Princess of Thorns (28 page)

“Ye-yes.” I swipe the sweat from my upper lip with the back of my hand.

“I was going to wake you, but I couldn’t decide if you would like that,” he says. “So I waited for you to wake up.”

“Thank you,” I say as I slide off the bed.

“It was nice to find you next to me. So much better than seeing you on the floor.”

“I was cold and couldn’t sleep.” I gather the blankets from the floor and dump them back into the chest at the end of the bed. “I thought it was best if I got warm and was able to rest. At least a little.”

“I think we should always sleep together,” Niklaas says, proving there is something going on in his mind, at least when it comes to the desire to stay close to me.

“That won’t work on the road.” I prop my hands on my hips, fixing him with a hard look. The queen’s spies will be able to see us soon. We have to make sure we’re putting on the proper show.

“You have to remember our story,” I say. “I refused to marry you and break your curse, and so you’ve decided to deliver me to Ekeeta in hopes that she will come to your aid with her magic. You must treat me like your prisoner, someone you hate.”

“But I love you,” he says, that anxious look creeping into his eyes again.

“I know that, and I … love you, too,” I say, bringing a smile to his face that sets self-loathing to sharpening its claws on my heart. “But to save my brother we have to pretend to be enemies. From the moment we leave this cabin until we escape the castle with Jor, there must be no kindness between us. Do you understand?”

He nods, but I’m still not entirely convinced.

“Nothing will make me happier than if you are cruel to me until you deliver me to Ekeeta at Mercar,” I whisper, crossing to take his hand in mine and stare deep into his eyes. “Be as cruel as you can be. We have to make Ekeeta believe you hate me. Can you do this for me, Niklaas?”

“I’ll do my best.” He gives me a shy grin. “I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“Good.” I back toward the door, already needing a moment away from the stranger Niklaas has become. “I’m going to wash up and water the horses. When I get back, we’ll decide how to travel. I’ll need to be bound so it’s clear I’m your prisoner.”

“I’ll make breakfast and get some rope from the barn,” Niklaas says, throwing off the covers and practically leaping from bed in his rush to do my bidding.

I try to take his eagerness as a good sign, but I can’t help but worry as we go about our morning tasks, preparing for the journey. It will take four days to reach the capital, and that’s if we ride hard all day, swapping our horses for fresh ones when we can, and part of every night. Is Niklaas capable of keeping up an act for that long?

And what about when we reach Mercar? Will Ekeeta be able to see he’s under an enchantment the way Gettel could? Ogre magic isn’t the same breed of magic as that of witch-born women, but still … Ekeeta is powerful and likely to be suspicious. If she asks too many questions, Niklaas may falter and end up in the dungeon right along with me.

I’ll have to remind him what to say and how to behave,
I think, palms sweating with nerves as we leave the cabin and set out toward the open road, where we will no longer be sheltered by Gettel’s wards.
I’ll remind him every hour if I have to.

“Niklaas, I—”

“Quiet!” Niklaas snaps at me over his shoulder, making me blink with surprise. We agreed he should ride ahead, leading my horse by a rope tied to his saddle, since my hands are bound behind me, but at the moment I wish I could see his eyes.

“But Niklaas, I—”

“I said quiet.” The hatred in his expression when he turns connects like a slap to the face, leaving a stinging sensation behind. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.”

I swallow and nod, heart racing as I begin to wonder what mad thing I’ve done now, ordering a person determined to do precisely as I say to be cruel to me. I know the real Niklaas would never hurt me, but I have no idea what this shell will do in the name of obeying my order to the letter.

“Next time, we’ll stuff something in there to keep you quiet,” he says.

I shiver, ducking my head to my chest until he turns back around, shocked to find I’m truly afraid. Shocked and strangely … satisfied.

Because if anyone deserves to suffer …

And suffer I do. I ride for hours without anything to shield my face, until my skin begins to itch, the discomfort becoming torture when I’m unable to lift a hand to scratch my throbbing nose. I’m forced to relieve myself with Niklaas hovering on the other side of the bush, shouting for me to hurry up, and am hauled up from the stream where I kneel to suck down a drink and cool my scorched forehead by a handful of my own hair.

When we finally stop for the night, Niklaas leaves my hands bound behind my back, ensuring I pass the few hours we stop to rest in a fitful sleep interrupted by flashes of pain from my strained shoulders.

