The Year of the Dead Rose

by Rachel Parsons

Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
appear in this issue.

Chapter 7

Rhiannon was becoming as crazed as the stir. She wasn’t sure what kind of beast a stir was, but she had heard the offworlder expression and could identify with the mythical creature. She placed her hands on the glass to her balcony, watched, through the ice crystals that had formed on the windows, as the lords and ladies danced on the frozen pond by the delta woods to the eastern grounds.

She almost hated the fur lined skaters, her envy was so great. She used to pirouette with the best of them in winters past. But quite apart from being an object of sniggering if she tried now, there was the little fact that she would freeze her womanhood off, and she was rather fond of her womanhood. Not to mention her nipples, her toes, her fingers, ears, and other parts that would provide snacks for the snow gods.

But it was too much; it really was. She walked back to the fireplace and remembered a time when Branwen, the princess of New Prydain, had come to visit and had dared her to run naked in such a clime toward the postern woods. Branwen said she would be Rhiannon’s servant for a day, to be cudgeled at will, if Rhiannon would do this. Rhiannon said that she would, should Branwen join her in the plot. She thought she would be safe, since in New Prydain slaves are made to go naked, and Branwen was always haughty toward them, clothed, as was her custom, in the latest fashions. But Branwen had readily agreed.

Rhiannon had made her way through a secret passage toward the postern gate, a passage the reason for which no one would tell her. It was too narrow for a full-sized adult to walk in; she had to crawl. It was like a tunnel used by a moldwarp. At the entrance she took off her kirtle, partlet, and furs, leaving only her boots as protection against frostbite, and ran to the woods. She heard the snow crinkle, indicating that Branwen was following shortly behind. This would be rich, to see the haughty, oh so civilized virgin princess as men would desire her. The people of New Prydain thought of the people of New Fairy as barbarians; well, who would be the barbarian now?

They reached the woods; Rhiannon grabbed her knees and sucked in the icy cold, hardly being able to get a mouthful of resuscitating air. She looked at her friend, who was smiling widely. Her fully dressed friend who looked like the feline who had swallowed the chicken.

“Oh, you look delicious, my sister, with all that you are hanging out like that.” Branwen laughed.

“Remove your garments, sister, as you promised!” yelled Rhiannon.

Branwen shook her head. “It is far too cold and humiliating to be naked out here. A guard or a lord of the court could saunter by at any time.”

“Then this is the last you will see of me,” declared Rhiannon, turning to leave; shivering in her determination.

“Not for a while. Look, sister.” She placed her hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder; the heat of it was searing.

Rhiannon followed her friend’s finger. Gasped. Seven lords and ladies were leaping in the snow, throwing snow balls at each other.

“It is their custom to do this each day at this time.”

“You made merry with me!” Rhiannon cried. “You would have me choose between freezing and shame!”

Branwen smiled, put her arms around Rhiannon. They felt so hot to the touch, she could be a basilisk. “There is a third alternative.”

“What is that?” Rhiannon was confused.

“I could keep you warm until they leave.”

“Keep me warm; I do not understand. Unless you are to share your garments with me.”

But she soon learned that what Branwen had in mind did not require the sharing of garments. Jerking back to the present, Rhiannon realized that she was using some of Branwen’s warming techniques on herself as she had been lost in memory.

She let out a slight moan, then went over to the escritoire, sat sideways, with one leg before the other, and wrote a quick note to her sister princess. Asking her to come quickly and help her in her time of decision. And to bring her prime minister. The prime minister, whoever he would be these day, was the real power in New Prydain, representing the Senate, and through that body, the freemen of New Prydain. By bringing him, Rhiannon hoped to secure not only the presence of the woman who had been her true companion before she had found her truest companion, but also the cooperation of her government in the war ahead. Not that it would be an easy task. Branwen’s kingdom was one of shopkeepers, always more interested in the volume of their coffers than in honor. They would cower before the Terrans’ weapons of mass destruction and be covetous of their material possessions.

She rang for a lady-in-waiting; one, Naia, came and took the letter. “Have it sent by dragon rider,” said Rhiannon, which startled her servant.

“But your highness, they believe not in dragons in New Prydain.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “I need it at goblin speed. Branwen will handle the situation. But verily, pick a dragon who knows the ways of men.”

The girl nodded and left. After waiting a short interval, Rhiannon quietly left, on little cat’s feet, to the postern entrance of her memory. Making sure no one was around, not that it mattered now as it had then, she ran to the woods.

“Woo! Hoo!” She cried, as the romp had proven invigorating. But her delight in facing the elements was short lived.

A hundred and twenty pound, wolf-like creature with fiery eyes and steel like teeth fell on her from the trees.

Proceed to chapter 8...