Blossom and the Beast (The Alder Tales Book 1) Read online

  Twice, she ran her hand across the front of her tunic to wake Fig before she remembered she’d left him behind. Both times stabbed at her heart, still fresh with guilt, but she focused on the pages of her book and tried to let the old stories fill her mind, pushing everything else away.

  Blossom had only a few pages left when the door cracked open and Norsa emerged. “Come on, dear. Time to get you dressed for dinner.”

  “I’m not going,” Blossom shouted back down. She had a handful of berries left. It would be hours before she felt the need to climb down.

  “Oh, come on, dear. Valenta’s picked out a lovely gown for you.”

  “I’m not hungry. Leave me be.”

  “If you don’t come down now, it’ll be him that comes to get you,” Norsa replied, her tone ominous.

  Blossom huffed and began her descent. The sun was almost gone anyway and leaving now would save her a few minutes of his company.

  Once her feet touched the ground again, Norsa brought her back to her room where Valenta waited in the washroom. The tub was already full of steaming water and brimming over with heaps of bubbles.

  “I can wash myself.” Blossom crossed her arms and waited for them to leave, though neither moved.

  “At least let me help you with your dress,” Valenta offered, so much calmer than she’d been before.

  “Dress? I’m not wearing a dress.” Blossom almost laughed at the absurdity of it. If he thought her a doll to dress up and present to his friends, he would soon discover she wasn’t the pretty flower he thought her to be.

  “But the Vice—”

  “She can wear what she likes,” Norsa interrupted. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” She nodded to them both before she shut the door behind her.

  Since Valenta refused to leave, Blossom stripped out of her green tunic top and brown pants and slid into the tub as if Valenta wasn’t there at all. But as soon as she was in the water, Valenta’s hands were on her hair, combing it through with her fingers.

  “You’re brave to come here alone,” Valenta said in a quiet tone.

  “It’s not like I had much of a choice.” She’d been practically kidnapped, traded for like a horse or sack of grain.

  “You always have a choice. You could have run, but you climbed a tree instead.”

  “Maybe next time I’ll run.” Blossom felt her own words deflate as soon as she said them. She’d chosen to stay, though even she didn’t fully understand why.

  “Best not, Ms. Frane. If he took the trouble to bring you all the way here, then he means to have you stay.” Valenta’s words hit like barbs but her motions were gentle, like Blossom imagined a sister’s might be. More than once she found a stubborn tangle in Blossom’s wild hair, but she worked through each of them with slow and careful fingers.

  “You’re afraid of him. Why don’t you leave?”

  Blossom felt Valenta’s movements slow before she found the words to answer. “I don’t know him like you do.”

  Then Blossom laughed so hard she threw her head fell back and her chest shook. “I don’t know him at all.”

  “You’ll see,” Valenta mused. “There, all combed through. It should dry up nice and pretty in this mountain air.” Valenta stood and started toward the bedroom, disappearing around the corner only to return with a new set of clothes.

  “Pyro fashion is a bit different than some of the others. I’ll get your Terra clothes washed and folded in your dresser so you’ll have them if you need them.” Then Valenta slipped out of the washroom and left Blossom to get dressed.

  By the time Blossom was clean and out of the tub, she realized she had no idea what to do with the two fabric puzzles Valenta had left her.

  “How do I wear these?” she called out.

  Valenta reemerged from the bedroom so fast, it was clear she’d been standing there waiting for this precise moment.

  Blossom wasn’t used to being quite so naked for quite so long in front of a stranger, but she couldn’t see a way around it. She could only stand still while Valenta slid a scarlet top over her shoulders and wrapped a series of straps around her ribs. Then, she pulled on a pair of black trousers with legs so wide they looked like one big skirt. Blossom realized too late that there was a strip of bare skin at her waist, at least three fingers wide. Never in her life had she been so exposed. She pressed an arm over the gap in an effort to hide it, all too aware of how silly she looked.

