11

Duke Gasto gathered every ounce of courage in his spirit he could muster, and he marched up to the looming iron gate of the gothic castle. The two guards standing armed behind him gave small comfort, their metal plates shaking.

Frozen morning dew crunched under his boots. Between two curled bars, a frozen spiderweb shimmered. Gasto looked about, then reached to yank the right half gate open.

“Excuse me, sir…” someone wheezed.

A gray-green man with wild strands of ancient hair appeared, as if out of nowhere.

Gasto bounded backwards with a surprised yelp.

Was this a zombie or a man?

“What is it…you want…sir?” The zombie-man finished asking.

Gasto stood blinking for a moment, then shook his head to clear it. “I—I came here to find the lovely Miss Rosenrot. There’s been a mistake, you see. I’m the one who was supposed to buy her labor. I’ll be more than glad to buy her off this…Lord Varick’s hands.”

He waited, and the zombie tilted his head with a creak then slowly turned his back. “In that case…I shall inform Lord Varick…of your intentions…”

Gasto watched through the decorative gate bars as the old man made his way down the ramshackle path to the castle. He tapped his foot and grumbled at the sky impatiently.

A long while later, a form in a dark cape came striding out the castle. Gasto readied himself, but in the blink of an eye the form appeared before him, on his side of the gate.

Gasto jumped back, hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

“Duke Pasto,” said the man, not much older than himself, but taller and built more lean, dressed in the wealthy suit of a lord, hair in neat layered waves. His eyes glowed like molten silver.

“It’s Gasto,” he corrected meekly.

“Well, that’s even worse,” said Varick. “Duke Gasto, I hear you’ve come to take away my servant, who I hired.” His tone sounded accusing. “What gives you such a right?”

Gasto had to grab onto his courage before it melted away. There were rumors about this castle, and about the things who lived here. Was this Varick even human?

“I—I would pay you back whatever you ask for her,” said Gasto. “I and Rosenrot have known each other for years, you see. She’d be much more comfortable working for me, someone she knows.”

A strange fire lit in Lord Varick’s eyes.

“Will you ask her? If it’s workers you need, I have plenty of servants I could lend you—”

In a flash of movement both of Gasto’s guards fell on their backs, and Varick reappeared in front of him, hands holding both their and Gasto’s swords.

Gasto looked to his belt in a panic, finding it empty.

“Miss Rosenrot belongs with me. I don’t care what your past is, her future now is here.” Varick dropped the swords; they clattered on the old pavestones loudly. “Now leave. Before the Nachzehrer decides to make a meal of you all.” His fangs flashed in the early dawn light.

Gasto nearly shrieked, and stumbled backwards into his two guards, who scrambled upright.

“If—if I find anything’s happened to Rosenrot, I’ll make you pay!” Gasto shouted before hurrying away back down the sloping path towards town, not even bothering to retrieve his sword.

***

Rosenrot passed by the entry hall as Varick closed the door behind him. “You were outside just now?” she asked.

Varick combed back his hair with a hand. “Dealing with a pest problem,” he replied.

She wondered at that but continued on. “The Autumn Festival is tonight,” she said, tapping the toe of her right shoe against the floor. “There will be singing and dancing and all the food you can imagine,” she said wistfully. “I know you don’t like humans, but…it might be fun to go. We can wear leaf masks, so no one will recognize us.” She met his gaze, waiting, pleading.

Varick shuffled uncomfortably, pale cheeks pinking. “I suppose, if it means that much to you, and if we’re disguised…”

Rosenrot bounced on her heels. “Yes! This will be so much fun! I need to go find a dirndl to wear. And you need a bundhosen.”

Varick’s eyebrows soared. “Me, dress like a weird peasant?”

“It isn’t weird, it’s traditional mountain folk clothing.”

He made a revolted expression.

“Come on, you’ll blend in better,” she sing-songed.

He took a wary step back from her sudden cheerfulness.

Later that evening, Varick found himself wearing a black leather bundhosen Licht had found, the overalls ending below the knees while thick stockings covered the rest of his legs. The straps were annoying over his white dress shirt. Red and orange leaves were pinned all about his person, as if he’d fallen into a leaf pile, and a mask made of brown ferns and red bush leaves fit above his nose, hiding the top half of his face.

