Wild Rose and Larkspur

By Avery Ronan

Briar is an artist devoid of purpose, a reject among her fellow aristocrats for both her race and disability.

Thyo is desperate to seperate himself from the group of low-born radicals that have raised him up like a fighting dog.

Fate connects the two like some invisible string, but neither are sure if that's a good thing, yet. When Briar's parents find her in need of a bodyguard, it might be just the catalyst they need to set themselves free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avery Ronan
• Release date: Jun 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223098041

Book preview

Prologue - Dratat, Vercost

Callea - Autumn, 777

Callea sat at the yew table and felt like a stranger despite running fingers over his own initials, exactly where he’d carved them more than twenty years ago. Once a sacred meeting place, now empty chairs in a townhouse that was far more ramshackle than it had been the last time he’d seen it. Starla, sitting across from him, looked run down too, with new dark bags fixated under her eyes. Perhaps it was motherhood wearing on her, but he had a feeling it was much more complicated than that.

So, what are you doing here? She pushed him a steaming mug of tea and threw her red braids back over one shoulder. She was so different from the person he met thirty years ago- a bright-eyed young elf ready to change everything around them.

Well, He sipped at the tea, exactly as he remembered even if everything else had changed, We’re here touring a few orphanages, actually.

She raised a brow, neither happy nor excited for him, To adopt?

Yes.

Would they even let you do that? When he just grimaced in response, she scoffed, "Right. I forgot you can do whatever you want."

Starla. Come on, I am trying, here.

She shook her head as she looked away, towards the dingy kitchen, Fine. Sorry.

Silence stretched on between them and he wondered if she would ever find forgiveness. Still hopeful, he forged on, How is the boy?

You can ask him yourself, She raised her voice, Thyo!

A handful of heartbeats later, a child wandered into the room, maybe seven or eight years old at the most now. Like any elf child, he was strange and ethereal, with serious green eyes that glared at Callea in strange, unwarranted suspicion.

Thyo, this is Mr. Fairsea, Starla introduced, He’s mommy’s old friend.

Hi, Thyo muttered shyly, hiding behind his mother's chair.

Hi there, Callea offered up his friendliest smile, "I just wanted to get a look at you, you’ve gotten so big. You look just like your mother, too, red hair and everything."

He's got his fathers temperament, though, Starla petted the boy's curls as she said it, and he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. As she smoothed the hair back, Callea caught sight of something glinting and his smile melted away.

Starla, He whispered in dumb surprise, Those aren't..?

She followed his gaze to the silver earrings adorning each of the boy's earlobes. Patting Thyo’s back gently, she told him, Go on back to your chores.

Callea barely quelled his reaction until the boy left, You can't be serious.

What? Anger was rising in her voice, but he knew her well enough to know it was coming from a place of shame, "You're gonna tell me how to raise my kid?"

"You want to raise him like this? He lowered his tone to near-whisper, Starla, the last time we spoke you wanted out of here."

Things change.

I tell you this every time, but I can help you leave! Please, I can hide you-

Stop. Just stop, Her face was more than disgusted, You and I both know there's no leaving this. Not for me.

...But the boy–

Will serve, She cut him off, expression distant, "Just as we served. It was never going to be any other way, so mind your business."

He examined her carefully. Too thin, like she'd been having trouble eating as well as sleeping. Actually, now that he really looked at her, he thought the shadow of a fading black eye might have been making her bags seem worse than they really were. He told her, You made me the boy's godfather. Don't get upset with me for caring for him.

You're not his Godfather anymore. Or did you forget? Her eyes were cold, Is that why you're here? Can't have a kid of your own so you came to steal mine?

When he stood in anger, the chair scooted back loudly, but he quickly tempered his rising response. Bigger person. Right. He took a breath before saying, Starla, I’m your only true friend. I know you think these... People, care about you. But they don't.

He didn't wait for a response. He knew it wasn't coming.

i. Street Fight

Briar - Winter, 788

Briar was sixteen. Or she was about to turn sixteen, anyway.

She was out in her city, breathing it all in. Her first outing on her own since returning from school for the winter break. Her fathers’ had taken her out to celebrate another successful semester, of course, but it took several days to shake their overbearing attention and escape for some alone time. Now that she had it, she was hellbent on enjoying it. There was a delicatessen she loved, yet rarely visited, all the way down in cities Anchor District. Too far to walk, especially on her leg, but the trolleys were up and working again after more than a year out of commission. They were always shifting in and out of working order.

As the trolley rose to its track a dozen feet in the air, she watched the streets fade from the bright, well-maintained Orchid District to the grimey neighborhoods of lower Sunderbreech. Her fathers wouldn't approve of Briar coming here alone. It wasn't that they disliked the slums, it's just that she was already the target of specific brands of vitriol, and the city guards down there were as likely to give her a hard time as they were to sit by and let someone else do it. Her families’ influence could only go so far. Luckily, she had a nice, new knife. Weapons were forbidden in the city walls, but she had... Methods of concealment.

Two trolley stops and a quick, two block walk through the snow found her in the deli’s warm embrace. It wasn't early, but every baked good still smelled so fresh. She sighed in heavenly bliss as the counter-girl handed her the paper bag, uncertain if she could wait to get home before indulging. She lost the battle with her stomach and ended up looking around for a place to sit. Uptown had benches everywhere, yet the lower city seemed allergic to sitting. As her leg ached, ever so slightly, she thought it was rather unfair. What about the people here who couldn't walk for very long?

