Princess of Thorns (6 page)

What if he went charging off to rescue the fair maiden himself, only to find a boy in the dungeon? I doubt he would save my brother out of the goodness of his heart, not after I’d tricked him, and it’s far more likely that Niklaas would end up dead for his troubles. As irritating as he can be, I don’t want to be responsible for his death.

“A friend,” Niklaas repeats, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. “A friend you’re willing to risk your life and your sister’s kingdom for? Aurora will need all the help she can get if she hopes to stage a successful overthrow in the future. If you’re dead, she’ll have lost her only family and the ability to marry you off to some nice princess and strengthen her alliance with the countries of Herth.”

“I know what my sister and I have to lose.” I cap the waterskin and hand it over but keep my eyes on Button’s shivering side, running my fingers down his dusty coat as he grazes, wishing I had a brush to curry him with. “I know what’s worth fighting for.”

“Aren’t you a little young to—”

“Don’t say it,” I warn, close to losing my patience with his condescending attitude. “If you start preaching about my youth again, I’ll have to beat some sense into you, no matter how sore I am.”

“Sore, eh?” He hums low in his throat. “I know what’ll make you feel better. Me too. I’m as sore as a newlywed’s nethers,” he says, thankfully letting the matter drop. “Feel like I’ve been beaten between the legs with a rolling pin. Which, sadly enough, actually happened to my sorry self upon one occasion.”

“Really?” I fall in behind him as he takes off into the trees, down a gentle hill.

“Really.” He sighs. “One morning, not long ago, a baker off the coast of Eno City got up to set his loaves cooking and caught me asleep by the fire with his daughter.”

“Whose loaves you’d set cooking the night before,” I say, tsking beneath my breath.

Niklaas laughs as he spins around, treating me to a rakish grin I’m sure the baker’s daughter is still dreaming about to this day.

“Maybe you aren’t so young after all.” He’s still chuckling when he turns to leap atop a large stone and climb up the side of an even larger boulder blocking the path.

I scramble after him, determined to hold on to the light moment. Niklaas isn’t all bad, and I can’t deny that I’m anticipating whatever this is that will make us feel better.

The anticipation lasts until I reach the top of the boulder and see Niklaas already down the other side, bounding across two flat rocks toward a pool of steaming water, stripping his shirt off as he goes. By the time he reaches the edge of the smoking spring, he’s shucked his boots and loosened the tie on his riding pants.

I realize what he intends to do, but before I can turn my back, his pants slide off his hips, and Niklaas, eleventh son of the immortal king, is as naked as the day he was born.

I freeze—jaw dropping, blood draining from my face—unable to tear my eyes away, though I know I should. But, warrior’s clothes be damned, I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, and what seventeen-year-old girl could look away from a sight like
that
?

Niklaas may have the face of a golden god, but he has the body of a devil, a creature sent from the Pit to tempt a girl to abandon everything she holds dear for one night, skin to skin, with a creature designed for pleasure. The sort of pleasure that, since the day I kissed Thyne, I’ve known I must forever do without.

But now, as I watch Niklaas ease into the water, I wonder …

What if I didn’t love the boy—not even friendly love, the way I loved Thyne? What if he didn’t love me? Would my kiss still steal away his mind? Or would he retain his head so long as our bodies were the only part of our selves involved?

What would it be like to join Niklaas in the water? To show him who I really am and feel his hands on my bare skin, his lips at my throat? The thought is enough to make my pulse speed, until I remember who I’m lusting after and come to my senses with a shiver of disgust.

Even if it were safe, there’s no way I’d give Niklaas the satisfaction of knowing that the girl he’s determined to make his wife before he’s even met her finds him even a lick interesting in
that
way.

“Come on, Ror,” Niklaas calls, pushing the damp hair from his forehead. “It’s a ball stinger for a few minutes, but after that … pure heaven.”

