Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need
But I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes a chance
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong---
Just remember, in the winter,  far beneath the bitter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes the rose

	---lyrics to “The Rose”

Patricia stared at the box in front of her for some minutes, trying to reorder her life according to the new past she’d just had handed to her out of the blue. She was Amnish? And her mother had been a noblewoman? Well, it was really a lot less weird than having a parent who came from out of this world. Or having one who was a dead god. She wasn’t actually Amnish any more than she was Terran. Her roots, such as they were, had been planted firmly within the soil of Candlekeep. She suddenly recalled an odd look Anomen had given her the other night on the roof, when she’d mentioned her other name. He must have recognized it as the name of a noble House. What was its fate, anyway? If she was her mother’s only child, and Delaine was childless, who had inherited? Bernard had certainly spoken as if her grandparents were dead. What had become of her grandfather’s younger sister? Reluctantly she tabled those questions for the moment. She could search out answers later, probably over at the Council Building.

No, what she was really doing was shilly-shallying about opening this rosewood casket. She’d read the letter first, then look at the other contents. She slipped her fingers gently along the seam, but could feel no latch. Hmmmm. Perhaps there was a button or sliding panel hidden in the inlay on the top. Patricia recalled the lessons Imoen had given her in such secrets. Closing her eyes, she lightly ran the pads of her fingertips over the inlaid surface. With her sight blocked, she could concentrate on the message her hands were sending. Three times she swept her fingers over the pattern of roses, then stopped where she was now certain of a difference in the texture. She opened her eyes to find her left index finger resting on the center of a blossom about two-thirds of the way down the case. Peering closely, she saw that instead of pale yellow pine, the center of this bloom was formed of yellow ivory. She pressed the button, and the case opened at once. The hidden catch must be spring-loaded.

The whole interior of the box was lined with deep blue velvet, but Patricia had eyes for nothing but the scabbard in front of her. On top of the weapon lay a thick cream-colored envelope, and she picked it up reverently, hands trembling a little as she read its direction: TO MY DAUGHTER. She groped blindly around on Hendak’s desk for a letter opener, unwilling to take her eyes off the precious document and equally unwilling to risk tearing the parchment by trying to remove the wax seal by hand. Her fumbling fingers finally slit the envelope neatly at the top, and she drew out the enclosure.

5 Alturiak, 1345 DR

My dearest daughter,

If you are reading this, then you know already how much I wanted to watch you grow up. I am sorry that chance was denied me, but I would have regretted still more purchasing my own life at your expense. I have little time left to me now; the pen is already so heavy in my hands. You sleep in a velvet-lined box, next to me on the bed. I have forbidden Gorion and Delaine to try to move you from my side. I do not want to sleep, to rest; I will enter my final sleep soon enough. I wish to spend as much time as possible just gazing at you, at your small hands and your adorably squashed little red face. I am told that you will look much less wizened in a few days, but to me you are perfect here and now, in this very moment, for this is the only moment I have.

I love you. That seems the most important thing to say. You will never know me, but perhaps these few lines may take some of the sting out of that lack. Your father and I have had five years together now, and that too is not enough, just as a few days are not enough time with you. But I digress. Gorion and I have walked on so many worlds, but it is here in Athkatla that I wish to make my passing. Here our love began; it is fitting that your birth should be here, as well as my death.

The other important thing is this: it is not your fault. I have left it up to your father to choose how much to tell you as he raises you, but I am writing this account to let you know what really happened once you are of an age to cope with the whole truth.

The four of us traveled to many worlds together these past few years, yet at last Delaine and I began to long to see Faerun again. I wished to see my parents once more, and I’d had a nagging cough for a few months that did not respond to curative magic. Gorion thought that perhaps I had pushed myself too far, and two or three quiet months at home would restore my “immune system”, whatever that might be. He did not know that Selune was already late in her visitation that month, and I held the secret to myself, thinking to wait another month to be certain.

Mother and I had kept up a sporadic correspondence since I wed, but of late it had been growing more erratic, and I’d had no letters at all for four months now. Delaine and I had no clue about the disaster awaiting us here. At first, nothing seemed much altered, save that some of the oldest servants had vanished, and my aunt had finally gotten married. Gigi, my own maid, had been given a tidy sum from Winthrop and Gorion when I married, as she did not wish to leave her own sweetheart to accompany Delaine and I on our travels. She used the money to start her own business as a couturier.