  “Let me get your shoes,” Valenta started.

  “I don’t want them.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not wearing shoes. I already look ridiculous,” Blossom replied. Still, at least it wasn’t a dress.

  “You look lovely, Ms. Frane. He won’t know what to do with himself.” Valenta smiled and dipped her hands into Blossom’s hair a few times. It was nearly dry, and sure enough, it had curled up into some of the tightest tendrils she’d ever seen.

  “You’re a few minutes late, but I’m sure he’ll think you’re worth the wait.” Valenta’s words were kind despite how she pushed Blossom toward the door. She was clear into the hallway before Valenta released her. “Have a wonderful evening!”

  Blossom glared at her but couldn’t crack the woman’s bright smile.

  Fine, dinner. She could do dinner. She’d been putting food in her mouth for seventeen years now. One more day couldn’t hurt.

  But it would be with him. Blossom didn’t know why the prospect of seeing him made her heart race as if she were running through the Alderwood. Once, when she was eleven, she’d encountered a beehive and had run as fast and hard as she could stand, and still her heart didn’t beat as fast as it did now.

  Blossom pushed her shoulders back and lifted her head, refusing to look afraid as she walked to the sitting room, but found it empty. Since she doubted he ate in the service kitchen, she backtracked to the stairs and climbed, her bare feet soaking in the warmth of the wood steps. Her wide-legged pants swished with each movement, and soon enough she was on the second floor.

  Still no sign of him.

  The windows were clear and let in the last light of the evening sun, casting long amber shadows across his desk and office furniture. Blossom moved around the room, following the curve of the architecture, when at last the office gave way to an open set of doors.

  Right in the middle stood the Vice Syndicate.

  His hair was combed back with extreme precision, with delicate waves and deep black color. He still wore his signature floor-length cloak, but now it was scarlet with black details sewn into the front panel. Had she been standing beside him, she was sure they would have matched.

  His eyes drank her in like the alder trees drank in the first spring rays after a long winter. With hands behind his back, he watched her for several breaths before he said, “You look lovely, Ms. Frane.”

  A betraying warmth crept into her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to impress him. To counteract her sudden rush of nerves, she said, “You look the same.”

  The Vice Syndicate put a hand to his chest as if he hadn’t expected to find it there. “My position requires playing a certain part. Keeping up appearances. I suppose I needn’t bother with such pretense with you.”

  Blossom almost rolled her eyes at such blatant nonsense, but he began to unbutton the long line of buttons at the front of his cloak. Then, he stripped it from his shoulders and laid it across the back of the nearest chair. Next, he unbuttoned his shirt at the wrist and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. For the first time, she noticed his forearms were covered in tattoos so intricate and complex, she couldn’t see where one ended and the next began.

  She tried not to stare.

  Without the cloak, he was narrower than she thought—not quite the tall, square man she’d known him to be. He still stood a head and a half over her, but he was far less intimidating than he’d been before.

  It was then she realized Norsa had been right. He was very young. Only twenty. For the first time since she met him, she thought he looked hi
s age.

  Only steps away from him, Blossom’s eyes fell to his neck, but the collar of his black shirt hid more than half the tattoo. She couldn’t help but notice how he inclined his neck to the side, as if to keep it from her view. His jaw was still covered in the dark beard he preferred, but there was an unmistakable red line following the bone, a scratch she was sure hadn’t been there before.

  “I’m glad you decided to join me.” A strange smile twisted his mouth. Blossom couldn’t decide if he meant it, or if he only meant to tease her—to point out that she wasn’t free to make her own choices.

  The Vice Syndicate stepped aside and led her into the dining room. It was a large space, big enough to hold two or three dozen people, but it was empty save for a small round table at the center. With only two table settings and two chairs, she’d be sitting face-to-face with him for this dinner. Blossom didn’t know what she expected, but this intimate setup renewed her nerves.