His
wife.
I will never be this prince’s wife, and once he knows it, he’ll have no reason to keep helping me, even if I tell him that my brother’s life, and the future of Mataquin, is at stake. No doubt he would refuse to accompany
any
girl on a hunt for an army, no matter what the circumstances. Human men aren’t like Fey men. They don’t believe a well-trained woman can fight, or lead, as well as a man. Niklaas already doubts my abilities because I’m small. Gods forbid he find out I’m female.

As soon as he realizes the truth, he’ll leave. Or worse, kidnap me—to ensure my safety, if my judgment of his character is correct; to force me to marry him at sword point, if it is not and marriage really is what he’s after—and Jor will die.

Niklaas can never discover my secret. I have to leave. Now. I should have run the moment his billowing Kanvasola shirt hit the bank.

“All right, little prince?” Niklaas asks, a careful note in his voice.

“I’m not accustomed to bathing with other people.” I clear my throat and shift my gaze to a patch of sky visible between the leaves, wondering if my cheeks are as pink. “I’ll go get the fire ready and come back later. It will be dark soon and a fire is … good.”

“A fire
is
good,” Niklaas says. “Build it beneath the trees. The wind should scatter the smoke, but just in case, the leaves will hide the fire. The Boughtswords might still be looking for us. We don’t want to help them with the finding.”

“Right.” I risk a quick peek down to where Niklaas lounges in the pool, his thick arms stretched along the rocks, steaming water rising to his chest, watching me with a shrouded look that emphasizes the bright blue of his eyes.

Even in the shadows beginning to thicken the air, his eyes are aggressively blue, like a northern hunt dog meeting a stranger in the woods, debating whether to rip out the newcomer’s throat. I feel exposed all over again, though I know there’s little chance Niklaas has guessed what I was thinking a moment ago. He’s convinced I’m a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m not going to linger to give him reason to suspect otherwise.

Without another word, I slither down the other side of the boulder on my belly, ignoring my aching muscles, refusing to think about how nice it would feel to be soaking in the hot spring instead of hurrying back to the camp. I’ll have my chance for a soak later. Alone. Without any insufferable princes lurking in the water.

“I’m not some baker’s daughter,” I mumble, dumping an armful of wood to the ground with more force than necessary. “And even if I were, I’d know better.”

Across the clearing, Alama whinnies, her long tongue dangling lewdly from her mouth. I stick my tongue out in return, smiling when she rears her head and stamps the ground.

I have to put up with Niklaas and his nosy questions and pearls of wisdom and piercing devil eyes; I don’t have to put up with being sassed by a horse.

My small triumph cheers me until a flash of black draws my eyes to the sky above the valley. There, dozens of vultures—crooked wings spread wide and bald heads craned toward the ground—drift in slow, relentless circles in the fading light, searching the world below for the ogre queen’s prey.

When I arrive back at our camp—after a soak that has turned my toes to happy prunes and my aching back to mush—Ror is nowhere to be found. The horses are tied as they were and grazing peacefully, but I draw my sword anyway.

Better to find out the boy is off answering the call and not need a weapon than to be surprised by an enemy.

“Ror?” After a moment with no answer, I call a little louder, “Ror? Are you—”

“Shh!” comes a hiss from my left. “In here.”

I turn toward the sound of his voice, but find … nothing.

“Inside the tree,” he whispers. “It’s hollow.”

I circle around the petrified tree where the horses are tied and kneel down to peer inside. After a moment, my eyes adjust and I see Ror—a mad gleam in his eyes—crouched in the darkness ten hands away.

“I’m hiding,” he says.

“I see that.”

“Maybe you should hide, too,” he says, scooting farther into the darkness. “There were two of them at the mercenary camp this morning. I was too muddled to think they might have been sent by the queen, but they could have seen us together.” He waves an arm, motioning for me to join him. “Come on! I don’t know how much they know.”

“How much who knows?” I glance over my shoulder, poised to defend myself if whoever’s spooked Ror is still near the camp. “Who did you see?”

“Not who,
what,
” he snaps. “They’re everywhere. Don’t you see them?”

