Thorn (33 page)

“I want to understand justice in this land. The men who hurt—who killed Violet can be found. Ash and Oak both believe it; they say that the men will talk, will boast, and that there will be witnesses. Yet when Ash and Oak went to petition the king for justice against Violet’s attackers, they were turned back. And no one even bothered to ask the guards to help search.”

Red Hawk smiles, but it is a slow, sad thing. “I told you before: you are very idealistic.”

“This is about justice.”

“Justice for the poor?” He laughs, sitting back. “There is justice for the rich here, lady, and justice for the powerful. But for the rest of us there is very little of anything.”

“Laurel told me that there are two laws here: the King’s Law and the thieves’ law. If the King’s Law only serves the rich, what of the thieves’ law?”

His gaze sharpens, and I know he understand me, but he says only. “It is what we make of it.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“It is primarily only for thieves. It is somewhat less harsh than the King’s Law, and then again somewhat harsher.”

“I don’t understand.”

Red Hawk gestures with his hand, as if he held something weighty in his palm. “Here is an example: if one thief steals from his brother, the first question asked is why.”

“Isn’t stealing what thieves do?”

“Aye, but between thieves there is a code of honor. We do not encroach on each other’s territory, nor steal from each other. If a man steals out of need, because his family was going hungry or the like, he is forgiven. But if he steals only to enrich himself, then the first time he is flogged. The second time, his hand is cut off so that he cannot steal again. By the King’s Law, the common thief is flogged, regardless of why he steals or how often.”

“By the King’s Law, then, you are not a common thief.”

“No,” he says, amusement warming his voice. “The uncommon thief is subject to special treatment.”

“And what of men who do—what was done to Violet?”

“By the King’s Law, those found guilty of rape and murder are hung.”

I have to hold myself still, breathe deeply once, for it is the first time I have heard anyone name what was done to Violet. My voice cracks as I ask, “And under your thieves’ law?”

“These are crimes that cannot be excused to necessity, so we are in agreement with the King’s Law: a public hanging. But before that the men would be flogged that their punishment not go too easily with them.”

“It is very similar.”

“Yes. Am I to guess that you wish Violet’s attackers brought to justice?”

I meet his gaze. “I do. But I don’t know what I will owe you, for you have already repaid your debt many times over.”

“The accounting is not quite clear,” he observes with a mock frown.

“I helped you one night, your men helped me another. You helped us find Violet. Now I am asking something in addition.”

“When a thief tries to grant you a favor, don’t protest it, lady. It is far too rare an occurrence to be disregarded.”

I rub my cheeks and then pause, holding my head still, as if I might hold in the terror of the last few days, might somehow keep myself from breaking apart at the kindness of his words.

“You are not well,” Red Hawk says.

I shake my head, dropping my hands to my lap. “I am fine.”

“You have not seen a death like this before.”

“No,” I agree. “And I would not have believed that the only help to be had would be from those who evade the law, not swear to uphold it.”

“I am sworn to my own law.”

“You are. For that I am grateful.”

“We can find Violet’s killers and bring them to justice. It is hardly an impossible task.”

“What will I owe you?”

He taps his fingers against the armrest. “Tell me, lady, what is the price of justice in your land?”

I watch his fingers, thinking of Valka, of that day long ago and the sapphire brooch. “Justice in my land is very similar to the King’s Law here—it is to be had for the rich and held against the poor. True justice,” I glance up to meet his eyes, “that would be priceless, I expect.” His lips twitch, and I wonder if he has held back a smile, and what that smile would mean.

“Priceless,” he echoes. “Can you offer me something equally priceless in return?”

“I have very little to offer—what I brought with me in my trunks from home; that is all,” I say humbly.

“But there is more to you than just your belongings; what else can you offer?”

My mouth goes suddenly dry; I cannot look away from him. I am aware in an awful, sickening way that we are in a bedroom. “I—I can’t,” I stumble.

“Lady,” he reaches out and touches my sleeve lightly. I flinch away. “Do not look at me so. Have I ever given you true reason to fear me?”

“I am sorry,” I whisper, looking down to hide my relief, my shame.

“You feel for Violet because you too have been hurt before.”

“I—no, not like Violet. I wasn’t hurt like her. I was just—it was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

I close my eyes. “My brother used to beat me. He would threaten me.” The words sound strange to me, hanging in the air. Smaller than I expected. I have never voiced them before, have never admitted to anyone what my brother did. It did not matter if others knew or not, there was a safety in not speaking it aloud, admitting it to myself.

“It is nothing—when you consider what was done to Violet, to others here,” I gasp into the silence. “A few bruises, that’s all.” I open my mouth and find that I cannot go on, that the words have robbed me of my breath. I cover my face with my hands, bending down, my back hunched. Hidden, my breath rasps back into me in a broken, strangled sob. I do not want Red Hawk to hear me, so I hold my breath, shaking, refusing to breathe again until I must.

“Thorn,” he says, his voice the same soothing tone that hostlers use with a frightened colt. I hear him move away. He will leave now; he will look down on me for my weakness when so many others have carried burdens heavier than mine.

“Here,” he says, walking back to me. “Drink this.” He holds out a tin cup. I take it from him in surprise. He does not speak again until I lower the cup, stare down into the water left at the bottom. “I knew the night you first helped me that you were a strong woman at heart. I did not realize the depth of your courage until now.”

I laugh, an ugly, harsh sound. “Courage? I am worse than the lowest coward. I’ve allowed—you don’t know the things I haven’t done, because I was afraid of what would happen to me.” I press my hand to my mouth as if I might take back the truth of my words.

“As a thief,” Red Hawk says, “I’ve found that acting when you are afraid is the greatest sign of courage there is.”

