Silver Skeletons: Book 3 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Chapter Five: And Thus Began a New War

"As stated in Article 1, Section 1 of the Law of Noelle, all Persons possess inherent, God-given rights further specified in Sections II-V. However, because a Slave is not a Person, a Slave does not bear the same God-given rights bestowed upon Persons."

Three days later, on Sueño 14th, King Darren stood nearly fully dressed in his light blue coat and lavender sash when a courier arrived bearing a message. He waved off his footman and unfolded the parchment with growing suspicion. From her perch outside the balcony, Rein watched closely. For the past three weeks, she had buried herself in Polaris's journal, hiding out in the palace while awaiting this very response. Now that it had finally arrived, she couldn't stand the silence. Why couldn't he read anything aloud?

She already knew the queen's hand was behind the chaos. Rein had uncovered Ariana's letter to Count Rallian days ago, tucked neatly inside his study. It had confirmed everything. But this letter, the one now crumpling in the king's tightening grip, had eluded her until now. What had Rallian dared to write?

Darren's hands began to shake, the parchment rustling violently. Then, with a sudden, guttural growl of fury, he crushed the letter in his fists.

"Send in Polaris!" he barked. The courier bowed, and left hastily to do his king's bidding.

Polaris entered the royal bedchamber with his usual calm, dressed in a dark purple shirt beneath a gold-trimmed vest. His footfalls were quiet, unhurried. Just behind him, Prince Myrdor followed, curiosity sparking in his sharp eyes. The eldest of the three princes, Myrdor wore his status proudly in deep blue and gold, his stride full of restless confidence. At seventeen, he was already preparing for the test of his life—the moment when his father could choose to pass down the crown, or rule for another eighteen years. Darren had made his expectations clear: if Myrdor proved himself, the throne would be his by year's end.

Without a word, King Darren thrust the letter at Polaris, who took it calmly and scanned the contents.

"This is the same handwriting," he said.

"Read it, Polaris," Darren demanded.

Polaris sighed and, to Rein's utmost delight, read the letter out loud.

"'I acknowledge the concerns you've raised. Predictable, of course, and not without merit. I will admit, I have observed your nation with quiet interest for some time. It is almost flattering, in fact, to know I've maintained such discretion without detection. Let that suffice. I will not entertain further inquiries on the matter. Regarding your second point: yes, due to a recent fall in my chamber, I've temporarily entrusted my correspondence to my scribe while my wrist heals. The miracle worker assures me full recovery within five weeks of this letter's date. Until then, you will need to tolerate the unfamiliar hand and recognize this message as fully representative of my voice and will. Lastly, and most importantly, I am still awaiting a reply to my initial letter. Know that I am not inclined to patience when time is wasted. His Royal Majesty, King Klaris of Saíd.'"

Polaris released a slow, deliberate sigh as he carefully folded the letter, smoothing out the creases left by the king's clenched fists. When he finally lifted his gaze, he found both King Darren and Prince Myrdor studying him closely, their expressions taut with anticipation. Polaris handed the letter back to the king.

"I see."

"Well?" King Darren was not satisfied with this simple reply. "What have you to say to that?"

"In all honesty, Your Majesty," Polaris answered, "this does not offer me enough evidence to alter my previous conclusion. Still, nothing adds up. For instance, where did Klaris get word of Nadia so quickly? It's not as if it only takes a couple of hours to travel from Saíd to Noelle, and you only learned of her existence the night before. There is a vital piece missing from this puzzle, Your Majesty. I stand by my judgment, and insist that you avoid a war until we receive more answers."

"Then what would you have me do, Polaris?" Darren asked.

"Continue with the search parties. If you are worried about Saíd attacking, send soldiers to the boarders. Attacking Saíd first is unnecessary and could possibly put you at a disadvantage as you are currently ignorant to any potential strategies they may have planned. Taking the defensive yourself can oftentimes allow room for creative measures, and we will have the upper-hand since we will be expecting them."

"Yes, however, they won't expect us to attack first, so we would have the advantage of surprise," said Darren.

"You honestly believe that Klaris won't expect you to retaliate after taunting you with these words?" Polaris's restraint began to fray, the edge in his voice betraying a growing impatience with the king's simplistic reasoning. Still, he reined himself in, tempering his tone for Prince Myrdor's sake.

