Those Who Dwell in the Thorns

by Nicolette Andrews

  Eventually, she reached a clearing where dozens of humanoids gathered in a circle, dancing beneath fur and feather silvery in the moonlight. Each moved to the song at their speed and with their own dance, limbs akimbo, howling and screeching. Others hung back in the shadows, eyes glittering. A man, a head taller than the rest, his hair cabled like a myriad of branches, spun around as he dipped and twirled.

  Suddenly, his eyes fell upon her, and he halted. His hand, thorny and the color of earth, held up to the sky silenced those gathered, and the music died away, leaving only a void of silence that seemed to echo through Catherine’s head. His eyes were dark and deep as forest pools. It was Mr. Thorn.

  He bowed to her, his cable hair fell into his eyes, parting like a curtain, and he rose again.

  “Welcome home, Catherine.”

  Words were not enough to encompass the love and acceptance she felt in that single word. She had never felt accepted, never felt welcome; always an outsider, always just a bit different. If this was a dream, she hoped it never ended. Her hands trembling, she took his, and he led her to the center of the clearing. The music resumed, and the dance began anew. It was no dance one could learn; it came from the heart, from the most instinctual carnal part of her. The humanoids in the clearing soon joined in the dance, cawing, grunting and growling. Others emerged from the darkness, Those that Dwell in the Thorns. Some were wild and fierce looking, and others had a more human compassion in their eyes. None appeared to be the heartless monsters that she had been warned about.

  There was no time to think because the dance had begun. They danced in a ring beneath the light of the moon, Those that Dwell in the Thorns and others she could not name. The Thorn Dwellers, who were long legged and nimble, jumped and twirled, thorny hands and limbs flashing beneath the moonlight, and all the time their dark eyes watched her, hungrily.

  “You are home,” they chanted.

  “Our daughter has returned,” they sang.

  And she sang with them, her once quiet voice now uninhibited and free, full of previously unknown melody, “Home. Home. I am home!”

  A chalice was passed about, and she drank deep and felt no weariness, no regret; she felt only joy, pure and complete.

  As the music continued to flow around them, Mr. Thorn drew in close to Catherine and whispered in her ear. “That’s right, Catherine. You are one of us. This is where you belong. Do you remember now?”

  The music seemed to fade away, and she stared up into Mr. Thorn’s dark eyes. Is this a dream? Will I awaken and find Edward beside me in my bed when this is all over.

  Mr. Thorn shook his head. “This isn’t a dream, Catherine. You are one of us, a Thorn Dweller, our princess has returned at last.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The following morning, Catherine awoke in a cocoon of blankets. She exhaled and stretched, she could not recall a time she had slept more peacefully. She eased up on her elbows and felt the weight of her unbound hair falling over her shoulders. Strange, I always braid my hair before bed, she thought. She ran her fingers through her tangled locks and retracted her hand upon feeling a crunchy substance therein.

  She opened her hand and revealed a curling brown leaf. She leapt out of bed and stared at the offending object. I went to bed without brushing my hair, and I went for a walk and got some debris in my hair. Easy enough to explain.

  A draft blew over her shoulders, and Catherine noticed the open window. The drapery twitched feebly in the wind, and as Catherine went to shut the window, she caught sight of her own reflection in her vanity. Her brunette hair was a tangled mess, and white flowers had been woven in the strands, and most shocking of all, she was wearing the white gown that had been in her dream.

  She looked down at the silk sheath and rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” she said.

  “Why would you think it was?” a voice hooted.

  Catherine rounded to find Tabitha, the owl, perched on the back of a chair, a piece of toast clutched in one of her talons as she raised it to her beak to eat in a most human-like fashion.

  Before, Catherine might have denied the illusion, but after last night, there was little room left for argument.

  “How did you get in my room?” she asked.

  Tabitha hooted. “Human food is so bland. How do you stomach it?” Tabitha clicked her beak and let the toast fall to the plate with a clatter. A breakfast had been set out for her, perhaps Edward had requested it. She liked to imagine him asking Mrs. Moira to make a special exception so she could sleep in.

  “Because I am a human, and this is what we eat,” Catherine said, snatching the plate away from the owl, who was eyeing her eggs.

  Tabitha hooted, and it sounded uncannily like laughter. “You know you are no more human than I, your highness.”

  Catherine’s stomach turned in knots. “How did you get in my room?” Catherine repeated her earlier question in order to avoid the owl’s statement. She had just been warming to the idea of fae; she was not ready to entertain the thought that she might be among their royalty.

  “I let myself in, transforming into my human form has some advantages.” She lifted her wings and puffed out her chest.

  Catherine imagined her as a small bird-like woman and then recalled such a woman from the night before.

  “You were there, at the dance. You brought the basin they used to wash me.”

  “Ah, you recognized me! Yes, I have been chosen as one of your ladies-in-waiting, which is why I am here.”

  The room seemed to spin, it was all too much to take in. “I have a lady’s maid,” Catherine said as if it made any difference.