He felt like a fool.

“And now, presenting Miss Rosenrot!” announced Licht as he led Rosen down the stairs.

Varick’s breath caught. Her dirndl dress was gold and white, embroidered with golden leaves. Some real leaves were pinned about her, as they were on Varick, and the mask around her eyes was gold maple and birch leaves. Like an autumn fairy, she looked stunning.

A lance of pain pricked his heart, and he swallowed, trying to ignore it. He held his arm out for her to take, then realized it was the wrong arm.

She lifted what was left of her left arm anyway and pressed it against his inner elbow. How she managed to move and live so normally, making him forget about her disability entirely, was beyond him.

Together they stepped out into the cool evening, to a waiting carriage pulled by a large black horse, a gleaming horn growing from its head. Rosenrot stared marveling at the beast for a moment before stepping inside.

Freudendorf Town was alight with lanterns and lamp posts and bracketed torches. They parked the carriage in the shadows at the edge of the buildings, and Rosenrot led him towards the town’s center square. On every side were vendors and tables and carts, making and selling crafts.

Women wove fine straw into ornaments: making little angels and snowflakes. One cart was layered and strung full of hand-painted eggshells. Varick stopped to wonder at them, touching an egg painted in pumpkins, the one beside it painted to resemble fairies.

People everywhere were dressed in traditional clothing, fancy dirndls and bundhosen. He didn’t feel quite as foolish, blending in. There were other people wearing leaf masks too, mostly the young adults and children. Several kids dashed past Varick’s legs and into the throng of citizens. He tried to keep calm, surrounded by so many people, so many humans.

Aromas filled the streets, and Rosenrot paused at some of the stalls. Potatoes and trout were roasting at one, and a man was busy making smoked ham and sausages at another. Fresh apples, and every kind of apple dessert was on display from the harvest.

An old woman handed him a cup of drink. He took a careful sip then cringed at the strong schnapps. “Ahem, no thank you,” he coughed.

Rosenrot gathered a bag of cheeses seasoned with herbs, and sausages. They sat on an empty portion of a bench to eat, while in the square’s center before them people danced around a bonfire, dirndls swaying. Varick held the food for her.

Creamy herbed cheese melted in his mouth, mingling perfectly with the salty sausage. For dessert, he found apfelstrudel, heavy with sugar and cinnamon. He pulled apart chunks and plopped them into Rosenrot’s mouth. She laughed, chewing.

“Let’s dance!” Rosenrot hopped to her feet when they’d finished. He stood, unsure, and she took his hand, pulling him forward into the dancing circle.

They held onto each other’s shoulders, spinning round in hop-skip steps, making their way around the bonfire with the other couples.

He tried not to step on her toes.

“I haven’t danced much before,” he admitted to her.

She laughed. “As long as you hop with the rhythm, no one will ever know.” The firelight played along her golden leaf mask and short lavender hair, making her glow.

Merriment filled the air, almost overwhelming his senses, and the closeness of her as they danced sent his pulse pounding. A warm feeling wrapped his chest, and he began to laugh with her, spinning round and round.

Rosenrot was a wonderful friend, more than he could ever ask for. He held her close, never wanting to let go, never wanting to lose this feeling. If only they could be more than friends. If only he could caress her face and—

A sharp pain stabbed his chest, and his steps faltered.

“Varick?” Rosenrot looked up in concern. She guided him out of the dancing throng and paused at a stand selling crusty cheese bread.

Varick clenched at his chest for a moment, then straightened, taking slow breaths. “It’s just…too much excitement for one day, I suppose,” he bluffed. But her eyebrows stayed concerned. “Are there any pumpkin desserts? Pumpkin always calms my nerves,” he added to distract her.

“Mm, I’ll go see,” she said.

When she left, Varick flicked out a mirror and angled it to the necklace: another of the ruby petals had lost their life glow.

He breathed through his nose, calming his rapid pulse. If the glow in each ruby petal died out… But how could he control his feelings? Did he even want to anymore?

***

Lord Kalt watched from the opposite end of the bonfire as Rosenrot returned to Varick with slices of pumpkin pie. He adjusted his black leaf mask and turned aside.

He had seen it all—the way Varick had reacted.

The girl was a threat that would have to be taken care of. She could not be allowed to become Varick’s downfall.