Princess of Thorns (22 page)

I slide into a sleep like a shallow grave, my rest all too easily disturbed by the world above. Time passes in a blur of heat and pain and nightmares of the ogre queen leaning over my sickbed, spilling horrors into my sheets from her open mouth.

I wake to Niklaas dribbling water between my lips and force myself to swallow before the fever pulls me under again. My eyes close on the needle-carpeted forest floor and open on a sky filled with vultures. They dive down to bite and claw at Niklaas’s back as he holds me on the saddle in front of him. He shouts for the horse beneath us to run faster, urging it on with heels digging into its sides.

I struggle to keep my eyes open, determined to find my staff and help him, only to find I can’t move my hands. They have drawn into claws against my chest, the bones and muscles petrifying as the ogre venom continues to work its evil upon my body.

“Nik … ,” I murmur, wanting to thank him for trying so hard to save me. To tell him I’m thankful and sorry and that he is a good friend, no matter what happens, but I can’t get enough breath inside of me to make the words I need.

He glances down, seemingly relieved to see my eyes open. “We’re nearly to Frysk. Don’t you die before we get there. Don’t you dare.” His arm tightens around me, pressing me closer to a rough gray shirt he must have purchased with our horse.

I am momentarily frightened by the knowledge that I have missed days of my life and further terrified by the worry in Niklaas’s shadowed eyes, but soon oblivion comes calling and I can’t resist taking his hand as I tumble into the dark.

This time, there is no ogre queen waiting behind my closed eyes, only a tall, faceless man dressed in shadows who dances me across a field of stars, spinning me closer to a halo of light, whispering in my ear, assuring me it’s okay to dance away if I am tired of the pain.

I look up and the shadows covering his face part, revealing gently wrinkled skin, a golden beard, and kind brown eyes.
Three
kind brown eyes, two in the usual places and one blinking in the center of his forehead.

The golden god.

I realize who he is and my heart jerks. “I can’t die,” I whisper, not knowing if this is a dream or something more, something real, a dance to a place from which I might never return.

“You can, and you will. Everything does. Even gods.” The man smiles. “But you are young. There are adventures to be had beyond this pain. If you’re willing.”

“I have to save my brother,” I say.

“You have to save yourself,” the man corrects, swinging me in a circle.

“No.” I strain to focus on his face. “Jor is in Ekeeta’s dungeon. I have to—”

“Trust your gifts,” he says, spinning faster.

“I don’t understand.” I squeeze my eyes shut, finding it makes the dizziness easier to bear. “What do you mean? I don’t—”

Before I can finish, he releases me and I go flying, spinning into the void, the halo of light growing farther and farther away until it blinks out like an enormous eye.

In the Castle at Mercar 

The souls within rage like a tempest that will shatter us from the inside out. Our mind reels, our heart burns with a cold fire that leaves us trembling on the floor of our chambers, shivering as Illestros covers us with a blanket, but the blanket will not warm us. We are lost, staggering in the blinding light of an eternal dawn, alone with our failure and our shame.

The girl has vanished from our sight, ventured into some bewitched country to which our creatures cannot follow and our soldiers cannot find. Vanished, with poison in her blood and her precious life slipping away.

“If the fools were not dead already, we would kill them!” We shout, moaning as our souls churn within us. They will not remain settled when we are like this, but how can we cultivate peace when we have lost her, the prize so great there is no price we wouldn’t pay to have her safe within our walls?

“They suffer a far worse fate,” Illestros says, stroking our bare head.

We tore our wig off and threw it to the ground long ago, that first night, when through our wolves’ eyes we saw Aurora shot and realized one of our soldiers had forgotten to replace his bloodied arrows with bare ones.

Fool, wretched fool!

We should never have given the order to wound the princess. We were infected with Keetan’s desperation, tormented by doubt, and fearful of sending our cousins into the domain of the Feeding Trees. We lost faith and now redemption is lost to us.

Goddess, please forgive us!
we beg, but the goddess is as silent as ever.

“This isn’t your failure, my queen,” Illestros says.

“It is. We are afraid,” we confess, shoulders shaking as Illestros pulls our body into his lap. “We are afraid. Secretly. When we are alone. There are nights when we wish for this burden to be lifted, when we beg the goddess to spare our life.”

“I know, my love.” Illestros kisses my cheek. “She doesn’t think less of you for it”

“But we—”

“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear but the willingness to stay the course in spite of it.” He shifts our body until we can look into amber eyes, so wise and filled with love. “You will have the chance to be brave. The princess is still alive.”

“She is?” Our lungs draw a deep breath, but the souls within us refuse to settle.

“She is. You are the goddess’s chosen daughter, and you may still prove you are worthy to sit at her right hand in the kingdom beneath.”