He doesn’t speak to me at all the first day or the second, not even when we barely outrun a pack of wild dogs or when carrion flies swarm around us for nearly an hour—crawling in and out of every orifice in my head, making me shudder and shake and scream with my mouth closed. Even when the wind picks up and we lose the flies and I beg him to tie my hands in front of my body so I can defend myself if the insects return, he acts as if he doesn’t hear a word.

I don’t give him an official order to untie me, but I’m not sure it would matter if I did. He has taken my mandate in the cabin so completely to heart that there seems to be no room in his mind for anything but fulfilling his mission and making his mistress happy.

Even if her happiness is to be won with abuse.

By the time we reach western Norvere—racing across a farmer’s wheat fields and down into a hidden canyon just seconds ahead of an ogre patrol—my wrists are so chafed that they sting constantly, making me whimper when Niklaas urges the horses into a gallop and I can no longer hold my hands still.

That night, he only allows me an hour of sleep before ordering me to wake up with a nudge of his boot in my side. When I don’t move quickly enough, the nudge becomes a rough hand that hauls me to my feet and shoves me toward my horse. Still half-asleep, I stumble on an unseen rock and fall to the ground, bursting the skin on my cheek in the process.

Niklaas doesn’t pause to see if I’m seriously hurt, only hauls me up and onto my horse with an order to “move faster next time.”

The only good thing about getting so little sleep is that I am spared my nightmares. I’m too tired to dream of my brother’s death or the ogre queen or Niklaas’s transformation, and Niklaas seems to have forgotten that he is cursed, his awareness of his fate banished by his need to serve me. I am thankful for those things, thankful for every little kindness, even if that kindness is only the absence of further misery.

We ride and ride, day and night, stealing fresh horses three times, until I lose track of how long we’ve been traveling and measure our progress in how many minutes I’m able to go without crying out in pain.

By the time we reach the coast and begin backtracking to Mercar on foot—hoping to sneak into the city through the aqueducts, putting us inside the castle walls without announcing our presence at the gates—I am weary to the bone, covered in dust, and itching all over from sleeping on the bare ground where the mites could crawl into my clothes. The chapped skin at my wrists has torn open, blood oozes down my palms to my fingers, and a strange heat licks at my wrists. I suspect my wounds are becoming toxic and that I will fall into a fever if they aren’t treated soon, but I force my feet to keep moving, refusing to allow weakness to claim me. Not yet. Not when I am so close and my brother’s life is in my hands.

My trembling hands, with the fingers swollen into near uselessness from being forced behind my back for so long.

A sob escapes my lips, but Niklaas doesn’t order me to be quiet. Perhaps he can’t hear me over the wind sweeping in from the ocean. I look up to see if he has turned around only to have the hair escaped from my warrior’s knot lash into my eyes and stick to the crusted scab on my cheek where the blood was never wiped away.

What have I done? By the gods, what have I done?

My hope is in pieces, lethal shards that threaten to slice me open if I try to put them back together again. I doubt everything, I trust no one, especially not myself. I am so weary I can’t feel my legs, as close to broken as I have ever been, filled with self-hatred and panic and perilously close to losing my connection to the world and retreating into the quiet shadows of my own mind.

I pray my sad state will be worth it. I pray it will be enough to convince the ogre queen to believe Niklaas’s story. If it isn’t …

Oh, if it isn’t …

I bite my lip to stifle another sob and turn my head, blinking until the hair is swept from my eyes by the wind. When my vision clears, I find I’m able to see the five gently rounded towers of Mercar Castle barely visible above the cliffs.

They look exactly as I remember: eggs balanced one on top of the other, ending in a shape like a conch shell. Inside the shell, there will be ogre soldiers charged with watching the unusually high ocean for intruder ships. If we’re lucky, they won’t have their eyes turned on the coastal trail, on the rocky path so narrow it can be traversed only by a single rider at a time, so treacherous all but the most sure-footed horse would trip and tumble into the sea. That’s why we’re approaching on foot, the better to sneak in unseen, two small, human-sized specks against the gray of the cliffs.

The sight of the castle so close gives me strength. Niklaas doesn’t have to tug the rope tied to my waist again until we reach the base of the aqueducts. He unties my hands before we begin to climb the stone arches, but my fingers are numb and I struggle to keep up, nearly falling more than once. By the time we reach the top and tumble down into the conduit, where a shallow flow of fresh water streams into the city, I am trembling all over, and too weak to stand.

“On your feet,” Niklaas demands, giving the rope at my waist a sharp jerk.