  He approached the nearest chair and pulled it out, waiting for her to sit. “I can get my own chair,” she reminded him. To prove it, she walked right past him and sat in the opposite seat.

  The Vice Syndicate laughed as he sat. “You know, I pride myself on offering my guests the best accommodations in the city. Some say I’m famous for them.”

  “Congratulations?” Blossom leaned back in the carved wooden chair and crossed her arms. His abject bragging disgusted her.

  “I mean, you don’t care about any of that do you?” His tone was light and jovial, as if everything was funny somehow.

  It only served to infuriate her further.

  “If you’re trying to impress me with your fancy carriage and wine glasses, then no, I don’t really care. I’ve never had any of those things before, and I’d be just fine without them.” Before she finished her sentence, Norsa appeared with a pair of soup bowls and set one before each of them. Gold-rimmed ceramic painted with tiny blue flowers, they were some of the finest objects Blossom had ever touched, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

  “Then I suppose this fancy dinner won’t impress you either?” He didn’t take his eyes off her even after Norsa was gone.

  “Why are you trying to impress me? If you’re so rich and powerful and famous, then you certainly don’t need my approval.”

  “Ah, but yours is the only opinion that matters.”

  Blossom narrowed her eyes. “That can’t possibly be true. You just met me. I might be a horrible person for all you know.” Considering this mess she’d gotten herself into, she wasn’t all that sure she wasn’t a horrible person. A good daughter would have stayed in the camp or helped with the work or at least listened when their da told them not to run off.

  “But you’re not. Even I can see that.” Those words unsettled her more than any others. She couldn’t look at him. Instead she used her spoon to mindlessly stir the thick yellow soup.

  “When I first went to speak to your father, he entertained my offer because of who I am. But it was clear he had no intention of accepting anything I might have had to give.”

  Blossom looked up and saw his eyes soft to match his tone, shining more blue than she remembered. “Your brother Parson offered to have me killed on the spot for my, uh, I think he called it, ‘brazen disrespect.”

  A smile crept across her cheeks. Of course he had said those words. It was just like him.

  “And Lathan refused to speak a word to me, but there was blood in his eyes. Had I not had my servicemen expecting my return, I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have survived that day.”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with me.” The strength of her father and brothers was a reflection of them, not her.

  “It has everything to do with you. Hale didn’t run through the Alderwood for three hours for the fun of it. He did it because he loves you greatly. And a woman who commands that kind of love is the only woman I care about.”

  A renewed wave of nerves ran through her. “But that was after. You didn’t know anything about me before that.”

  The Vice Syndicate tilted his head to the side in thought, and for several seconds, they were both silent. Blossom was grateful for the reprieve. She found it difficult to say anything coherent to him as well as listen to his words. He had an unsettling intensity, an unapologetic manner than let him sink his words into her like a stake.

  Then, at last, he found his tongue. “Have you ever known someone to be like their totem even in their human form?” His hands reached up and tugged at his collar so smoothly she wondered if he even noticed he did it.

  Blossom only nodded. Everyone was like their totem, their animal form. Two sides of the same coin.

  “Sometimes, for Pyros especially, the totems are strong. Uncontrollable in some cases. In the capital, the two men fighting, so consumed by anger, transitioned before they could consider where they were or who they might hurt.”

  “And you have some kind of uncontrollable totem that told you to risk death by making an offer for me?” Blossom couldn’t keep the snide tone from her voice. It was a ridiculous idea.

  But the Vice Syndicate only laughed. “Something like that.”

  Blossom set aside her spoon and leaned forward. She narrowed her eyes and used her steady gaze to disarm him as she asked, “What is your totem?”

  And just as she’d hoped, the Vice Syndicate bristled. His smile faded in a heartbeat and he shifted his weight in his chair. A hand ran across his beard, once, twice three times. Then, in that intense way of his, he leaned over the table and, in clear, crisp words, replied, “That’s a conversation for a different day.”