“See what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my frustration. If there’s danger at hand, the boy needs to be less flaming vague!

“The vultures swarming above the blasted camp!”

I lift my eyes, but the sky is empty, save for the sliver moon rising above the Feeding Hills. “I don’t see anything.”

“But there were so many,” Ror says, refusing to budge. “At least a dozen, and more flying in from the east.”

I stand and turn in a slow circle. “Well, they’re gone now. Vultures can’t see much better in the dark than we can. They’ll be off finding a place to roost. I suggest we do the same. If you want your turn at the pool, you’d better get moving.”

Ror crawls from his hidey-hole, staff clutched tightly in hand. He still looks spooked, even after his own search of the sky reveals I’ve told the truth. “I’m not mad,” he says, pointing a stubby finger in my direction. His hands are ridiculously wee, so precious I would be tempted to make fun of them if he weren’t acting so strange.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask, innocent as a lamb.

“With your careful eyes, and that careful voice, too,” he says, glaring. “I haven’t taken leave of my senses. My fairy mother says Ekeeta has enlisted carrion creatures as her allies. The queen throws them her scraps when she’s done harvesting a soul. In exchange, they spy for her.”

“Scraps, eh?” My empty stomach churns. “I thought they were giving the criminals who feed the ogres’ hunger a decent burial these days.”

“The days are changing.” Ror tugs his ear as he searches the sky one last time. “Maybe they didn’t see me. I hid the moment I spied them.”

“Or maybe they were normal vultures and nothing to worry about,” I say, unable to keep the mocking note from my voice.

“And maybe you’re a fool,” Ror snaps, but when he turns back to me he doesn’t look angry. He looks worried, older.

For the first time, I notice faint wrinkles at the sides of his lips, lines that emphasize his soft mouth. The boy is pretty enough to be a girl. His sister must be even prettier. It wouldn’t matter if she were the ugliest lump of troll dung ever birthed—it would be worth wedding a dog with an ass at both ends to live to see my nineteenth birthday—but I can’t deny I’d enjoy a pretty wife more than a homely one.

Just as I’d enjoy a friendly relationship with my brother-in-law rather than a strained one. Best to humor the boy. There are worse things than being too careful, or too shy to take a bath with other men around.

“Go on, take a soak. You’ll feel better after.” I chuck Ror on the shoulder, doing my best to put him at ease. “When you get back, we’ll have a bite and you can get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“All right.” Ror moves toward the woods but turns back before he reaches the path. “I’m
not
crazy. Ekeeta does have animals spying for her.”

“I believe you,” I say, with what I hope is an encouraging smile.

“This isn’t a safe journey,” he says, tugging his ear again. “It’s dangerous to travel with a briar-born child.”

He takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes before glancing back up with an expression so pitiful it makes me want to give the kid a hug. He doesn’t look old now. He looks like a child who has lost his mother. “Maybe you should leave me. I’ll understand. I don’t want you killed.”

“I won’t be killed,” I say, pushing on when Ror opens his mouth to argue. “I understand the risk, and I’m willing to take it.”

He blinks, and a furrow forms between his pale brows. “Why? For the chance to meet my sister? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Wanting to marry your sister isn’t a passing fancy,” I say, sheathing my sword. “I thought long and hard before I came looking for her. Aurora is the only match that makes sense for me. I’ll do whatever it takes for the chance to win her. Even risk death escorting her brother across the country.”

Ror bites his lip. “But there are other princesses. Princesses who have country and family and no price on their head. No ogre queen for an enemy.”

“Ekeeta is everyone’s enemy.”

“You know what I mean.” His head tilts to one side, studying me. “And why the rush? You’re not even eighteen. My father didn’t take his first wife until he was twenty-six. Wouldn’t you rather wait until you’ve had a few more bakers’ daughters?”

“I’ve already had my share of bakers’ daughters,” I say with a wink. “And farmers’ daughters, and noblemen’s daughters, and magicians’ daughters, and a few fairy girls I met at a carnival who taught me the most amazing trick with—”

“I understand.” Ror rolls his eyes. “You’re terribly successful at convincing girls to sleep with you. I’m sure your country is very proud.”

