On The Edge of a Blade

Chapter 21

 The gentle murmuring of voices was what roused Rose, pulling her out of the depths of an oblivion. None of the words spoken were distinct enough to latch onto, so she tried to turn over and fall back under the blanket of sleep. She would have drifted off again if she didn't realize that she had no clue where she was.

Even though she was already in a half-awake state, waking herself up fully was a struggle. As she rolled over, the rustling of a thin wool blanket draped over her must have alerted the owners of those voices that she was up, or else maybe she let out a small involuntary moan. Either way, it was but a few seconds before she was surrounded by two faces, one gratingly familiar and the other strange and new.

"Oh, good! You're awake." The stranger spoke first, and Rose found herself already examining him like an assassin, not as a person befuddled by grogginess. His nose was crooked, broken in the past and not set well enough to heal straight. His lips were thin, his face stagnant and generally unexpressive. It was his eyes which displayed all of his emotion, their brown, muddy color belying the mosaic of bright intrigue below the surface.

Perhaps most striking, and certainly most interesting, was that his skin was dark. Nobles and the royal class had lighter skin, an effect of foreign breeding such as with the people of Wisther; the pale skin from the mountains had played a large role in lightening the bloodlines of those with a higher birth, leaving them with only a light tan to their skin. On the opposite side of that spectrum, it was said that many people of the "savage" natives tribes had skin so dark that they blended in with the twilight. In the middle were people--a number which represented the majority of the population--like Rose, those whose skin bore a dark sort of beige color.

In this man's case, between the sun and the likelihood of native heritage, he was darker than most people who resided in Gushénn.

"It's rude to stare," James said pointedly, noting how openly she watched the man.

"It's rude to unclothe a girl, even if she's unconscious," Rose mumbled back, her focused scrutiny broken. She sat up, and the blanket fell from her shoulders, exposing a new blouse made of pale green cloth which sat loosely around the waist and shoulders. Despite the fact that it was of a different style and hue than she was accustomed to, she didn't altogether dislike it.

The stranger's eyes sparkled, proving himself to be anything but stoic. "Especially if she's unconscious, I'd say." It was in that moment of humor that Rose softened towards him. "And don't worry; my wife took care of that. You were in good hands."

A slow smile stole across Rose's lips. "Good to know," she said evenly, treating the man warmly. Then, contrastingly short, she turned to James: "So then. Would you mind introducing your friend to me, or should we introduce ourselves?"

James' eyes narrowed, but he nodded and straightened his back. They were back to being at odds, so there was no longer a need to lean over the couch she lay on in concern. "This is the friend that I mentioned before. Oliver. Oliver Dix."

"Dixy, if you'd please. That's what my friends call me. Only dusty old nobles and strict business companions call me anything else." Dixy winked, seemingly at ease with having both a prince and an assassin in his house. It seemed so strange that Rose almost laughed.

"And, as you already know, this is Rose." James gestured vaguely down at her. "The main source of all the trouble that brought us here."

It took Rose a few seconds to get caught up, and when she did, a wash of anger fell over her. It was all directed towards James, with a bit of disappointment reserved for Dixy, a poor bystander that had gotten wrapped up in the wrong dispute unknowingly.

"Hold on. No. We can't stay here." Rose kicked off the blanket, glad to find that she had been clothed in black leggings. That, at least, was normal to her dressing habits. "Coming here isn't part of the plan."