He was seven years old the first time he saw her. He’d been sobbing his heart out, hidden under a rose bush far from Brundt palace’s main grounds.
“Who are you?”
The soft, curious inquiry made him wipe his eyes on the tail of his shirt. He lifted his head. Huge eyes of midnight blue peered out at him from a curtain of black hair. Against his will, he met that curious gaze, and time stopped. His heart skipped a beat. She held out a hand.
“You’d better come out from there. If the head gardener finds you, he’ll wallop you for messing up the Old Earth roses.”
“Who are you?” he countered as he scrambled out from under the bush. He tried to pull himself up into a proper posture for a son of the Republic. She towered over him without even trying. Girls got their height early, his tutor reassured him. Still, it stung to be the scrawny runt all the time.
“I’m the spare.” The corners of her eyes crinkled up with mischief.
“What?”
“You know.” Her tone became a little contemptuous. “Warlords have to have an heir. And a spare. My sister is the heir, so I’m the spare.”
Around them, the late afternoon garden air was full of perfume from the roses and the fresh smell of cut grass. Other than an occasional chirp from a sleepy bird, all was quiet. He didn’t know that anyone ever came out this far on the palace grounds other than himself. He came every time his father brought him along for a visit.
He looked her over again. Though she was wearing a ragged jumpsuit and hadn’t combed her hair in days, the signs were all there. Weird eyes, weird coloration. She was also too large and sturdy for a girl of her age.
She was different, like him. When he was younger and showed more promise, his father would pat him on the head and call him his ‘designer boy’. Now he was the failure.
“Well? Are you the heir or the spare?” The girl tapped one grubby barefoot.
“Why do you think I’m either? Maybe I’m a nobody.”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “I saw you get out of your dad’s private jet on the runway. Nobodies don’t fly in a warlord’s jet.”
“My dad isn’t a warlord. He’s a president.”
“What’s the difference?”
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. But it’s important. People who call my dad ‘warlord’ get disappeared.” His back tightened in anticipation of the laughter, the denial, and the slaps that came when he mentioned people disappearing.
The girl nodded. “People disappear here all the time too. Two governesses and one nursery maid so far.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Though I think the nursery maid ran away before she could get disappeared. So maybe she doesn’t count?”
“Oh, she counts all right.”
She studied him again. “Right. You want to see my secret spot? If you come here again, you can use it instead of getting all full of rose thorns. I made it to get away from people.”
Her grubby hand was strong and warm as she wrapped it around his and tugged. She pulled him through a tiny tunnel between the rose bushes. Inside was a little cave, made by pruning and braiding the rose canes into a sturdy woven basket overhead.
“Before long, I’ll be too tall to get in here.”
The angry retort forming on his tongue died at her next words.
“You too. You’re about to grow. I can tell.”
“You think so?” In the fading afternoon light, surrounded by the seemingly impenetrable cage of roses, anything seemed possible.
She clasped both his hands with hers and nodded. “Since my sister is older, she goes through all the rough stuff before me.” Her voice dropped to a confiding whisper. “She wasn’t growing tall enough, so they took her in for more treatments.”
“They can do that?” He was thrilled and horrified at this news. He could be taller, no matter what. If he didn’t grow, he would beg his father…the sight of a single tear rolling down his new friend’s face cut off his daydream.
“It hurt her so bad. But she didn’t complain. She never complains. I do all the complaining for both of us!” Her grip on his hands tightened and he flinched. She let go with a muttered apology.
“So why do you hide? Are you afraid of being disappeared?”
While he asked, she took off the little backpack that she wore. Her eyes flitted to his at his question, then returned to the contents. She handed him a little teacake wrapped in a napkin and then pulled out a thermos. And evaded his question.
“We’ll have to share the cup. I’ve only got the one. Nobody’s ever been in my secret spot before. Not my sister, or even my cousin.” She sloshed tea into the cup, took a big drink, and offered it to him.
He held out the teacake to her. She shook her head and pulled out another napkin. “I stole two of those.”
As they munched, they continued talking about anything and everything. For the first time in his life, he felt safe. After their little feast, they stretched out side by side on an old army blanket. The scratchy gray wool made a welcome barrier against the dampness in the ground.
He wanted to ask her if her brain went crazy sometimes too. She didn’t seem like someone whose brain might misbehave. Snuggled up against her steady presence, he felt steady too. He wondered if he could spend every day with her if then his brain would behave too. His eyelids drooped. A sudden, whispered question jolted him awake.
“Are you going to marry my sister?”
“What? No! We’re still kids. Kids can’t get married, can they?”
“Our fathers are warlords. They can do whatever they want with us. You’re not the spare, are you? If you’re the heir, then of course they’ll marry you to her.” He couldn’t see her face, even when he rolled onto his side, but her voice was bitter in the gloom.
“I think I was the heir. But since my baby sister turned out better than me, she’s the heir now. Anyway, I’m not marrying your sister. I’m gonna marry you! Let’s get married right now.”
He scrambled to his hands and knees and plunged out onto the little paved path. A bush full of shining white roses in full bloom held the place of honor in the center of the garden. Heedless of the thorns, he plucked rose after rose, threading them into the girl’s matted hair. She put her hands in his as they faced each other.
“I, Zander, take you,” he paused and glared at her. “You never told me your name.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me yours until this very moment. Fair’s fair.” She stuck out her tongue at him, and suddenly she was the dearest thing in his world.
“So?”
“I, Daria, take you Zander, to be…” she crinkled up her nose. “What do they say next?”
“I don’t know.” He leaned in and gave her a quick peck of a kiss, right on the lips. A hot blush scalded his face and neck as they stood there, holding hands.
“Hey! You kids!” A hard voice broke Zander’s little moment of wonder.
“Daria! You know better than to pick the Old Earth Roses. I’m going to tan your hide!”
“Run! It’s the groundskeeper!” Daria yelped.
The groundskeeper had a long rake and wasn’t afraid to use it. He managed to hook both of them around the ankles, sending them sprawling. Zander thought that Daria might have been able to get away if he wasn’t there.
Afterward, they both limped back toward the palace, rumps stinging and neither of them talking. At the corner of the building, Daria took his hands again.
“Goodbye, friend. Don’t get disappeared.” She slipped away into the darkness before he could reply.
There was something in his hand. A white rose, a little crushed. He stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
“Don’t get disappeared either!”
No answer. Zander stood motionless and abandoned, his brain not behaving well at all. After a while, his red-faced and impatient father came to shout at him and herd him onto the plane for their flight home.
But after the rose garden, his home would forever be wherever she was. Even when they were grown. When he hated her. Or loved her. He couldn’t tell which. It didn’t matter. He was forever hers.
***
This little bit of backstory from Ran Shaipur has no real place in the story, but it was fun to write anyway. If you want to know what happens when Daria and Zander grow up, you’ll find they both have large roles in Ran Shaipur. Daria becomes someone else, but you’ll figure that out fast enough on your own!
Get Ran Shaipur here: https://www.tlryder.com/store/Ran-Shaipur-p519760863
