neven replied, pulling away and giving her a sidelong look as he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants. His blue eyes glittered under the Ardor lights lining the city’s streets, small balls of pure light set into glass casings to illuminate Montclair through the bionight.
Briatta rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t our fault.”
“Still, we missed our chance to get noodles.” Neven’s tone was serious, and Briatta fought the urge to laugh. Their favorite noodle restaurant, Noodlegeuse, was only open until the middle of the bionight, but Briatta wasn’t sure she could eat noodles at the moment, anyway.
“We’ll get noodles tomorrow,” Briatta promised, flashing a genuine grin. She liked their tradition of doing something together after missions as a way to ground themselves and return to the normalcy of life in Montclair.
While it was not required of Night Roses to deal death blows, someone who would be willing and able to was always sent on missions—should the need arise. Despite being skillfully trained, Briatta had never been able to end someone’s life, even when the person on the other end of her blade had committed the worst crimes. Because of her hesitation, Neven became Briatta’s permanent partner in the field. He would do anything to protect her, and together, they were a formidable and unstoppable force.
“You did well tonight, too,” Neven said into the silence, his mouth curling up at the corners.
“The only circumstance that would result in my not doing well is if I were distracted by food,” Briatta replied, sinking into her haughty mask of self-assured vigilante and smirking at her friend.
It was Neven’s turn to roll his eyes, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “You are a glutton.”
They reached the street corner where Neven, when he’d been younger, had often waited for the Belrose family when they walked to headquarters from their home, climbing up on the old fire escape to watch for them. As they passed, she glanced up at metal stairs where now, she could often find him reading on the days they had missions, waiting for her to pass underneath so they could walk into headquarters together. Once, she’d gone up with him, and though she hadn’t found the same solace in the spot Neven did, it at least offered an excellent view of the southern half of Montclair.
“Pray to the Founders for my redemption,” Briatta quipped back, grinning as they crossed the road to the newspaper building that was the front for the headquarters of the Night Roses. They walked around to the side of the building and opened the door leading into the employee break room. Everyone working for the newspaper were also Night Roses, so they never worried about walking in on someone unawares. That bionight, though, the room was empty. It was well past normal working hours.
The room’s back wall was painted a light-cream color and appeared completely unassuming. Briatta ran her hand over it, feeling more than looking for the spot that was smoother than the rest from years of being touched. She pushed gently when her fingers located it, and the seamless door swung smoothly open.
Briatta and Neven stepped onto the wide landing of a staircase and descended together into the underground warehouse from which the Night Roses operated.
The common area was smaller than expected because most of the building had been converted into living spaces that members could use under extenuating circumstances. Though the housing was meant to be a temporary solution, Briatta knew a few members who had become permanent residents. Before his Choosing, Neven had been one of them.
There were also conference rooms, training gyms, and armories, leaving little space for anything else.
A tall young man with red hair and freckles lounged on a black sofa by a large, red fireplace with a heatless, Ardor-made fire burning merrily inside. When Briatta and Neven stepped off the stairs, he looked up from his book, blinking at the interruption.
“About time,” Rory Donal said, setting the book face down on the couch and rising to greet them. Then, he moved to the little front desk and hauled a huge logbook onto the counter from somewhere underneath. “Did everything go as planned?”
“No, the target was late, and I was forced to intervene before he…killed another man,” Neven said roughly. Briatta reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Rory nodded grimly, scratching something on the page he’d opened to.
“Our informant was correct, though,” Briatta added.
“Alright.” Rory frowned slightly as he made more notes in the logbook. “Did anyone see you?”
Neven shook his head. “It was dark. And I was silent.”
“Good. Well, that’s all I need for now. Full review will be with Zora sometime tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.”
Briatta and Neven turned to leave but paused when Briatta spied Owena seated on a sofa on the opposite side of the common area. She hadn’t looked in that direction when they’d entered, and Owena had been still as a statue. Glancing up at Neven, Briatta raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. He hadn’t seen her either, then.
“Owena,” Briatta walked toward the sofa, trying to mask the surprise in her voice. Already, she knew she would receive a reprimand for exercising decidedly poor awareness. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
It wasn’t unusual to find her aunt at the headquarters during odd hours, but she hadn’t been there when Briatta had checked in before heading out with Neven, and that had already been quite late in the day.
“I had my own mission tonight, and I thought I’d wait for you. You’re later than I expected.” Owena stood to join them, a brow arching as she waited for their explanation.
Neven crossed his arms. “We would have been later if only Noodlegeuse were open.”
The corner of Owena’s eyes crinkled as she smiled and gestured for them to go up the stairs. “Then I’m grateful it wasn’t.”
As the three Elfeans exited the building, Briatta could hear the rushing of the river Ravolo, which flowed a good distance behind their headquarters and was considered Montclair’s eastern boundary. It had been running lower recently, so hearing it flow with such veracity again was comforting.
