Intermission: A Blue Rose

Dusk had a way of softening the world, so that even the most rigid lines dissolved in the buttery half-light. The Inner Gardens of the Harem Hotel were especially good at this: trees growing in precise disorder, stone walkways that always led somewhere you didn’t expect, flowers plotting in vivid conspiracies under the cover of shadow. It was a place engineered for the illusion of privacy, but in truth, every twist in the path was perfectly calculated to let you overhear things—secrets, promises, the occasional well-bred argument—just as you passed.

Arabella walked the garden with Anna at her side, their steps in quiet sync. It was almost ceremonial, how they kept their hands behind their backs, fingertips grazing the tips of bluebells and night-blooming jasmine as they moved. The air was heady with the scent of loam and late blossoms, that sweet-sour tingle of living things getting ready to rest for the night. It had rained earlier, and the earth still gave off that raw, narcotic smell, the way it did only in the minute before evening devoured the day.

Anna wore a navy blue jumpsuit, her waist-length black hair draped over one shoulder like an exclamation mark. In the low light, her skin seemed to glow with an internal radiance, and her lips were stained an improbable shade of purple, as if she’d just devoured the ripest plum on the island. There was an aura about her that was impossible to pin down: one moment she was a queen in exile, the next a clever child plotting mischief, and always, always, something more than either.

Arabella, by contrast, was understated—at least, as much as she could manage. She’d chosen a moss green wrap dress, and the color made her eyes impossibly bright. Her hair was up, secured with a comb that looked like it belonged in a museum, and her only jewelry was a thin gold bangle at the wrist. If Anna was the night, Arabella was the moment before it, when the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

They didn’t speak for the first few minutes, letting their footsteps do the talking. Every so often, Anna would pause to admire a particularly devious rose or to stroke the bark of a tree she claimed had “a personality.” Arabella would pretend not to notice, but the twitch at the edge of her mouth gave her away.

Eventually, Anna broke the silence. “Herm told me what was happening. Not the details, but enough.”

Arabella’s reply was a breath of laughter. “He always did have a big mouth.”

Anna snorted. “That’s kind of his thing.”

“I didn’t know you were close with his people.”

“I’m not,” Anna said, flicking a petal from the path with the tip of her sandal. “But Herm’s a special case. He always pops up when you least expect him, and he leaves little messes for you to clean up after.” She looked sideways at Arabella. “You’d know.”

“Truer words,” said Arabella, and shook her head fondly. “He means well.”

“They always mean well,” Anna said, the phrase clipped and knowing, but not unkind. “I wanted to see my little sister before I left.”

Arabella stopped, caught off guard by the phrase. “We’re the same age,” she pointed out.

Anna’s teeth flashed in the gloom. “Depends on how you count, actually.”

They laughed together, soft and companionable, and resumed walking.

The path narrowed, funneling them between walls of hydrangea. In the distance, a cicada started up, testing the air. Anna’s hand strayed to the side, brushing through a clutch of unopened peonies.

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Arabella said, watching her.

“I had to, once.” Anna’s tone was featherlight, but her eyes lingered on the flowers. “Now I make sure to enjoy everything, in case I have to go away again for a while. Or forever.”

A breeze caught them, stirring the petals around their knees. Arabella shivered, but not from the cold. “I’m glad you came,” she said.

Anna’s look was direct, almost fierce. “I’m glad you exist.”

They walked in silence again. This time, it was a friendly one, with no edges.

“Your game is going well,” Anna said after a while. “I like the group you’ve assembled. They have bite.”

“They’re handpicked,” Arabella said, pride and caution warring in her voice. “And they’ve already surprised me. Especially the Master.”

“I want to hear about him,” said Anna, leaning in. “Tell me everything.”

Arabella smiled—a real one, with teeth—and pulled Anna off the path and onto a little bench hidden under an arch of wisteria. “You have to promise not to judge me,” she said, half in jest, half serious.

Anna tossed her hair, the move calculated to amuse. “I judge everyone. But I always forgive you in the end.”

They sat, their knees brushing, and Arabella began to tell the story: how the Master arrived, what he carried with him, the way the Contestants had found their way into a semblance of family. She told it like a bedtime story, sparing nothing, letting the rhythms of the garden keep pace with the rise and fall of her voice.

Anna listened, arms folded, her smile a private thing. She never interrupted, just nodded in all the right places and made small, pleased noises whenever Arabella’s narrative struck her as particularly clever.

As the sun slipped away and the shadows thickened, the two women looked less like rivals or co-conspirators and more like what they were: sisters in all but name, each carrying a piece of the other’s story in their bones.

Arabella spoke on, her words twisting into the darkness, and the flowers leaned in to listen.

They left the bench after Arabella finished her tale, slipping off the main path and into the veiled interior of the garden, where the hedges grew taller and the air felt a little less oxygenated, a little more ancient. Here, the boundaries of the resort lost their meaning, and even the careful geometry of the garden’s design gave way to an older, wilder intelligence. If you squinted, you could almost imagine you were anywhere—or anywhen—else.

Arabella led the way, her sandals soundless on the moss between stones. Anna followed, her stride equal parts deliberate and dreamy, as if she was reconstructing old memories with every footfall.

They passed a cluster of yews, and a linden whose trunk was wound in silver ribbon. Arabella parted a stand of bamboo with a single, practiced gesture, and ushered Anna through. The air changed; it became cooler, charged with a perfume that was half ozone, half some lost flower that only opened at dusk.

At the center of a perfectly circular clearing, an object waited: a single, solitary bush, humble in its size but carrying the weight of all things rare. On it grew only one blossom—a blue rose, enormous as a newborn's head, its petals a glassy architecture of layered blues: cobalt, turquoise, indigo, every shade shifting as the evening deepened. Its stem was armored in thorns the color of polished hematite, and at its base, the leaves were veined with gold.

