The Castle Behind Thorns (19 page)

With a sudden rush, the windlass moved a full turn. Ropes creaked. Above them, the stones of the keep groaned and shifted, moving back together.

Beneath their feet, the ground shook.

The whole world rumbled and writhed. Perrotte was thrown to her knees. The next few moments were a blur of motion. That dreadful itching inside her head made by the voice of Saint Melor returned. Only this was worse, a hundred times so.

And maybe the Saint
was
speaking in that moment; she thought that she heard words, words that she couldn't quite understand, but that nonetheless told a glittering, vivid story that made her giggle, made her weep, made her feel content, even though she would never be able to repeat the story or remember any of the details. The unheard words were like a half-glimpsed world beneath the surface of the sea; the waves parted and showed the lands beneath the deep to her for one long, shining moment. Just as suddenly, the waves crashed together, and the world beneath disappeared.

Perrotte huddled down, hands over her head, and still the earth bucked beneath her like the angriest of horses. The itching went on and on; the Saint's voice called her name like the clear note of a bell, over and over, and Sand's name too, and—

It all stopped, the movement and the voice and the rumbling. The only sound now was her own heartbeat in her ears.

Perrotte uncovered her head.

“Sand?” she called, and her voice sounded clear and tiny, as though it came from a thousand miles away but was spoken through a perfect, magic trumpet.

He hadn't been thrown far. He was looking at her, cheek pressed into the dirt. “Did you do it? Did you forgive her?” Slowly, he got to his feet.

“Not . . . really? No. But. But maybe I started to.” She too climbed to her feet.

He stared over her head. “Look.”

She spun to look at the keep.

The chains had fallen slack. The cracks were gone. The broken castle wall and the rift in the ground were perfectly and completely mended.

33

Sister

A
LL WAS SILENCE FROM BEYOND THE CASTLE WALLS.

Perrotte stumbled over to Sand. Hand in hand, they walked like drunkards toward the castle gates, neither of them capable of treading a straight line.

“Not the portcullis,” Perrotte said. “Not until we know.”

Sand just nodded, and together they pulled open the castle's wooden gates, leaving the metal grating of the portcullis in place.

They looked straight out over the asparagus fields. There were no thorns in sight.

A clump of mounted men rode toward the gates, white flag flying.

Sand glanced at Perrotte. She met his gaze steadily. “Still not lifting the portcullis. But I'm glad the thorns are gone. Also,” Perrotte said, “I just want you to know? I may tell some pretty egregious lies in a moment.”

“What?”

“No one out there knows the limits of your magic—”

“I don't really know the limits of my magic—”

“—or that we can't bring the thorns back, so just . . . follow my lead.”

“I don't think—”

“Sand! It's life or death. A bluff may be called for.”

“I know it's life or death! And I don't want to be burned at the stake! Or tried for witchcraft at all, really, even if I were found innocent.”

“I'm not going to tell them it's
your
magic,” Perrotte said.

“That's not entirely—”

“Shh. Here they come.”

The parley group came within earshot. Agnote, still bound, was pulled along behind. His father followed at a distance. Sand was able to see faces and expressions more clearly now, and read how worried his father and Agnote looked.

Why was Agnote
gagged
?

The dowager Countess was nowhere in sight. The parley group was led by a young, well-dressed woman. The woman stood in her stirrups and raised her hands. “I am Rivanon,” she announced.

Beside him, Perrotte gasped. Sand noted that this Rivanon had Perrotte's clear, hazel eyes and flossy hair. There was no mistaking that she was Perrotte's half-sister.

But where was the Countess?

“Have you come to broker a peace?” Perrotte called belligerently, obviously expecting that Rivanon had not.

“Yes,” Princess Rivanon called back. She gestured at Agnote. “My mother took this woman captive, when she came to speak on behalf of her son and you. She said things that my mother . . . did not like.”

Perrotte stared at Sand, who shrugged. Agnote was the kindest person he knew—unless you hurt an animal or a child. Then, she was easily the most frightening person he knew. If the Countess had made threats against either Sand or Perrotte . . . And in fact, the Countess
had
made a threat against the both of them, when the Countess had fired a cannon at the castle, so it was too late. The Countess had gotten on Agnote's bad side.

“I am releasing her, as a show of good faith,” Princess Rivanon said, and gestured. Agnote was unbound and ungagged by two soldiers.

Agnote straightened her spine and walked slowly toward Sand. His father embraced her in an eyeblink. The two hugged, then moved to the portcullis together.

Agnote and his father reached for Sand through the bars. Sand gave them his hands. It felt so good to touch his stepmother's small, cool hands, and his father's large, warm ones. It wasn't a hug, but it was close. They smiled wanly at him.

“Sand,” Perrotte said quietly.

He nodded, pulling away. His parents stepped aside.

“Where is your representative from the court of the Duchess?” Perrotte asked Rivanon.

