Thorne (Random Romance)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  I watched Blain’s face as closely as I could bear to. He looked full of entitlement and anger, and I realised that very rarely was I frightened of a thing that existed in this world. You grew detached from your body and you started to fear abstract things, like time racing forward without you, like a soul you could not read, like quiet and ghosts and memories. Real things began to amuse you. Like falling from a great height, like humiliation, physical pain, the very idea of having your heart broken, or death. Like men with axes. You did not fear men with axes. I did not. This all happened, I supposed, when you grew rotten inside.

  But right now I feared a man with an axe, because I could sense what was about to happen.

  My thought was: Thorne lied to me.

  ‘Isn’t it enough that we have the boy-bitch for our Queen without the heir to the throne also bringing filthy foreign blood into our midst?’ Blain demanded. ‘I’ll not stand by and let this happen again. In good conscience I cannot, though I have always respected you, Prince.’

  ‘You’ve insulted a beloved aunt, and Queen of our nation, and you’ve insulted a good friend of mine,’ Thorne pointed out calmly. ‘You speak of respect but I’ve witnessed none.’

  Blain’s lip curled. ‘Outside then. I formally challenge you.’

  He lied to me.

  And I didn’t notice.

  The world seemed to slow down around me so that all I could hear was the loud thump, thump, thump in my chest. I was dazed as I trailed outside. A whole crowd of people followed and made a wide circle on the stone. They knew too well what to do, what to expect.

  The air held a sharp bite, and I wasn’t wearing enough clothing. I was barely aware of it. My skin was numb but I hardly felt tethered to my body, except for the thump, thump grinding through my bones.

  Someone appeared at my side – I only noticed belatedly. The fat cooking woman. She placed a thick hand around my upper arm, holding onto it tightly. ‘It’s all right, love,’ she told me. I looked at her, struggling to interpret the words through my haze. What I did interpret was the look in her eyes, and there was no mistaking that it was pity. In her touch I felt a huge heart, an incredibly generous heart, one with more kindness than I had ever felt. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for thinking rude thoughts about her, for belittling her life here, for judging her. I wanted to thank her for being such a good human. I felt shame, and it was the most powerful emotion in my breast. Which was so odd, given everything. I didn’t seem to be able to interpret how I felt about Thorne and Blain and the rest of this waking nightmare.

  Thorne crossed the circle to stand before me. He didn’t say anything, but he looked into my eyes, long and slow. I had no words. I had a thousand words, but I was unable to speak them.

  ‘I’ll protect her, Your Majesty,’ the woman told him. ‘If you fall. I’ll smuggle her out of here.’

  Thorne’s eyes moved to the cook. Unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll not forget your kindness.’ And then he met my eyes again and said very clearly, ‘But I will not fall.’

  I watched him walk to Blain, who was stretching his muscles as though he’d done it a thousand times. He really was big. And older than Thorne – a soldier during the war, probably, before the prince had even been born. I searched my mind for the lessons at the academy some years ago and remembered that in Pirenti a Hersir was a high-ranking officer – one who had proven himself a leader in battle.

  I felt sick as it started to hit me. Truly, gut-wrenchingly sick. I might have to watch him die here.

  And that was when I learnt something about the way I loved him.

  ‘Say it formally in front of the witnesses,’ Thorne ordered, still peculiarly calm.

  Blain drew himself up to his considerable height. ‘I, Hersir Blain of Slaav, son of Jarl Brock of Slaav, am formally challenging His Majesty, Crown Prince Thorne of Araan, son of the late King Thorne and heir of King Ambrose, for his legitimate seat on the throne of Pirenti. Do I have a formal witness?’

  ‘Aye,’ a man spoke up, raising his hand and intoning his full name.

  ‘Do I have a second?’

  A second man recited his name.

  ‘I, Crown Prince Thorne of Araan, acknowledge the validity of the challenge,’ Thorne said and then the proceedings were done.

  Blain drew his mighty axe and approached. Thorne didn’t draw any weapons.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ I asked with a cracked voice.

