Briar Rose (11 page)

‘Only because I am young, healthy and unwed. I’m prime game,’ Ruric admitted.

‘I can see that,’ Briar said before she had time to think. ‘I mean . . .’ Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment.

Ruric smiled wolfishly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why haven’t you married one of them?’

‘In truth, mostly I spend my time with tavern wenches. There are fewer expectations that way.’

‘Oh.’ Now she regretted asking the question.

He hesitated, and then added, ‘Do you have a suitor in your village?’

Suitor?
Briar shifted gears to medieval-speak. ‘No, they have proved false. One spread rumours that I was . . . well . . .’ Just how did she explain that?

‘Free with your affections?’ he questioned.

That was a nice way to put it. ‘Yes, and the other just wasn’t what I thought he was.’ Which really sucked.

‘I am sorry,’ Ruric replied. ‘Truly. You appear to be a fine young woman, not coarse like some.’

Is he hitting on me?
That would totally rock if she wasn’t in the middle of some death curse.

‘What about you? Is there someone waiting for you back in your village?’

Ruric nodded. ‘She would be the reason I am
here
, and not at home.’

It appeared that the stable dude had as much trouble with love as she did. Who would have figured? He was very handsome, in a Romeo sort of way. No wonder some of the village girls were hoping
she’d die of the plague or something.

A vendor walked by, selling talismans off a tray woven of rushes. Many of his wares were metal. ‘Keep your family safe from evil!’ he cried, holding up something that looked like a
small coin.

‘How do they work?’ Briar asked. ‘The talismans I mean?’

Ruric gave her a curious look. ‘The fata fear metal, so the villagers have long worn small adornments believing that will keep them safe. Then the regent came to power and offered her own
metal as protection, but hers is different: it pierces the skin and it is said it corrupts your soul.’

Briar thought of Joshua’s gift. ‘But things like coins . . . or bracelets . . . everyday stuff doesn’t grow on you, right?’ she asked, nervous now.

‘No. Only metal the regent has enchanted.’

Briar whooshed out a sigh of relief. ‘So what’s a fata anyway?’

Before he could answer, a series of trumpet blasts split the air and, as if someone had flipped a switch, all conversation ended.

Ruric bent close to her ear. ‘Do not call attention to yourself in any manner. Do you understand?’

She agreed, if nothing more than to keep him from worrying.

Her ears picked up the sound of many horses’ hoofs on packed ground. It took a moment to see the riders headed towards them, each clad in bluish silver armour that glinted in the sunlight.
With their visors down, and even their hands and fingers covered, they resembled robots rather than men.

‘Those are the regent’s elite warriors,’ Ruric explained.

Behind them was a coach pulled by a skittish pair of greys. It was made of iron and oddly ornate, like something a goth Cinderella would love. From the way the beasts strained in their traces,
the conveyance had to be heavy. A servant sat at the back of the coach on a small seat, his eyes forward, half his face covered in a brass mask. Briar gaped at him: he was dressed in a Yankee
uniform.

What’s a bluecoat doing in a fairy tale?

Apparently sensing her confusion, Ruric took her hand in his. The simple gesture reassured her, and Briar smiled up at him in gratitude.

As the coach pulled to a stop in front of the crowd, the armoured horsemen formed a solid line of menace just to the right of it. From behind the coach came more riders who formed a similar line
to the other side. The message was clear: you mess with whoever was inside, and your life would be brutally shortened.

The servant hopped down and strode to the door of the coach. He hesitated, as if awaiting some command, then swung it open.

‘Is it the princess?’ someone whispered. ‘Has she been awakened?’

‘Would that it be so,’ another man whispered in reply.

A dark figure emerged from the coach, a woman clad in a ground-skimming steel-coloured dress that flowed over a bell hoop. The dress was classic Civil War garb, the kind Briar had seen at
Bliss’s re-enactment balls.