“The Duchess herself, actually,” Rivanon said. “She who is also your queen. Queen Claude.”

The horses parted, and an even more elegantly dressed woman rode forward. Sand swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, and he sank to his knees there in the castle's entrance tunnel. The Queen of France! His parents knelt too, and Perrotte beside him.

“This
will
be an honest peace,” the Queen said after she raised them up again with a gesture. “And honestly kept. By what miracle that young Perrotte lives again, I know not; but my mother counted Perrotte as her friend, and I will protect her friends.”

Rivanon scratched her nose uncomfortably.

The Queen arched an eyebrow at the Princess. “I am aware of your own mother's concerns that this is not the true Perrotte, but let us act in good faith for now. If she is an imposter—which I must say, seems as unlikely as her resurrection, given the circumstances of those thorns—we will discover it soon enough.”

Perrotte hesitated. “So I'm to be allowed to live?” she asked.

Rivanon looked stricken by this. “You are my sister!”

“And your mother was my stepmother,” Perrotte replied. “These names for relationships do not matter.”

“I agree; it is the relationships themselves that matter,” Rivanon said.

Sand could see that comment had scored a point with Perrotte.

“I am going to call for a tent to be set up here at the castle gate,” Rivanon said. “For privacy during our negotiations. Me on my side of the gate, and you on yours.”

Perrotte hesitated only a moment, and nodded. “Sand's parents will be there, as well as the Queen,” she informed the Princess.

Rivanon agreed, then rode away to organize the meeting.

Perrotte stepped back, to give Sand and his parents some solitude.

Sand pressed his forehead to the portcullis bars. Agnote leaned in to kiss his right cheek, and to his surprise, his father leaned in to kiss his left. Sand closed his eyes, inhaling the scents of rosemary and chamomile from Agnote's hair, and charcoal and lavender from his father's clothing.

“What happened to you?” Sand whispered to Agnote.

His father said grimly, “She said some very intemperate words to the Countess, and she's lucky to be free.”

Agnote pulled back to look at Sand. She touched his forehead assessingly. “I remain uncontrite.”

Sand became aware that the others were watching this reunion, and he flushed. Perrotte, in particular, watched with distinct longing on her face. Agnote followed Sand's gaze. She curtseyed to Perrotte. “My lady.”

Perrotte took that as a sign to come over. She nodded to Agnote—but her eyes were on Sand's father. “Gilles,” Perrotte said, and her voice caught.

To Sand's shock, his father fell to his knees before Perrotte, clinging to the portcullis. “I'm so sorry,” he said, and Sand was even more surprised to realize his father was
weeping
.

Sand shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable to see his father this way. Agnote's arm slid around his father's shoulders. “He never knew that he'd been sent to kill you, Lady Perrotte,” Agnote said. “But he has regretted it every day of his life.”

His father nodded silently, without looking up.

Perrotte shrugged unhappily. “I—I did not think he'd done it intentionally,” she said.

Gilles pulled himself up. “I did—I did not mean for it, no.”

“We should get some stools for this meeting,” Sand said, wanting to give his father a little time to compose himself.

“Yes,” Perrotte said, and brushed at her sooty clothes. “I should change into my . . . other gown.”

The dress she had been buried in, she meant.

Sand and Perrotte hurried away from the gate. “We should ask for food,” Sand said.

“No. That would be telling them how easily they could starve us out.”

He nodded, but the notion that he could eat something other than onions, larks, and asparagus had him a little bit excited—even as his stomach churned with nervousness and fear.

 

A
FTER WASHING UP, CHANGING
into clean clothes, and filling their purses with coins from the treasury, Perrotte chose two of the finer stools Sand had mended, and called Merlin down from the rafters of the kitchen.

Perrotte said, “If the castle changes hands, it may change hands quickly.”

“Won't you want anything else from here?”

She looked around at the broken things, at the mended things. “We hadn't gotten very far in making the spherical astrolabe, and all the rest of my things went missing or were destroyed long ago. Is there anything
you
want?”

Sand shook his head. He knew he'd do better with a fresh start on the astrolabe, and the best things he'd mended here were Perrotte and Merlin. He wasn't leaving without them.

“Wait. The relics?” he asked.

“The relics belong with the castle,” she said. “And the saints will watch over us wherever we are.”

34

Negotiation

T
HEY CARRIED THEIR STOOLS AND THE FALCON BACK
down to the gate, to find that the view beyond the portcullis had become the interior of a sumptuously decorated tent. Perrotte perched Merlin on a stone outcropping.

Agnote and Sand's father had been given camp stools near the portcullis, but off to the side. A table had been pushed against the portcullis, and on one side of it sat Rivanon, hands folded. Somewhat behind her and to the right, on what looked to be an actual throne, sat the Queen.