  ‘The Prince isn’t allowed a weapon during the challenge,’ the cook told me.

  He was going to die, I realised with a start. He was going to die. And I was going to have to stand here and watch.

  I must have stumbled, because the woman grabbed hold of my arms and supported me steadily against her mighty bosom.

  Blain gave a loud battle cry and attacked, swinging his huge axe at Thorne’s head. The prince ducked out of the way and spun behind the bigger man. And that was when I witnessed a dark, bloody miracle. Before Blain even had a chance to turn, Thorne slammed a fist into the back of the man’s skull, sending him stumbling forward. He didn’t have time to understand the impact before Thorne hit him again, harder. The axe dropped loudly to the cobblestones and Blain sank to his knees woozily.

  Thorne moved in front of him calmly. Eyes cold, he kicked Blain hard in the stomach, sending the man heavily onto the stone ground. He tried to get up, marshalling well considering the blows he’d taken, but Thorne wouldn’t allow it. The prince knelt on top of Blain and started to hit him in the face. His big, strong fist pummelled into Blain’s mouth and nose over and over again. Blood was pouring and front teeth were gone. I could see even from where I stood that Blain’s nose and cheekbones were shattered. He wasn’t conscious anymore, but Thorne kept hitting him, over and over again.

  He must have realised finally that the man was either dead or very close to it, for at length he stopped. Thorne sat still a moment, staring at the mess he’d made, then he gave a chilling growl that crept through the silent night, and within the space of that sound, he took the man’s head and ripped it from his body.

  The sound was the most distressing thing I’d ever heard, a kind of sick, wet tearing of flesh and bone. Thorne stood, holding the bloodied, severed head for all to see. Even in the moonlight it was no longer recognisable.

  I wanted to close my eyes but I couldn’t. I wanted to shut it out, block the sight of it from my mind, but it was too vivid, too clear.

  Thorne spoke into the eerie silence, his voice rough and growling. ‘Spread the word. If anyone threatens the safety of my travelling companion, or speaks ill of her at all, I will hunt them down and slaughter them, and I will not be as mercifully quick as I was tonight. This man challenged the Prince of Pirenti, knowing the consequences, and has died for it. Be gone to your beds, all of you.’ And with that he threw the head to the ground where it hit with a sickening thump.

  The stunned crowd hesitated, then began to disperse. Thorne calmly ordered someone to fetch our belongings from the tavern, and then he crossed back to the cook and me. She was still holding onto me, and I was thankful for it.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she whispered shakily, overawed.

  ‘Thank you again,’ he said woodenly, then gestured to the dead body. ‘I apologise for the mess.’

  She didn’t know what to say – it was too bewildering.

  Thorne hadn’t met my eyes yet. His, I saw, were clear, pale blue, and I realised with a start that they hadn’t turned red, not once. He reached out and softly pried her hands from my arm, telling her gently that he would look after me now. I didn’t want to leave her. Absurdly, I wanted to go inside and live with this cooking lady; I wanted only her kindness for the rest of my life. But our packs were brought from inside and Thorne claimed the dead man’s axe as his own, and then he led me away from the bloodied cobblestones into the cold night.

  We walked our horses in silence. It was cold. Colder than I had ever known the world to be. I had to stop so I could vomit into the bu
shes. I heaved up the entire contents of my stomach, then returned to my horse. Thorne didn’t say a word, and I didn’t say a word, and we just kept going. And in the moments when he reached out to stop me from stumbling, I could not feel his heart in his skin.

  Chapter 12

  Thorne

  With blood on my hands we walked. I could smell the faint remainder of her soap, lingering in the blonde tresses of her hair. I could smell pine needles and a hint of the rot of the underbrush. I could smell the ocean, growing and growing.

  And death. I could always smell death after I killed.

  She knew now. The brutality in my hands. She could never un-know it.

  It was still dark when we came to Araan. I could hear the lapping of the water, gentle on this stretch of coast, and I used it to guide me home in the pitch black. The moon had crept behind the heavy cover of clouds, and I begged the looming storm to wait for us.

