Hi everyone! This is a SEQUEL, so if you have not read My Other Name, don't read this, yet! Not only will it spoil the ending of the first book-it will make absolutely no sense! That said, if you have already been through the first book, I very much hope you enjoy this one. :) Thank you for reading, and for taking the time to let me know what you think of it! Special Thanks to Isriana (Linda Kindt) for the use of her absolutely spectacular art piece, "The Chariot", as the cover for this book. Please visit my profile page and click the link to see the original image and her amazing deviantART page! Cheers!
Where…am I?
I was perched on the slippery roof of a grand farmhouse overlooking a sprawl of lush fields and orchards. It was morning, and I was grateful for the warmth of the sun. The cold, damp fabric of my white dress clung to my skin as though I had been here all night, catching the dew.
I had no memory of this place.
How did I come to be here?
I searched my mind, gripping the wet slats of the roof carefully. A fall from this height would not harm me, but it would certainly alarm anyone who might hear me. I frowned. Somehow, I could not remember what I had been doing before I woke here. Something was deeply amiss.
"There are loads of bugs in this field. Fancy killin' some?"
I spotted movement near the house. Two girls were leaning against a low stone wall. The smaller one picked up a wooden sword and jumped over, into a freshly tilled field. The older girl clapped her hands together and cheered as the young one swung her mock sword with reckless abandon, crushing and whacking her way through a small swarm of beetles. Her form was nonexistent, but her strikes were brutally effective nevertheless.
"And another bug goes squish! Good one, sis!" The older sister giggled behind her hands, watching as the last of the beetles met its end. "I don't see any more. Shall we do something else? We've got chickens to round up, or we could look for those bottles I set up for you to shoot at. Bet you half my dessert tonight you can't find them all before Mum and Dad get back!"
As they moved closer, I felt my stomach knot with worry. Something about them was familiar. But more than that, something was very, very wrong. The girls seemed to live here, but their clothes were patched and shabby, and their faces were dirty. The older sister seemed to have outgrown some of her clothing completely. Her midriff was bare, and her ragged sleeves were too short. Her pigtails were lank and stringy, held away from her face with a band of cloth. The little one seemed better-clothed, but not by much. Her shoes were far too large for her feet.
It was illogical that the children of such clearly prosperous farmers should look like beggars. Just seeing them like that made me heartsick. I wanted to help them.
Nevertheless, their parents were obviously away, and I did not want to frighten them. I waited for them to turn away, and then stepped off the roof. As I fell, my wings burst unbidden from my back, and I stifled a gasp of surprise. They moved forcefully, scattering feathers over the ground, and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, I was flying. I alighted in the branches of a tree beside the house and clung to its trunk for support.
"This is not real," I whispered. "You are dreaming, Rose. You can't fly."
The sun was beginning to set—another impossibility. I sighed, relieved. Now that I knew that I was simply asleep, I felt much more at ease. The only thing that troubled me now was that generally, when I realized that I was dreaming, I woke immediately. And I had never before had a dream that felt so…real.
"That was a fantastic day, but I'm worn out. Let's go to bed. Mum said that next time they go to market, they'll take both of us with them! You'd love it there, little Sparra."
My breath left me, and a wave of pain rushed in to fill the empty space. I now recognized the smaller girl. I had held her in my arms in another place, and another time. Her tiny body had been broken and bleeding. With Reaver's help, I had saved her life and given her to Theresa the Seer. She had been waiting for us. She had known we were coming, and that we would find my mother in time to save her. But we had been too late to save her sister…my namesake. The knowledge had haunted me ever since, though I tried desperately to put it from my mind.
You cannot change Time, I repeated to myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. It is neither logical nor rational for me to blame myself for her death. Lucien killed her, and I would have saved her if it was at all within my power.
But it had never been within my power. And so I had inherited her name, and according to Theresa, a part of her would always live on through me so long as I remained true to the legacy of her love. I carried those words with me, always, but it did not stop the nightmares. I had seen one child with a bullet in her chest. It was all too easy to imagine another.
Night fell, and the sounds of crickets and frogs filled the air around me. One of the girls lit a candle. I could see into their room from my place in the tree. It was Sparrow. She was peering through the window, her blue eyes large with curiosity. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the melancholy melody of a music box.
Rose—for it could only be Rose, though I had never known what she looked like—came to the window and looked out at the darkness for the barest moment. She looked terrified, but her voice was calm as she reassured her sister. "It's nothing, little Sparra. Go to sleep."