A tense round of new greetings followed, then Sand and Perrotte sat on their stools.

Lady Rivanon coughed delicately and began. “The first thing that I must establish: My mother wishes me to say that she did not kill Lady Perrotte. As all can see.”

Perrotte cocked her head. Sand could see the anger blazing in her eyes—but she kept her temper in check. “No,” she said simply. “I was killed. I was
dead
.”

“My mother wishes me to state that she not only did not kill Lady Perrotte, but she never had any intention of killing her. The, er, potion on the shoes and gloves was meant to put Lady Perrotte into a lengthy sleep only.”

Gilles nodded. “The Countess told me that the intention was that she fall asleep. But Perrotte
died
.”

“But clearly, Perrotte did not die,” Rivanon interjected.

Sand frowned, trying to figure out if Rivanon actually believed this or if she were merely performing a part as written by the Countess. But either way, it was a convenient fiction, and if Perrotte were not considered to be resurrected but rather just reawakened, then maybe he would be less in danger of being accused of witchcraft.

“I
did
die,” Perrotte said.

“So it is your contention that you died,” Rivanon said, to Sand's annoyance.

Sand said, in as deep a voice as he could muster: “Let's move on.” He sent Perrotte a pleading look.

“Even if Jannet intended for me to only be put into a ‘long sleep,' I think it's clear that her plan was the theft of my inheritance of the Boisblanc lands and titles in favor of you, her daughter.”

Rivanon bowed her head in assent. “So the question, as it stands, is who is the rightful ruler of Boisblanc?”

“It's me,” Perrotte said without blinking.

“Except that you died,” Rivanon said. “In which case, it is not you, but me.”

Sand bristled, but Perrotte put a hand on his arm. She remained silent. “Well played,” she said at last.

Rivanon nodded heavily, as though she were not pleased herself by her maneuver. “I am prepared to offer you lands and money,” she said. “Far away from here.”

“To leave your mother effectively in charge of Boisblanc?”

Rivanon said calmly, “It's what she would like.”

“Well, I don't like it. Give
her
lands and money far from here, and if you will not rule Boisblanc yourself, let me be your regent and not her.”

The Princess's smile was pained and regretful. “She is my mother. She is old; she took good care of our father when he was ailing until he died. How can I exile her? How can I take away the only thing she has ever lived for?”

Behind the Princess, Queen Claude's mouth grew lemon-tight, but she did not speak.

“You are too young to be my regent, anyway,” Princess Rivanon went on. “You are but thirteen!”

Perrotte's hands moved restlessly in her lap, but only Sand could see this; her back remained straight, her expression uncompromising. He could also see she didn't like any of this discussion—Sand didn't either—but at least no one was talking about taking Perrotte prisoner, and certainly, no one had mentioned executions.

Rivanon leaned toward Perrotte across the table. “But, I can promise you, once you've reached your majority, you can come back. And here and now, I will make you my heir.”

Perrotte frowned. “And what of your own children?”

“My firstborn son will be my husband's heir, should God grant us children. If I have a daughter, she could inherit here—” Rivanon shook her head, uncertain.

“The Cygne line must return to Boisblanc.” Perrotte gestured behind her. “One way or another. That is part of what caused the sundering.”

They fell to discussing an intricate system of alternating inheritances and marriage alliances cemented unto the sixth generation. Sand frowned, not sure why he was so uncomfortable thinking about Perrotte's children's future marriages, but he
was
.

Merlin decided she was done perching, and flew to the table. As negotiations wore on, she walked back and forth, occasionally unfurling a wing to stretch it before tucking it back into position. The falcon provided a welcome distraction as she marched to and fro, but it was brief.

Though he felt lost within the negotiations, Sand was astonished that no one argued about any of the odd, magical things that had happened, either to the castle or to Perrotte. Everything was being reduced to mundane issues of inheritance law.

Perrotte stood abruptly some time later. “A break,” she said. “Let us take a break.”

“I'll arrange for refreshment,” Rivanon said, and left with the Queen.

Sand's father and Agnote remained in the tent.

“Why isn't Jannet here?” Perrotte whispered fiercely to Sand. “Why isn't she here, looking me in the eyes?”

Sand glanced at his father, who still appeared wretched. Sand murmured, “She sent a boy to kill you, Perrotte. I don't think she's very brave.”

Perrotte's eyes widened. Unfortunately, it seemed his father had heard his statement, for he leaned now against the portcullis with one hand over his eyes.

“What's wrong with him?” Perrotte asked.

Gilles lowered his hand and looked at her. “You could be my own daughter, at this point.” He tilted his head at Sand. “You're my son's age.”

Perrotte gave him a sharp, impatient nod. “And?”

Sand held very still, hardly daring to breathe—wondering what his father was going to say.

“I can never be sorry enough,” Gilles said. “And I've been sorry every day of my life. I left the castle that day. I ran away from my master.”