  In the distance I saw Ma’s cottage. It was small but sturdy, and it sat only a handful of metres back from the very edge of the water, alone amidst forest and sea. If we turned northeast we would come to Ambrose’s fortress, the place over which I would one day rule. If we kept walking north, a long way north, we would come to a world of ice, the land in which at least half of me belonged.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked, the first words for hours. Since before.

  ‘There,’ I said softly, and she followed my gaze to the house. ‘Ma’s house. Closer than the fortress. We’ll rest there until sunrise.’

  We plodded the last few hundred yards. I tethered the horses under the awning, giving them as much shelter as I could, then led Finn to the front door. Opening it as quietly as possible, I ushered her inside and she followed me soundlessly. The house had only two bedrooms, so I led her to mine, the room in which I’d recovered from a thousand nightmares. I placed both our packs in the corner and pulled back the covers of my bed, motioning for her to climb in.

  Clearly exhausted, she did so without a word and promptly fell asleep.

  I padded back into the living room, glancing around at the house. It looked exactly as I’d always known it to. But as I stood here, gazing at the small rooms and all their small belongings, I felt a deep pain. My mother was the loneliest woman in the world, and I’d left her.

  I strode back out the front door and down the three wooden steps I’d built when I was ten. Then I walked to the edge of the water where it lapped gently against the rocks. A slice of moonlight peeked its head out of the thick clouds and illuminated the edges of the oyster shells, wreathing me in a feeling of familiarity so strong I didn’t know where to put it, where it would fit.

  A crack of thunder rumbled and lightning sliced through the sky, lighting up the calm sea. It reminded me too much of my dream, and I half expected the next bolt of lightning to reveal a yellow eyed girl getting devoured by my beastly father. As I was haunted by the image, fat drops of rain splattered my face, and then it was pouring. Flash storms like this were common on the coast of Pirenti, where it would be calm and clear one moment, threatening lives the next.

  A distant sound reached my ears over the racket of the rain. A high-pitched sound. It came again, and through all the despair I had a moment of pure delight. I spun around and saw him bounding out of the house and through the storm. Howl, barking his glee.

  We collided, and he bowled me to the ground, licking my face and yelping joyfully. I laughed and wrestled with him in the mud, rolling him over and tickling his belly like he loved.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ I murmured, sitting up and stroking his beautiful head. He nuzzled my side, dark eyes meeting mine soulfully, and I realised how much I’d missed him. Strange, which connections snuck into your life and took root there. Growing up alone on the coast with only your ma and your dog meant you loved the two of them as fiercely as it was possible to love, and selfishly resented the loneliness they could not manage to fight off for you.

  Howl ran back towards the house, barking at me to follow. That was when I saw her, my mother, standing in the silhouetted light of the house. She came down the steps and into the rain before I could stop her.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you all right?’

  I bounded up to her and swept her into a mighty hug. She smelt of rosemary. She smelt of fear and relief. Setting her down, I looked into her rain-swept face and I found my smile.

  ‘What are you doing here, darling?’

  ‘Visiting, Ma.’

  ‘But …’ She seemed bewildered. ‘It’s only been a few weeks.’

  ‘I missed you,’ I told her. ‘I’m for the fortress at first light. There are dark tidings, but I need rest. There’s … a girl here, sleeping in my bed.’

  Roselyn’s eyes widened. ‘A girl.’

  I hesitated, then muttered, ‘She’s not well. I scared her.’

  Roselyn turned back towards the house, but paused and looked at me again, soft and delicate. ‘How lovely you are, my boy,’ she said softly. ‘You grow more handsome each day.’

  I shook my head. ‘Ma? She wasn’t well.’

  Howl barked and licked my hand. Rose didn’t respond.

  Inside it was quiet and dark, but through the door I had left open I could see that Finn was no longer in my bed. Hurrying into the room, I spotted the open window. ‘Ma!’ I called. My heart began to pound with brutal beats. Lightning struck and I saw her up on the hill, standing in the rain.

