Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (12 page)

I could feel my tights soaking up the water on the slightly damp grass, filtering out the mud, and slowly, cautiously, took a step forward. Like an awakening statue, he came to life, equally as slowly as my step, as though he had only just noticed I was there. Then he rapidly began to cast and I realized I had
no
chance. His hands moved fast, but more spells appeared than gestures created, and the shield I put up drained me in seconds, as if I had run a marathon. My muscles burned until they were so weak I felt as though the ground itself was moving as I was battered into taking several steps back.

My pride prevented me from casting anything—I only had enough energy to create something weak, which would not so much as split a hair on his revered head. It was unnerving, too, to find that somebody of the same age and training level, more or less, could overwhelm me so easily.

It was at that moment that my mind split into two: one half contemplated retiring, the other at least trying to do something to preserve some dignity. An echo of Valerie’s taunting words sounded in the latter half, and that was all it took for it to engulf the former.

I knew what I could try, but attempting to do it while maintaining a shield was near crazy. Yet it would work if I could keep him at bay long enough. It had never failed me.

I pushed the shield away from my body, peeling the part that protected my back around toward the front to form a misty disc which I ducked down behind, placing one hand flush to the ground with my fingers splayed. There was a momentary pause in the onslaught against my shield. I panicked for a brief second, wondering how quickly he could move around me and how much he was into chivalry.

To my surprise, he continued to cast at my shield, and not above or behind me. I could only presume he thought I had a second shield to protect against his doing exactly that.

Keeping my eyes fixed on his misty outline through my shield, I murmured a few words and felt my hand immediately tingle. My skin warmed in a wave as energy in its rawest form penetrated my flesh and traveled up toward my chest. The moment I felt it pass from beneath my scars and into the center of my chest, I was able to stop gasping for breath, my muscles ceasing to ache. With a brief promise to the trees to restore their energy, I stood up. I knew I would have to use what I had taken quickly—too long and it would refuse to be tamed.

I let my shield drop, and a few spells escaped; to my surprise, one broke the prince’s shield and he stumbled back a few steps. Within seconds, his shield had reappeared and he was casting again. But those precious moments gave me time to act: spells alone would waste the precious magic I was borrowing, and besides, my strengths lay elsewhere.

“Terra,” I muttered, continuing the rest of the summons in my mind, keeping my hands as still as possible. I did not want him to know what I was calling upon.

Beneath my feet I felt the earth stir. It continued for half a second more; as soon as it stilled, I raked my shield back in so it clung not an inch from my skin and released the magic I had manipulated back into the ground.

He had no time to react. He could not even look toward his feet as roots from the very trees I had borrowed the energy from pierced the surface, wrapped their tips around his ankles and waist—a personal shield of the kind he had summoned was no use against physical objects—and propelled themselves toward the larger dome shield. As though made of elastic, they whipped back toward the grass; he, on the other hand, kept going, only stopping as he was thrown into the shield, sliding down until he met the ground.

My heart stopped when he didn’t move. On the wind I heard the trees I had utilized whisper
treason
with barely disguised glee. Before I knew what I was doing, I was sprinting toward him, half tripping over the ripped soles of my tights. A few feet away from where he lay I fell onto my hands and knees and scrambled to close the distance, feeling my heart start again when I realized he was groaning and clutching at the bottom of his rib cage.

“Are you okay?” I blurted out, crawling even closer to search for any bleeding.

His eyes snapped open and he lifted his head at the sound of my voice before relaxing back into the ground.

“Fine,” he said between gasping breaths. “Just a little winded.”

But even as he spoke, I had spotted deep gouges just above his ankles where the roots had knotted themselves. The skin was knitting itself together as pale-gold sprigs of magic weaved in and out of one another, acting like stitches. By the time I had looked away, all that remained was a thin red line dividing the scars on his leg and foot.

“I’m so sorry,” I continued, glancing at the muddy stains on his jumper.

