Thorne (Random Romance)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  Maybe it was a sound that alerted me, but I turned and belatedly saw that I was not alone. Sitting casually at the kitchen table were Thorne and his ma, both watching me quietly.

  I remembered last night as though it too were one of the dreams I’d had. I remembered the rain and the storm, and I remembered Thorne’s touches and kisses and how I had felt nothing. There had been only numbness. A kind of impotency in my skin. Which was, I now knew, worse than anything I had experienced in my whole life. Worse than the black tar I waded through sometimes. Worse than being away from Jonah and Da and Ma and Penn. Worse, even, than the screaming.

  That was how I came to understand something about my power, sitting on the warm floor of Thorne’s family home, next to a big white dog. The touching of another person’s soul might have been painful and frightening and burdensome at the best of times, but it was me. It was how I existed, how I had been born. It was more a part of me than anything else, and spending a night without it had been spending a night as a ghost.

  So I closed my eyes and pushed the memory of it away, feeling a kind of calm wash over me.

  ‘Whose bed did I share last night?’ I asked, indicating my new best friend.

  ‘Howl,’ Roselyn said with a gentle smile.

  With a last pat to Howl, I rose to my feet and moved to the living room window. It was still dark and stormy outside. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Daybreak.’

  Thorne hadn’t said a word. I crossed to sit in the third seat at the table. There was a long silence as I gathered my nerve.

  Looking Roselyn in the face, I said, ‘Forgive me. I behaved poorly last night.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ she protested. ‘You weren’t yourself. And this house has seen many dark nights.’ She was without doubt the loveliest creature I had ever seen, fine and delicate, with a pink flush to her pale skin. Her deep red hair was warm in the candlelight and her eyes were enormous. She made me instantly wish to be softer, quieter, someone whose sweetness was as beguiling as hers was.

  I cleared my throat. ‘That’s generous of you to say. Thank you for having me, and for your kindness.’

  ‘Thorne has never brought anyone here before,’ she said shyly. Roselyn then rose to cut slices of bread, but as her eyes found the kitchen window she grew distracted by something she’d seen and the knife in her hand was forgotten.

  I watched her, taken by her shadowed profile. Under her breath, barely audible, there were numbers emerging without her awareness. And it made sense, how Thorne had understood what to do with Penn and how to be with him.

  My gaze shifted to him; he was already watching me. I could see a thousand things in his pale eyes.

  I told him, ‘I’m all right now.’

  He frowned, searching my face worriedly.

  ‘I’m all right now,’ I promised again, and this time he heard the truth of it.

  We waited quietly for Rose to remember the bread and bring it to the table, then the three of us ate together just as quietly. And what happened to me in those moments was a strange and impossible shift. I no longer felt my panicked heart flailing in my chest as the quiet cloaked me like a suffocating veil. I no longer wished to scream just so there would be sound.

  I … I felt the first, tender whispers of happiness come to entice me. I thought perhaps that the complete mental snap I had felt last night was like a kind of dam wall breaking, letting free a flood of madness, of rotten, poisonous mess, but now that it had flowed through me I was clean and empty and … open. My brother would tell me it didn’t work like that, that there were peaks and troughs, always. But my brother wasn’t here.

  Swallowing, I reached out and took Thorne’s hand. It was weight and earth and ice and wolf’s howls. It was Thorne again. It was me again. He startled, looking down at it, then up at me. He didn’t understand. But he didn’t let go. And as his grip tightened, encircling mine, I understood that terrible burden I had felt the first time our skin touched, because I had seen for myself the brutality life had cursed him with. And I had seen him be brutal with eyes that remained blue, instead of turning berserker red.

  I’d watched on with disbelief, unable to fathom why. Why he had to make it so terrible. If he was conscious of what he was doing, how could he do it? What it had taken me the night to decipher was the need for fear, because only through fear could he stop more of his men from challenging him, and if there were no challenges there need be no deaths by his hand. His gruesome, vile beheading had been a way to beg the world not to keep trying to kill him, because he would fight every challenge and win every challenge, and he didn’t want to do either.