Sparrow turned and ran from the room. Rose stole another frightened glance out the window and followed her.
I dropped lightly to the ground.
"Aw, come on, get back to bed. There's nothing fun to do here, now."
Sparrow emerged from the house, but Rose remained in the doorway. Neither of them noticed my presence.
"Where are you going?" Rose cried. "Please, you can't, it's dangerous out there!"
The little girl looked back at her sister, and in the moonlight, I saw her face clearly. Her eyes were grave with a profoundly adult sadness.
"I'm so sorry, Rosie," she whispered, "but this isn't real. We never had a Mum and Dad, we never had a home…and I…I saw you die."
Rose seemed unable or unwilling to hear her. "You're going to get me in trouble!"
With what was clearly an enormous effort, Sparrow turned her back on her, wiping her eyes. Her face was set in a determined grimace. She had hardened her heart against her sister's pleas. She began to run. I followed her, jogging though a field of daffodils while she ran along the path that led to the front gate.
"Don't leave me alone again! I don't want to be alone anymore!" Rose was weeping, now. She let out a desperate cry. "Don't go!"
It was too much. I turned, wanting to go back for her, to comfort her even though none of this was real. But Sparrow picked up her pace, dashing through the gate, and I could not help but to follow her. The dream seemed to demand it.
"Nooooo!" Rose screamed, her voice breaking.
The child who would one day become my mother slowed as her sister's cry faded away. The path ahead was lined with corpses on pikes that burned like grotesque torches in the night. Sparrow walked on, undaunted.
I dashed ahead and stood in her way, screening a severed head on a pike from her view. "Sparrow, please go back to your sister. This is no place for you."
She did not react, and her body passed through mine as though I were a ghost. I pinched the flesh between my finger and thumb with one hand. I wanted to wake up. This was no dream. It was a nightmare.
The music box was growing louder all the time, and as we climbed a set of stone steps, I saw it. It was the very same music box I had given first to Sabine, and then to Logan. I was not surprised to see it, here. It had been in my thoughts every day, lately. It was a relic of the Old Kingdom, and it was the key to all of my greatest hopes for Albion's future…and my brother's. Sparrow hesitated for a moment, then lifted it from its pedestal. A flash of white light blinded me for an instant, and then she was gone. I stared. In her place was a tall, slender woman in a deep crimson gown of silk that left her shoulders bare. She held a scrap of paper in her hand.
She was my twin in every way. Her hair was very long and dark, and her almond-shaped eyes were precisely the same shade of brown as mine. Her pale skin glowed faintly. Against the blood-red fabric of her dress, it looked nearly translucent. She regarded me with polite interest, and absolutely no surprise.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am you, of course," she replied, "and I am quite real. For simplicity's sake, think of me, for now, as an aspect of yourself that is a bit more…aware of the consequences of your actions since opening the door to all other doors. You are sleeping, but you are not dreaming. You are experiencing a memory. Our mother's memory. This is an event, and nothing you do here will have an effect. What it will do is have an effect on you. You are treading a dangerous path, and you must place your trust in me if you are to maintain your sanity in the coming months. Take this."
She held out the paper, and I took it slowly.
"Read it, please."
I lowered my eyes to the note.
Today is going to be another brilliant day, I just know it. Mum and Dad have gone to town to buy us lots of food and toys because they love us so much. So it's just me and little Sparrow. We're going to have so much fun! I'm so lucky to have the best little sister in the world. I know we'll always be together and nothing bad will ever, ever happen to us while we stay here.
My heart sank. "This is…" I could think of no words for what it was. The pain behind the cheerful falsehood of the note was far too great for words.
The red Queen nodded. "Yes, I know. This is Rose's idea of a perfect world. Now, look again, and see the reality of her life."
The note had changed while I looked at my twin. It was a tattered bit of thick, brown butcher's paper, the kind one used to wrap meat from the market.
I managed to find a nice piece of charcoal this morning, so I can finally start writing again. I still haven't finished putting down the story about the warrior girl who fights snow monsters. Sparrow always likes listening to that one—sends her right to sleep! It's not so easy for me. Winter is getting colder and soon our shelter won't be anywhere near enough. We'll freeze to death if we don't find something better. And the family of travelers who let us stay in their caravan last winter haven't come back this year. It was nice having someone to look after us for a change. If only we could find some secret passage into the castle... We're small enough that no one would notice us. We'd be like ghosts, or like mice, hiding in the walls. We'd tip-toe out when everyone goes to bed and raid the larder. I bet they have so much food in there, they'd never even notice. Bah, day-dreaming isn't going to get us anywhere. You have to think of something, Rose. You're the big sister, remember?