"I thought these letters weren't written by Klaris," Darren mocked.

"I speak hypothetically, Your Majesty. Whether these are Klaris's words or not, attacking Saíd is a very unwise decision. If I am correct that this is not from Klaris, which I guarantee I am, you will destroy your peaceful relationship with Saíd, and mere apologies offered with excuses of emotionally-induced ignorance will not suffice!"

"Then tell me, Polaris: How can I be sure that these messages are not from Klaris? Because it's become clear that asking him, which was your suggestion I might add, is not enough for you!"

"Send spies, Your Majesty. They will be able to learn what Klaris has planned, if anything at all."

"'Send spies.' What a horrid waste of time! During which we remain sitting ducks for Klaris to hunt down!"

"Those words sound as though they come from Her Majesty, my King," Polaris warned.

"What if they are from her? Do you have a problem with your queen?"

"She is only queen consort, Your Majesty! She has no real power over your kingdom, and she makes decisions based on the cost of time, not on the cost of life! You, sire, are the true sovereign over the land. Let this decision be your own, and not hers!"

"My queen, and yours mind you, is a very wise woman who shares the same concerns as myself! I have every reason to find her advice sensible as I have every reason to believe that Klaris took Nadia for ransom! And mark my words, Saíd will not see peace until Nadia is safe here with me!"

"Don't forget, Father," came Myrdor, "you hired Polaris to be your royal advisor for his human wisdom and educational experience. Mother is a venavore with an average noble's education, I wouldn't be so quick to discard his words just because she disagrees with him. Otherwise, Mother might as well be your advisor."

"Just because he's human doesn't mean he's correct every time he speaks," Darren replied. "And I believe this is an excellent example of one of those instances."

Polaris exhaled a frustrated sigh through his nostrils. "Very well, Your Majesty. Attack Saíd. But be sure that I will have no part of it. If you have any questions related to your senseless war, you may continue to receive your flawless wisdom from your queen consort."

With a curt bow, Polaris turned and exited the chamber. Prince Myrdor lingered, his fingers slipping thoughtfully through his silver-white hair, eyes distant as if turning over unspoken questions in his mind. "I must stand by Polaris on this one, Father. I believe a king should exhaust all peaceful resources before resorting to war. I also vow to take no part in this."

Prince Myrdor began to exit the chamber until Darren wished to add a final warning.

"Don't forget, Son, that you will be of age soon, and I am your king as much as I am your father. You must prove to me, not Polaris, that you're worthy of the throne if you wish for me to abdicate on your day of birth. When the time comes that you must step up to protect this kingdom, you will be expected to not hesitate."

Prince Myrdor gave no reply. His expression remained unreadable, carved in stone. Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he proceeded to walk out of the chamber in silence.

As hopeless as this appeared, there was still room for Rein to work her magic. A war might be brewing, but at least Polaris possessed a mind sharp enough to cut through the fog. With renewed urgency, she darted back to his bedchamber, determined to lend a discreet hand before he returned.

Over the past three weeks, Polaris's journal had thickened with his meticulous research on the Rose Tree. Rein had read nearly every line. Though his conclusions hadn't yet brushed the truth, his tangled web of theories fascinated her; clever, though misguided, each one hinting at the sharp logic that made him such a valuable ally.

It remains plausible that the Rose Tree's sudden alteration is a response to climate fluctuation. Rose trees originate from Atlika, which is a continent characterized by perpetual winter. Notably, it lacks seasonal variation; there is no recorded exposure to spring, summer, or autumn in its native environment. Given this, the species may be ill-adapted to regions like Noelle, where four distinct seasons rotate annually, lasting an average duration of two and a half months each.

It is worthy to note that our particular Rose Tree has displayed physiological changes at the onset of summer each year. While the precise nature of the alterations varies, their timing has remained consistent. Climate-induced mutation has been previously documented in various plant species under prolonged exposure to atypical weather cycles. This aligns with the observed behavior of the Rose Tree and suggests a possible environmental cause rather than arcane or artificial interference.

Climatic stress remains a viable hypothesis and must not be discounted without further controlled observation. Additional environmental data (temperature ranges, humidity, soil composition over time) should be collected to support or eliminate this theory...

Well, Rein discounted it.