She was searching off the main street when she heard it- several voices shouting all at once. It alarmed her, but on instinct she followed the sound of the scuffle- her mind alert to the fact no police would be coming if something was wrong. She spotted the source of the shouting down an alleyway and froze. A teenage boy was being jumped by at least five other teenage boys, hard to tell the exact number in the fray. He was vastly outnumbered, but still fighting like hell, wildly swinging arms colliding with jaws and stomachs. Holding his own, maybe, but it was clear he wasn't winning.

Hey! Briar was shouting before she properly thought it through, Hey, stop that! Leave him alone!

Slowly, two of the boys dislodged themselves from the fight, glaring at her with venom in their eyes. They were humans, of course, dressed in shabby clothing and matching bandanas of vibrant yellow. Her heart raced. Was this a gang thing? One of them made a rude motion with his hand before yelling back at her, "Fuck off,  pig face."

It was an unoriginal slur. She noticed they didn’t appear to have weapons. It probably wasn't that type of fight, yet. She knelt down and set her paper bag gently on the paved street, yanking up the leg of her pants. The shiny, carved bronze of her prosthetic greeted her, and she popped open the hidden compartment before removing the huge, six inch hunting knife her dorm-mate had given her as a birthday joke. She unsheathed it as she straightened up and a third boy broke off from the fight, eying the blade with growing apprehension. Well, it was probably half the blade, and half her, over six feet tall already. She hoped it was adequately intimidating because she had no idea how to fight with a knife. She was adept, well-educated, and could think of a hundred better uses for the tool first.

Get outta here!  The same boy who spoke before snapped, seemingly unafraid.

She pointed the knife at them, Six on one isn't fair. Let’s even things out.

You wouldn't.

Try me.

The other boys had stopped fighting now, holding their victim down while he wrestled and writhed in their grips like an eel. The yellow-bandana boys were all human, but their target was undeniably an elf– pointed ears poking out of a mass of crimson curls.

I won't warn you again! She shouted after a silent beat, not wanting to lose the upper hand gained in taking them off guard. One of the boys flinched, and she realized it was working. Emboldened, she took an exaggerated step forward.

Fuck this, A gang member holding down the elf jumped to his feet and took off. A few heartbeats, then two of the others followed suit, kicking their victim as they left. As soon as enough hands were off him, the elf was flying up, fists swinging again. Briar gasped as he pounced on the nearest boy with the viciousness of a caged animal. The human didn’t see it coming, still eye-balling Briar’s knife in fear. She watched in muted horror as the elf actually bit the boy's exposed arm, tearing off a chunk of skin in a bloody, tearing motion. The boy shrieked in pain, grasping at the wound as he jumped to his feet. The rest was a blur, the remaining gang members fleeing down the other side of the alley while the elf boy screamed bloody murder after them. She had a hard time parsing his words, despite knowing the elven language herself. Something about pink-skinned assholes and tearing you limb from limb. His anger was laced in fear, and she could see him visibly shaking as he slowed to a stop in the distance. That didn’t make his reaction sane, of course, but she understood it.

Still frozen, she watched his shoulders heaving for what felt like a lifetime. When finally he turned on her, holding his ribs, his expression bordered on feral. He stomped back to her, halting a few feet away as they examined each other in full. He was tall and lean, features angular like all elves- but with tanner skin than she had seen on an elf. His hair was messy in curls that hung around his shoulders, as red as the blood coating his teeth as he snarled at her.

Why did you do that? He snapped, voice still raised in a yell. She just blinked in confusion at the question, as he spat a glob of blood into the dirt.

I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you'?

I don't need help from some rich brat and her toy knife, He glared at her with the same hate as the human boys, "Go back to your Orchid District."

Then he shoved past her and disappeared. She stared down the alleyway for an extra long moment, adrenaline still pumping in her veins before his reaction fully hit her. What an ungrateful fucking dickhead.

ii. The Philanthropist

Thyo - Autumn, 791

Thyo was twenty-one , more than ready to be taken seriously now that he was nearing the end of adolescence. Yet, he’d never felt more like a lost child than right then.

Quit bouncing your leg, Shaega commanded him, her voice tinged with annoyance. He did as asked, gripping his knee to hold it still. He couldn't help it. They were in the most elegant eatery he'd ever stepped foot in, and he was hyper-aware of every glance his way, every fragile thing that he could possibly break. He was wearing his best clothes and he was still underdressed.

He just wanted to leave. He would get drunk, but he hadn't the taste for the rich wine humans craved so much.

This isn't even that fancy, for the Orchid District, Shaega noted in his silence, which just made him feel worse. She was swirling the wine in her glass as they waited, her sharp ears decorated with dozens of ornate, gold earrings on full display. Each earring marked an achievement, signifying her status within their group. Yet, it wasn't anything like the wealth on display here- a combination of hundreds of little things that screamed I’m rich. The humans wore dainty, thin chains with glittering fine gemstones. Their skin was clear, hair carefully maintained, clean hands unblemished by any hard work. He stared at the table settings and wondered what the hell his people were starving in the streets for. So every rich asshole could have five forks?

It's disgusting, He told her. It was true, but if he was being honest, a part of the opulence fascinated him. He might enjoy it, in a less intense setting than this, fraught with opportunities to embarrass himself.

That's humanity for you.

Hello there, A man finally pulled out the third chair and sat down with them.