“Please, I need to rest,” I pant, spots dancing around his face as he leans in close. “Please … I’m so weak. I’m afraid I won’t be able to … do what we came here for.”

For the first time since we left the cottage in the woods, Niklaas’s expression softens. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Gettel told me you won’t need strength, and if you need it, then it will do you no good.”

“She did?” I try to remember if she said anything similar to me, but I’m finding memories difficult to hold on to. There has been nothing for me but the ride and the pain and too little sleep for too many days. It seems everything else is a story, told to a different girl, a long time ago.

“She did. You’ll be fine.” He smoothes my hair from my face with a gentleness that brings tears to my eyes after so many days of cruelty. “I’ll sneak out of my room and come get you and your brother late tonight. Just like we planned.”

“Thank you, Niklaas. Thank you so much.”

“I’ve done a good job?” He smiles, lighting up with an innocent joy that also makes me want to cry.

But what doesn’t? I am broken, a dam with so many holes all you have to do is give me a little poke and I will leak.

“Yes,” I half laugh, half sob. “Yes. Very good.”

“Do you still want me to be cruel until I turn you over to the queen?”

“Yes,” I say, though I flinch as I say it, knowing what it will mean. “Yes, please. You’re doing a g-good job.”

“Then up you go,” he snaps, hauling me to my feet and dragging me along behind him. But even the ten fingers of water flowing through the conduit makes it so much harder to walk. My feet drag; my muscles scream and my ankles turn as I slosh along. All too soon, I fall to my knees and struggle to get up, only to fall again.

“I can’t,” I sob, clutching my swollen wrists to my chest. “I can’t. Please …”

A moment later, the world spins as I’m flipped over Niklaas’s shoulder, just as I was in the Feeding Hills. But this time, instead of carrying me to safety, Niklaas will deliver me into danger’s wide, hungry maw.

A field from the castle, the aqueduct splits in seven directions. We follow the middle conduit, Niklaas setting me down and both of us stooping to crawl as the open trough becomes a tunnel of water surging toward the royal garden.

My arms shake and the flesh at my wrists howls as water rushes over my wounds; blackness creeps inky fingers in to beckon at the edges of my vision, but I force myself forward, knowing I could drown if I lose consciousness.

I will my weakening arms and legs to keep moving until I am spit out into the fountain at the edge of the royal garden and break the surface with a gasp. Only then do I allow myself to go limp, rolling over to float on my back, staring up at the explosion of pink blossoms crawling over the castle walls as Niklaas splashes down after me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, confused. How is it the gardens still thrive? How dare something so pure and lovely bloom in the shadow of evil?

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a woman scream and know we’ve been spotted, but I make no move to stand. I am too weak, and this is Niklaas’s mission now. He must be the convincing captor; I must save my strength.

I must wait and watch and …

Despite my best efforts, my eyes roll back and my lids drop, my body demanding rest before it runs to the end of its limited reserves. I am only dimly aware of Niklaas scooping me up in his arms, of more shouts and the sound of swords being drawn, of Niklaas declaring himself the son of the Norvere’s only ally and demanding to be brought before the queen to present his prize.

I fight to open my eyes, wanting to be conscious as I’m carried through the castle to refresh my memory of the path to the throne room, but I only manage to crack my lids for a moment before they slide closed once more.

In that moment, I see the gnarled Hawthorne tree at the middle of the garden, its green leaves just beginning to flush at the edges, and know I’m not too late. The tree is not yet crimson; Jor is still alive.

Please let him be alive, please let me save him.

It is my last thought before I fade, sinking into the darkness.

I wake in a bed as soft as rabbit fur, my hair damp and loose and a heavy satin gown tangled between my legs. I blink at the tapestry stitched into the canopy above me—a scene depicting a girl embracing a satyr in a field of flowers—so startled by the luxury of my surroundings that it takes a moment to remember where I am.

And then I do, and try to bolt upright, only to find my arms pinned.

I cry out, whipping my head back and forth to find an ogre woman on either side of my bed gripping my arms gently but firmly in their long fingers.

“Don’t move, Princess,” the woman on my right, an ogre with warm amber eyes and a brown wig styled in a bun high on her head, says. “We need to finish with your bandages. We’ll let you sit up in a moment.”

I glance down to see a strip of partially tied linen trailing from my wrist but can’t seem to stop myself from trying to jerk away again. My mind can’t reconcile this waking with what I expected to find when I opened my eyes.