We clutch our brother’s hand, wanting to believe and not to believe at the same time. “We will capture Aurora?”

“We will,” he says. “Do not doubt. You must stay strong in your faith.”

We nod. The words are meant to warn as well as comfort. “Bless you, brother.” We kiss the thin skin at the back of his hand, fighting to keep the dark whispers within our mind from solidifying into thought.

“Bless you, sister.” He rises from the floor, pulling us with him. “Now, let us go to the boy and make good use of the time that remains.”

We falter, hesitating. We do not wish to hurt the boy again, not when there is nothing to be gained from it.

“We must ensure his terror is real,” Illestros says. “The prince’s fear is the key to ensuring Aurora plays her part in the ritual. We must be ready as soon as she is in our hands. There was frost on the roses this morning. Summer will not hold much longer.”

Then it’s truly almost over. For better or worse.

“For worse?” Illestros stills, his body going motionless except for his eyes, which slide back and forth as he searches our face. We swallow and think of what gown to wear to the prince’s chambers, how best to wring screams from his throat, but we know our brother isn’t fooled.

“Is it only fear that plagues you, sister?” Illestros’s voice is soft, dangerous, a peach soaked in poison. “Or doubt as well? Do you doubt the prophecy revealed to me by the goddess?”

“Of course not, brother.” We force a gentle smile, ignoring the racing of our heart. “It is only for worse if we fail to capture Aurora, or to win her cooperation. You’re right. We must make good use of the prince.” We snap our fingers at the slaves lurking in the corner. “Draw a bath and repair our hairpiece. We cannot appear before the boy in this state.”

“I will fetch the instruments and meet you in the prince’s cell, my queen.” Illestros kisses our cheek, seemingly ready to put the fraught moment behind us.

But we know better than to let our guard slip again.

We keep smiling. We smile as we are bathed and dressed. We smile as we glide into the boy’s cell, baring our true teeth with no bone mouthpiece to give them human aspect. We smile as we strip the boy and lash him with a three-tailed whip before releasing the biting beetles to worry at the wounds.

“Please! Please, no! No!” The boy’s shouts become wordless screams so sharp we can feel them lash at our own skin, but we stay and we smile, though his pain gives us no pleasure, and our secret, soft heart weeps for the prince.

But Illestros is right. This is part of the Mother’s plan, and even suffering is made holy in her name. It
must
be made holy … Because if it isn’t—

Our brother turns to watch us; we smile again.

“We struggle, but we will find the Mother’s gentle darkness,” we say, wrapping our arm around his waist. “We do not truly doubt. Do not doubt us, brother.”

“Never, my queen,” he whispers. “You will be the right hand of the goddess. And I will be your strength and comfort until the end.”

The end. It draws so close we feel its fingers closing around our neck.

I awake on a bed, leaning over a woman’s sweet-smelling shoulder. I am warm all over, a little damp, and absolutely naked. I try to pull away and cover myself, but I am so weak I can barely manage a pitiful moan of protest.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” the woman whispers, pulling a nightgown over my head and guiding my good arm through a sleeve. “You’re safe in Beschuttz. No one will hurt you here.”

I bite my lip, stifling a moan as she works my wounded arm through the other sleeve and lays me back onto the bed. I rest my head on a pillow that smells of lavender and watch the smiling stranger pull the nightgown down my legs before covering me with a heavy down blanket.

“I’m Gettel,” she says. “It’s nice to finally get a good look at your eyes. You have lovely eyes.”

Gettel is the one who’s lovely, with dark hair, sun-kissed cheeks, and a wide smile that crinkles the skin around her eyes. She has a motherly warmth about her that reminds me of Janin. She reminds me of someone else, too, but I can’t seem to remember …

My mind is sluggish, my thoughts tangled, but at least my head is blessedly cool. My fever has broken. I’m going to live. I can feel it in my weary bones, no longer aching from ogre poison but simply utterly exhausted. I am so tired, all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep for a thousand years, but before I do, I have to know—

“Niklaas,” I whisper, my voice scratchy. I lick my lips, working up the energy to ask where he is, if he’s safe, but Gettel spares me the trouble.

“Niklaas is well, and eager to see you,” she says. “But rest first, poppet. When you wake, I’ll bring you milk with something in it for the pain and bread to eat.”

Eat.
The thought makes my stomach snarl and Gettel smile, but I am too tired to return her smile, or to stay awake … another …

I sit in a chair by the window of the sickroom and watch Aurora sleep, her cheeks pale now that fever no longer flushes her skin, her hair liberated from its warrior’s knot, free to spill in a yellow wave across the pillowcase and over the side of the bed.