He choked a little as he chuckled. “Sorry? You won!”

“But I hurt you.”

He slowly propped himself up until he had pulled his knees up to his chest and was sitting. “I thought you weren’t the gambling type. You were bargaining with nature there.”

I rolled back to rest on my knees and heels. The shield around us faded.

“That’s degree-level magic,” he continued. “Where did you learn it?”

I slumped, feeling my concern ebb away to be replaced with a need to escape. “My grandmother.”

He didn’t say anything but glanced behind him, examining the crowds moving toward us. “Come on, we had better get our things.”

I stood up and offered him my hand, but he managed on his own, climbing to his feet as though not hurt at all. I followed a pace behind him as he strode toward where our swords lay in the grass. Just beyond that, Christy, Gwen, Tee, and Tammy were galloping toward us; Gwen skipped ahead and threw her arms around me, squealing.

“You were so amazing!” She almost instantly drew back, as always, smiling ruefully as though surprised at her own compliment. “So were you, Your Highness,” she added coyly.

The prince let out a wry grin as he fastened his scabbard back onto his belt. “Same time Monday? I won’t let you get away with the same trick twice, though.” He smiled, and for the first time I noticed how teasing his expression became when his lips upturned.

I nodded, already finding myself being pulled away by Gwen, who was clearly desperate to gossip.

“Oh, and Autumn?” I heard him call and came to a slow stop, turning. “You would definitely stand a chance.”

The four girls burst into a fit of giggles and I blushed bright red, bowing my head and hurrying off with them to conceal my sheepish smile.

Autumn

T
he prince stuck to his word. Of the two fights we fitted in before the Wednesday of the next week, he won one, while the other ended with us both flat on our backs. The audience by no means shrank, as the appeal of the dangerous converted into genuine curiosity. For my friends, it was a chance to talk to the prince outside of the classroom.

Nathan did not turn up at work the weekend after that first fight. He had not called in, and I ended up bearing the brunt of my employer’s anger.

By Wednesday, things were settling down. The initial hype that had followed the prince like a shadow was diminishing, though that which surrounded my title never did. Valerie’s jibes became less direct, but she made a point of mocking my wealth. That I could cope with.

What happened on Wednesday night, I couldn’t.

Tick, tock . . .

I was in a forest, but the sounds that played on a loop were not of the trees. The clock that ticked never stopped, and the grunts of the man never ceased. If the woman ever screamed, I didn’t hear her, and if the man ever taunted, I didn’t hear him.

But I did see her hair, brunette, tangled, and her calves, spread beyond his feet, her weight balanced on the tip of a silver shoe on one foot and a muddied sock on the other. Her torso relied on his body to remain upright.

Every time she haunted my dreams I became more convinced of the girl’s identity: she was Violet Lee.

I was angry, but I felt her anger, too. I took two steps forward, and then my knees buckled from beneath me and I collapsed to the ground, feeling something warm and sticky run down the inside of my thighs. I registered my body slowing down before everything went black.

Behind my closed eyelids was the cutout of a billowing cloak, silhouetted against the blotched peach of sunlight shining through translucent skin. It appeared to move away, becoming smaller until it eventually faded. As it did, the sound of the clock ticking became louder, accompanied by the sound of water running into a basin. The noise grew louder as the light brightened, until it became so unbearable that I woke, sitting bolt-upright in bed.

I never went in to school that day. A migraine started five minutes after I woke, and the aura was so bad I tripped down the last few stairs on the way to collect my pills. I slept until lunch.

Even after a cold shower I felt like the bright light of my dream was still burning my skin, and only put on a pair of boxer panties and a camisole. The afternoon passed slowly, and I did none of the schoolwork I told myself I would do. I could do nothing but curl up on my bed and analyze the dream and all its counterparts. They were too
real
not to.