Where are the chains and the bars? The damp walls and the beetles? Where is the gloomy dungeon light and the stink of fear and the sounds of people quietly weeping in their cells?

“You must lie still.” The other ogress—a bald woman with six soul tattoos in a circle above her temple—doesn’t ask nicely. “We had to stitch the skin on your wrist. If you fight, it will tear and have to be redone,” she says, meeting my glare with cold eyes.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I force myself to relax. I don’t know why they’re patching me up, but there’s no doubt I’ll be better off when they’re finished. “Why are you helping me?”

“You are in one of the castle guest rooms,” the brown-haired ogress says, resuming her work, deftly wrapping the linen around my wrist. “I am Nippa and this is Herro. We are Queen Ekeeta’s personal nurses.”

“Only the best for the lost princess,” the other woman, Herro, mumbles.

“Why?” I ask, heart beating faster, frightened by this show of mercy. What does it mean? What does the ogre queen want?

“The queen is too kind for her own good,” Herro says, but I keep my gaze on Nippa and I’m glad I do, otherwise I would have missed the sadness that tightens her expression before she smiles.

Why is she sad? I don’t know, but I’m certain it doesn’t bode well.

“She is as kind as a queen should be,” Nippa says, a note of censure in her tone. “If you’re finished, Herro, you may attend to your other duties. I can manage the princess alone now that she’s awake.”

“Happy to leave you to her.” Herro jabs a pin into the bandage at my wrist before rising and departing the room in a rustle of skirts.

“Never mind her,” Nippa whispers. “She’s unpleasant at times but an excellent nurse. Your stitches are as small and even as any I’ve seen.” She pins her linen in place and smiles. “Are you ready for something to eat?” She motions to a table near the window behind her, where a feast has been laid out. Meats, cheeses, fresh bread, and fruit vie for space on the blue tablecloth, while outside, two castle towers glow pinkish orange in the fading light.

Sunset.
“How long have I been asleep?” I ask. If it’s been more than a day, Niklaas won’t know what to do. We were supposed to free Jor the first night we spent in the castle!

“Six hours, give or take,” Nippa says, making me sag back into the pillow with relief. “You took tea with herbs for the pain when we first laid you down. They calm the appetite, but I’m sure you’re hungry by now. Shall I help you to the table?”

“No thank you, I can walk,” I say, though it still feels mad to be having a polite conversation with a creature that consumes human souls for nourishment. I toss off the covers, glancing down at my far-too-long nightgown as I slide to the floor. “Did you …”

“We bathed and dressed you. We knew your wrists and cheek needed tending, but we wanted to be sure we didn’t miss any wounds beneath your clothes. We attended to your bites as well.” Nippa hovers close as I walk to the table, apparently determined to catch me if I swoon. “You slept like a babe the entire time, poor little thing.”

Poor little thing?
What in the Flaming Pit …

I settle into the chair Nippa pulls out for me, eyes darting around the room. It’s magnificent, as big as five fairy cots put together with a bed the size of a small ship at the center and warm wood armoires stationed against the walls like fussing nannies. There is a writing desk pulled before the other window and blue silk curtains that hang from the high ceiling all the way to the floor. Between the two windows, a fire crackles in a white stone fireplace.

It is cold enough for a fire. Does that mean …

“Is my brother still alive?” I won’t be able to stomach a bite of food until I know, no matter how famished I am.

Nippa hesitates, making my pulse race beneath my skin.

“Is he?” I ask, voice breaking.

“I’m not to speak of such things, Princess,” Nippa whispers, “but yes.”

“Where is he? Is he in the dungeon or—”

“Not another word,” Nippa says in a no-nonsense voice that assures me I won’t be getting any more information from her. “You must eat. Start with the broth. Your body will put it to use more quickly than the rest.” She plucks the porcelain top off a bowl decorated with pink flowers like the ones I saw in the garden and sets it before me.

I pick it up and drink the broth straight from the bowl, not bothering with the soup spoon lined up beside the rest of the utensils. I don’t have time for sipping from a spoon. I have to get rid of this nurse and out of this room, and the fastest way to accomplish both seems to be to honor Nippa’s requests.

I finish the broth and reach for the bread, tearing off hunks that I stuff into my mouth and chew as quickly as I can. I follow the bread with slices of cold chicken and cheese and a glass of mixed juices so sweet it makes my tongue curl, but I refuse to touch the cake. I will eat to revive my body, but I won’t waste a moment enjoying myself, not when every second is precious and both Jor and Niklaas depending on me.

