The Tears of the Rose by Jeffe Kennedy Page B

wasn’t even sure what I, as Glorianna’s avatar and head of Her mission here in the Twelve Kingdoms, was meant to do to lead us into Annfwn. Besides gestate.
    Surely I should be doing something.
    â€œAt a loss, Princess?” An amused voice hissed the question in my ear.

8
    S tartled, I turned. Then stepped back. The White Monk stood close enough that I saw his face clearly, despite the shadows of the cowl. His features were harsh but not misshapen. A strong nose with a high bridge dominated his face, sharp lined like his jaw. The spider legs of scars crawled over one cheek, a cicatrix of long-ago pain. As if he carried on his skin all the ugliness of the hurt inside me.
    Though a jagged bolt of scar tissue cut through one eyebrow, his eye orbits were clear and open, pristine settings for the unearthly burning green of his gaze.
    â€œWhat happened to you?” I asked, before I thought.
    He smiled. Not nicely, because his upper lip snagged in the movement, making it into a snarl, like a wild beast curling its snout at an unwelcome odor.
    â€œWhat happened to you ?” he countered.
    â€œI . . . I don’t understand what you mean.”
    â€œGiving up your poor commoner of a midwife so easily. She’ll suffer because of your disloyalty. She who sought only to help you.”
    I mastered the roiling sickness. “How dare you speak to me so? I know full well the measure of loyalty. Do you?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, no.” He laughed, a dry, whispering sound. “So I recognize its viciously opposite cousin when I see it.”
    â€œI’m the High King’s daughter. I’ll protect my midwife. No harm shall come to her.”
    â€œAre you sure, Princess?”
    â€œWho are you?” I demanded.
    â€œYou asked that before.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t answer.”
    â€œNo? Perhaps you’re not asking the right question.”
    â€œYou cannot naysay me. I’ll report you to High Priest Kir. No—I shall have you dragged before the High King to answer for yourself.”
    He shook his head, clucking his tongue as one might at an errant kitten. “Always running to Daddy. What power of your own do you possess, Princess?”
    The way he said my title sounded like an insult, and I wanted to tell him to stop calling me that. Which was ridiculous, of course.
    â€œI have enough power to have you beheaded on the spot. Or cast out of Glorianna’s temple and turned out into the countryside with a brand declaring that none shall give you succor. I could ruin you in countless small ways. And you discount my power so glibly.”
    He tilted his head and I knew for certain that it meant he laughed at me. The cynical amusement, floating on the sweet scent of ripe grapes, altered the creases in his coarse face, and his eyes sparkled, glints of sunlight on stream water.
    â€œThe power to destroy is easily come by. Anyone can destroy.”
    â€œI can create, too.”
    He gestured at my belly. “That? Any female who spreads her legs can do that. It takes no special skill or ability. Nature did it for you.”
    I gasped, my palm oddly itching to slap him, though such a thing would be scandalously beneath my dignity.
    â€œAre males any different? They cast their seed upon the wind, careless of whether it falls on fertile soil.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes, what?”
    He edged closer, turning so he blocked the chanting priests. “Yes, men are different. They’re worse. Women at least must bear the burden of their choices, then are bound to nurture the child, if there’s any humanity in them. Men can walk away and leave their carelessly cast seed to take root or die. They leave behind them a trail of uncared-for life.”
    I didn’t know what to say. Never had I heard someone speak such words.
    â€œThis is why Glorianna and Her sisters are the ones who remained, to care for us. The male gods abandoned their mortal