I laugh, but Ror doesn’t join in. He folds his arms across his chest and his studying expression becomes scrutinizing. “You haven’t answered my question. Why the rush? Why tie yourself to a princess with nothing to offer you but trouble?”

I sigh and run a hand through my damp hair. “I have my reasons.”

“What kind of reasons?”

“Reasons I’ll be happy to discuss with
your sister,
” I lie, knowing I’ll do no such thing. Hopefully Aurora will be of a less suspicious ilk than her nosy little brother. “Now go on and have a soak, will you? Maybe it will put you in a better temper.”

“I’m in a fine temper. I only want what’s best for Aurora.”

“As do I. I mean her no harm.” I hold out my hands, palms up, showing I have nothing to hide. At least not when it comes to treating his sister well. “I’m not a bad sort, Ror.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad sort,” Ror mumbles. “I just …”

“Just what?” I ask, growing nervous of this conversation.

If the boy backs out of our bargain I’ll be back where I started, with time running out and no idea where to find the one girl who might save me before it’s too late. Finding the witch my father paid to curse his sons was a bit of pure luck—a drunken conversation in a bar by the sea led to another drunken conversation, which led to a woman living in an abandoned shrine my father hadn’t gotten around to burning just yet.

The woman knew who I was at once and apparently felt guilty for what she’d done to my brothers and me, but not guilty enough to give me the charm to lead me to a briar-born child free of charge. She took my armor—the only truly valuable thing I owned, a gift from an ancient king of Norvere passed down through my brothers—and made me split the skin on my palm and press it to my forehead while she whispered a spell, banishing my memory of her appearance to protect her in case I decided not to honor my promise to keep our meeting a secret from my father.

If I lose Ror, I’m up a ladder without a basket. “Come on,” I say, doing my best to keep desperation from my tone. “You can trust me.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“I’m not a spider.”

“No, you’re the fly, and you could be risking your life for nothing,” Ror says. “I know my sister, and there is a very,
very
good chance she’ll want nothing to do with you. At least, not as more than a friend and ally.”

“Very, very?” I chuckle.

“I’m not joking.”

My smile slips. “Well, that’s a chance I’m willing to take. Now go on,” I say, shooing him with both hands. “Have a soak and give the fretting a rest.”

Ror sucks in his lips, biting them before giving a terse nod. “I won’t be long.” He starts to go, but turns back again. “Thank you. I appreciate your help. And your bravery.”

Before I can respond, the prince spins and scurries into the forest. I watch him go with a sinking feeling in my stomach. There was something in his voice … almost as if he knows
without a doubt
that Aurora will want no part of me. But he can’t, not for sure. Not even a brother can know all the secrets of his sister’s heart.

Perhaps especially not a brother.

I certainly had no idea Haanah was carrying on with a castle guard before Father caught on and sent the man away. Greer was a decent sort but plain-faced and serious to a fault. I never imagined Haanah would give him a second thought, but she was mad for him. She spent a month mourning like an orphaned puppy when she learned he was gone.

Ror can’t know Aurora better than I know Haanah. Haanah and I are practically twins, the only two children named after my mother’s side of the family, just eighteen months apart and even closer than Usio and I were before his change. Aurora could very well surprise her brother the same way my sister surprised me.

Or so I tell myself as I start the fire and set about pulling together a meager meal from our rations. But my reasonable arguments offer little comfort. I need to know what Ror is hiding, what secret he’s keeping tucked inside that warrior’s knot of his.

I decide to get it out of the boy, one way or another, but the hour grows late—insects sing their night songs, and the world beyond the cliff is devoured by darkness—and Ror doesn’t return. I wait as long as I dare, but finally decide he must have become lost and prepare to go hunting for him.

I’ve just finished fashioning a torch from a thin log and dry moss from the limbs of the pin oaks when I hear him scream.