Thorn (27 page)

Kestrin has read them as well, I am sure. I wonder what he thought of them, how far they helped him to unveil Valka’s true identity. I smile thinly, thinking that my first statement to him—that my family expected my marriage and would not wish for my return home—might have been neatly corroborated by the letters. If only they were not in Valka’s keeping. What a fool she has been for assuming the sanctity of her belongings.

I hear a step in the other room and drop into the nearest seat. I watch as Valka enters, tilting my head back and meeting her gaze.

“I see you have forgotten your court manners.” Valka regards me contemptuously.

“Perhaps.” Shouldn’t she be the one to curtsy to me?

“How are the stables treating you? Still shoveling dung?”

“An honest living often involves dealing with others’ filth.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Indeed.” She walks over to her writing desk and fishes out the newest letter from my mother. “This came a few days ago. We will write the response now. My attendants will be here shortly; I want you gone by then.”

I take the letter from her and open it, perusing its contents. It runs long, containing strict admonishments for my foolish behavior in growing distant from Melkior and his ilk, recommendations on how to draw them back into my circle, a concise analysis of how my politicking may influence my future power, and suggestions on how to dress and act to keep Kestrin’s interest alive. It ends with an injunction to send more news at once, and mentions the preparations being made for the queen and prince to attend the wedding in the spring. I weigh the letter in my hand, then drop it onto the desk.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the stables.”

“What of the response?”

“What of it?”

“We’ll write it now.” She gestures imperiously towards the desk.

“By all means, write a response.”

Valka bristles. “You know full well that you must write it.”

“We made an agreement: I would write for you and you would leave me alone. You broke that agreement. It is over.” I start towards the door.

“You’re angry about the horse, aren’t you?” she calls after me, her voice light and mocking.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then turn to face her. “The horse?”

“The white. The Master of Horses said it couldn’t be saddled. It was hardly fit for the dogs. I should have had it killed when we first arrived, considering how it went wild on the journey.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t,” I say coldly. “Then I might have excused you.”

“Excused me? Since when do I answer to a servant for my actions?”

I shrug. “I might ask the same. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The horse is dead, our agreement is finished, and I am going.”

“You’ll write these letters, or you’ll be sorry,” she snarls.

“You’ll find a better reason for me to write them, or I’ll disappear. There are other places I can work. What will you do then?”

She pales. “No one would take you.”

“We’ll just have to see.”

“I don’t need the letters that much.”

“When my family comes for the wedding, do you think you’ll be able to fool them? They’ll want to know why you haven’t written. They’ll be watching very carefully because they’ll know something is wrong. Only if you keep up the pretense now can you hope to slip past them then; they’ll think your change due to living here, not something that has been done to you. Think hard on it,
princess
.”

I watch the emotions slide through her eyes: anger, fear, hate. There will be no place for me in the stables and goose barn once she weds.

“What do you want?” Valka asks, her voice cold and haughty.

“I wanted you to keep your word.”

“You dared to dine alone with my prince—with Melkior and his family—and you charge me with breaking my word? What of you? You filthy little witch! The horse was mine; I had every right to kill it. You are lucky I didn’t have you whipped.”

“You swore to leave me alone; you knew the horse was part of my life. I promised only to write your letters for you.”

“You were to stay in your place! Instead you came traipsing up to the palace the moment I turn my back.”

“Is that what you thought?” I ask, pressing my hands flat against my skirts. “A goose girl is invited to dinner by a lord: do you think it is a question or a command? Do you think I had the right to refuse? Go and ask Melkior’s daughters if I maligned you! I kept my word. As for my place, what is that exactly? What am I?”

Valka glares at me, her face pale with anger. “You are nothing.”

“Then you will not need me.” I turn on my heel, striding through the outer sitting room. I hear the ink pot shatter against the wall as I close the door behind me.

Outside, the wind whips through the courtyard. I shrug deeper into my battered traveling cloak, wishing I had bundled up more. My cloak had been made for cool fall weather, not for these frigid winter winds. I keep my head down, trudging towards the gates. As I reach them, a riding party trots in. I step back against the stone wall, watching the front mounted guards swing past, followed by Kestrin and the king, and behind them the rest of the guard.

Kestrin catches sight of me at once; even with his face shadowed by his cloak’s hood, I see the gleam of his eyes as they fasten on me. I shrug deeper in my cloak, dropping my head to stare at the cobblestones underfoot. I do not look up again until they are past. I hope Kestrin did not watch me all the way through, that his father did not take notice. Hurrying down West Road, I clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering and wish that I might never see Kestrin again.

“You’re still not sleeping well, are you?” Violet asks me a handful of mornings later.

I shake my head. “But I’m trying not to stomp around as much now.”

“Why don’t you share our room?”

“What?” I say, not sure I have heard her right.

“You might sleep easier with other folk around you.”

“I might.” I have never shared a room before, other than my nights in Falada’s stall.

“I can’t imagine sleeping alone,” Violet goes on. “I’m so used to the sound of other people, I think it would be too quiet. Laurel says I laugh in my sleep, but I’ll tell you what I know for sure: Laurel snores.” With a wink, Violet skips out of the room, her laughter drowning out Laurel’s protestations of innocence.

I mull over her offer through the morning, wondering what it would be like to sleep in the same room as someone else. It must, I think, take a deep trust, an unshakeable certainty in the goodness of others.

As I enter the stables on my way to lunch, I find Rowan currying a horse by the door. He glances my way mischievously. “I hear there’s a package for you in the common room.”

“A package?”

“Ayah, a lad dropped it off this morning. Seems Violet isn’t the only one with an admirer.”