  ‘Why did you lie to me?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to know.’

  ‘Did you not think it would be worse for me to find out by witnessing it?’

  He shook his head helplessly. ‘I hoped it wouldn’t happen. I should have known better.’

  I licked my dry lips. ‘How many?’

  Thorne didn’t want to tell me. I watched him struggle with it, pleading with his eyes for me to take the question away. But I didn’t, I waited. Eventually he turned and lifted his linen shirt so that I could see the tally on his spine. The one I had wondered about. I counted the marks. Eighteen. He would need another for Blain of Slaav.

  ‘So I never forget to atone for them,’ he said, voice rough.

  I pulled his shirt down for him and moved my hand briefly to his cheek, delirious with the simple act of touching. The truth was simple: the things inside Thorne were beautiful, and I was lucky to experience the feel of them.

  I turned back to Roselyn, who had been watching us.

  ‘I’ve heard you are a miracle woman and can cure any ailment,’ I said brightly.

  Rose smiled, and the shadows fell back, leaving us be for a time.

  She had an infirmary to the side of the house, and she showed me through it with pride, explaining techniques and remedies I had no hope of understanding. I enjoyed the passion she had for it, wishing there were something in the world I could be this good at, or care this much about. The Siren Nights seemed stupid now, after last night. Everything in my life seemed stupid, and there was a grief in that, but also a kind of liberation. I looked at the tools and the medicines and the herbs. I smelt plants at her encouragement and tried to identify the scents. Then she took me back to the house and I looked instead at all the little things sitting on windowsills or fireplaces or tables. Little statues and figurines, whittled out of driftwood. Black and white pearls, taken from the oysters beyond the windows. And shells, hundreds of them. Hanging on walls were empty oyster shells, the luminous insides of which had been painted with tiny, delicate strokes. The life-like landscape scenes were imbued with a striking sense of melancholy and loss, and I almost felt like weeping when I had gazed at each one in turn. The last was a lonely windswept hillside and standing atop it an even lonelier figure I knew to be Thorne. I just wasn’t sure which Thorne.

  What a small, simple life they had led out here together, mother and son. Full to the brim with love and memories and an aching, undeniable sadness.

  Thorne blew back inside with Howl at his heels, his cheeks pink from cold or wind. ‘Ready?’ he asked me and I nodded, despite the overwhelming urge not to leave Rose here alone.

  But as I stood the door slammed open directly behind Thorne and we all spun to see a hooded figure silhouetted against the lightning streaked sky.

  ‘Ambrose is either a liar or he’s more stupid than he looks,’ this figure said.

  ‘That’s a nice way to speak about your husband,’ Thorne replied.

  Slender hands drew the cloak back, and there she was. Ava of Orion, half-walker Queen of Pirenti. Her eyes were an obnoxious shade of violet and her hair was thicker and longer than any story had prepared me for. One side of her face was strong and plain, simple in feature. But I would know her anywhere – everyone in the world would. Because on her other cheek was a deep, ugly scar, shaped like a howling wolf. Evidence of her torture.
It pulled at the edge of her mouth and eye.

  ‘He swore to me this very morning that his nephew was in Kaya, despite my having heard rumours of a big lug of a boy killing Hersirs in taverns within the border.’

  I thought for a moment that she was condemning him for it, but then she grabbed him and hugged him so tight I could actually see the tremor through her arms.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Thorne told her quickly.

  ‘I’m not worried about you – I’m worried about myself. I missed you too damn much.’ Saying so, she swept his legs out from under him and tackled him heavily to the floor. ‘Embarrassingly slow, as usual,’ she commented.

  Thorne laughed, pushing her off. ‘Cheating, as usual. Where are the girls?’

  ‘Oh, I left them alone to roam the forest.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re with their da. Where did you think they’d be?’

  Thorne forcibly tried to relax himself.

  Ava stood gracefully and kissed Rose on both cheeks, murmuring something too soft for me to hear in her friend’s ear. Then she noticed me for the first time. Her eyes narrowed like a predator who had caught its first sight of prey and she stepped around Rose to face me.

