A Curse of Thorns

by Nicole Mainardi

  Alinder was an old man, and the only living person in Briar—except for me—who knew much about books, having owned this bookshop long before I was born. He was a brilliant relic of a man, just like the books hidden in the panels of his office and smuggled in a moldy basement beneath his home. If the Regime ever found out that the shop was hiding pre-Regime volumes, the sentence would be death for the both of us. But it was worth the risk to preserve them. I didn’t know of anyone else that had the priceless first editions Alinder did, and neither of us were willing to risk their destruction. They were too important.

  Thinking about the stowed books, I smiled again, knowing exactly where each title was hidden. As the only other employee of the shop, Alinder had told me where all the forbidden volumes were, allowing me to borrow them whenever I wanted. Even when I was younger, Alinder had read them to me. So, while my father had been passed out drunk at the local tavern every night, Alinder had tried to distract me with fantastical stories. There’d been tales of myths and legends, princesses and prophecies. Alinder and his books had been more of a father to me than mine ever was.

  Shifting my weight, I was met with a loud creak from the floorboards, as if the wood was protesting me. But I wasn’t surprised by the sound; the store itself was older than Alinder, as it had belonged to his father, and his father’s father—long before the Regime had taken over. The floor was chipped, and had a perpetual layer of dust coating it that never lessened no matter how many times I swept. The two large windows on either side of the door, which had once been a glossy yellow and cut cross-hatched with faded wood, were now Regime regulation and had to be cleaned every couple of days. The bookcases were old and too small, and some looked about to break apart, though the books on them were never more than a few months old.

  I thought it was ridiculous that the Regime changed what they deemed appropriate reading material for their citizens as often as they did. It was likely that every person who’d ever bought a book from the bookstore had an illegal text somewhere in their home.

  I peeked over my shoulder out of habit, towards the back of the store. Behind me was a small desk where we held books if anyone were to call for them—which no one ever did—and in the very back was the locked and windowless door to Alinder’s office. I always glanced back there when I came in, just to make sure that Alinder hadn’t left the door open by accident. The Regime soldiers never looked there, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Belle,” he called to me again but from another part of the shop, this time with worry tainting his voice. I closed the cash drawer and left my post to find him looking intently at a shelf near the window.

  My eyes roved the shelves, finding him interested in one particular book. “How did this get here?” he demanded shakily.

  I came up beside him and, without grabbing the book off the shelf in case someone glanced through the window at the wrong moment, cocked my head to read the title as it scrolled down the crimson spine of the book in gold, cursive lettering: Book of Fairytales. I squinted at it, wondering how it could’ve possibly gotten out here. I didn’t even remember it being part of Alinder’s personal inventory.

  “I don’t think this is one of ours,” I said slowly, confused as I straightened out my neck. “I’m not sure how it got here.”

  His hazel eyes were wide as he looked between me and the book. He swallowed thickly and spoke softly, “Do you think this is a Regime ruse?”

  My hands gripped the sides of my old blue work dress. “They’ve never been suspicious before,” I reasoned, more to myself than to Alinder. “Maybe we just missed it.”

  But that was a weak explanation, and we both knew it.

  His gaze grew desperate. “Please, take it home with you, Belle. Keep it, burn it, marry it off to one of your sisters. I don’t care what you do with it. Just get it out of my shop!”

  I took a step back, surprised by his sudden anger. He’d never been so rash with me before, especially over a book. His irises had grown to the brightest shade of gray, and with his hair sticking up, he looked like a madman—but then his passion subsided, and he looked older than ever before, his whole body seeming to cave in on itself.

  Without a word, I nodded and took the book off the shelf, being sure to keep the spine out of view. Regime soldiers would be making their rounds soon, and though they were usually routine and involved mainly surface searches, they’d been more thorough lately. I had to hide this as soon as possible, and I headed back towards the cash drawer.

  But Alinder’s reaction made me wonder how it had gotten there. The best case was that he was getting senile and had put it out there earlier thinking that it was a book about flora or home remedies. The worst case was that the Regime—or someone working for them—knew our secret and was trying to get us caught.

  The only thing I did know was that we were lucky we found it when we did.

  I pulled out the key ring from around my neck where it rested beneath my dress, chose the smallest one, and bent down to unlock a panel hidden underneath the cash drawer. I’d have to stash the book there until seven o’clock, an hour before curfew when all businesses had to close up. I sighed, finding that I was shaking a little from fear of being caught. It was going to be long day.

  Just as I stood and placed the key back under my dress where it sat cold against my skin, the front door to the shop slammed open, the bell above the door clanging irritably as two soldiers stepped in. I had to stop myself from shrinking back; their dark figures took up so much of the room.

  The Regime uniforms were completely black, from the flat caps on their heads to their glossy combat boots. The only splash of color was emblazoned on their neck in a tattoo the shape of an eye outlined in red. These two were no exception, and my heart dropped a little when I recognized one of them. It wasn’t a secret that the men who joined the Regime were no longer men—only mindless soldiers. I’m sure I would’ve been recruited by the Regime by now with my skill in archery, but women weren’t allowed to be soldiers. It was the one thing about them I could appreciate.