“It must be something else,” I protest, flushing. “I haven’t got an admirer.”

He nods sagely. “Go see what it is, and then we’ll argue.”

“I will,” I say, relieved.

I hurry straight to the common room, grateful to find it empty. The package sits on the table, a cloth-wrapped bundle tied with a bit of cord. I pull the cord to the side and squeeze the package out, then unwrap the rough burlap cloth. Inside, there is more cloth—a heavy, dark green wool. I lift it up, its folds falling open. It is a cloak.

“Isn’t that pretty?” I look up to see Violet in the doorway. “Put it on, then. Let’s see.”

I unfasten my old cloak, dumping it over the bench, and swing the new cloak over my shoulders. Violet helps settle it on my shoulders, tugging the folds into place. “That green sets off your eyes. And it’s a good warm cloak for this weather.”

“There’s a brooch, too,” I say, spotting the feather-shaped bronze pin.

“Isn’t that fitting,” Violet says, grinning, and pins it on.

“Thorn has a lover!” Rowan shouts from the hallway.

I swing around, scrabbling to open the brooch. “I don’t!”

Violet giggles. “She’s turning redder than her hair. Let her be.”

The next moment, Ash joins Rowan, jostling each other into the room. “What’s this? Who’s the man?”

“It isn’t anyone!”

“Well then, who sent this for you?” Violet asks practically.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“There’s something still left in that package,” she observes. “Take a look.”

Violet is right: at the bottom of the cloth wrapping lie a pair of leather gloves and a small square envelope.

“Mighty suspicious looking,” Ash says, peering over my shoulder.

“Can you read?” Violet asks. At my surprised nod, she says, “Well then, see who it’s from.”

I open the envelope slowly, wishing I was alone, and pull out a square of paper. In a script I recognize from the notes I saw in Valka’s room are written the words:
Warm days, peaceful nights. K.

“Not what you expected,” Ash observes. I look up at him. “You went all still and serious,” he elaborates, “so I’m guessing it isn’t an admirer.”

“And I was so hopeful.” Rowan sighs.

“I don’t think I should wear it,” I say, putting the envelope down and making to take off the cloak.

“Don’t, Thorn,” Violet catches my hand. “You need that cloak. Whoever sent it to you knew your old cloak wasn’t half as good as a threadbare horse blanket. And you could do with a pair of gloves to warm your hands. The One knows we could all use gloves.”

“I’m not sure if I should.”

“Can you return it?” Ash asks.

Without insulting him? “No.”

“Would you be in his debt if you used it?”

I hesitate, considering the angles. Is it a peace offering? A token of friendship? Perhaps, but not a debt. “No.”

“Then use it,” Ash says simply, and the others nod their agreement.

Violet bundles up my old cloak in the wrapping cloth and hands it to me. “Keep this for the spring when you’ll want something light.”

***

In the evening, Violet walks into my room, rolls up my sleeping mat without a word, and carries it to her and Laurel’s room.

“Good,” Laurel says as Violet deposits it on the floor. “It’ll be nice having you here.”

“Not a word from you,” Violet says, shaking a finger at me. I laugh, helping her straighten the sheets. “You’ll sleep well,” she promises. “You’ll see.”

She is wrong. I listen to my friends’ even breathing, their faint shifts and—from Violet—the occasional endearing dream-induced giggle, and I find a strange peace stealing over me. I lie on my side, facing them, and think of their lives, of Tarkit and his mother, of all the people I have seen in the city, and while sleep does not come until late and late, in the morning I am not quite as exhausted as I have been.

My days begin to fall into an uneasy rhythm. In the mornings, Corbé and I clean out the goose barn. Afterwards, I walk out to the plains, or through the bigger streets of the city. As Tarkit taught me, I am careful of entering quiet streets or walking near groups of men, wary really of anything that might suggest the danger of being attacked or snatched. But I cannot help my interest in the city itself, in its inhabitants: the men and women and children, each with their own stories. So many lives, so much need and hope and laughter mixed in together. Only near the palace, where the wealthy merchants and the best artisans and guildworkers live, do I catch the scent of affluence in the air.

By late afternoon, I return to muck out my assigned stalls. “We’ll make a hostler out of you yet,” Joa tells me, stopping by to watch me work. I only nod and bend back to my work. At night I lie awake listening to Laurel and Violet, filling myself with the warmth of their nearness, their regard, before drifting off to sleep.

But as I work, or wander the streets, or sit with my friends in the common room, words echo in my ears, memories teasing the corners of my vision as if they are the future. I see the prince standing alone in Melkior’s courtyard. I see him in his rooms offering what protection he can, feel his touch on my palm. Or, much worse, I remember him facing the Lady, fear in his eyes. I keep his note in my pocket, slipping my hand in to touch it, and wonder what he is doing, why I haven’t seen him again. Everywhere I go, I carry him with me in the warmth of my cloak and the comfort of my gloves.

I think of Valka as well, of her smile on the river bank, of her foolish, self-gratifying politicking in court, and, inevitably, of a day long ago, before she left for Daerilin’s lands in the south. I tell the story to Falada, leaning against the wall beneath his head, tell him because I have nearly forgotten, because the words spilling out in the dim passage of the city gates brings a new clarity to my shadowed thoughts.

“Valka and I were never friends. She kept me company because that was what she had to do. She liked my brother more; she would follow him around whenever she could. He was brilliant and handsome and so very, very much what she wanted to be, or have.” I scuff the cobblestones. “They were always doing things together, causing trouble. I hated it, and she knew it. They drowned one of the kitchen cats once. They used to trick the servants, spread rumors about nobles, that sort of thing.