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Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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took up a red rose bush by the seagate, and one by one, plucked away the thorns. He squeezed
the thorns together in His hand and fashioned a bush of them, placing it beside the seagate. He blew His
breath on the flowers and shrubs near the seagate and withered them so they would never grow again.
Then He walked to the far end of the garden, where the roses grow now, and placed the rose bush, now
minus its thorns, there where you see it. Then He sucked in His breath and drew the souls from the young
man and his lover. When He exhaled, He blew the young woman’s soul into the rose bush and the young
man’s into the thorn tree. Their bodies He cast into the Abyss where they must suffer for all eternity. But
their souls are still here in the garden where they can see one another, but never, ever touch again. And
for an eternity now, the rose grows alone, the only one of its kind in the garden, for no other roses will
grow here. It bows its head in shame, unsupported, forlorn. And the thornbush sits on unhallowed ground
where no other life may grow; alone and tangled in its own deceitful branches."
Liza gazed at the thornbush that stood so forlornly by the wrought-iron gate. She grew sad by the way
the branches seemed to weave in among themselves as though in shame and hopelessness. She glanced
at the rose bush, whose flowers drooped on the vine, their lovely, lavender-tint seeming blue with
melancholy.
"But they say one day a love will bloom in the land that will reunite the thorn and the rose. New life will
bud from the tangles of the thornbush."
"That is a sad tale to tell children."
"Maybe, but it makes its point," he said. "It cautions you to love wisely and honorably."
"And did you learn?"
"I believe so."
"What other things did you learn here from your mother?" she asked, ignoring his smug smile.
"I learned all about women in this garden."
"Oh?" She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. "What exactly, Milord?"
"That most of them can’t be trusted." He sat up and leaned back against the tree trunk.
"Your mother told you that?" She couldn’t believe any woman would scar her son in such a way.
"Other women taught me that."
"How many other women, Conar?"
He grinned at her. "More than my share."
"I can well imagine," she sniffed and laid her head on his shoulder. "I saw your mother once."
"Where?"
"In Oceania. She had come to visit my mother. I thought she was very beautiful."
"She was considered to be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms."
"How old were you when she died?"
His eyes narrowed with pain. "It was after I came back from the Great Abbey. I was thirteen. I had not
seen her since I was five."
Liza turned to him, shocked. "Is that normal? I mean, I know the young men of the royal families are sent
to the Temple to train. My brothers were, but I thought you were allowed to return home on High Holy
Days and for other special occasions. Grice and Chand came home nearly every weekend."
"I didn’t."
Something in his look made her hesitate in asking anything more about the Temple. He never spoke of
his days there, and when she asked him about those times, he usually changed the subject or ignored her.
"So what did you learn from the ladies of Boreas, Milord?" she asked, trying to restore his good mood.
He lifted one brow. "Why do you want to know?"
She looked at her lap. "I was just curious."
He grinned. "You are jealous."
"Curious," she said emphatically.
"Jealous!" He nudged her with his shoulder.
"Not in the least, Milord." Her nose went up in the air. "Just curious."
"Curiously jealous." He chuckled and saw her blush.
"How old were you?" Her face turned redder still. This was something they had never discussed, but like
most women, Liza was inquisitive about from where her husband’s talents had come.
"I was six when I lost my innocence and somewhat older when I lost my virginity." He snatched up a
twig and started to peel away the bark.
"Is there
the thorns together in His hand and fashioned a bush of them, placing it beside the seagate. He blew His
breath on the flowers and shrubs near the seagate and withered them so they would never grow again.
Then He walked to the far end of the garden, where the roses grow now, and placed the rose bush, now
minus its thorns, there where you see it. Then He sucked in His breath and drew the souls from the young
man and his lover. When He exhaled, He blew the young woman’s soul into the rose bush and the young
man’s into the thorn tree. Their bodies He cast into the Abyss where they must suffer for all eternity. But
their souls are still here in the garden where they can see one another, but never, ever touch again. And
for an eternity now, the rose grows alone, the only one of its kind in the garden, for no other roses will
grow here. It bows its head in shame, unsupported, forlorn. And the thornbush sits on unhallowed ground
where no other life may grow; alone and tangled in its own deceitful branches."
Liza gazed at the thornbush that stood so forlornly by the wrought-iron gate. She grew sad by the way
the branches seemed to weave in among themselves as though in shame and hopelessness. She glanced
at the rose bush, whose flowers drooped on the vine, their lovely, lavender-tint seeming blue with
melancholy.
"But they say one day a love will bloom in the land that will reunite the thorn and the rose. New life will
bud from the tangles of the thornbush."
"That is a sad tale to tell children."
"Maybe, but it makes its point," he said. "It cautions you to love wisely and honorably."
"And did you learn?"
"I believe so."
"What other things did you learn here from your mother?" she asked, ignoring his smug smile.
"I learned all about women in this garden."
"Oh?" She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. "What exactly, Milord?"
"That most of them can’t be trusted." He sat up and leaned back against the tree trunk.
"Your mother told you that?" She couldn’t believe any woman would scar her son in such a way.
"Other women taught me that."
"How many other women, Conar?"
He grinned at her. "More than my share."
"I can well imagine," she sniffed and laid her head on his shoulder. "I saw your mother once."
"Where?"
"In Oceania. She had come to visit my mother. I thought she was very beautiful."
"She was considered to be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms."
"How old were you when she died?"
His eyes narrowed with pain. "It was after I came back from the Great Abbey. I was thirteen. I had not
seen her since I was five."
Liza turned to him, shocked. "Is that normal? I mean, I know the young men of the royal families are sent
to the Temple to train. My brothers were, but I thought you were allowed to return home on High Holy
Days and for other special occasions. Grice and Chand came home nearly every weekend."
"I didn’t."
Something in his look made her hesitate in asking anything more about the Temple. He never spoke of
his days there, and when she asked him about those times, he usually changed the subject or ignored her.
"So what did you learn from the ladies of Boreas, Milord?" she asked, trying to restore his good mood.
He lifted one brow. "Why do you want to know?"
She looked at her lap. "I was just curious."
He grinned. "You are jealous."
"Curious," she said emphatically.
"Jealous!" He nudged her with his shoulder.
"Not in the least, Milord." Her nose went up in the air. "Just curious."
"Curiously jealous." He chuckled and saw her blush.
"How old were you?" Her face turned redder still. This was something they had never discussed, but like
most women, Liza was inquisitive about from where her husband’s talents had come.
"I was six when I lost my innocence and somewhat older when I lost my virginity." He snatched up a
twig and started to peel away the bark.
"Is there
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