  “Contraband check!” one of them barked out. He took out a small notebook and pen from his coat pocket, and held it out for Alinder to sign.

  Alinder took the pointed pen from the soldier with a trembling hand. Every morning, Alinder had to sign that ridiculous ledger, and every morning I watched the Regime take another piece of his soul. I should’ve been used to it by now, but I couldn’t help the way anger simmered beneath my skin, and I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying anything.

  Shaking his head, Alinder sighed. “I’m getting too old for this,” he said, and pricked his finger with the tip of the pen.

  He signed the ledger shakily in his own blood while the second soldier walked around the shop and skimmed the shelves. I’d offered on several occasions for them to use my blood to sign the ledger instead, but Alinder insisted his old blood was less important than mine. Of course, that didn’t matter when it had to be the shop owner that signed the ledger, and not just an employee.

  I’d asked once why it had to be in blood, but that had been a mistake. I absentmindedly touched the side of my face where the soldier had struck me.

  As we’d never slipped up before, they usually didn’t look very hard. But this time, the soldier stopped where the misplaced Book of Fairytales had been sitting just moments ago, eyeing it carefully. His gaze flicked towards mine as he caught me watching him, and then shifted to glance over my scars. I turned away, staring blankly at the cash box. I didn’t want to; I hated the Regime as much as anybody, maybe more than most in this past year. But I had to think of my sisters, and I couldn’t imagine what they would do—how they would survive—if I never came home.

  Steeling myself, I looked up as the soldier who’d been inspecting the shelves headed back towards the door and told the other one, “Everything seems to be in order.”

  At that, the first soldier shut the ledger loudly, placed it back into his coat pocket, and added, “Th
ank you for your service to the Regime. Enjoy your day.”

  Blind obedience, I couldn’t help thinking; that had been much too cheerful a sentiment for such an unfeeling man, but I imagined it had been drilled into their heads since their first day of training. They clicked their heels together once, inclined their heads mechanically towards Alinder, and then left out the front door, ignoring me completely. The bell above the door tinkled softly this time, seeming much happier about their departure.

  Alinder let out an audible breath, and I almost laughed—even I felt like I hadn’t breathed properly since the Regime soldiers had entered the shop. Maybe before that.

  “That was close,” Alinder muttered. “Too close.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I agreed softly, slumping against the leather stool behind me. “I still can’t believe you found that book in time. I can’t imagine…”

  Alinder looked at me over his spectacles, the tiny green flecks in his eyes making it look as if the colors were constantly moving, like a brewing storm. “I’ve lived my life, Belle. I would gladly forfeit it for yours, should the occasion arise.”

  “It wo—”

  Alinder held up his hand, cutting me off. “But it might. I want you to know that you’ve been like a daughter to me all these years when I’ve had no one.” He hobbled over to stand in front of the cashbox. His brow was drawn down in sadness. “There’s so much goodness in you. Never lose that, Belle. Promise me.” Grabbing my hands, he held them in his cold, paper-thin ones. “Promise me that you’ll never lose sight of who you are, no matter how hard they try to break you.”

  I swallowed. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this serious. “Alinder, I—”

  “Please,” he pleaded, squeezing my hands tighter. “This place will be yours once I go, and I don’t want them to change you like they did me.”

  “You—you’re giving me the shop?” I asked in disbelief—it was the only thing he’d said that I’d managed to process.

  A small, sad smile touched his cracked lips. “As I said, you’re practically a daughter to me. My own flesh and blood for all intents and purposes,” he explained. “And since I have no family to speak of, it seems only right that you should have this place and all its contents when I’m gone. I know you’ll take care of my books.” His smile faded. “But I mean it, Belle. Having to conform to the Regime…it’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, and over the years it’s broken down my spirit. But you’re still young—you still have so much fight left in you—and even though you can’t fight back now, your time will come. You can’t let them make you forget who you are.”

  “Not fighting back is hard enough already,” I told him, “being surrounded by all these books of mischief and injustice.” And I wasn’t talking about the Regime volumes out on the shelves.

  Alinder lowered his voice. “Words are dangerous, Belle. It’s why most pre-Regime books have been banned upon penalty of death.” He scoffed. “But you have to give them credit—they didn’t burn the books. No, that would’ve been too obvious. Instead, they simply got people to stop reading them.” He gestured around the empty shop. “And look what it’s done.”

  “If anything,” I spoke up after a moment, “the ban has only made me want to read more.”

  I’d expected a smile from that, but he just frowned. “You’re one of the few crusaders of the written word left.” His hands loosened on mine. “All you can do is hope that your small acts of rebellion won’t get you and your family in trouble. Don’t forget, I have very little to lose, Belle.”

  With that, he patted my hands before letting them go. Heart in my throat, I watched him as he sat down tiredly at his desk and remained unusually quiet for the rest of the day.