When the regent turned towards the crowd, Briar could only stare in incomprehension. The woman wore a mask, not the fancy kind you’d encounter at a masquerade ball, but a copper one that
covered her entire face, with only the eyes and a small slit at the mouth left open to scrutiny. Her hair was hidden by a stylish hat, and a fingertip-length black veil trailed down over her
shoulders.

Ohhkay . . .
‘That’s the regent?’

Ruric nodded. ‘Perhaps we will be fortunate and there will be no Reckoning. Sometimes she just summons us for no reason at all.’

‘Why?’

‘To remind us who truly is in charge,’ he said in a tight voice.

Oh, goodie. A sleeping princess
plus
a dictator.

The regent walked forward a few paces and then ascended a low wooden platform that must have been custom built for the purpose as it put her above the crowd, like a ruling monarch. The footman
hurried forward and placed a small wooden table in front of her, upon which she set a dark leather bag. It also looked of Civil War vintage.

Then their leader just stood there, as if waiting for something. There were murmurs from the crowd, but apparently no one dared leave the field. Finally, in the distance came the creaking of
wheels, and this time it was a small cart. Inside it was a man, his shirt ripped and his back bloodied, as if he’d been whipped. Heavy shackles hung from his wrists.

‘It’s him!’ Briar hissed. ‘The man who boarded his horse.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Ruric replied flatly. ‘I warned him, but they never listen. At least I got a good mare out of the deal.’

She stared up at him, surprised at his callousness. ‘That’s really cold.’

‘I am certain it is, but I shall make no apology.’

Townspeople began to yell insults at the poor wretch as he was marched in front of the crowd. After another trumpet blast, the footman came forward and unfurled a piece of paper.

‘This man,’ he cried out, ‘from the village of Henkel, did attempt to harm the Sleeping Princess, the one known as Aurora. In her mercy, the regent has granted him death for
his heinous crimes.’

‘That’s mercy? What’s worse than death?’ Briar exclaimed, drawing looks from some of those around her.

‘A number of things,’ Ruric said. ‘I’ll explain it all
later
.’

The prisoner was forced to the centre of the field and given a sword. From Briar’s vantage point, it looked old and rusty, as if it was just a prop, not a true weapon. The man shouted his
anger, but he dared not attack, not with the mounted horsemen watching his every move.

‘There is no princess!’ the noble cried out to the crowd. ‘It’s all a lie! I have seen the truth for myself.’

Boos came from the villagers, along with a few rotten vegetables, which he ducked as best he could. As the missiles continued, the regent opened the top of the voluminous bag and extracted
something round and spiked, like a curled-up metallic hedgehog. Placing it on a black-gloved hand, she blew on it, her breath turning into a fine copper mist the instant it left her mouth.

‘What is she doing?’ Briar whispered.

‘Magic,’ Ruric replied grimly. ‘Watch carefully.’

To Briar’s delight a tiny bird formed on the woman’s palm. After another breath, its creator tossed it in the air. Briar watched in fascination as it grew larger, and then larger
still. So large that its wingspan was at least twelve feet.

The villagers murmured in awe. A few little kids began to cry, fearful of the creature. From what Briar could tell, it appeared to be a buzzard, one with a cruel hooked beak and long talons. As
it glided into the air, the sun glinted off it, nearly blinding her.

‘It’s metal,’ she exclaimed, astounded at the sight. ‘It shouldn’t be able to fly.’
Unless it has an engine somewhere.

‘Alas, flying is not all it does,’ Ruric replied.

As it sailed overhead for one long pass, testing its wings, the bird momentarily cast a shadow over the man below. Without warning, it dived at him out of the sun, as if it knew the condemned
man wouldn’t be able to see it. A few of the villagers cried out in alarm and that was the only reason it didn’t hook its claws into him as it swooped low above the ground. He vainly
tried to stab at a wing to wound it, but missed. Knocked off his feet, he scrambled to avoid one of the talons as it raked near him. The buzzard rose high in the air, gained speed and then made
another run, again with the sun behind it.

