The Rose and the Thorn

by Kate Macdonald

  “Are you... planning on sitting there?”

  “Unless you'd rather I sit somewhere else?”

  “No,” says Thorn quickly. “No where else.”

  I slip my hand into his and fold it around his middle, and he pretends to sleep, to spare me the pain of seeing his.

  The next few days trickle by. Thorn does not improve. His appetite lessons, and he becomes cold and shivery. I barely leave his side, barely sleep, barely eat myself. I read to him, sew when he doses, try and make light whenever I can. He does not say much, but at one point, around the third day, he turns to me.

  “We may have to think of an alternative plan.”

  For a moment, I'm worried he's hallucinating. “Plan for what?”

  “Our ball,” he replies, matter-of-factly. “I'm not entirely sure I'll be up for dancing. I won't be nearly as charming and graceful as I usually am.”

  I smile at him from my seat by the window. “You must be feeling better, if you're making jokes.”

  “Jokes? I'm expressing extreme remorse. I was looking rather forward to the whole thing.”

  So was I.

  “I will miss seeing you in your dress.”

  “I can still wear a dress. Shall I fetch it now?”

  I do not fetch it. Instead, we talk and laugh for a little bit longer, and then Thorn drifts quietly into a deep sleep.

  He appears to be improving, over the next day or two, and although his leg remains in a bad way, he eats a little more, and is chattier and more coherent. I don't relish the idea of leaving him injured, but at least he is getting better.

  On my last night, we make an effort to do something, anything. A decent meal arrives, we play board games in bed, and then lie there listening to beautiful music play on our music box. We talk until we run out of energy, both avoiding anything that sounds like goodbye.

  “Rose?” Thorn asks tiredly. “You won't... you won't leave before I wake, will you?”

  “Of course not,” I tell him, almost crossly.

  “Good,” he relaxes a little more. “I have a few things to tell you, before you go.”

  “I might have a few things, too.”

  His eyes close, and I can feel sleep pulling at mine, too, but I don't want to sleep. I want to stay here, watching him, being with him. Planning how on earth I'll say goodbye.

  I don't want to.

  But sleep comes anyway, and all too soon dawn invades the room, and my eyes drift up to the window to a sight I have almost forgotten. A stream dividing a meadow, leading up a wood. Behind the wood, I can see the dim outline of a spire.

  Home.

  The clock on the mantle chimes 6. I let out a little sob. We have lost our final time together. I pry myself from Thorn's side and step towards the glass. Go away.

  I look back to the bed. Thorn is shivering. How can I leave him like this? But he said the way would be open for hours. We still have time. Perhaps he just needs a little more rest, he'll wake up soon, a little tired and dozy, but clearly well enough. We can say a quick goodbye and then-

  And then what? I leave this place forever? I promise to return in six months? How can I possibly leave him like this? How can I leave him at all?

  I creep back to his bedside and put my hand against his head. He is burning up.

  “Thorn?” There is a touch of desperation in my voice that I cannot hide.

  He does not respond, does not give any indication that he notices me at all. I give him a shake. “Thorn! Wake up! Please!”

  Still nothing. Worriedly, I race around to the other side of the bed and yank his leg out of the covers. He lets out a low, painful moan. The flesh under the wound is swollen beyond recognition.

  “Oh, oh no...”

  I see one of the sprites hovering overhead. It is Ariel, I am sure. I look at her, and her little form bobs. She knows what I do not say. I run to the Hall of Mirrors, arriving breathlessly at her frame.

  “Oh Rose-” she flutters.

  “Help me!”

  “I don't know how-”

  “There must be something here, some kind of pharmacy or something-”

  “There is, but-”

  “Take me there.”

  “But-”

  “Now!”

  Her little form dashes away down the corridor, almost too quick to follow. She leads me to a small study not far from the kitchen. It is in complete disarray. Books are everywhere, the shelves, the desk, the windowsill, the bed. Illustrations of herbs are pinned on the walls. The medicine cabinet is a mess, bottles of every size and colour, all of which have labels faded beyond recognition.

