A Crown of Bleeding Roses

Chapter 1

Lirael

The salty breeze from Velmorin's harbor mingles with the cloying sweetness of night-blooming jasmine. A cruel joke, really—this city's beauty masks its rot. I press against rough stone walls, my ash-stained skin helping me blend with the shadows as a patrol of Miou warriors strides past, their violet eyes scanning the streets.

"Did you hear about the new decree?" One guard's boots crunch on broken glass. "The Khuzuth are demanding double the human labor for the silk factories."

"As if those animals weren't working themselves to death already." His companion laughs, the sound setting my teeth on edge. "Though I heard Lady Vestra's taken another human pet. It's becoming quite the fashion."

My fingers brush the knife at my hip. The temptation to sink steel into their throats burns hot, but I force myself still. Not tonight. Tonight has different targets.

A group of human workers shuffles past, heads bowed, bodies bent from sixteen-hour shifts in the perfume distilleries. Their clothes reek of crushed flowers and defeat. One stumbles, and a Zagfer overseer's magic crackles through the air, leaving angry welts on exposed skin.

I weave through the narrow streets of the Lowtown, where the buildings lean together like drunken mourners. Here, away from the magical lights and silk-draped mansions of the Khuzuth districts, humanity's suffering has a sound—muffled sobs, pained groans, the occasional scream quickly silenced.

The building I seek squats in darkness, its windows boarded, its door hanging crooked. Perfect. I slip inside, my boots silent on rotting floorboards. The basement entrance gapes like a wound in the floor, steep stairs descending into absolute black.

Dark elves fear what lies beneath. Their underground trauma is perhaps their only weakness—one we've learned to exploit. I start down the stairs, each step bringing me closer to tonight's real work.

The wood creaks beneath my feet, and my hand trails along the damp wall as I descend into darkness.

The basement opens into a dimly lit chamber where dozens of humans huddle around makeshift tables and sleeping pallets. The air hangs thick with sweat and determination. Baron stands at the center, his scarred hands spread over a detailed map of the palace.

"Our little ghost returns," Corwin says, materializing at my side. His shoulder brushes mine as he peers over my body. "Run into trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." I step away from his touch, ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes.

"Welcome, Lirael," Baron's gravelly voice cuts through the murmurs. "The Dark Elves have ruled for long enough. The time has come for us to kill the King."

Grayson, cleaning his blade in the corner, grunts. "And Lira's our key in."

"The elves' new fashion for human pets works in our favor," Baron continues. "If Lirael's disguise doesn't work, they'll see what they expect to see—another noble's plaything. Get close enough, and—" He draws a finger across his throat.

"Their magic will detect weapons," someone protests.

"Not if they're made of bone." I pull out my knife, crafted from human remains. "Their detection spells ignore anything that was once living. A gift from their own arrogance."

Corwin moves closer again, his voice dropping. "You don't have to do this alone. I could—"

"I work better solo." The words come out sharper than intended. His concern, his constant hovering—it makes something twist in my chest that I can't afford to examine.

"One shot," Baron reminds us. "One death to spark the uprising we've waited generations for. The humans in the silk factories, the perfume distilleries—they're ready. They just need a signal."

The resistance nods as one. We're tired of being pets, tired of being prey. Time to show these elves that even dogs can bite.

"The Dance of Petals begins tomorrow," Baron says, unrolling a detailed map of the palace. "Seven nights of revelry. Seven chances to end this."

I trace the palace's layout with my finger. "The king will attend each ball?"

"According to our sources, he should. But security will be tightest on the final night when the petals fall." Baron's weathered face tightens. "Your best chance is the first night, when they're still settling into the routine."

"I've got the dress," Corwin adds, pulling out a bundle of midnight blue silk. "Stolen from a Chivdouyu's wardrobe. Should help you blend right in."

"And this." Grayson hands me a vial filled with a white substance. "It's not strong enough to kill, but it will render him unconscious if need be."

I slip the vial between my breasts, feeling its cool weight. "The ash staining should do the rest. I've been working on the skin tone for weeks."

"Remember," Baron's voice drops lower, "three of us will rotate shifts here, waiting for your return. Once it's done, make your way back immediately. The chaos that follows—"

"Will be our signal." I've heard this part a dozen times. "The factory workers are ready. The house servants. Everyone's just waiting for the spark."

"And if something goes wrong?" Corwin steps closer, concern etching lines around his mouth.

"Nothing will go wrong." I secure the bone knife against my thigh, where the silk will hide it. "I get in, find the king, get close enough to use this, and get out. Simple."

"Simple," Baron echoes, but his eyes say different. "The palace will be crawling with Miou guards, but they'll be focused on external threats. No one expects the danger to come from inside, dressed in silk and playing pretend."

I lift the dress, its fabric whispering promises of blood. "Then let's give them a show they'll never forget."