Birds were smart, but this thing had a vicious cunning to it.

Briar began to shiver when the metal monster managed to grab on to the prisoner and haul him off the ground. The man tried to hack at one of the legs, but the sword had no effect. When the
buzzard reached the zenith of its flight, it set its captive free and his piteous screams lasted until he impacted the ground with a solid thump.

‘Oh my God!’ Briar cried.

Ruric pulled her close, burying her face in his shirt.

‘Is it over now?’ she whimpered.

‘No,’ Ruric said. ‘The beast has landed.’

Against her better sense, Briar turned in time to see the buzzard perch on the man’s body, then plunge its beak into his chest. It pulled out his heart and devoured it in one greedy
gulp.

She clamped her hand over her mouth, sickened, fearing she would vomit.

‘The man died swiftly, not like some of them,’ Ruric said quietly.

Ohmigod. Why am I here? What did I do to deserve this?

Briar swallowed hard and then turned away from the carnage. ‘These executions. Do they happen a lot?’

‘Yes, usually whenever some fool tries to wake the princess. They believe if the spell is broken the regent will step aside.’

‘Is that likely?’

He shook his head. ‘Some are allowed inside the castle – like this fellow, probably because he was of noble birth. Others steal their way in. The result is the same.’

Why don’t they overthrow this tyrant?
The villagers outnumbered her warriors. All they had to do was gang up her on her.

Ruric must have divined her thoughts. ‘No further questions,’ he said uneasily. ‘Too many ears are listening.’

The next sharp blast of a trumpet made Briar jump in panic.

‘Justice has been done!’ the footman cried out, then handed his ruler into the coach. After he leaped up on to the seat at the back, it rolled away, sandwiched between the two lines
of heavily armed horsemen.

The bird executed a few hops and took wing. All eyes followed it, wondering who would be its next victim. To Briar’s astonishment, it shrank in size until it was tiny again. It flew along
the side of the coach and then popped into the window, no doubt to become a tiny metal ball once again.

Monster recycling. That’s not good news.

It was only as the villagers began the trek back home that Briar wondered what would become of the dead man’s body. When she posed the question, Ruric looked towards the remains.

‘He’ll be buried in an unmarked grave.’

‘But his family? How will they ever know what happened to him?’

He looked at her curiously. ‘Why do you worry about him, a man you did not know?’

‘Because if it was me . . . I’d want my family to know how I died.’

Ruric’s face softened. ‘As would I, Briar, as would I.’

Dawn found Joshua awake. He hadn’t been able to sleep, not after all that had happened at the party. Some of it had been because of Briar, at how upset she’d been
at Mike’s lies. He’d wanted nothing more than to tear the bastard apart after he’d seen how much that loser had hurt her.

I still might.

Which was at war with everything he’d been told over the years. The Roses are bad people, they’ll hurt you; and yet now he found himself caring for one far more than was
sensible.

As the night wore on and sleep continued to elude him, he’d thought about the moment he’d given Briar the charm bracelet. How he’d wished it had gone differently . . . better
somehow.
If Daniels hadn’t been there . . .

If he hadn’t been born a Quinn.

After Briar had left the party, her cousin had started talking about some curse and, at first, he hadn’t paid much attention.

‘We’ll know in the morning if it’s real or not,’ Saralyn had said to one of her friends. ‘I think it’s total crap. Who would put a curse on Briar, anyway?
She’s nothing special.’

Even now he couldn’t believe it. A curse was just crazy talk. Yet he had this gnawing anxiety that something was very wrong, and it had begun at the stroke of midnight. The pressure in his
chest still hadn’t let up, even though it was past seven.

With considerable effort, he forced himself out of bed and chose a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt from a drawer, though he wasn’t expected at the stables until noon. Out of habit, he
gave a tap to the dream catcher suspended from the ceiling, causing it to turn in lazy circles.