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Rosebushes. Pearl adored the sight of them, red blooms and green vines and that plum-purple the leaves shown. The flowers themselves were quite delicate, if she shook them too harshly petals would fall to the ground. She only wished the adorning thorns were as easy to remove. Too often had she cut herself trying to pull them out, frustration intermixing with confusion— for how could something so pretty have such sharp teeth?
She gasped as blood beaded on her thumb, a brighter red than the flowers, feeling slightly betrayed by the stubborn thorn. Frowning, she gripped the rose tighter as the prick began to itch. She could simply bandage it up inside, or…
She closed her eyes. Reaching inward, she imagined the rose and her thumb connected by a string. She felt the vitality of the rose, golden and pulsing, and the red of the wound, blood slowly dripping from it. She felt the string connecting the two, yellow turning crimson— and yanked on it. Hard. The string fell, disconnected from the rose.
Pearl opened her eyes. She felt the odd sensation of her skin stitching itself together, the last drip of blood falling to the ground under her. In her other hand, the rose had turned an foreign shade of brown, red petals withered into black. Now, when she shook the rose, the entire flower head broke off, tumbling to rest next to the bloodspots. Pearl sighed, frustration replaced by guilt. She probably shouldn’t have done that, traded a mere paper cut for the life of a plant.
Then again… it would’ve died eventually. She pivoted on her feet, skipping back inside.
‘Pearl! Where’ve you been?” Scott frowned at her, brows creasing in worry. He never did like it when she used her Blessing freely. Her brother crossed his arms, attempting to look firm despite the obvious height difference between them. Pearl tousled his blue hair, refusing to answer as she crossed the room into the kitchen.
Despite being taller than him, she wasn’t tall enough to reach across the counter yet; the other Listeners would taunt them both, telling them they’d never be big kids. Pearl wanted to be older, taller already. It wasn’t fair.
But you’re the one with the Blessing, she thought to herself, and smiled. Grabbing a leftover carrot, she munched on it, bouncing on a nearby chair as Scott watched unhappily. “If you want a carrot, go get one yourself, ya big baby!” Pearl chided.
Scott looked away. “I’m not tall enough,” he muttered.
“Oh, you two,” said a voice behind them. Both of them whipped around to see Cleo grabbing a handful of carrots. Despite being slightly younger, she was taller than both of them. “Here. You wanted these, right?” They huffed.
Pearl grinned. “Cleo! You’re back from training already? Is Martyn back, too?”
“No, the grownup Listeners wanted to talk to him. Don’t ask me, I wasn’t invited,” Cleo answered, crossing her arms.
“‘Course you weren’t invited, why would they want you there? He’s the Heir, after all,” Scott asserted.
“Well—“ Cleo sputtered. “Who asked you, anyways?”
“You’re acting like children,” Pearl groaned. Mentally, however, she was spiraling. Perhaps Cleo hadn’t figured it out yet, but Martyn was only called for when they wanted his help as Heir of the Listeners. And they only wanted such help when there was trouble.
“Are the grownups in the office? I’m going to go.” Pearl stood up suddenly, breaking the building tension.
Cleo scrunched her nose. “W-wait, you can’t just barge in there! There might be something, like, important.”
Scott scoffed. “Martyn? Doing something important? Have you met the guy?” He met Pearl’s eyes and smiled mischievously. “Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
Pearl nodded, then turned, striding forward. At the corner turn, Pearl heard Cleo mumble. “Can’t for the life of me understand why…”
Another turn, another marble hallway, and they slowed upon seeing the office door. Although much of the Listeners’ headquarters was off-limits to the kids, this door was especially restricted. They shouldn’t be down this corridor at all, really.
Pearl turned to Scott. “Right, I’ll listen in and you guard the other end of the hallway. Tell me if you heard anybody coming.”
Scott nodded, then silently raced back the way they came. Pearl crept up slowly, before—
The door opened. A man in a white uniform, the Listeners’ general choice of clothing, stood above her. Pearl froze, heart quickening as she realized she’d been caught.
“Ah, the little Blessed of Correction. Normally, I’d ask you what you’re doing here, but…”
He crouched down, and through her fear Pearl caught beady eyes and a thin, sly expression. She didn’t want to know what it meant. “Thankfully, you get a pass this time. Come into the office, and— close the door on your way in, won’t you? We wouldn’t want anything getting in.” He looked at Pearl. “It’s drafty outside, after all.”
Pearl gulped, his meaning paralyzingly clear. She followed him inside to see another man and Martyn already seated. When his friend saw her, his eyes widened, and he gripped his seat as if fighting the urge to escape. The first man pulled out a seat. Pearl sat.
“Now, I’ve already explained a bit of this to Martyn, but you’ll be instrumental in the Listeners’ future, Pearl.” He settled in at the other end of the table between them. “See, we received intel on a Wardwatch settlement, all the way out in the South. It’ll be fortified, and filled with Blessed just like you— we know of their identities, at least some of them. We’ve arrived at a solution for how to deal with this… stain upon the continent.”
Pearl was sweating, heart sinking in her chest as she realized this wasn’t mere trouble at all. Whatever it was, she had a sickening sense this would change her, life would be unable to go back after this.
“You. You and Martyn, the Corrector and the Heir; a siege upon the fortress, and you two at the forefront.”
Pearl gulped. “But— but my Blessing has nothing to do with fighting! All I can do is heal; why would you need me?”
The man smiled, and Pearl wished she never saw such a thing. It was worse than his frown. “Exactly why we need you. The Heir can alter our prisoners as we desire; but you see, Corrector, we need to keep these prisoners. Your task is to keep them from… harm, let’s call it. The Blessed will be in dire stress after the siege; they’ll need someone to heal their wounds, at the very least, so that we can rehabilitate them later.”
Pearl knew there would be no rehabilitation. The Listeners didn’t keep prisoners out of mercy; they needed them for something else. And to keep a Blessed captive, no matter what powers they were endowed with… the Listeners must have a plan. Pearl didn’t like it.
“And if I were to say no?” Pearl asked. She had to.
The man laughed, deep and treacherous like he wanted her to say it. “Then you and your brother would be back on the streets, starving and alone. You think the criminals out there would be very kind to Blessed like you? They can’t even stand mention of the old Blessed. You won’t survive a day.”
Her heart pounded, her mouth went dry. Were they right? Would she be sentencing her and her brother to death? She didn’t want to have a part in whatever terrible plan the Listeners had, she knew the blood that ran between them and the Wardwatch was deep and dark; but what choice did she have? She had to protect her brother. At all costs.
“I’ll do it.” Something in her turned, some finality of the words shifted in place. She thought of Scott, of Cleo and Martyn; her quartet of friends.
She’d be the rosebush thorn. For them.