Briar Rose (14 page)

‘Don’t be a fool,’ a grizzled woman barked. ‘He was here to break the curse. I saw it in my dreams.’

‘Nightmares, more likely,’ the man retorted. ‘The princess will never be free unless—’

‘Hush! You know what happens to traitors,’ an older woman warned. ‘Be careful of that tongue of yours.’

Silence fell after that. Given what Briar had seen in the field, they were right to be afraid.

How did the regent gain so much power? What was that magic of hers?

There were no answers, not yet at least, so Briar forced herself to examine the little details she’d missed on the hurried journey to the field. Maybe that would give her some idea of how
to return home. At the very least, it would help block out the graphic images of the dying man.

The Village of the Damned, as she’d begun to think of it, had houses and shops jammed together so tightly it was impossible to see daylight between them.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Ruric pulled her out of the flow of the foot traffic. ‘Note the houses here,’ he said as they stopped in front of one structure. This house was
half wood, half brass, as if the builders couldn’t quite make up their mind which they preferred.

‘Watch closely,’ Ruric murmured.

Briar wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be watching, but she did as he asked, feeling like an idiot. Who stood around and stared at houses for fun?

As she waited, her eye caught on a small piece of the metal. It rippled, then cloned itself, layering over the neighbouring wood as if it were a scale on a dragon’s wing.

Whoa.
‘Why does it do that?’ she said, astounded.

‘It is the regent’s magic,’ he said quietly. ‘She seeks to make everything metal. She loves it more than she does flesh or wood or stone.’

Now that’s creepy.

‘It is like her warriors, the ones you saw in the field. At one time they were men, now they are covered in metal.’

Ohmigod.
She’d just thought they were some sort of robots.

As they moved on, Briar peered inside one structure and spied the man she’d seen earlier, selling a loaf of bread to a thick-waisted woman. Two grubby children sat at her feet. Briar
winced when she saw one of them had a band of brass round its throat. It was crying, tugging on it as if it hurt. Maybe it did.

Why would anyone put that on their child?

Ruric cleared his throat nervously. ‘How are you faring, cousin?’

She realized he wasn’t just being polite: there was deep concern behind his words.

‘I’m . . . scared,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never seen someone die before.’

He took her hand and squeezed it gently. It was a kind gesture.

‘Surely there have been deaths among your family or friends,’ he said. ‘It is the way of things.’

‘In my village you die when you’re really old, unless you get really sick, which doesn’t happen very often.’

He didn’t reply, a slight frown creasing his forehead now.

Deep down, the longer she was here, the more Briar kept thinking about the car dream. How things kept happening
to
her until she took control. Was that the lesson she was supposed to
carry into this dream? If she did take control, could she beat the curse and go home to her parents, her cat and the real world?

No clue.

Her stomach took that very moment to rumble, loudly.

‘When did you last eat?’ her companion asked.

‘A long time ago,’ she said.
At a party by the lake where the guy of my dreams broke my heart.

‘Then I shall share my food and, in gratitude, you will help me clean the stable. It’s honest work, or so my father always claimed. He sent me to work in the stables when I was
eight. He said it would keep me from frivolous behaviour.’

‘Did it work?’

A lopsided smile lit his face. ‘No, it did not.’

I bet you’re a player.
The way the girls fawned all over him, that was a given.

Since he was talking about his family . . . ‘What does your father do?’

‘He is . . . sort of a reeve, the man in charge of it all. And your father?’

Her dad sold pharmaceuticals so she worked on a term Ruric would understand. ‘He’s an apothecary.’

‘An honourable profession.’

By the time they reached the stable there were two men waiting for them, one who wanted to collect his horse, and the other who wanted to buy one. Ruric took care of the first customer and then
told the second he had nothing to sell.

‘You must. The prisoner had a mount and he has no use for it now,’ the man replied gruffly. He was stocky with a burgeoning stomach. His clothes were fairly nice, which suggested to
Briar that he had a steady income. Some official maybe.

‘The mare is not for sale,’ Ruric replied evenly.

‘Does Quinton know you’re not handling business like you should?’

Uh-oh.