Sand started. He'd thought his father had been in the castle when it was sundered.

“I ran and ran, after they told me you were dead,” Gilles went on. “But no matter how far I tried to go, I couldn't leave sight of the castle. My feet wouldn't carry me.” Gilles shrugged. “I knew I was cursed for what I'd done to you. I could only run in circles around this place. I ended up on Sand's grandfather's doorstep, and—well, he saved my life, I guess. Gave me something to do, something to learn, even though I didn't love it. It took a long time to love anything, because I knew I had lost my right to a happy life for my sin. I can't say I loved blacksmithing, but that's what made it safe to do, you see. And I couldn't say I loved Sand's mother, though I tried; but she loved me, and I hoped that would be enough for the both of us.”

Both Agnote and Sand flinched when Gilles said that. But he continued, looking past Sand now. “But the secret is, you love your children. That just happens, I guess, or it did to me. You have no choice. You start to love again. I finally understood how to love Sand's mother, after—” He gestured at Sand.

Agnote stood behind her husband, hand across her mouth while tears streamed over her cheeks. He continued. “When your children are born, you pray to every saint you can find that they won't share your curses. Sand went missing and I hoped he'd run off and gotten free, like I wanted. When I found out where he'd gotten to”—he waved an arm around, indicating the broken castle—“I thought, ‘It's the worst thing that could happen, they've punished my son for my sin.'”

Perrotte made an annoyed noise, and Sand's father looked shocked.

“Really, Gilles!” Perrotte said. “I only
wish
the saints or God or whoever punished wrongdoers as strongly as you've punished yourself. Do you think
Jannet
has gone through these kinds of agonies over what she had you do? Anyway, Sand came here, or was brought here—and I don't think it was some punishment, but maybe all of our salvations—and he woke me from the dead. And he started mending this castle. And we were a bit hungry, and we got into some arguments—but I think, overall . . .” Now Perrotte put her hand on Sand's arm. “It was the only way. Maybe even the best way.”

Sand knew what she meant, and he didn't think he would ever be able to explain it any better than she just had.

Agnote wiped her streaming eyes. “I'm glad you two had each other,” she said. “We go around our whole young lives, some of us,
most
of us, looking for the place we fit. When you find that place, you keep it; when you find those people you fit with, you keep them.” She took Gilles's hand.

Perrotte's fingers tightened on Sand's arm, and she smiled at him. Her smile faded when she said, “I really thought Rivanon and I would see each other and instantly know. That we could love each other, or that we could count on each other. But . . .” Perrotte sighed and turned to Sand's father.

“I do forgive you, Gilles; I forgave you for your part in my death as soon as I understood that you hadn't meant to do this to me, though I guess I might still be angry that you were duped by Jannet.”

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

“But you owe me a life, Gilles Shoemaker-Smith,” she said. “And I'm going to claim Sand's from you. He doesn't want to go to university. He wants to be a blacksmith.”

Sand's father sighed. “He has the smarts.”

“So? He doesn't have the inclination.”

“I was only trying to send him away so he wouldn't get caught up in the curse on me.”

Perrotte shrugged. “Fair enough. But it doesn't matter now. The worst you feared has happened, and now the worst you feared is over. Yes?”

“Yes,” Sand's father said, nodding. Sand met his father's eyes; he saw that his father understood what had happened in the castle—not the details, but something of the importance of the ordeal. Sand took a deep breath, feeling the muscles across his shoulders ease, just a little. He had proven something to his father, by surviving, mending, and freeing himself and Perrotte.

They fell silent for a moment. Agnote went to the tent flap and peered out, then made a tsking noise.

“What?” Gilles asked.

“The Queen is discussing something furiously with the Princess,” Agnote said. “I wouldn't wonder that she is saying the dowager Countess has no right to be allowed to continue on as Princess Rivanon's regent here, but . . .” She shook her head.

Perrotte said evenly, “Jannet's family is old and powerful. There may be political considerations to deposing her.” Her fingers were bloodless where they clutched her arms, belying the evenness of her tone.

“That's unjust!” Sand burst out.

Perrotte's lips thinned, but she just shrugged stoically. “Mistress Agnote? What did you say that got you imprisoned by Jannet?”

Agnote grimaced. “I don't remember half of what I said,” she confessed. “I certainly told her she was a terrible parent who didn't deserve children, stepchildren, or her own fleas. Anyway, considering what I said and who I said it to, it was a very brief imprisonment.”

Perrotte stared at Agnote. Agnote held her spine straight and lifted her chin. Then Perrotte clutched her belly and started to laugh. “Sand told me once that you were the kindest person he knew. He never told me you were so funny and brave! I'm glad I got to meet you.”

Agnote flushed, smiled, and curtseyed, all at once. “Thank you for saying so, my lady.” She peeked out the tent flap again. “They're coming back.”