Polaris's chamber window framed a clear view of the Rose Tree in the distance, now leaning heavily to the right, its branches sagging like weary arms. Below, Polaris stood beside a peculiar apparatus that was roughly a foot shorter than he was, and balanced on three slender legs like an easel. Atop the platform rested an assortment of instruments: a large wheel, a wooden triangle, and a delicate measuring device. He scribbled notes, glanced back at the contraption, then lifted his gaze to the shifting sky, carefully recording each subtle change. Drake was nowhere in sight, meaning Polaris's chamber door could open at any moment. Still, Rein seized the chance. She pulled a sheet of paper from her satchel, dipped her hand into an inkwell, and penned a single chilling sentence: The Rose Tree is imitating Nadia. Now, all there was to do was wait.

Settling onto the windowsill, Rein's eyes remained fixed on Polaris. Soon, Wendell the Gardener approached to conduct the daily watering of the tree. Silently, she slipped down to the Royal Cemetery, climbed into the shelter of a nearby tree, and listened intently as their voices drifted upward.

"You're telling me that this tree is producing odors?" Polaris asked.

"Yes," said the nervous gardener. "Soap and farm animals. Can't you smell it?"

Polaris took a moment to sniff the air. "Actually, there is a faint trace of it." He looked back at the frightened gardener. "Well there's no need to be spooked about this, my friend. Now, when did the tree begin to droop like this?"

"It only started drooping two ... three days ago?" Wendell answered, still just as spooked as before. "It just gets worse every day. And rose trees are supposed to be the most majestic trees, strong and firm with their branches stretching toward the sky."

"Yes, I know. Trust me, I've been reading up on them religiously. You're free to go."

"Yes, sir," Wendell said, and then left.

Polaris stood there for a moment in thought, but was soon interrupted.

"Your Honor!" came a voice from the distance. Polaris looked in the direction of the voice to see a courier calling to him. "The king wishes to speak with you. He has visitors and desires your presence."

Polaris sighed heavily before replying. "Very well, I'll be there in a moment."

※

Later that evening, Polaris slipped into the library, where Drake sat hunched over a pile of worn volumes, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the pages. Rein trailed silently behind, slipping into her familiar hiding spot behind the yellow curtain. With a deep sigh, Polaris settled beside Drake, their whispered conversation barely breaking the stillness. Rein's patience, stretched thin by the unread note she had left hours before, wavered, but she knew she must wait. Soon, she hoped, the two would delve into an insightful discussion about the events from which she and Polaris had just returned, making up for the lost time and finally shedding light on the mysteries that gripped them all.

"I am anxious to hear about your long day away," Drake mentioned.

"The king's two visitors took us and Lord Mendor out to the middle of nowhere to demonstrate four new inventions which they swear will guarantee us victory in this war," Polaris explained. "Which, after having witnessed their demonstration, I have no doubt."

"What were these inventions?"

"Two of them were something that the inventor called 'guns' or 'firearms,' one was something called 'black powder,' and the other he called a 'canon.'"

Drake paused to ingrain these new terms in his mind. "What are they?"

"The first firearm he showed us was what he specified to be a 'musket,'" Polaris began, "which is a long metal pole that shoots small pieces of lead into your victim, killing him from a distance like an arrow. Except this piece is loud and obnoxious. The second firearm he called a 'pistol,' which is essentially a smaller version of the musket and can be used single-handedly. The canon is a larger version of both. Instead of the small piece of metal, which he called a 'bullet,' it uses a 'cannonball,' which is about the size of your head. Its purpose is to bring down walls, ships, structures, other large objects. Black powder is what fuels them all. The inventor filled a cask with it, lit it, and the cask just exploded into millions of pieces! It was incredible!"

Drake looked at Polaris, slack-jawed. "It sounds to me like these inventions will certainly guarantee us a victory in the war."

"I have no doubt about it. The king and Lord Mendor are working with the inventor as we speak to establish a factory so to begin mass-producing these weapons."

"I see."

There was a long pause where Polaris slumped in his seat and rubbed his eyes.

"You're clearly exhausted, sir," said Drake. "Why don't you turn in for the night?"

Polaris heaved a final heavy sigh before he pushed himself up from the chair. "I think I shall. Good night, Drake."

"Good night, Polaris."