  ~

  The hours passed gruelingly slow, and I found myself looking out the window so often that I began to feel a crick in my neck. Alinder noticed my uneasiness and told me to go home. I felt bad for leaving him alone with the shop, especially if the Regime returned, and tried to protest. But he could see that I couldn’t stay there any longer, and insisted I take the rest of the day off.

  After leaving a distracted Alinder, I headed for the market. I was worried about being caught with the book of fairytales that I’d shoved into the deepest part of my satchel, but I needed to buy bread for the next week and this was the only time I’d be able to do it.

  The streets were crowded; despite the bleak weather, most of the vendors were still out and about before curfew. The Regime claimed the curfew was for our own good, but I knew that wasn’t true. They only did things for themselves.

  Sidestepping a runaway chicken clucking frantically, I fought through the throng of people towards the bakery. Around me, gray tents scattered the streets, bleeding into the dark snow clouds that had settled above us, the street lamps barely giving off enough light to brighten the old cobblestone as I watched someone slip something to a customer and turn away.

  The Regime had little restriction on the food they allowed the vendors to sell, but that was where their generosity stopped. If you knew one of the merchants well enough, they might be willing to sell you a bauble or two from the time before the Regime. But it wasn’t as common as it used to be. Too many tradesmen had gotten caught by undercover Regime soldiers who’d once been citizens of Briar, and no one was willing to risk death just to make a few more coin.

  I overheard the end of what sounded like a heated exchange when I passed by the butcher’s, hearing something about “poulet sec” and “boeuf gras” and a handful of obscenities in between. I remembered poulet was chicken and boeuf was beef, but that was about the extent of my knowledge of the French language.

  The conversations at the market were strange to me, and hard to follow. Many of the tent-owners were older, like Alinder, and had lived in Briar all their lives. They knew nothing beyond this life—not that I knew much beyond it either—and they still spoke the old tongue.

  Briar used to be a small kingdom in a country that had been known as France. When the Regime first took power just under a quarter of a century ago, nearly all of France became part of the Regime. Briar, however, had been allowed by the Emperor to keep their own royalty since we were so small. It was why the Regime hadn’t fully claimed it under their rule, and why the elder people of Briar were allowed to speak French out in the open. As far as its citizens were concerned, Briar still belonged to itself—for now.

  Sadly, the little bit of culture we had left didn’t work in my favor. As French was the language the older people of the town knew best, sometimes that’s all they would respond to when talking business. I’d had to learn rudimentary terms in order to get food on the table. I was surprised that the Regime didn’t mind the use of the old language, but I supposed they figured that those who knew it would eventually die off without passing it on. Even during my time at school, no other language besides English was allowed to be taught in Regime territories. And it was only a matter time before the French language would be gone completely.

  Catching the scent of bread and sugar, I finally reached the bakery on the other side of the square, feeling slightly out of the breath. I glanced up at the sign, the word boulangerie scrolled across the wood in large lettering. A part of me hoped it was the son that answered today and not the father, just so that I wouldn’t have to stumble through my French. But a bigger part of me wanted the opposite, and a lump formed in my throat as I stepped up under the green awning.

  “Bonjour,” I called. The baker’s son came out from behind one of the large ovens and smiled when he saw me, white smudges marring his cheeks and neck. I forced myself to smile back, feeling my body tense unwittingly.

  Sean Ager had been wanting to marry me since the first day we’d met at school when we were eight years old. He’d once been a sweet boy, and his persistence was endearing, but getting to know him over the years had made me realize that he was dull, narrow-minded, and—as Alinder put it—a bit stupid. His only redeeming qualities were that
he was easy on the eyes and that he’d been kind to me, for the most part.

  I grimaced. I knew it sounded shallow, but there was no one in Briar that I had any interest in marrying, least of all one of the few people who knew my secret. Besides, I had no choice in the matter.

  He gave me a dimpled smile, and a piece of his strawberry-blonde hair fell in front of his green eyes. “Bonjour, Belle,” he said in reply.

  I nodded at him, taking a breath before I spoke again. “Erm, avez-vous du…bon pain—”

  “Don’t worry, father’s not here,” he interrupted with a grin, and though I hated the way he always interrupted me, I was glad he stopped me before I made a fool of myself. Sean’s father, Aiden, wouldn’t even acknowledge me if I didn’t speak to him in French, which made buying bread very difficult when he was around. I always seemed to say it wrong, and he’d make me say it again and again until I got it right.

  “But you’re getting better,” he commended, and I felt a bit of heat splash red on my cheeks. “Let me get you a loaf of the brioche.”

  I nodded, and it was only a moment before he came back with the loaf in hand. I offered him the single Regime coin, the metal warm from grasping it tightly in my fist, but he held out his hand to stop me.

  I eyed him suspiciously, my hand falling to my side. “If you don’t take it, the Regime will think that you stole from their supplies.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve baked all the bread for today, and since I didn’t burn a loaf, I had an extra.”

  Tears suddenly burned in the back of my eyes at his generosity. He had no idea what this meant to me and my sisters. “Are you sure?”

  He reached out over the counter and gently took a strand of my hair that had come loose from my braid between his rough fingers. I tried not to pull back at his boldness, my stomach knotting uncomfortably.