Niklaas bribed a fisherman in Nume—using our horses as payment for a boat to be moored near the wall walks after dark tonight, promising the man another fistful of gold when we take possession of the craft—but the boat will do us no good if I can’t find Jor. I assumed I would end up in the dungeon within shouting distance of my brother, and it would only be a matter of sorting out how to get us both out of our cells, but now …

“If you’re finished, I can help you dress,” Nippa says.

“I can dress myself,” I say, pushing my chair back.

“Of course.” Nippa nods. “Your clothes are being washed, but we’ve found something in your size. It’s laid out on the dressing bench.”

I keep one eye on my nurse as I circle around the bed, still wary no matter how kind she seems, but when I see what the ogres have found for me to wear, I find it hard to focus on anything else. Instead of the gown I was expecting, there on the pale blue cushions of the dressing bench lie a black linen shirt, black cloak, and black riding pants that actually look small enough to fit me. They must be a boy’s pants, and the boots settled on the carpet must be boy’s boots as well.

“What is this?” I ask, brow furrowing as I rub the coarse fabric of the shirt between my fingers.

“They are clothes for a night flight,” comes a voice from behind me, a voice as airy as a reed flute that casts a net of barbed wire around my heart.

The queen.
The queen.

I drop the shirt, desperately wishing I had my staff in hand as I turn to face the woman who took everything I love away, who killed my mother and stole my brother, who cursed my life and haunts my nightmares and looms so large and terrible in my mind that I know I will always fear and hate her,
always,
even if by some miracle I am lucky enough to walk out of this castle and live to a doddering old age.

My hands shake and my mouth fills with a taste as sour as nutshells as my eyes alight on the cool white column that is the ogre queen. Ekeeta is only eight hands away, close enough to smell her perfume, an exotic scent like poppy and sea foam with a top note of grilled meat that makes my stomach churn.

She is as beautiful as ever, tall and thin, but with generous curves visible beneath her white gown with the silver trim. Her wig is more elaborate than the one I remember from when I was little—intricate braids coil around her head, creating a crown from which curls cascade down her back in a tumble of gold—but her face is the same. Her skin as smooth, her cheekbones as high and delicate, her eyes as …

Her eyes …

“Forgive us.” She falls to her knees, sending the tears pooled in her eyes spilling down her cheeks.

Nippa rushes to her side: I back away, more startled by her tears than if she’d hurled a knife at my chest.

“We do not deserve forgiveness,” she continues, breath hitching. “But still, we ask for it, if only to prove we see how wrong we have been. We have been deceived. Our brother convinced us the souls we consumed would be delivered into paradise, but there is no excuse for the evils we have committed. We should have questioned our brother years ago. We should have sought the truth before so many died in vain.”

I shake my head, hands trembling at my sides, itching for a weapon.

A weapon.
The knife on the table! If I move quickly …

I turn and run, holding up my long gown as I dash to the table to fetch the knife and turn back to Ekeeta, the sharp point aimed at her heart.

But even with half a room and the bed still between us, I know I won’t be able to make use of the weapon. Already, my arm wavers, my muscles threatening to turn to stone if I attempt to kill a defenseless woman kneeling on the ground before me.

Damn
my mother’s curse!
Damn
fairy magic and all the misery it has brought to my family since the day Mother was blessed in her cradle!

“What do you want?” I sob, gripping the knife so tightly my hand begins to sweat, gritting my teeth as I fight to be stronger than the magic, to take the vengeance that is rightly mine. “Where is Jor? Where is my brother?”

Fresh tears as fat as winterberries drop from her eyes. “He is safe. He has suffered, but he will live,” she says, wringing another sob from my throat, a sound of pain and relief and mourning mixed together. “We swear he will live. And we swear to aid you both in escaping to freedom tonight.”

“What?” I nearly shout the word, so confused it feels as if I’ve awoken in a world where my dreams and nightmares have married and given birth to hideous children. “What is this? What are you playing at?”

“Quiet.” Nippa’s whisper is harsh, but with fear, not anger. “These are the human guest quarters and few of our kind come here, but you must not attract attention. If you are discovered, Princess, we will be unable to save your life, or your brother’s.”

I swallow, my gaze flicking from Nippa’s kind face to Ekeeta’s tearful one, unable to find anything false in their eyes.

“Explain yourself.” I drop the knife to the table where it lands with a dull thud.