Gettel washed Aurora’s hair the day we arrived, three days past, when Aurora was still burning up and submerging her in tepid water was the only way to keep her cool. The fever broke yesterday, but she hasn’t remained conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. Gettel says she’s out of danger, but I won’t believe it until I look into her eyes and see something in them besides fever madness.

And so I sit, and wait, and watch, comforted by every peaceful breath she takes.

I was too close to losing her before I could tell her that I forgive her. I can’t forget, and I can’t stop wishing that things had ended differently, but I can forgive.

I owe her that much before I go.

She sighs and shifts her arms, but she is still asleep when she shoves her blanket down, revealing the top of her white nightgown and the gentle curves beneath. She’s not the scrawny rail she appeared to be in her boy’s clothes. She dips and swells in all the girlish places, though she’s still on the runty side, even for a female. But with her chest unbound, her hair free, and lace at her throat, it is impossible to believe Aurora ever passed as a boy. She’s not simply feminine, she’s … pretty.

I know I should look at her and feel something—curiosity, attraction, appreciation at the very least, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything but the concern I’d feel for a friend, or for Haanah if it were my sister lying there looking like a rough wind could shatter her into pieces. I feel protective, of course, but that will fade once Aurora is recovered. I know she’s more than capable of fighting her own battles. As soon as she wakes up and drills me through with that determined gaze of hers, the protective feelings will be banished by the force of her … Aurora-ness.

She is unlike any girl I’ve ever met, a foreign creature in every way, too strange for all the pieces that make her up to be held together in my mind at once. I’m not sure what to call the emotion I feel for her, but it isn’t what a boy feels for a girl he wants to marry. I can’t imagine trying to seduce her.

My lip curls at the thought.

“What a … pretty face.” Aurora’s voice is breathy but amused.

I look to the bed, relief spreading through my chest when I see her eyes open and her gaze clear, clever, and rested. “Thank you.” I grin. “I’m
feeling
pretty today. The sun is out, the skies are clear, and you, my friend, aren’t dead.”

Aurora smiles, but I see the uncertainty in it. “No, I’m not. Thanks to you.”

I wave my hand. “Think nothing of it.”

“I won’t think nothing of it,” she says. “I don’t remember much of the journey, but I know it was dangerous. You risked your life. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Four days ago, I would have told Ror to put a good word in for me with his sister and we’d call it even. Now I only force another smile and assure Aurora, “You don’t have to repay me. You would have done the same if our positions were reversed and you big enough to haul me over your shoulder through the mountains.”

“I would,” she says, her eyes troubled. “I’m glad you believe that.”

“Yes. Well … I’ve decided to … forgive you,” I say, the words sounding awkward aloud, not matter how many times I’ve practiced them in my head. “I came close to losing a good friend and I … didn’t like it. So …”

“So there is a good part to almost dying.” She smiles her first real smile, the one that dimples her cheeks and brings mischief to her eyes. She looks like Ror when he was teasing me, looking for a fight.

But then, she
is
Ror. Or Ror is
her.
Or … something.

Dammit.
If only this were less
confusing.

“I suppose.” I shrug, nervous for some reason, unsure how to behave with Aurora now that I’m not angry with her or afraid for her life.

“I know.” She smoothes a stray hair away from her forehead, seeming a little nervous herself. “How long have I been ill?”

“Five days. Three here and two and a half on the road, “I say, grateful to put the feeling talk behind us. “Two and a half days chased by every kind of nasty creature the ogre queen could send to haunt our footsteps, but no ogres, thank the gods. She must not have had men close enough to reach us before we hit the border of Beschuttz. If she had …” I don’t finish the thought. Aurora knows what would have happened if we’d encountered an ogre battalion. I’d be dead and she’d be waking up in Ekeeta’s dungeon.

“Still, Ekeeta must know where we are,” Aurora says, worry creeping into her tone. “It’s only a matter of time before she finds this place.”

“No, we’re safe here. Gettel has magical protections set over the valley.” I point out the window where green willow trees wave in the breeze next to the stream behind Gettel’s house. “Ogres can’t see Beschuttz, and even if they could, they couldn’t set foot in it. Gettel’s wards keep strangers—human and ogre—out. If Crimsin hadn’t sent her beast with a warning to look out for us, we never would have found a way in. The village isn’t even on the map.”

“But what about Ekeeta’s creatures?” Aurora pushes her hands into the mattress, sitting up with obvious difficulty.

“Nothing touched by ogre magic can enter the valley.” I cross to the bed, rearranging her pillows before she leans back. “You should have seen the rats that tried to follow me across the river. It was like they hit a wall halfway across.”

“Rats?” Aurora shudders. “I’m glad I missed that. I’m not a lover of rats. Or bugs. Biting beetles in particular.”

“Afraid of bugs. You’re such a girl,” I tease, perching on the mattress beside her and nudging her thigh with mine.