I looked up again, searching the other woman's face. My face. The eyes were sharp and hard. They demanded my undivided attention, and I gave it.
"I do not know when you and I will meet again, so listen well. Keep that diary page. It will be in your hand when you wake, as proof of the reality of this moment. Your mind has been reaching out, Rose. In your sleep, you have been seeing into the thoughts and dreams of others like us."
"Like us?" I reached for her hand.
"Rulers of Albion. Archons descended from William Black." Our fingers touched.
An overwhelming surge of information inundated my mind with images, sounds, and thoughts. She took several steps backward.
"You…you're marrying Reaver?" Her composure had come crashing down the moment out skin met.
"His name is Adrian," I said calmly, smiling. "And yes, I am. Tomorrow. Or today, depending on what time it is, now."
I smiled because I did not want her to know that something very unnerving had come through from her touch. She had been attempting to screen something from me, to bury it so deeply in static nonsense that I would not notice it, but I now knew that I could not trust this woman, even if she was a version of myself…because she did not trust me, and because she did not know Reaver's true name, despite one very, very important fact.
"You killed Theresa, too," I said. "I only began to truly See after her death. You Saw just now, as I did. She is dead in your Albion, as well. You must know the truth about her, then."
"Yes," she said impassively. "She was a broken soul."
"How did you do it?" Was Reaver still alive in her world? Had she killed him, herself? His true name had been his only hope for salvation. And she did not know what it was.
She lowered her eyes. "I'd rather not talk about that. I'm sure you understand."
"I do." I fixed my eyes on her face, taking in every detail, searching for information. "I'm sure you understand that I cannot trust a woman who has killed Theresa of Oakvale without knowing Reaver's name."
"It is Adrian, as you said," she replied, glaring at me. "And I am only trying to help you."
"Adrian what?" I asked quietly.
The Rose in red vanished, along with the world around us, into darkness.
"Rose, wake up, darling. Rose. I'd rather not have to shake you, but you must wake up."
I woke very slowly. I felt a muscular arm pull me close to a smooth, bare chest while a hand tilted my chin upward with two fingers.
"Rose?"
My eyes were having difficulty focusing. A lamp had been lit, and I blinked several times as I adjusted to the light. Reaver's handsome face was very close to mine, his brow knitted with worry.
"Adrian…thank the gods," I sighed, relieved.
"Another nightmare, chérie?" he guessed, propping himself up on one elbow and draping his other arm over my hip.
I nodded. "So it would seem."
"Well," he said, kissing my hair, "it is over and done with, now. You are safe. But I believe you have been sleepwalking, my dear. I found this in the bed."
He reached across me to my nightstand and held up a crumpled bit of brown paper. My heart froze in my chest.
"Sweet Avo…" I took the page with trembling hands. A thousand possibilities coursed through my mind, each more unlikely than the last, and I discarded them quickly. Had I somehow activated a Time Control spell in my sleep, traveled to Mistpeak, and opened another door? It seemed impossible. But the simplest answer was often the correct one. What troubled me the most was that the simplest answer was that the Rose in red had been speaking the truth, and that it had been no dream, at all.
"What is it?"
"Perhaps nothing," I said, scanning the terrible record of Rose's suffering in the bitter cold of winter in Bowerstone. "I cannot tell for certain. I dreamed of this paper. But perhaps it was simply my mind's interpretation of my actions, if I was indeed sleepwalking. In any case, we shan't find the answer tonight." I kissed him tenderly. "We should sleep. We have a big day ahead of us."
"If you think the day will be big," he replied, biting my lower lip gently, "imagine the night. No, the week. Or the month. It could last for a month, you know."
"And we would die of starvation, unless the thirst got us, first," I chuckled. "And so ends the dynasty of White."
He looked at me shrewdly. "You intend to take my name, do you?"
"I worked very hard to discover it, so yes, I do."
"It seems rather fitting. Rose White. The White Rose. You might finally have a nickname, in keeping with your family's tradition."
I suppressed a shiver, remembering the warning from the Red Rose.
Your mind has been reaching out.