“But I haven’t acted. I’ve just let things go on because I was afraid.”

“Ah,” he says. “So, that night when you helped me through the depths of this city and delivered me to a safety that threatened you, you who are afraid of the brutality of men, that night is an example of when you let things go on from fear of what might happen to you?”

“Falada was there,” I whisper.

“Your horse could have protected you from the soldiers?”

“No,” I admit. “There were too many—but he stayed with us, and carried me home.”

“It is easier to be strong when you have a friend supporting you,” Red Hawk agrees. “But that does not change the fact that you chose to act, and in acting you saved my life.”

“That was an exception,” I tell him bitterly. “All these months here, I have been hiding from the one thing I have to do.”

“I expect, when you are called upon to do it, you will rise to the occasion very well. You are made of stronger stuff than most.” I don’t believe him. He must see it in my eyes, because he grins and says, “I did not get this far by making mistakes. As for the question of justice, I will see to it that the attackers are found and punished. In return,” he pauses, watching me. “I want something from you that, I fear, can’t be traded. It makes for a difficult bargain.”

“What is it?”

“I should like your friendship and trust.”

I stare at him, my mind flicking to Kestrin and his apple-cakes, but the tenor of this is different; there is more truth between Red Hawk and I.

“Don’t feel the need to answer at once,” he says dryly.

“Why would that matter to you?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you underestimate yourself.” I do not answer. “I know,” he continues, “that such things cannot be bought. So I want from you only an offer of friendship, an attempt at trust.”

“That is all?” I ask. He nods. I sit back, thinking. The friendship and trust of a goose girl is one thing, but that of a princess may be an entirely different thing. And then I wonder if Red Hawk might not be one of the best friends I could have as a princess, and if I, in turn, might be able to help him as well. Except that a princess cannot uphold a thief. I bite my lip. I am not there yet, I think.

“I will try,” I tell him. “And I will not betray the trust you have given me, now or in the future.”

“Of course,” he says. “Friends do not betray each other.”

Laurel sits at the common room table, her back hunched, her face in her hands. I retreat into the hall and then stop. How can I leave her alone when I know the choking emptiness I feel over Violet’s death? How much deeper must her grief be? I enter, moving quietly to the counter. Laurel lifts her head, watching me with dull eyes as I fill a cup of water and bring it to her. She takes it without a word, setting it on the table untouched. My hand hovers over her hair. It is matted, locks stuck together, the braid hardly there anymore. Nothing, nothing like the Laurel I know.

I fetch a comb from the cabinet and stand behind her, working through her hair, picking out the knots lock by lock. She rests her chin on her hands and lets me work, and I watch the tension slowly go out of her shoulders. When I am done, her hair resting in a braid down her back once more, I kiss the top of her head and turn away. She catches my hand and brings it to her cheek; for a long moment we stay like that, her cheek, the palm of my hand, the damp of tears in between.

After I finish in the goose barn, I return to the stables looking for her. Laurel straightens and turns towards me at my call, leaning on her pitchfork, the stall only half-mucked. There are circles under her eyes, and I know from the sound of her shifting at night on the pallet next to mine that she has not slept well.

“I wanted to tell you something—you and the boys.”

“What’s that?” Oak asks, stepping out of a stall two doors down. Like Laurel, Oak is exhausted, his eyes sunken and his face sallow.

“I spoke to a friend yesterday about finding those men,” I say awkwardly. “I think he’ll find them.”

“Good. I hope they string them up and leave them to rot.”

“Laurel,” Oak says in surprise, turning towards her. She shakes her head, her eyes bright with tears, and goes back to mucking her stall. Oak presses his lips together, returning to his work in silence. He will leave for their family’s farm in a few days’ time, bearing the news of Violet’s loss to their parents. I hope that he might also have news of the attackers’ punishment to take with him.

I am grateful for the walk to the pasture, the solitude. In the field, I fill my cup with water from the stream and sit beneath the shade of a tree. The geese are spread about the pasture, snapping up grass and tasty bugs, or dipping into the stream. It is as if nothing has happened, as if the pasture exists out of time and none of the violence or illness I have seen can touch it.

In the late afternoon I doze, leaning back in the shade of a tree. I wake with a start, but when I look up I realize it is only the geese passing near me; Corbé still sits by his tree across the pasture. I can feel his gaze on me, though, and I stand up, leaning on my staff as I return to the stream for a drink.

The Wind comes to visit, a faint puff of warmth that hints of summer. I follow the wall down a few paces as I speak to it, my hand drifting over the stones. “You should go home,” I say. “The dell is a better home for you than these empty fields.”

Stay,
the Wind argues.

“No. There’s something I have to do, something I’ve been avoiding. I don’t think it will go well. Even if, by the grace of God, it does, I won’t be coming out with the geese anymore.”

Wait
, suggests the Wind.

“You can wait,” I tell it. “Just don’t wait too long.”

***

Ash sprints up to the good barn.

“Thorn! Come quickly!”

I drop my rake and run to him. His teeth are bared in a grin. “What’s happened?”

“They said—we heard,” he gasps, catching hold of my hand and pulling me after him as he begins to run again. “The men were caught—they’re at Hanging Square.” I can see Laurel running ahead, her boots flashing beneath her skirts, Rowan and Oak keeping pace beside her. We pound after them, people turning to watch our flight through the streets.

The Square is filled to overflowing, people jostling each other for a view of the central gallows. I skid to a stop, yank my hand from Ash’s, and bend over, digging my fingers into my side. He waits next to me, panting and stretching up on his toes to look over the heads of the crowd. I stare at the cobblestones, not wanting to look up now that I am here.