  Trean

  BLOSSOM COULDN’T DECIDE why the Vice Syndicate didn’t want her to know his totem. It wasn’t like he could keep it a secret forever. She imagined it was something humiliating—a rabbit, a frog, a spider—something she could squash under her boot.

  And if he wouldn’t tell her, it had to be because he wasn’t sure they’d ever be married. He still had some doubt about her. If he thought they’d live here together forever, there would be no reason to try to hide it.

  Blossom half-smiled and sipped at the soup, turning cold after so much chatting but still thick and savory with new flavors. Maybe she’d get away from him sooner than she thought. Maybe she could prove she wasn’t the one he wanted.

  “So what happens to your niece if I decide not to marry you?” She shot her pointed question and watched his face contort.

  The Vice Syndicate glared in disapproval. “Nothing changes. She’ll go to the capital for her transformation in three weeks, then continue on to join your clan in the Alderwood.”

  “You’d still send her?” Blossom gaped in confusion. “Why?”

  “I told you. Raene is a sweet girl who deserves a good family. She’s earned that much.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The Vice Syndicate pushed away his uneaten soup. “How old do you think I am?”

  “Twenty.” She didn’t mention that Norsa had told her as much.

  His eyebrows shot up a moment before he replied, “Very good. My sister Alia was fifteen years older than me. I was two when she was raped by a low-bred Pyro man. When my father found out, he forced Alia to marry him. She only survived a year after Raene’s birth. After that, Raene came to live with my family.”

  Blossom sipped her soup for lack of any other appropriate reaction.

  “My political position makes Raene a target. Trading her to your father ensures her a life outside the political arena and away from her own father.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Naiden Randal. A snake totem. A scoundrel.”

  “Did he kill your sister?”

  The Vice Syndicate looked up from his hands and offered her a solemn, cutting stare. Then, he nodded slowly, his jaw rippling with tension.

  “No one did anything?” Even in the Alderwood they had laws against rape and murder. And here, the Vice Syndicate had a rapist and a murderer in the family.

  “Ra
ene loves him for reasons I’ll likely never understand. When the day comes that she no longer wants him in her life, I will gladly kill him.” The Vice Syndicate’s sapphire eyes flashed black with violence and vengeance.

  Blossom wondered how many people he’d already killed and what it would take for him to kill her. Would he slash her throat if she answered a question wrong or refused to follow one of his ridiculous rules?

  It was only a matter of time.

  Something in her face must have given away her thoughts. “Does that offend you, Ms. Frane?”

  Her eyes shot up at being caught. “Criminals should be punished according to the law. If he raped and killed someone, he should have been brought to the authorities and executed.”

  “You didn’t harbor those thoughts when Hale threatened to kill me for nothing more than trading for you, the most natural thing in the world.”

  Blossom’s mouth fell open in disgust, partly because he was right. Hale had threatened him, but it had been for her safety. This cruel, violent Pyro man was nothing like her brother. It was unfathomable to think to compare them. She wouldn’t stand for it.

  Blossom pushed to standing, her motion so sudden that it sloshed soup out of the bowl. She pretended not to notice. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  The Vice Syndicate watched her round the table and march from the room, but he said not a word in protest. Blossom descended the stairs and raced back to the safety of her little bedroom, grateful to have avoided Norsa and Valenta. They would surely ask why she’d come back so soon.

  Blossom allowed herself several minutes of deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. Then she set to packing. In the bottom drawer, she found her tunic and pants as promised. Clutching them to her, she moved to the bed where she pulled out her book and coin from under her pillow. Then, she turned out the pillowcase, making a bag to fill with her possessions.

  For an hour, Blossom watched the light fade from the slice of forest that could be seen from her bedroom window. Over and over she wrestled with her decision. Did she really want to leave? Could she really make it out? What would happen when she tried to travel across the realm without the money and position of the Vice Syndicate? So many details, so many different scenarios, but at the end, Blossom knew she couldn’t stay.