Our husbands stayed with us for a tenday, then decided to take a short trip to visit old friends of ours at a druid grove near the Tethyrian border. I was becoming surer that I was pregnant, because I was suddenly nauseous most mornings, and felt weary all the time. You made me sleep twelve or fourteen hours a night, little one, and even so I had to lie down in the afternoon. Of course it only took a few days of this for Delaine to guess the truth, but I made her swear not to let Father or Mother know until Gorion had returned. He just thought I was still recovering from all the excitement of the past months, when one adventure followed on the heels of another.

It was then that we began to realize that something had subtly altered in our old home. My parents were just slightly… wrong, as if they were only copies of themselves. Delaine, of course, caught on much quicker, since she wasn’t ill. She was also worried about my continued bouts of coughing, even though I hadn’t yet told her that I’d begun to see small flecks of blood on my handkerchief after the worst spasms. The first open sign of change came when she went to Father and asked him to send for Dr. Gerhard Jansen, well-known as the finest physician in Amn, to examine me. She told me later that he only looked at her oddly and said that “the girl ought to pray to that silly goddess of hers for a cure, and if that didn’t work, she’d be better off submitting to the inevitable”. Well, Firehair’s blessings on her, Delaine walked straight out of the house and got Gigi, who knew exactly where to find Doctor Jansen down in the gnomish quarter.

Father made no protest when she returned with Gigi and the gnome in tow. It was as if he’d forgotten any of us existed. It was no use trying to keep secrets from a physician, so I told him at once that I thought I was carrying. After the examination, he looked at Delaine gravely, and I knew then that there was something horribly wrong. The physician would have spoken to her alone, but I refused to let him shield me from the truth. It took a great deal of pushing, but finally he informed me that I had something he’d only seen once before, a disease of the lungs that caused bleeding hemorrhages. The other sufferer he’d seen had also been a planar traveler, and he believed that the disease did not originate on Faerun. It wasn’t the same as the common consumption found in the poorer districts, however, for it did not respond to any of the ordinary treatments, nor even the strongest magics.

He handed me my death sentence that day, my darling daughter, and it was a black hand crushing my heart. I have finally come to accept its inevitability, however, and have made what peace I could. Lady Sune knows that I have given her faithful service, and it is a peculiar trait of this disease that even as it saps one’s strength, it makes the cheeks and eyes brighter and the complexion more translucent. I would never have believed that death could make one pretty. No, I do not fear my reception at Firehair’s court. In truth, I shall be glad to trade my sorrows here for her joys; my only regret is for those I must leave behind.

But besides my own self, there were you and Gorion and Winthrop and Delaine to worry about, not to mention the rest of the city. Was I a plague carrier? Could others become infected just by breathing the same air? I shall not go into the details, I am weakening even now, but suffice it to say that we determined that I could not pass on the disease. It was at that juncture that our husbands returned. I cannot tell you how hard it was to face your father with the news. I have prayed to Sune for months now that you will be led at the proper time to the one who is as the other half of your soul, but such a love comes with a price. You will suffer for the ones you love, make no mistake, my child. It is the cost of living a full life, but it is well worth paying.

Your father has a dogged determination, and he refused to accept my illness as terminal. He believed that if we returned to his world, their different kinds of medicines could cure me. Of course I leapt at the straw, but it was then that true horror was unleashed on us all by a chance comment of Gigi’s.

Father had scarcely opened his mouth to Delaine since she’d demanded the doctor, but the morning after Gorion’s return he came to my room while Gigi was sitting with me. After a few stumbling inquiries, he wanted to know when he might be able to expect a grandchild. We’d still not told him of either the pregnancy or the illness, and in fact the others were out making a few necessary purchases for our proposed trip. Gigi was so indignant about his indifference to my health, however, that she slipped and declared that he’d be lucky indeed if I lived long enough to bear the one I was carrying now.

It was a nightmare, daughter, and I cannot bear to recall much of it even now. My father’s face slipped… changed… warped into an entirely different visage, until what stood before us was a grey-skinned monster of sharp teeth and claws. It let out a snarl of triumph loud enough to echo throughout the wing, and in the next moment another of the creatures, still wearing a gown of my mother’s, joined him in the doorway. I am so sorry, my darling, but when I tried to cast a spell I was overwhelmed by a coughing spasm, which lasted until I felt myself held rigid by a spell. I failed to protect you. Gigi’s concern was all for me, poor woman, and the last time I saw her the doppelganger that had stolen my father’s form was dealing her a harsh blow. I think I must have fainted then.