Anna stopped cold, arms folded tight. Her face didn’t show awe, exactly—more a kind of hungry focus, as if she was imprinting every detail for later. Arabella hung back, letting her companion have the moment.

“You did it,” Anna said, after a minute.

“I did,” Arabella replied, unable to hide her pride.

Anna circled the bush once, eyes never leaving the rose. “Is it the only one?”

Arabella shrugged, an old joke between them. “There were lesser ones, but I gave them away. And it grows in two places. But this—” she gestured with both hands “—this is the right flower.”

Anna bent to peer at the rose, getting so close her nose nearly touched the outermost petal. When she spoke again, her voice was different—lower, more reverent. “It’s perfect. I thought they were only myth.”

“They were, until they weren’t.” Arabella moved beside Anna, close enough to feel the warmth from her skin. “It took some work.”

Anna’s expression was unreadable. “You made it for them, didn’t you.”

“For her, actually,” Arabella said softly. “But yes. For all of them.”

“Watered properly?”

Arabella nodded. “Watered properly, and listening, too.”

Anna straightened and turned, arms crossed, and looked at Arabella with a gravity that made the rest of the garden seem childish by comparison. “It’s not enough, you know.”

“I know,” said Arabella, and for a moment the weight of centuries was clear in her voice. “But it’s a start.”

Anna smiled, but there was no triumph in it. “You always were the optimist.”

Arabella didn’t answer, but reached into her dress’s pocket and produced a small, ornate iron box. She handed it to Anna, who rolled it between her palms, testing the weight.

“Is this—?”

“From Percy,” said Arabella. “Not copies. Not echoes. She had a few left.”

Anna’s eyes widened just a fraction, and she nodded, clearly impressed. “You never disappoint, Ara.” There was a pause, then Anna said, almost shyly, “How’s our little cousin?”

Arabella chuckled. “Same as always.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Stuck in, or out?”

“In, mostly, this time of year,” Arabella replied. “But she visits when she’s bored.”

Anna laughed. “Can’t imagine it’s rare, with that husband of hers.”

“Be nice,” Arabella said, and Anna accepted this as both explanation and apology.

They stood together in the circle of green, neither needing to speak. At some point, Anna slipped the iron box back to Arabella, who put it into her pocket. Anna reached for the rose, but stopped herself at the last moment, as if touching it would break a spell.

Instead, she asked, “Why did Percy stay?”

Arabella’s answer was immediate. “For love. Same as Dun.”

Anna’s lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. “I visit Dun often, you know. Despite what people say, it cost me, leaving that place.”

Arabella reached for Anna’s hand and squeezed it, a gesture so casual and intimate that it might have been rehearsed a thousand times. “He enjoys it, when you visit.”

Anna looked at her, eyes shining just a little. “Thank you,” she said. “As for the other price… that one was no price at all.”

“I love you too,” Arabella replied, smiling.

When the light had drained from the sky and left only the blue pulse of the rose to illuminate the clearing, Anna spoke first. “Even with Percy’s present, it won’t be enough. You know that, right?”

Arabella smiled, not unkindly. “It’s not the only thing I’m counting on.” She grinned, almost impishly. “Rusat sent a present from Wesir’s hall, too.”

Anna laughed. “Calling in favors, Ara?” She studied the rose, amused. “You always got along well with everybody. Even so, I am surprised. And proud.”

Arabella’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “We’re all sisters, in the end, aren’t we?”

Anna nodded and plucked a leaf from the rose bush and spun it between her fingers, watching the gold veins glimmer in the dusk. “Do you still need your permission slip?” Arabella asked, as if they were two children plotting to sneak into a forbidden library.

“I don’t need it anymore,” Anna replied, letting the leaf drop. “I threw it away ages ago.”

Arabella’s lips curled into a sly grin. “I know exactly where it is.”

Anna raised one eyebrow, not quite skepticism, not quite approval. “Of course you do.”

Arabella laughed. “Would you mind if I borrowed it? Actually, took it is a better definition.”

“It might help,” Anna admitted. “But you’d have to be careful.”

Arabella nodded. “I need a little time to set it up. I can’t retrieve it myself—too obvious. But I could make it a challenge, if that’s more fun for you.”

Anna looked at her, then laughed. “You’d do that?”

“I might have to,” Arabella said, half-smiling. “Otherwise it’ll never get past the wards.”

Anna shook her head, but her eyes were soft. “You really do love them.”

“More than you know,” Arabella said, and her voice wobbled just a little.

Anna touched Arabella’s arm, gentle and grounding. “Don’t rile Alla up, okay? And let me know if you need help with the final touches.”

Arabella squeezed her hand. “I’d be lost without you.”

They embraced, the kind of hug you only gave to someone you’d known for millennia. When they pulled away, Anna looked tired, and a little afraid.

“I worry that you’re putting all your hope into this side project,” she said. “You should be focusing on how this ends.”

“This side project is for that reason,” Arabella replied, so quietly Anna almost missed it.

Anna nodded, then looked up at the sky, searching for stars. “I’ll stay with you a while, before I leave.”

“I’d like that,” said Arabella. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sex?”

Anna barked a laugh, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “You’re a pervert.”

“Not like it’s uncommon, in families like ours. Call it professional bias, though.” Arabella replied, lips quirking. “How about dinner then?”

“Always,” Anna said, and took Arabella’s arm.

They walked out of the clearing together, leaving the blue rose to glow alone in the garden’s heart, and the night folded itself around them like a secret kept just for two.