  Tabitha clicked her beak and laughed in her owlish way. “Not one befitting someone of your status, I am sure. Does she know what flowers to string in your hair for a solstice and equinox dance? What about the fragrances needed to add to your bath water after a midnight hunt? I doubt your human maid would know about such things.”

  Catherine clutched the vanity chair for support. “You must be joking. I cannot be your princess!”

  “But you are the king’s daughter, returned at long last. Once you return to your rightful place, the kingdom will be set to rights, the king will be restored, and the dance will commence as it once was in the old days.”

  This is what they meant when someone’s life had been turned upside down, Catherine thought frantically. “What do you mean the king will be restored?”

  “You don’t know? He has been put under a spell, and he is trapped deep in the forest. Rai thought if you were to return, it would undo the spell.”

  Catherine was pensive for a moment. If she were willing to believe that fae and talking owls were real, then she was willing to entertain the idea that she might, and this was a big might, be a fae princess. One question weighed on her mind. “Why was I sent away?”

  Tabitha avoided her gaze for a moment as if she were hesitant to speak. “I am just a servant, so I could not say to be sure.”

  “But you know something, don’t you?”

  She shifted on the edge of the seat and did not reply. “The rumor is that you are not a true daughter of the Thorns, that you are only half, begotten on a human lover of his majesty. But Rai would not have cast the spell on the young master of this house had he not thought you would undo the spell, and it has already begun to work!”

  “What spell on the master of this house? What kind of spell did Mr. Thorn place upon Edward?”

  Tabitha jumped back as Catherine drew closer to her. “Just a love spell. He sent him to retrieve you. No one from the forest could, and we needed you back desperately.” Tabitha’s large eyes darted back and forth as if she was searching for an escape route.

  Catherine’s heart sank. Was Edward’s love for her untrue? It made much more sense; why else would he have chosen her over Miss Jones? Miss Jones. The thought of her made Catherine’s heart palpitate. She had said some awful things the last time they had met. She must apolo
gize. Though she was mortified to do so, she knew it was the right thing to do. First of all, she would confront Mr. Thorn. If he had placed the spell upon Edward, he would need to remove it as well. She could not stay married to him if their vows were invalid, and as for this fae business, she would deal with that in good time.

  She had expected her guest much sooner than this. By the time the servant announced him, it was nearly half past noon, almost time for tea. He rebelled against the task she had sent to him. He was, as of yet, still too human. A little more pressure was needed, she suspected. Her servant showed him in and left them with his crooked bow.

  “Aunt Isabelle, I need your assistance, desperately.”

  That desperation was of her design. Her servant had done more than restrain him upon their last meeting; he had implanted a spell as well. One that drew Edward to her as a moth is to a flame. “Come and sit beside me, Edward.” She motioned to a chair beside hers facing the fireplace. He took a seat and stared at the fireplace, wringing his hands.

  “I fear my wife has been unfaithful.”

  “Oh no, why would you think such a thing?” She gasped and pressed a long-fingered hand to her chest. All the while, her dark eyes watched him, calculating and shrewd.

  “Because I have seen her in the arms of another man, my gardener!” Edward half-rose from his chair.

  Lady Isabelle hid her smile by reaching over the side of her chair to set aside her cross-stitching. She stood up and came to kneel before Edward. She took both of her hands in his, and he looked upon her with a pained expression. He was fighting her spell harder than she expected. She had thought he would not rest until Mr. Thorn was dead, but his humanity was something she had not accounted for.

  “Edward, before your father, my dear departed brother, left this world, I promised him that I would look after you, to love you like the child God never blessed me with. It pains me to see you so out of sorts. Now how could the woman whom you were so enamored with be unfaithful?”

  He pulled away from her and ran his hands through his hair before sighing heavily. “I cannot understand it. I love her more than words can express and yet…”

  “And yet?”

  “I cannot deny what my eyes have seen! I feel betrayed and enraged. Did she take our solemn marriage vows so lightly? We have been married less than a fortnight. I feel it is Mr. Thorn’s doing. If he were not around, Catherine would see reason. I want to see him dead. Indeed, I feel as if I cannot rest until this matter is resolved!”

  “Edward, how could you speak of such things?” She stood and went to the window and looked out across the curling fog that blanketed the ground surrounding her home, shielding her from prying eyes. As she faced the window, she pulled a vial from her bodice and placed it inside her sleeve.

  “Aunt Isabelle, what shall I do? I feel as if I am going mad.”

  She turned around and faced her nephew, her simple, foolish nephew. She had seen into his heart, and at his core, he had normal desires: the want to be a successful man, have a well-run house, and a dutiful wife. But unlike his predecessors, he had rejected the magic that flowed through their existence. He had turned his back on their ancient family legacy. He ignored his inheritance and, with it, made himself prey to the fae’s mercurial whims. This she knew and would exploit to her own ends.

  “You should confront her. She is your wife, and she must obey you. Tell her to give up this dalliance or you shall demand a divorce.”

  He looked as if he would be sick. The love spell on him was a strong one, as was to be expected from someone of Rai Thorn’s ability.

  “I could never set aside Henrietta. She is my life!” Edward said and rested his head in his hands.