When I came to myself I was lying on a hard, narrow cot in a building down in the docks, though I didn’t know that until later. I don’t know how long I was there, though bread and water was shoved under my door twice. Finally a purple-robed figure entered, its face hidden behind the black veil favored by the priests of Bhaal. The doppelgangers that had assumed the form of my parents slipped in behind them.

“You have done well, shapechangers,” came a cruel voice.

The grey monsters hissed their pleasure.

“Her beauty has only grown in the last few years. Her skin is even paler and her cheeks more like roses than ever. Ah, Delspeth, little did you dream when you refused me to run off with that mageling that I would one day hold so much power over you!”

I cringed as I recognized those tones. I had never liked Lord Minchin Steerforth, but I’d had no idea he would ever stoop so low as the service of the Lord of Murder. My blood ran cold as I thought of what outrages he might try to perpetrate on a follower of Firehair. Did he truly seek revenge for my having chosen another, though I never gave him any encouragement? That sounded more like the province of Shar or Beshaba.

He must have sensed what I was thinking, for he said with a sneer, “No, I shall not place you on the altar, Sunite chit. The Lord of Murder has another purpose for which he finds you suitable. I find that you have kindly gone and gotten yourself knocked up already, so I shall not have to… induce the state in you, much though I would have enjoyed the task.” A more wolfish smile formed on his lips. “Indeed, I may still be permitted a little… amusement… before your usefulness has been completed. I may not be allowed the honor of removing your beating heart, Delspeth, but if I perform my task well, Bhaal may be so gracious as to allow me to use you for my own purposes afterward while you bide with us. There are many ways I could find for you to serve me that would not risk the burden you carry, and a whip still bites as hard as ever.” His features hardened. “You will obey my every command, or I will see to it that you are so scarred that not even your cousin will be able to bear the sight of you! Then shall you be cast off by your sweet Sune!”

He crossed to me and forced a ring onto my hand before I could move to stop him. When I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out; I had been silenced by the ring’s power. There was no hope of aid from Firehair if I could not make my voice heard.

The next two days passed in a kind of blur. The cursed ring was unremovable, and I could do nothing but wait and try to conserve what strength I had left. The damp air only aggravated my cough, but the silencing effect of the ring worked to my advantage then, for it disguised the severity of my condition from Minchin. On the second night I was bound hand and foot and placed within a ritual circle drawn on the floor of a makeshift temple to the Lord of Murder. Minchin and his doppelganger assistants stood outside the circle, which I thought was odd until I remembered the ring. Whatever was going to happen must be an effect confined to the circle.

I can’t recall everything that occurred that night, but I do remember that at the height of the ceremony, Bhaal’s avatar itself loomed over me, and I was overwhelmed by fear. He seemed to writhe, and a wraithlike mist crept out of the top of his head and drifted like smoke into my naked belly. I don’t remember any pain, dearest child, don’t fear that. It was afterwards that I realized by the chanting of the evildoers what horrendous fate they had planned for you.

They tried to pour some of the essence of the Lord of Murder himself into your poor defenseless body. They’d originally meant for this to happen at conception, but they thought that they could still disrupt the attachment of your soul, that even a small part of Bhaal would be enough to drive you out. I don’t know how, but I sensed the fight going on within my womb, sensed the mist trying to overcome you. Just when I began to despair, a strange light seemed to grow over my body, and a rain of white roses began to fall within the circle. Then some of the roses became pink, and others red, a swirling storm of color that grew so thick that I could see nothing but petals.

I awoke to see your father’s face, and I have never been so happy in all my life, until three days ago, when you were placed in my arms for the first time. Delaine had returned to find Gigi unconscious and the other servants in a panic. As soon as she could get a halfway coherent story out of them, she summoned the high priestess of Sune. The Mistress performed a divination, and called in the Reverend Brother of Ilmater as a result. I still do not know why, but the Ilmateri are very interested in you, my dear. Their combined pleas led to the discovery of my whereabouts just in time. The Crying One and Lady Firehair both manifested themselves within the circle to drive back Bhaal’s avatar, while your father, Winthrop, and Delaine dispatched Minchin and the monsters that killed your grandparents.

At first we thought that nothing remained but to bury my parents, whose bodies we discovered entombed within the cellar floor of the estate, and then to travel to Gorion’s home in search of a cure for this lung ailment. Yet our hopes were dashed in the next day, when the Reverend Brother came to tell us that some small fragment of Bhaal’s identity had remained behind in you, now intertwined with your own soul. He feared that since Bhaal’s avatar existed only in Faerun, if we tried to remove you from this world, the second shock to your soul might be enough to kill you. I could not take that risk, my darling daughter. I do not fault those women who decide otherwise, but I would not have your death on my hands. We had fought together, you and I, on that awful night. I watched you struggle so hard to live then; I feel as if I already know this bright spirit whose light even now flickers through your tiny body lying next to me.