Owena ushered them back across the street, and they headed north toward the Belrose Estate. When they reached a crossroads, Neven peeled off from their small group and melted into the shadows with a nod of goodbye, heading west toward the poorer parts of the city where he moved after his Choosing.
A while after he had left, when Briatta and Owena passed the Founders Hall local to the neighborhood where the Belrose Estate was located, Owena said, “That boy cares for you.”
It was something she said often these days, and Briatta knew her aunt was gently probing how Briatta felt about it. She wasn’t ready to think about that yet though, and she avoided directly answering.
“We’re lifelong friends,” Briatta replied, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Of course, we care for each other.”
Owena stayed silent for the remainder of their walk home, apparently unwilling to argue her point. When they reached the big, beautiful home that Owena had inherited from her parents, Briatta found herself once again marveling at how the building simultaneously appeared intimidating and welcoming. It was painted a shade of blue that sometimes seemed grey depending on the light, with white trim and large windows in every room. Big white pillars supported the overhanging roof of the front porch and the upstairs balconies.
Briatta’s favorite part of the Belrose Estate was the two large, ancient trees framing it like living statues. Owena had allowed plants to flourish on her grounds with the help of a Flower Ardorist she hired year-round, and there were flowering shoots of every species and color entangled with the railings of the porch and vining up the walls, trailing into the magnificent gardens.
When they entered through the big white front door, Briatta’s younger sister, Ellery, jumped to her feet.
“How did everything go?” Ellery tossed her book carelessly on the chair she’d occupied and looked eagerly between Owena and Briatta, the latter of whom was fighting the urge to pick the book up and gently bookmark the spot Ellery had saved, perhaps even apologize to it for the treatment it received from her sister.
“Everything went as expected. Why aren’t you in bed?” Owena demanded, though Briatta could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t upset.
Ellery rolled her eyes. “I can’t sleep when it’s just me here.”
“Isn’t Aden here? He’s supposed to keep watch when we are both out,” Briatta said pointedly.
“He went to bed hours ago.” Ellery gestured in the direction of Aden’s old room, the first door on the right at the top of the stairs. Their older brother had moved out when he started working for the city after his Choosing ceremony, but Owena kept his bedroom the same even after he left.
Fire Ardor had awoken in Aden during his Choosing, and he had been called to work for Montclair’s fire department shortly after, working alongside those with Water Ardor to put out fires around the city. Briatta knew he also had mundane tasks such as lighting small fires for the cold-blooded creatures of Belrune who chose to live within the biodome when it grew too chilly for them during the bionight. For the people on the continent, it was still hot. Briatta only understood the concept of being cold from learning about those scaled animals in school; she’d never experienced it herself.
“I’m exhausted,” Briatta announced, even as Owena opened her mouth to ask Ellery another question. She knew if she didn’t excuse herself, Ellery would keep them up the rest of the night with questions about their missions and complaints about how Aden had left her alone.
“Yes, we should get some rest,” Owena agreed, moving to the base of the stairs, just behind Briatta.
“Wait!” Ellery cried, snatching her book from the chair and hurrying after them. “Tell me more!”
Ellery was a member of the Night Roses, just like Aden and Briatta, but Owena held firm that none of them would go on missions until they were eighteen. For Ellery, that was very soon, as she would come of age in a couple of cycles of the Nocturne Sun around Carceron, each thirty days, and she was eager to learn as much as possible to best prepare herself.
“You don’t need to expose yourself to more of the world’s horrors sooner than you have to.” Owena’s tone was soft and placating, but Ellery wilted.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Goodnight.” The youngest Belrose disappeared into her room, which was directly across from Briatta’s.
“Get some rest, Bria,” Owena said from her bedroom door. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
“You, too.” Briatta smiled to herself. The next day would be long because they would begin their preparations to visit the Palace of the Founders, the site of the twelve Elfeans who had saved Carceron and all of its inhabitants from death. They stood eternally as statues, and it was the only place where Ardor could be awakened.
Briatta’s twenty-first birthday was coming up, and with it, the Choosing.
Chapter 2
The following day, the only reason the Belrose women woke on time was because Aden knocked loudly on all their doors.
“I’m up,” Briatta groaned when he paused his incessant banging. “For the love of the Founders, stop!”
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the exhaustion from the previous night still heavy in her bones, but the excitement of what was to come fluttering in her chest. As the shock of having been abruptly yanked from deep sleep faded, her eyes adjusted to the light seeping through the cracks in her curtains. Settling into her chest was the surreal feeling that came with the arrival of a day she’d waited for all her life.
“Good. Preida already has breakfast ready for you lazy lot,” Aden responded, his voice muffled by the wooden door.
Briatta rolled her eyes and pushed herself out of bed.
The Palace of the Founders was thankfully located close to Montclair, which was convenient for the Belrose family but less so for the Elfeans who traveled from all over Belrune for their Choosing ceremonies.
“Well? Are you coming?” It was Aden again.