  Lady Isabella turned and raised a brow towards her nephew. This was a peculiar development indeed. Perhaps the love spell was not as strong as she thought.

  “Darling, do you not mean Catherine? That is what I thought you said your wife’s name was.”

  He looked up at her, like a startled animal. “It is Catherine. Why would I say any other name?”

  “Perhaps I did not hear you clearly.” She motioned towards the tea cart, which her servant had rolled in. “Come take tea with me before you leave.”

  “I should be getting back.” Edward started to say, but Lady Isabelle was already pouring the tea into his cup. And with a small movement of her wrist, she was able to pour a few drops of an emerald potion into his cup as well. She stirred it judiciously before handing it to her nephew.

  “Drink up,” she said.

  Edward took the cup and took a sip, followed by a long draught. Then in a most ungentlemanly fashion, he proceeded to lick the cup.

  “What a delightful brew. What is it?”

  “Just something the cook came up with. Now tell me more about this man that you saw Catherine with.”

  Edward’s eyes grew vacant. “He is a devil in disguise. I do not trust him.”

  “Perhaps something should be done about him,” she prompted.

  “Yes, I think I should kill him,” Edward said in a mechanical tone.

  “A splendid idea, you shall transform and search for him. He is often at the border between the forest and the garden. That is where the border between the realms lies. Do not let him get to the forest. He will be too strong for you there. Once you cut him off, it will be easy for you to overpower him. His abilities are limited away from the forest, and the king does not trust him to stray. You are a smart boy; I am sure you can figure something out from there.”

  “Yes, it will be simple,” he echoed in a hollow tone.

  “You were always such a good boy, Edward.” She took a sip of her own tea and smiled to herself. It was almost too simple. Once Mr. Thorn was out of the way, there would be nothing in between her and the girl. You were a fool to bring her back within my reach, Rai, but you were a fool back then as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The transformation hit him swiftly and without mercy. Edward fell to his knees, and the fiery pain coursed through his body. He clutched his skull as the bones broke and realigned, turning him from man into beast. He howled in pain, and the sound came out more animalistic than human.

  Once the transformation was complete, he was on all fours, and he raised his canine-like head and scented the air. With his second transformation, he felt more aware and more in control, as if he retained a degree of his humanity. His thoughts remained transfixed upon Catherine. He must destroy her, devour her, though he could not get a clear picture of her in his mind. She and Henrietta had begun to blur, and between his transformation and the confusion, he felt he did not know where to go.

  “Find the gardener; kill him.” Her voice filled his ears.

  Yes, he had to kill the gardener, Mr. Thorn. He took off at full speed. The gravel road crunched beneath his paws as he ran in an awkward half gait, his body unused to the four-legged form. He stopped to scent the air, hoping to find Mr. Thorn and do as his aunt had instructed. His mind seemed to chant the same instructions over and over. Find Mr. Thorn. Kill. Destroy. Tear. Bite.

  He loped down the lane, and an intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He growled at the back of his throat and urged his fumbling body closer. His mouth salivated, and the beating of a human heart filled his ears. Someone walked in the mist. Hot blood pumped in and out.

  He howled, and the scent of their fear only excited him more. He fell upon them, and his prey shouted in alarm. At the back of his mind, the human part of him begged him to stop. He knew this person; this was not right. His prey struck him with a cane, and Edward bit it and snapped it in half.

  The man lay sprawled on the ground, defenseless and heaving. “I’ve always been careful. Why me, why now! I want nothing to do with your blasted woods,” Colonel Hart pleaded.

  But Edward was entranced by the need to kill. Humanity was lost to him, and all thoughts of Mr. Thorn were shattered as he pounced upon his prey, eager and willing to feel the rush of blood as it filled his mouth.

&nbs
p; Catherine found Mr. Thorn in the vegetable garden pulling weeds. She hesitated outside the garden gate and watched him as he kneeled between the tidy rows of vegetables. How to approach the subject? she thought. She was not the type to demand something of anyone, but he must remove the spell on Edward. She could not retain him under these false pretenses. Though it pained her to let him go, she had grown fond of Edward during their time together.

  Mr. Thorn, perhaps sensing someone standing over him, turned and rose to his full height. The fluid movement of such a simple act was enough for Catherine to catch her breath. She imagined him in his true form full of wild beauty, and she dared not chase the thought further. It was not proper for a woman of her station to think such things.

  “Your Highness, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He smiled, and though it was a pleasant smile, his words turned her stomach.

  “Don’t tease me, Mr. Thorn. I am not one of you.” She motioned towards the forest. It was a monumental thing for her to even acknowledge that such things as talking birds and woodland peoples existed. The very idea that she was one of them and their princess, it was laughable. At least they were not the nightmarish creatures she had been warned about.

  He leaned up against a garden tool and raised a brow at her. “Mrs. Thornton, one day you will need to stop running away from the truth.”

  His words seemed to pierce her to her very core. She had always run; that was the only way she could cope. It was easier to deny than to accept. If she continued to disbelieve, then others couldn’t call her insane or judge her. Running was safer.

  “I am not running. I have a healthy grip upon reality,” she said with less conviction than she would have liked.