Page 14 of Iron Roses

The word feels foreign. Useless.

I wrap my arms tighter around myself.

“How do I know I can trust you?” I murmur.

Allegra’s expression doesn’t change. She stands, brushing moss from her pants.

“You don’t,” she says simply. “You don’t have a choice.”

She looks down at me once more. Her tone softens—but just barely.

“Now, find a comfy position. I’ll wake you up by midnight.”

Then she turns and walks away, fading into the trees like she belongs to them.

I stay curled beneath the skeletal arms of the pines, head bowed, fists clenched in the folds of my clothes.

The wind shifts, carrying with it the scent of earth and ash and something new. The end of one life. The beginning of another.

And I’m not ready for either.

When I fall asleep. I dream of sunlight.

Of open halls echoing with laughter and the rustle of bare feet over marble. Giovanna’s fingers wrap around mine, tugging me faster through the corridor. We’re running—chasing each other through the east wing where the mirrors hang like forgotten portraits. She’s older, stronger. Her hair is braided and ribboned, her smile brighter than I remember in waking life.

I’m laughing. Out of breath. Joy bursting in my chest like something alive.

We round a corner—

She turns to me—

And just before I fall into her arms—

The world shifts.

My throat tightens. My chest aches. In real life, my face is wet with tears.

“Elaria.”

A tap on my shoulder, firm but not harsh.

My eyes fly open. I blink into darkness. The dream dissipates like fog at dawn, but the ache it leaves behind stays lodged in my ribs.

Allegra crouches over me, her silhouette framed by the faintest silver gleam of moonlight filtering through the canopy. She doesn’t speak again.

I wipe at my cheeks hastily. My hands come away damp and shaking.

She offers me hers.

I take it without thinking.

Her grip is dry.

She helps me to my feet in a single, practiced pull. That’s when I notice it—just behind her, a black backpack resting against the roots of an old pine. It hadn’t been there before.

Allegra kneels, unzips the bag, and pulls out a folded bundle of black fabric. “You need to change. Bright colors will get us caught.”

She hands me the clothes one by one—a soft black t-shirt, a flowing ankle-length skirt, and a scarf that smells faintly of smoke and lavender.

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