  ‘Ava, this is Finn of Limontae. Finn, the Queen of Pirenti.’

  I remembered to bow my head quickly, not wanting to take my eyes off her.

  ‘Finn of Limontae,’ Ava repeated slowly. ‘Daughter of Alexi. Twin sister of Jonah. Founder of the Siren Nights. Eighteen years old and careless enough to have been in trouble with Limontae’s guards no less than six times.’

  I blinked, only just managing to stop my mouth from falling open.

  ‘Yes, I know who you are.’

  I shrugged, laughing a little. ‘So you do. I suppose you also know then that I am daughter to a murmured mother and wielder of a forbidden soul magic? That I drink and dance every night because I don’t like to be alone with my thoughts? Do you also know what I dream of in the dark and wish for in the sunlight?’

  There was a taut silence. And no, I did not know what had possessed me to be snarky to the Kayan Queen of Pirenti, a woman I had spent my entire life idolising. I had simply been incensed at the idea of anyone presuming to know who I was. Because, frankly, no one did. Including myself.

  Thorne and Rose were watching us uncomfortably, the mother apparently as prone to embarrassment as her son was.

  But then Ava smiled. She laughed. And I realised she was not plain. She was magnificent, and I would worship her forever, because I could see everything in that smile and I had never known anyone to be so much. I needed to touch her skin, immediately.

  ‘I do not,’ she admitted. ‘But you have made me desperate to, Finn of Limontae.’

  I blushed, shaking my head. ‘Forgive me.’

  But she was already turning back for the door. ‘Come on, all three of you. Ambrose will never forgive me for leaving him in the thick of things. Midwinter’s festival is tonight and if I am forced to go then so are you.’

  I watched Ava where she walked ahead with Rose. Thorne and I were hanging back a ways, our feet circled by an excited Howl, hands holding the reins of Griggor and Benedict. The Queen walked with long, purposeful strides, while Roselyn gazed up at the sky, searching for something. It was no longer raining, but the storm had left everything heavy with mist, and walking through it felt like stepping through a world too ephemeral to last.

  It was a very surreal moment – walking with these three people – one I had never expected to live. I became abruptly aware of what my life might be like if Thorne were in it. Permanently.

  I’d have to watch a lot of beheadings, that was certain.

  But the alternative to that was finishing this quest and saying goodbye to him. Permanently.

  Actually, if we were being realistic (or gullible), neither was an option. Because one of you will die. Damned Hess. I hated the old cow.

  Forcing my thoughts elsewhere, I watched Ava. ‘Are you going to tell her?’ I asked Thorne softly.

  ‘When she can see for herself that they’re safe. I’ll break it to them gently when we get there.’

  ‘A festival is going to make it very hard to stop people from entering the fortress,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kayans are invited.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Pirenti Midwinter’s festival had actually become something of an event. People from all around the world – both countries – travelled to attend. It was one of the only times when Kayans and Pirenti socialised together, though I had heard they usually managed to remain mostly segregated. I wouldn’t know; I had never been allowed to go, much to my growing outrage. Last year I poisoned every meal Da made with pepper until he agreed to let me attend, but as it turned out half-walkers didn’t care about taste. Jonah did. I received itching powder in my sheets for a month and was no closer to attending the festival.

  Despite the disturbing news about the princesses, I was actually starting to get excited.

  ‘I’ll have nothing to wear!’ I exclaimed in horror. ‘I didn’t pack for festivals!’ Roselyn had dressed me in one of her fur cloaks and I’d never worn anything as heavy in my life. I couldn’t believe they had to endure weather like this all the time. It was so cold I could see my breath in front of my face. And this was apparently the warmest part of the country.

  Thorne’s eyebrow arched. ‘That’s what you’re worrying about?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  He almost laughed, and I considered it a victory. I missed his smile. I’d missed it before I even knew it existed. ‘Ma will find you something,’ he promised, taking my silliness seriously, when in truth I would wear a potato sack if it meant I could be near him.