She laughs, a high, sweet sound that makes me smile. “I
am
. And I’m not sure you should be sitting in my bed.” She prods my leg with a teasing fist. “It isn’t proper.”

“Proper, my ass.” I stretch my legs out on the mattress beside hers. “You’re like my sister. Your virtue is
safer
with me in your bed. I’ll scare off any boy brave enough to approach the princess while she is convalescing.”

Aurora’s laughter becomes a sigh. “I don’t have time to convalesce. I’ve already wasted nearly a week. Jor doesn’t have much time left.”

I take her slim hand in mine, warming her fingers, hoping the gesture will make it easier to hear what I’m about to say. “There’s no chance you’ll be able to secure an army in time. You’re going to have to let him go.”

“I know it’s too late for an army,” she whispers, surprising me. I wasn’t sure her stubbornness was tempered with any reason at all. “But there has to be another way. Jor will kill himself before Ekeeta can use him in her ritual. I can’t let that happen.”

“If you’re caught, then it will be both of you lost.” I squeeze her hand. “Your brother wouldn’t want that. It would be a senseless waste.”

Especially if he’s already dead,
I think. There has to be a reason Ekeeta is hunting Aurora. Her brother already dead and Ekeeta in need of a briar-born child for her ritual would explain the queen’s determination to bring Aurora in alive.

“I know it’s dangerous for me to go to the castle.” She pulls her hand away. “But I could hire a champion, an assassin or a—”

“Assassins are skilled in killing people, not breaking them out of dungeons.”

“A knight, then,” she says, clearly frustrated. “Or a soldier or a daredevil or a circus performer who can scale the walls! Surely there has to be someone who will attempt a rescue if enough money is involved.”

“Or if they have nothing left to lose,” I murmur, unable to believe I’ve been so dim. Again. In my defense, I’ve been worried about Aurora, not her brother, but now …

“I could try my hand at it,” I say. “I know my way around the castle. I visited Mercar when I was younger and Father still attended Ekeeta’s midsummer celebration.”

Aurora shifts on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“I could try to free your brother,” I say, pulse speeding. Over the past five days, I’ve begun to reconcile myself to being transformed, but transformed and killed are two different things. Still, for all I know, I’d be better off dead than trapped in a bird’s body, with everything that makes me human stolen away.

My brothers, in their swan skin, didn’t care for me. They flew away the morning of their transformations, taking to the skies without a glance back at the family they left behind. Even when I tracked the swan Usio became to a remote lake near the center of Norvere and found him nesting with nine other birds—ten swans, the exact number of brothers I had lost—he didn’t seem to know me.

None of them did. I was a stranger, a human who sent them flying away with angry honking when I approached their nesting grounds. As far as I can tell, they are completely animal now, creatures without hope or honor or memory or a thought in their head beyond foraging for their next meal.

Wouldn’t I rather die a worthy death than become the same?

“I’ll do it. I’ll free him,” I say, decided. “I’ll at least try.”

“No,” Aurora says, shaking her head. “You’ve already risked your life for me; I won’t let you risk it for my brother. He’s my responsibility. This is my fight.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’ll be gone soon anyway.”

“No, you won’t,” she says. “Gettel seems kind. Surely she’ll keep you safe from your father.”

“I’m sure she would, but she can’t keep me safe from his curse.” I pull in a bracing breath, knowing the time has come to tell Aurora the truth. “Come sunrise on my eighteenth birthday, the curse will claim me, no matter where I try to hide.”

Her brow wrinkles. “What do you mean? What curse?”

I tell her the story, watching her eyes widen as I describe the way my older brothers were transformed into swans as the sun rose on their eighteenth birthdays.

“That’s why I needed to marry,” I continue. “A few months ago I found the witch who cursed my family and learned there is a way out. The curse only applies to sons in line to rule Kanvasola. If I had removed myself from the line of succession by marrying a girl named to inherit a kingdom of her own, I would have been free. But now …” I shrug again, trying to feel as carefree as the gesture. “I might as well make good use of the time I have left.”

Aurora blinks and I am shocked to see a tear slip down her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking that question,
Ror.
” I pat her awkwardly on the knee beneath the covers, flustered by her tears.

She presses her lips together and nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” I cross my arms at my chest. “I didn’t want a girl to marry me because she felt sorry for me. I wanted to win a wife based on my own merits, but now it’s too late, so—”

“But it’s not too late!” Aurora pulls one of my hands free and shakes it. “You’re so beautiful it’s ridiculous, Niklaas. Really. I thought you were a god when I first saw you.”

“You were out of your mind on Vale Flowers,” I say, shy for the first time in as long as I can remember. I know I’m nice to look at, but hearing it from Aurora is … strange.