Again I say to you, it is not your fault. There was nothing you could do to save me, and I give you my gift of life freely, because I love you. Your father is truly the greatest victim here. If he has ever spoken harsh words to you, forgive him, for he alone has borne the worst burden, the knowledge that either his wife or his child must die. If he tried to save one, the other was doomed.

Live your life for good, sweet Patricia, and forget the pain of the past, except where it will induce compassion in you for others. You will be who you choose to be. That man of Bhaal tried to doom you, but the evil cannot succeed in overwhelming you without your own cooperation. Your soul is your own, and Bhaal is just trying to dodge his fate by piggyback riding on it. That is the truth Lady Firehair has revealed to me in her mercy. It’s fortunate that you already had your soul firmly attached to your body. They could have done much more damage if they’d only had me a week or two earlier, when your soul crept in from the astral plane. Then they truly could have warped you into the being they wished..

I have made a will that passes all my father’s landed property to my aunt, on condition that she never use the Rosehill name. By great good luck, none of our property was entailed with the title, so it is mine to dispose of as I please. I wish the name to pass out of memory here in Amn, lest we become a byword for tragedy, and Delaine agrees with me. Your father also approves, for he fears that the priests of Bhaal will search for you yet. What remains here in the box are the two remnants of the House heritage that I wish you to have. My father’s signet ring lies here; it will bond to your blood, and none but one of the House may wear it. Second, there is a sword that belonged to the first Rosehill, Lady Delmonica. She, too, served Lady Firehair, and the weapon came into her hands as a reward for her faithfulness. If you have learned the use of such, wear it proudly. It is your birthright.

I leave you with sadness, my dear. Your father has given you his name and will guard you from now on, but I am the one who gave you life. I am rich beyond desiring, though I have paid so great a price for the privilege. I am weary now, and will try to rest as the others beg. I shall stroke your head and hold you close once more, my sweet baby, and then I must say good-bye.

				I love you.
				Delspeth, your mother

Patricia wept as she put down the letter, great heaving sobs that seemed to pour out of the very depths of her being. The storm of emotions seemed to take hours; she was emptying herself of sorrows she had never even realized she possessed. There was also a curious sense of relief. So Bhaal couldn’t rightly claim to be her father after all, no matter what evil magic his minions had perpetrated on her! Child of Murder was a misnomer, at least in her case. Bless Sune and Ilmater for their kindness to her and her mother!

Finally she calmed enough to examine the ring she found placed within a small recess in the velvet. It was a huge garnet, somehow carved into an open rose. A single blue-green beljuril sat like a drop of dew on one of the petals, and the setting was made of a wide band of rose gold, patterned with rosebuds. It was a large ring, and she found that it would only fit on her first finger. She would borrow a thin leather thong from Anomen’s repair kit tomorrow, and wear it around her neck on that for safekeeping. Beljurils flashed at unpredictable intervals, and it would never do to wear something adventuring that could attract such unwelcome attention.

She turned her attention to the scabbard before her. Carefully she lifted it from the case. The leather of the sheath was a dark red, while the strappings around it were dyed a brilliant white. She looked at it with some misgivings. This looked more like a useless ceremonial weapon than a serious tool, but she pulled the blade out anyway. Then she gasped. The hilt was wrapped in leather to match the scabbard, with a pattern of roses stamped into it. The roses were outlined in gold, but colored in white and pink and red. “A storm of roses…,” whispered Patricia. The pommel stone was a brilliant ruby, with an rose carved into it. The crossbars were bright rose-gold, with a pattern of rosebuds in high relief. The blade, she noted with relief, was a workmanlike length of good plain steel. No blood channels, serrated edges, runes, or other useless fripperies there.

Cautiously she stood and hefted the sword, making a few experimental passes. She’d never felt so comfortable in her life! The grip seemed to meld to her hand. Her hands were so small that she’d often had trouble finding a sword that fit well, but this one felt exactly right. She exulted in her new possession for a few moments, then recalled the time. It was growing late, and she needed to get to her prayers. Reluctantly, she replaced the sword and ring within their box, then stored her precious letter within her writing kit. It had certainly been an evening to remember.