The look in Ruric’s eyes promised trouble if this man kept pushing. ‘Quinton is quite pleased with my services. I repeat, there is
no
horse for sale. Should there be one, I
shall send word to you. Now good day, sir.’

The man’s attention shifted to her. ‘This is your cousin I hear tell?’

His tone was caustic – apparently he wasn’t used to having someone tell him no. She resisted the urge to check that her hair wasn’t showing.

‘Yes, this is my cousin Briar,’ Ruric replied.

‘It would be a shame if something happened to you. What would become of her?’

‘Then I shall have to be very cautious.’

The man huffed, then strode away, muttering under his breath.

When Ruric entered the stable, he headed directly for the mare. He patted her flank fondly as if to reassure himself she was OK.

‘I thought you planned to sell her,’ Briar said.

He half shrugged. ‘I’m becoming increasingly fond of her. In fact, I shall keep her. Hopefully her new master will have better sense than the old one, though I doubt it, given what
I’ve just done.’ At her puzzled expression, he explained. ‘That was the village reeve. He answers directly to the regent.’

‘Oh . . . and he’s not happy with you.’

‘No. He’s not an evil sort, but he never questions his orders. That makes him as much a threat as his mistress, for he has no conscience.’ Ruric patted the horse again, then
moved away. ‘Come, let us eat.’

‘I have to wash my hands. Seriously.’

He gave her a confused expression and then pointed to a wooden bucket. She peered into it and was pleased to find it wasn’t yucky or anything. She wet first one hand, then the other. It
took some work rubbing them together, but finally they looked cleaner, though her nails were a complete disaster. It was the best she could hope for.

‘Are you fit to dine now, my lady?’ Ruric said, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Briar bit back a snarky reply. ‘Yes, I am, my lord,’ she said, executing a rather clumsy curtsy.

Ruric led her round to the back of the stable where there was a small grassy patch under a tree. There he laid out their meal on the thick grass: yellow cheese, two hunks of dark bread and a
liquid he poured into a heavy metal cup. He handed the cup over to her.

‘What is that?’ she asked, giving the contents a sniff.

‘Mead. It is particularly fine.’

She wrinkled her nose, worried about the taste.

‘If you wish, perhaps I can ask a dairy maid to draw you some fresh milk from one of the cows.’

Briar almost agreed, then remembered that their milk wasn’t pasteurized. Just how many germs could be in the stuff?
Squillions.
All of them designed to make her very, very sick.
There was no guarantee she had any immunity to the illnesses this village harboured, and there had to be a lot of them.

‘No, I’ll just have a little of this.’

Briar took a test snip and was surprised to find it was sweet and quite tasty. Thirsty, she took a good half of it down before returning the cup to Ruric. Then she attacked her portion of the
bread and cheese. By the time those were gone – along with more mead – she was feeling much better.

‘My head is buzzing,’ she said, grinning. ‘This stuff is way better than beer.’
Maybe I can get Dad to make some for me.

Ruric eyed her pensively. ‘You are unlike anyone I have ever met. You’ve never tasted mead, you’ve never witnessed someone dying and you speak very oddly.’ He leaned
forward. ‘Tell me the truth, Briar. What is your story? You may trust me to keep your secret.’

‘You’re right, I do have a story.’
Boy do I.
‘I didn’t lie, I
am
from a village named Bliss, but it is not . . . around here. In fact, it’s
not even in this world. I think.’

Ruric’s eyes widened, though he did not respond to such an outrageous claim.

‘I was cursed, like your princess. I was supposed to die when I turned sixteen, but I fell asleep instead. When I woke I was here, in an alley, and then the wolves came after
me.’

As her companion continued to stare, she could only imagine what was going through his mind.

‘I know it sounds crazy, but where I come from there aren’t magical metal birds or things like that. Well, unless you count aeroplanes, I guess.’

‘Aero . . . planes?’ he asked, finally speaking.

‘Never mind.’ The cup was empty again and she held it out for a refill.

‘I think that wouldn’t be wise. You have
no
head for drink.’

That comment annoyed her, even though he was probably right. ‘You said you wanted to know the truth. That’s it.’