Rein hurried up to Polaris's bedchamber, and waited for his return. She'd grown weary of listening to him simply explain the new weapons to Drake, rather than engage in interesting theories. She'd witnessed the demonstration firsthand. Yet, she was grateful for the chance to accompany the royal caravan to that remote site; seeing the weapons in action was invaluable. These innovations could very well shape the outcome of the looming war, and understanding them was crucial. She shared the growing conviction that these inventions might secure victory for Noelle. Still, a flicker of hope remained that once Polaris read her note, the tangled problems might unravel swiftly. Then perhaps war could be avoided entirely, leaving these deadly tools unused.

When Polaris finally arrived, he moved sluggishly, weighed down by the long day. Hanging his coat with care, he rubbed his face before sinking into a cushioned wing chair. He poured himself an evening drink, then simply sat there in quiet contemplation, perhaps reviewing the events of the day in his mind.

Rein's patience snapped. She flicked a pebble into the room, its sharp clatter breaking the silence on the surface of his desk. Polaris's sharp eyes darted to the desk, but he quickly deduced the source of the sound had come from outside. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the window and peered out, careful not to expose himself to the opening. Rein remained perfectly still, perched on a narrow brick above, hidden from view.

After a tense moment, Polaris abandoned the search for the intruder and turned back to his desk. There, instead of the pebble, lay her note. Rein watched with bated breath as he read, his brow furrowing in confusion. He paused, then read it again ... and yet again, as the weight of her words settled on him.

"Drake," he finally muttered. Then he dashed across his room, flung open his door, and stepped out onto the corridor. "Drake! You sir! Go fetch Drake."

He turned back into his chamber and gave the note yet another read-over as he continued to rack his brain for answers. Then he snatched up his journal to look over his own notes of the king and queen's dream, and compared them to his notes on the Rose Tree. He rubbed his face in frustration.

"I'm so confused..."

Finally, Drake entered. "You summoned me, sir?" he asked.

"Observe what I found on my desk." Polaris handed Drake the note to read. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Nothing, sir." Drake handed the note back. "Who else knew of our hypothesis? And what kind of utensil did they use to compose this note?"

Polaris took a magnifying glass out of his desk drawer, and examined the strokes of the letters on the parchment. "It appears to be a tiny hand. A small creature wrote this note."

"I don't understand, sir. But at any rate, I say this means we should pursue the hypothesis further. Clearly, this creature knows about Nadia."

"It's not so obvious, Drake," Polaris argued. "Since to me, it's clear that someone overheard us, and wants us to pursue this theory. There could be any number of reasons why, and not all of them are beneficial to us."

"Such as..."

"Perhaps they wish to find Nadia for their own purposes, and we're to lead them to her?"

"That doesn't sound slightly paranoid to you?" Drake asked.

"Nevertheless, we should be cautious. This creature's intentions may not be honorable. It's also possible they know this theory will lead us away from the truth."

"Very well, we can pursue carefully. But let's not waste time." Drake took a seat beside Polaris's desk. "How is the Rose Tree imitating Nadia?"

Polaris thought for a moment. "I think I might know." He took a seat at his desk to make a note of everything discussed. "Listen, living things change in accordance to their environment. Both physically and mentally. The changes that happened first on the tree mimic Nadia's image. In the dream, her skin is the color of pearl, correct?"

"But nothing is black," Drake said.

Polaris considered. "Perhaps she changed something. She dyed her irises, wears makeup, colored her hair? We can look further into that later. Moreover, the transformations which happened recently may not only mimic current physical modifications, but also changes of mood or surroundings. For instance, the tree is drooping to show that perhaps Nadia is weakening, or she's depressed, or ill. After all, what slave doesn't feel this way? The scent of soap and farm animals could mean that she's living on a farm?" He looked to Drake for input or confirmation.

Drake shrugged. "Sounds as good of a theory as any."

"Yes, it's starting to seem more plausible to me the more I think about it, and I'm not certain that's a good thing. I'm hoping that if she is affecting the Rose Tree, it means that she's nearby. The theory doesn't seem to work unless she is. After all, one can only react to what is in their vicinity. Thus, the Rose Tree must be reacting to something ... or someone nearby."

"How are we going to search for her?" Drake asked. "Besides the possibility that she's living on a farm, does the tree say anything else about her whereabouts?"