  The storm clouds were starting to part by the time we reached the fortress. A stone wall loomed high, atop which stood patrolling soldiers who let us through the gate with some cheerful shouts. Inside was chaos. People rushed about to get things prepared, decorating street lanterns and dressing shop windows. Food stalls were being moved into the streets, ready for this evening. At the end of the main street was the fortress itself, a huge building boasting at least a dozen floors.

  The people around us seemed very different at first glance, but when I looked more closely I saw that they were more like Kayans than I had thought. The men were enormous, of course, but the women were normal in stature, and only differed in hair and skin colour.

  Everyone, without fail, bowed to Ava and Thorne. Some waved and shouted greetings too, but none failed to show respect, and I was impressed, wondering how Ava had earned their love despite her birth.

  Inside the fortress it was not as I had expected it to be. The walls were adorned with rich draperies and fires raged in most rooms. As we wound our way up stone staircases I saw levels full of people carrying food and decorations and generally causing a flood of warm ruckus.

  ‘It wasn’t always like this,’ Thorne told me softly, seeing my gaze. ‘I’m told that when my grandmother ruled this was a cold and loveless place.’

  We reached a mid-floor and parted ways with Ava, who said she would send for us and continued up. Thorne led the way down the stone corridor to a door at the end.

  ‘Ma’s rooms,’ he told me.

  ‘Do you have rooms here too?’ What a stupid question.

  He nodded, and I thought I could see something behind his eyes, a phantom desire passing through. I knew we were thinking the same thing: how can we work this so that the two of us can share those rooms?

  We couldn’t.

  ‘Would you like to share my chambers?’ Roselyn asked me.

  ‘I would love that, thank you.’

  Thorne and I darted a glance at each other, and I had to hide a smile at his disgruntled expression.

  ‘I’ll arrange a meeting with Ambrose and Ava,’ he told me. ‘I’ll find you.’ Then he headed off, and I followed Roselyn into her chambers.

  They were huge – this must have been where she lived when mar
ried to the first prince. Indeed, his presence was everywhere, in the masculine furnishings and the paintings of him, so like my Thorne it was unnerving. There was even weaponry still on display, and I knew Rose hadn’t changed a single thing since losing him twenty years ago.

  It made me incredibly sad.

  I wondered how she felt, coming to stay in these rooms where he lingered. Watching her, I couldn’t guess. She crossed to pour us both the warm spiced mead that had been prepared for our stay, and handed me the mug, explaining, ‘It’s festival day. We’re supposed to drink from sunrise to sunrise.’

  I laughed. ‘Fine by me.’ It tasted delicious.

  Dumping my pack, I wandered, looking at things and running my fingers over them. Carved jewelry boxes, silver chalices, iron-wrought swords on the wall. Roselyn was busy counting the flagstones with import, her lips moving silently.

  Finally I moved to the fireplace and tried to warm my frozen fingers.

  ‘I might go and explore,’ I said. ‘Roselyn?’

  She was miles away, so I tip-toed my way out. Following the stone corridor around a corner, I was met by a group of pretty young women who all stopped and stared at me.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘Are you … Kayan?’

  ‘Depends if it’ll get me in trouble or not.’

  And just like that, by Gods – they attacked. With kindness. I was swept into one of their rooms and barraged with questions about Kaya and the towers and the men and warder magic and everything conceivably possible for a human to ask. But most of all they asked about the bond. Question after question after question. We drank more of the spiced mead and I watched as they prepared for the festival, dressing each other’s hair and painting outlandish and beautiful designs on their faces, and all the while I tried to answer as honestly as I could. No I was not bonded. Yes I knew those who were. Yes I had seen couples die as one. No I did not think it was lovely.

  I noticed that each of them had painted a wolf onto their cheeks and I smiled.

  After some time had passed I realised Thorne could be looking for me and would have no idea where I was, so I excused myself and emerged, a little stunned by the encounter. They’d all told me their names but I couldn’t remember a single one, as they’d all sounded the same.