‘I find it truly fantastical.’

‘I figured. We have a story about a princess much like yours. She was cursed and fell asleep with all her family. Many years later a prince kissed her and the curse was broken and then
they lived happily ever after.’

Ruric took a cautious look around to ensure that no one was near enough to hear them. Given the everyday village noises, it was doubtful that anyone could eavesdrop.

‘So if you are telling the truth, and I must admit I find this quite a tall tale, all we must do is have someone kiss the princess, and she is freed?’

‘Yes, but you already know all that.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Indeed, but here it is not as simple as in your tale. The regent insists that only
she
shall judge which man may kiss the princess, and that all others only
mean to harm her. In the end, none are judged worthy and they are put to death.’

‘That’s clever. She keeps all of them away in case one of them is the right guy. If the princess wakes, she’s out of a job.’

‘Yes, that’s it. In your tale, how is the regent defeated?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps that will offer us hope in our present situation.’

‘That’s the problem, Ruric,’ Briar said, feeling bad that she was about to rain on his parade. ‘There
is
no regent in our tale. She isn’t supposed to be in
charge of the kingdom. No one is, at least until Aurora is awakened.’

‘There has to be someone responsible. You cannot allow a kingdom to rule itself.’

His tone of voice had changed. It sounded almost regal, which triggered her suspicions.
Maybe your dad isn’t just a reeve.

‘Is this story of a sleeping princess well known in your village?’ he pressed.

‘Yes. It was one of my favourite tales.’

‘Why?’

‘Because . . . there’s a happy ending. The princess falls in love with the prince. It’s all good.’

He was staring at her so intensely she automatically checked that her hair wasn’t showing. ‘You believe me, then?’ she asked.

‘For the moment. Or it’s possible you’re quite mad, though in a harmless fashion.’

‘I’m not mad. I know where I came from.’

‘But do you know how to return there?’ he asked.

Briar felt deflated. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, then we shall tackle one obstacle at a time. We shall have to battle the tyrant to free the princess,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps we can find a way to get you
home.’

‘Battle? Wait a minute. I’m pretty decent with a bow and arrow, and I’ve used a rapier . . . you know, fenced? But those warrior guys have big swords and all that
armour.’

It took him some time to work out what she’d said. ‘Then you shall have to use your cunning.’

Briar rolled her eyes. ‘Riiight. I’m just full of that.’

‘Your cunning and the fact that your hair is the same colour as our princess. If we can make others believe she has been awakened, perhaps then we have a chance. But the timing must be
perfect or—’

‘Ruric?’ a girl’s voice called out. ‘Are you here?’

He sighed audibly. ‘I am,’ he called out as he rose.

A young girl with jet-black hair and big breasts strode towards them.

Saralyn?

Except for the wrong colour hair, this girl could be her cousin, but, like the other villagers who resembled folks from Bliss, there was no recognition in her eyes.

Ruric turned towards the newcomer. ‘Good day to you,’ he called out, though his voice held little warmth. ‘Briar, may I present the miller’s daughter, Dimia.’

Dimia?
‘Hi,’ Briar replied.

A stiff nod came her way. Apparently the instant dislike was mutual.

Dimia’s attention returned to Ruric. ‘My father sends his good wishes and asks if you would join us for a meal in two days’ time.’

‘I would be honoured,’ he replied. ‘However, I do not wish to leave my cousin on her own until she knows the ways of the village.’

He’d purposely put Dimia in a corner.

‘Oh . . . I . . . you can bring her along,’ the girl said, though clearly she’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. ‘One more will not matter.’

Wow. Thanks. I’m touched. Don’t go out of your way or anything.

‘That is very generous,’ Ruric replied. The corners of his mouth were trying hard not to form a smile.

‘I am eagerly awaiting our time together.’

Ruric didn’t return the sentiment. Instead, he turned back to Briar. ‘Come, cousin, the stable needs our attention.’

‘Oh . . .’ Flustered, Dimia fluttered for a second, and then took his arm. ‘Can it not wait? I wish to talk to you . . . alone. I promise, we shall not go far. I have much to
tell you.’