At about four I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, and the opening and closing of the gate. My heart jumped into my mouth. My parents had mentioned they might be home earlier than usual, and I should only have been back from school a few minutes. I dived for my closet, pulling out and scrunching up a fresh school shirt just as the doorbell rang—the chain was across the door and I would have to let them in. I chucked the shirt onto the pile of dirty laundry outside their bedroom and shrugged my threadbare, ever-shortening silk dressing gown on to make it look like I was just getting changed. I had been using it since I was twelve, and the belt had long since gone missing, so I left it open. When I was halfway down the stairs, the doorbell rang again.

“I’m coming,” I said in annoyance, more to myself than to them. It had become altogether too easy to forget about my parents these past weeks.

I turned the lock, unfastened the chain, and opened the door, hoping they would let me escape quickly. Instead I became rooted to the spot.

He recoiled a step in shock. In the time it took me to process what was happening, he had the opportunity to take a good look at me, though his eyes were clearly trying to avert themselves as he blushed wildly. I felt my cheeks burn and gripped the edge of the door until my knuckles whitened.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, finally realizing that I should try to cover myself up. Yet even when I pulled the two sides of the gown together, it made little difference—it wasn’t long enough to cover my tiny shorts, and too small to reach across my middle, and I was very conscious that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I brought your homework. From Sylaeia, obviously.”

He kept a tight hold on the papers, though I reached out to take them. I let my hand drop, knowing my gown had once again fallen open.

“Can I come in?” he asked, peering behind me.

“No.”

He shrugged. “All right. I’ll just stand here then.”

My gaze turned upward as if to ask for strength. “Fine,” I breathed, opening the door wider. “I’m just going to go and . . .” I waved my hand across my middle and then gestured upstairs, bolting away.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” he shouted after me.

I summoned the calm to not slam the door as my eyes bulged in mortification. Taking a few seconds to lean against the door, forcing deep breaths, I began to seriously consider just not going back downstairs.

A
prince of Athenea
was in my kitchen, in my tiny little house, and I had just greeted him in what wasn’t much more than underwear.

In the mirror I could see that my cheeks were flushed to the point of seeming burned, and it looked like my skin was about to break out from a potent overdose of stress. The idea of covering it up with foundation was hurriedly pushed aside. I didn’t want him to think I was trying, like the girls at school. I didn’t want him to think anything. I wanted him out of my house.

I threw on a pair of jeans, bra, and a thin jumper. My hair had reverted to its natural tight waves and ringlet curls, and straightening it with magic would definitely be trying too hard.

I could just climb out of the window and down the tree.
It wouldn’t be hard and the kitchen was around the back; he wouldn’t see me.
Or I could fly.

I entertained other possibilities as I knelt on the window seat. I could see his Mercedes parked just to the left of where our front garden ended—even in a relatively well-off neighborhood, it looked out of place.

I knew I couldn’t really escape. I would have to face him at school, and there was no way I could explain away my disappearance. So, taking a few calming deep breaths, I headed back down the stairs and into the hallway. When I entered the kitchen, he was sitting on one of the bar stools at the island, his eyes sliding across the contents of the room.

“It’s quite small, isn’t it?” he commented.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I mocked as I squeezed between his chair and the wall to get to the fridge.

“It’s just not your real home, Manderley mansion.”

Retrieving a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, I poured him a glass. I went to give it to him, but then pulled my hand back. “I’m only getting you a drink because you’re a prince and my grandmother would turn over in her grave if I didn’t. I still don’t like you for not telling me about my grandmother’s death.”

He cocked an eyebrow and beckoned for the glass. “Ah, but by having to tell me over and over that you don’t like me are you trying to convince yourself?” He shrugged. “I won’t force you to like me.”

The exchange came to a close, and I felt no urge to continue it. I was hoping the silence might hasten his departure, though his taking the drink suggested otherwise.

“How are you feeling?” he asked suddenly.

I jerked up to face him. “What?”

The corners of his lips upturned. “I said how are you feeling? You were not in school, so I can only assume you were ill.”