“For Founders’ sake,” Briatta said under her breath as she stood in front of her wardrobe, deciding on what to wear.
“Bria?” Aden prompted.
“Yes,” she called, sighing.
Aden’s footsteps moved away from her door once she answered, then she heard him knock on Ellery’s door a moment later. Briatta pulled on a pair of green pants and a long-sleeved white shirt before cracking open her door to watch, knowing just what Aden was risking by banging on their younger sister’s door. Ellery was, after all, seventeen and still filled with pent-up feelings she wasn’t good at processing just yet.
“Aden! Why!” Ellery cried predictably, flinging her door open to find Aden with his fist in the air. He calmly pocketed his hands, lips quirking with amusement as he looked down at his baby sister.
“I told you to go to bed instead of waiting up,” he said dryly, glancing over his shoulder to where Briatta was standing in her doorway. Without another word, he headed down the stairs, leaving Ellery glaring after him, her hair still mussed from sleep.
Owena opened her door at that moment, already dressed in her usual unrestrictive attire. She always chose pants and a top, though they varied in color and style. Of all the Belroses, Owena was the most accomplished fighter, and those who knew to look for them saw the hints of her training glaringly apparent in her everyday life.
“Are you girls nearly ready to eat?” she asked with a warm smile, noticing her nieces standing at their doors and staring at her. “We’ve got lots of shopping to do today.”
“Ugh,” Ellery grunted and slammed her bedroom door closed.
Briatta’s eyes widened, and she met Owena’s gaze with a knowing grin. While typically sweet and gentle, Ellery was definitely not immune to the effects of being a teenager.
“Well, I’m ready,” Briatta said, even as her hands instinctively checked the knives she’d worn on her body since the day she’d been old enough—and competent enough—for Owena to allow it.
“I’ll meet you at breakfast.” Owena retreated to her room after observing Briatta’s subconscious hand movements.
In the dining room, the family cook—Preida—had prepared a fantastic spread of honey, jams, and cheeses to pair with sour bread alongside oats, cream, and berries. With her mouth watering, Briatta poured a cup of tea and added a splash of cream, joining Aden at the table where he’d taken a seat after having invoked the wrath of the youngest Belrose woman. He smirked at Briatta, one brow lifting and slightly wrinkling the Ardor-mark on his forehead that declared his status as a Fire Ardorist.
It was said that Elfeans used to naturally develop tattoo-like markings on their faces when their Ardor manifested, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Over time, it became the custom for the appropriate rune to be inked onto the temple after the Choosing. Briatta was skeptical that the symbols had ever appeared on their own; she suspected there had been an ancient way of creating the things, and there was evidence in her school’s history books to back it up. She’d read about old needles stained with a dark substance that had been found in the homes of long-dead Elfeans, though many believed they were used to create traditional, more personal designs, on people rather than Ardor-marks.
Aden was the only Belrose to bear a tattoo, and it was the swirling rune for flame in an old dialect of the Elfean language, done in fine lines and with the deepest black ink. Although the people no longer spoke this language, the glyphs were still used to identify the Ardor that each Elfean possessed. It was a point of extreme pride to bear a mark, especially living in a world as hostile to its inhabitants as Carceron.
Briatta couldn’t wait to manifest her own Ardor and attend her tattoo appointment. Everything was already scheduled—or at least tentatively reserved. Many of the people who performed standard post-Choosing services were no longer guaranteeing a time slot, considering the number of Elfeans who left their rituals without Ardor these days.
“Bold of you to awaken the beast so early,” Briatta commented with a wry smile, her gaze flicking towards her brother as she slathered butter onto a slice of bread.
“She’ll never make it as a Night Rose if she can’t wake up when she needs to,” Aden said with a deadpan expression before taking a long drink of water. “If you think about it, I’m doing her a favor.”
Briatta chuckled, swapping butter for brambleberry jam and scooping a generous amount from the jar. “Ellery doesn’t see it that way.”
Aden’s eyes sparkled over his breakfast as he picked up the newspaper that Preida left on the table for them every morning, always propped neatly against the vase of flowers in the center. A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Owena appeared.
“El’s on her way down,” Owena said with a warning look to Aden, who glanced up from his paper, smiling innocently.
While Aden and Ellery constantly clashed, Briatta was amicable with both her siblings. She seldom played intermediary because she didn’t want to accidentally nurture animosity, but she could usually see the humor in their disagreements. They were rarely serious, and arguments were usually forgotten within minutes.
“There’s another report of an activist attack,” Aden said, his eyes flicking back and forth across the paper. “Happened between here and Seradan.”
The kingdom—and continent—of Belrune was home to many cities, each encased in their own biodome. While Montclair was in the northwestern corner of the kingdom, just east of the Palace of the Founders, Seradan was farther south and bordered on the east by the Nalaran Mountain range.
Owena sighed, moving to the tea selection. “King Novak really ought to fight them with a harder hand.”