"Not from what I can tell so far, but I would argue most likely in Helvetica as she was purchased from the Helvetican Slave Market." Polaris sighed as he flipped through the pages of his journal, and scanned over his notes.

There was a moment of silence where they both pondered their discussion.

"So, what next?" Drake finally asked. "Do we inform Their Majesties of this theory, or do we investigate further?"

Polaris thought over the question. "I'm not sure what more we can investigate. I have no more questions, I simply don't like the answers I've been provided. That being said, I'll inform the king about our theory, however I would like to collect more evidence to support it first."

"What will you say, exactly?" Drake inquired.

"That, I will have to take some time to design."

Drake nodded in understanding. "And what of the creature that gave us this message?".

"Hopefully, it's no threat to us," Polaris answered. "Maybe it'll continue to help us find Nadia."

※

That night at Aimonbay Estate, Nadia waited until the house fell silent, then slipped quietly from her bedroom. She moved like a shadow, hugging walls and darting past corners to avoid the night-shift servants and patrolling guards. Even the faintest glow from the corridor lamps became a threat she carefully skirted. When she reached the rear courtyard, her heart quickened. She hurried toward the unfinished pond, eyes constantly flicking behind her to ensure no one trailed her steps. Among the scattered tools, she found a shovel and began laboriously filling the crater with dirt, each scoop heavy with purpose. Then, as if summoned by her urgency, Rein appeared.

"Nadia, what are you doing?" Rein hissed.

"I'm stalling the construction," Nadia whispered back.

"Are you daft? He'll know it was you!" Nadia didn't answer. It was all worth it to her. "Nadia, stop. Go to your room so we can talk. We need to talk."

Nadia violently shoveled the dirt back into the hole. "It can wait until I'm done with this," she answered through clenched teeth.

"Hide!" Rein said.

Nadia ducked down while Rein flew behind a shrub. They remained still, hidden in the shadows, as a guard made his slow rounds through the rear courtyard. Time stretched endlessly as they waited, every second heavy with tension. At last, the guard retreated back inside the castle, his footsteps fading into silence. Without missing a beat, Nadia plunged back into her work, her resolve unwavering. Rein lingered nearby, silent and powerless, watching the dirt fly beneath Nadia's hands.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Nadia," Rein said, and then she flew off.

Throughout the long night, Nadia worked tirelessly filling holes and smashing tools with fierce determination. She moved like an assassin, slipping into hiding whenever guards patrolled nearby, their footsteps echoing faintly but never revealing the chaos unfolding just beyond their sight.

By early morning—twelve hours having slipped away in silence—the craters lay nearly filled, the construction lay in ruins, and the scattered tools were shattered beyond use. It was evident the workers faced the daunting task of beginning anew. Before the pale light of the Southern sun crept over the horizon, Nadia had freshened herself up and descended to the kitchen, where Garnet and Mauro awaited her approach.

"Lila!" they cried. "Did you hear? Did you hear the news?"

"What?" Nadia asked. "No."

They glanced around nervously for a moment.

"Someone has completely sabotaged the construction!" Garnet answered.

"Everyone's furious!" Mauro added.

Clearly, they both knew Nadia was responsible, but they wished to help her to keep it secret.

"Master promises a harsh punishment to the person who did it!" Mauro continued.

"Does he know who did it?" Nadia asked.

"No one does," Garnet answered, swallowing her panic.

Nadia glanced around. There were a lot of people nearby. "Well let's hope he finds out."

"Lila," came Alik's voice. Everyone looked in the direction of the kitchen entrance. "His Lordship wishes your presence in his study."

Nadia entered Count Rallian's study to find him seated behind his desk, writing with delicate precision. She curtsied silently, and without a word, he motioned for her to sit across from him. The room felt heavy, charged with an oppressive tension she had never sensed before, not even on her first day there.

The count gently set his quill aside, and slowly leaned forward. He folded his hands on the desk in front of him with a deliberate finality that sent a chill through Nadia's spine. There was something cold and unforgiving in that gesture, as if a storm was gathering just beneath the surface. Time stretched unbearably as he stared at his clasped fingers, struggling to contain a fury that threatened to break free. Then, his voice cut through the silence in a low, rumbling growl that made Nadia's heart sink, and she wished with every fiber of her being that he had remained silent.

"I know you're responsible."