  Unable to fit through the window, I sprinted around the side of the house and up the hill, stopping behind her, frightened.

  ‘Finn?’

  She didn’t reply, or move. I circled around to look into her face, but it was vacant. Gods, why had I brought her away from her brother? Jonah would know how to take this horror away and give her happiness. All I’d given her was fear.

  Ma came up the hill with a heavy blanket. She wrapped it carefully around Finn’s shoulders. ‘My dear,’ she said softly.

  Finn blinked, noticing Rose. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured faintly. ‘I don’t know how I got out here.’

  ‘Come inside. It’s too cold.’

  Finn said nothing, but she reached out and hugged Ma with the kind of hug so full of yearning I could hardly bear to watch. Rose stroked her wet hair, and even though the rain was torrential, we stood there on the hill without moving.

  When finally they drew apart, Finn stared into Ma’s face, blinked once, then let her eyes drift to me. She said, ‘I can’t feel anything.’

  ‘Ma, go inside now,’ I ordered calmly, but inside me was a sharp panic.

  Ma saw my face and left us.

  Finn said, ‘I can’t feel anything.’

  Then, ‘Thorne? I can’t feel anything.’

  I grabbed her face in my hands, smoothing my skin over hers, holding her against me, trying to make her feel it. She gazed up at me and whispered, ‘I can’t feel anything.’

  I pressed my lips to hers; I kissed her with all of me. In the rain I kissed her again and again. I didn’t stop.

  At last her face crumpled into distress, and even though she was sobbing I kept kissing her and kissing her and touching her as much as I could with only two hands. And then I carried her inside, to where Ma had gotten the fire raging and made a warming concoction for her to drink. We made Finn finish every last drop of it, though she could hardly stop crying, and then I placed her before the fire. As Ma changed her into a set of dry clothes I paced the kitchen, terrified that I had broken her.

  ‘She’s chilled. Lie with her, darling.’

  ‘She wouldn’t want it,’ I said.

  ‘Keep her warm,’ Ma instructed firmly.

  I sank down and pulled Finn against me. She’d stopped crying and lay very still, except for the shivering of her body. Howl curled himself against her other side, and the three of us warmed each other.

  Hours later the rain felt like a dream. It was warm inside, and with her pressed against me I could feel her heartbeat, the rise and fall of her breathing. Her hands curled around mine, and I notic
ed how long her fingers were with a jolt of uncanny otherness. For a moment she felt impossibly distant, deeply unknowable, and I was filled with a sense of loss so profound I wondered if it would shape me all the days of my life. Whatever was between us – I didn’t think it could survive what she had witnessed tonight. Her regard for me was already so fragile, her fear of what I represented so thick. For a split second I decided to let her go. To cease this mad yearning that had come upon me so suddenly and let her be free of me. Easier for us both.

  But then she rolled in her sleep, and tenderly she placed her mouth in the crook of my neck and her hands against my heartbeat, and the decision was gone, erased, the shadow of a thought drifting up and away on the wind as if it had never existed. I wasn’t capable of it: of letting her go. Not yet.

  Carefully I extricated myself from her limbs and walked once again into the lashing storm. The rain felt violent as I forced myself out into it, right up to the edge of the now unquiet sea. I closed my eyes against the onslaught, but I tilted my face up towards the sky, and I sent a prayer to the Gods for Blain of Slaav, as I did with each of the men who were courageous enough to fight for what they wanted.

  I didn’t share their courage; I only took it from them as they died.

  I was a beast, after all.

  Finn

  I woke, disoriented. I’d been dreaming of Sam and Ma and heads torn free of their bodies. It took me several long moments to understand why I was asleep on the floor with a furry white thing curled around me. I reached out to stroke the dog’s head and he looked at me with dark liquid eyes as if to tell me he loved me despite never having met me before. His tail thumped hopefully.

  Sitting up, I felt stiff and sore in each joint. Unable to help it, I bent my head and buried it in the dog’s fur. He smelt faintly wet in a pleasant way.