In the Wake of the Wicked (Veridian Empire #1)

29. Rose

29

Rose

I took a valerian root sleeping draught and slept through the rest of the day and night. My body needed it, and the Fates only knew my mind did, as well. When I woke the next morning, I felt more clear-headed than I had since the attack on our carriage.

But that clarity brought what I’d put off for so long. What I’d feared to let take over.

The raw weight of grief and anguish was no longer cloaked by the urgency of a trial or spying or meetings. These were the first moments since I’d remembered everything that I had to myself. The first moment to think without distraction.

And it was like a flood.

Memories of my father crashed through me, as far back as I could recall. Roaring campfires under the stars while he taught me about crystals and spirit magic. Rolling down soft hills of grass and shouting the names of root herbs in between squeals of laughter. He made magic come alive. It was so ingrained in me from the very first spell I watched him perform.

I’d forgotten so much of this. Had replaced these vivid moments with shaded versions of a near-stranger, instead of the father I’d loved so deeply as a little girl.

I’d only been five when he died. A lifetime of memories with him had been taken from me. I wondered what magic he could have taught me as I grew, what advice he would have given me, how differently my future might have looked. Would we have run the Arcane together? Would we have had weekly dinners with Ragnar, Morgana, and Beau? Would he have entered the Decemvirate instead of Ragnar?

My morning and afternoon were spent in the only thing that brought me comfort—my magic. It started with the need to take some sort of action instead of drowning in my thoughts, so I began assessing what herbs I had left in my father’s pouch. Every new charm, leaf, and petal drug up memories of him explaining what each herb did or the feel of his Grimoire beneath my fingers as I came across spell after spell penned in his hand.

It was strange to be feeling these kinds of strong emotions decades after it had passed. I thought I’d come to terms with it. I thought I’d patched this heartache. But it had never healed—it had simply been cloaked. As I went through all my bags and pulled out charm after charm, potion after potion, magic and memories and sorrow swelled to the surface, with nothing left to tether them down.

And I let them come.

I let them wash over me, cracking me down the center. I let the tide pull me under until it felt as if I couldn’t breathe, sobs breaking through the waves like a storm cresting the shore. Tears for that five year old girl who watched her father, the strongest man in her world, crumble and fall. Tears for the little orphan who didn’t understand the hand this life had dealt her. Tears for the growing child whose heart was hardened and whose tongue was sharpened by the cutting glares of people who wouldn’t see the truth. Tears for the young woman who never had the chance to live freely, out from the scrutiny and judgment of the world. Who had never had the chance to find herself outside of the labels she was given.

At some point, my aunt’s muffled voice came from outside my door, and when she realized it was unlocked, she came in to check on me. She found me sitting on the floor with vials and petals and leaves spread around me, tears streaking my face and my locket clutched in my grasp.

“Oh, my dear girl,” was all she said before falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

We cried together for what felt like a lifetime, until no more tears were left. And then she held me. No questions, no words, no pressure. Giving me the space I needed to process what I’d spent years avoiding.

“This was the very first herb he showed me,” I said after we’d sat soaking in the silence. My voice was hoarse and my fingers shaky as I held up a brittle amaranth stem. “I could barely say the word.”

Morgana chuckled and smoothed down my hair with one hand. “Of course, he did. Your father and his protection spells.”

“Can you tell me more about him?” I whispered, my head still on her shoulder.

She kissed my temple. “I didn’t know him well before Ayla brought him around, but it was clear from the moment she introduced us that he was simply infatuated with your mother. Fiercely protective and loyal, but in his own quiet way. Like the ocean. I used to say your mother was fire, and he was water—steady and strong. Set in his ways. A bit stubborn sometimes, like someone else I know,” she said with a laugh in her voice.

She told me stories of him and my mother, their whirlwind romance and quick marriage. Some memories were funny, like when my mother charmed his pencil to spell every word he wrote incorrectly. Some were joyful and full of pride, such as starting the Arcane together and finding out they were pregnant with me.

“Rose,” she said, moving her shoulder so she could look into my eyes. “You may not be ready yet to talk about what happened to him, but just know that I’m here when you are. You have never had to face this on your own. Ragnar and I just…didn’t know how to na vigate it. You were so young.” Her voice cracked, eyes shining with tears once more.

Her words reminded me of what Rissa had said the day before. It was easy to feel alone when all you had for so long was your own anger and repressed trauma, always knowing something was wrong but never being able to put your finger on it.

That anger was still there. I wasn’t sure it would ever truly leave me. I knew it would rear its head again, my stubborn nature refusing to back down and show vulnerability. Anger was such a comfortable substitution for me, and now I had a better understanding of why.

But knowing I wasn’t alone…it made it all a little easier to bear.

I gave myself a single day to sift through those emotions and recover from the resurgence of memories. In a way, I was thankful to have so many other things vying for my attention, forcing me to get up and move.

Morgana, Beau, and I had a quiet dinner that night in the infirmary at Ragnar’s bedside. Beau and I played cards while Morgana read softly to my uncle, the three of us finding pockets of calm in the storm of these past days.

When the next morning came, I woke with a sense of purpose and determination. I had four full days until the second trial. Four full days to search the palace, to learn every nook and cranny and find a way to slip past Gayl’s defenses.

I threw on a pair of leggings and a dark tunic, brushing quickly through my hair before swinging the door open and searching the corridor for the familiar guard. There he stood, at the intersection of another hall, steadfast and surly as ever. Like my personal grumpy guard dog. When I caught his eye and beckoned him closer, I could see a thick blonde eyebrow hitch even from this distance.

“Didn’t see you much yesterday, girl,” Horace said, eyeing me as he drew nearer. “Everything alright?”

My purge of emotions the day before must have lingered, because I felt a surge of compassion for this man. He not only upheld his responsibility to be there when I needed, but also seemed to truly care about me. His indignation at Callum, his gentleness when dealing with the aftermath, his short words of wisdom to keep me from spiraling or attacking.

My first real friend from the capital.

“I’m fine, Horace,” I said. “I just needed some time. But I’m ready to start making progress.” Opening the door wider for him to come in, I glanced down the hall to check for listening ears. “Do you still have those maps?”

He grunted. “Yes, but can’t keep them much longer. I borrowed them from our commanding officer when I told him I wanted to tighten up security for the challengers. He expects them back soon.”

“That’s fine. I’ll make a copy to keep with me.” I found spare parchment in my bags and got to work tracing the lines of the palace layout, adding a few labels at Horace’s direction to remember where important halls and chambers were.

I folded my fresh map and tucked it in a pocket, then stuffed new supplies into my pouch of herbs. When the two of us marched out the door, Horace cleared his throat. “Be careful. I’ve got orders from the Guard saying I have to stick to a certain area, so I can’t follow you everywhere. Just…don’t get yourself killed.” Patting me awkwardly on the shoulder, he added gruffly, “It’s good to have you back, girl.”

A genuine grin split across my face. “I’m just getting started.”