  “Dammit!”

  “I try to tell you,” Ariel hisses, “We've been raiding the supplies for days-”

  “Then we'll make something!”

  I look around at the books. One of them must hold something helpful, but I do not have time to look through them all.

  Ariel buzzes around the room, scanning every spine. “This one, this one!” she squeaks, tapping on a thick tome.

  I haul it off the shelf and slam it onto the nearby desk. I head straight for the index, skimming for the word infection. I have never turned pages faster.

  “A salve to treat infection.” I read aloud.

  I scan through the ingredients, only recognising what some of them are. “Ariel, I don't know most of theses ingredients!”

  “I do,” she asserts. “And we have most of them.”

  “Most of them?”

  “Enough. We have enough. If we brew it with the water from the fountain-”

  She heads towards the cabinet, pulling out various bottoms, unstoppering them. “This, and this, and this-” she flutters back towards the book. “Ah.”

  “Ah?”

  “We need Aspria. It's a herb. It used to grow in the garden.”

  “Used to?”

  “I haven't seen it in a while, but it might still be there-”

  “What does it look like?”

  She hovers around one of the illustrations on the wall.

  “Like this.”

  “Find the rest of the ingredients,” I say, tearing it loose. “I'll be back.”

  How many hours have I spent out in these gardens? How many days? I do not know this plant. I've never seen it before, but I have to find it. I have to.

  I race out into the grounds, heading immediately for the herb garden next to the kitchens. I clutch at every stem, every leaf, holding it against the image. Nothing matches.

  Remembering the wild things that clamber around the stone, I rush to the graveyard. Wild lavender taunts me. The ivy mocks me. Nothing tries to aid me, nothing at all. I have a faint memory of wild, herb-looking things growing down by the banks in the river, and dash there next. Nothing but reeds and rushes. The woodlands turn up little better. Nothing grows wild in the maze, I know. And the rest of the gardens are so stiff and manicured I am sure I would have noticed something, anything.

  If Thorn dies, I will die. I may continue to breathe, and my heart may continue to beat, but whatever made me, me, will be as cold as he is. I will not lose a part of myself, but all of it. I will be a shell without a soul.

  I search the illustration for some other clue, anything.

  Aspira, says the faded grey writing at the bottom. Often found growing among wild flowers.

  Wild flowers. The meadow.

  My chest feels like it is breaking. I have never run so fast in my life. My sides are splitting, but I barely notice. I have no idea how much time I have.

  The warm, tall grass rushes up to great me. I can hear the stream, see it even, peering through the gathering fog. So close to home.

  I grab fistfuls of the meadow in my hands, pulling it up, frantically searching. I see poppies and buttercups and cowslips and sorrel. I see nothing like the spidery leaves of this Aspira.

  A voice calls to me through the fog.

  “Rose!”

  Through the mist, on the other side of stream, I see a tall, grey figure. My imagination
, surely.

  “Rose!” The voice is clearer now.

  “Freed?” I can almost make out his face. “Freedom, I'm here!”

  “Come here!” he calls. “Come home!”

  “I'm coming!” I cry. “I'm coming, I promise! It just... it might take me a while. I'm safe, I promise! I'll be home soon!”

  “Where are you?”

  The fog swallows him up. I cannot stop for him now. My eyes fall onto a little patch of spidery leaves. They are so small- I gather up a fistful. Is this it? It looks so much like it, but there is so little...

  It will have to be enough. It must be.

  I race back to the castle, straight into the pharmacy. Ariel has gathered all the ingredients in a bowl. “Did you find it?” she asks.

  I hold it up. “I think so. I hope it's enough.”

  “Me too.”

  I quickly wash and strip the herb, slamming it into the bowl and mashing it up frantically. Ariel gushes instructions as I add it to the pan of simmering water. The other two sprites appear to ferret it upstairs. I race back to join them, heart pounding against every part of my body.

  All three little forms hover over Thorn's immobile body, trying to tip a teacup of the liquid into his mouth. Ariel leaves the others to gesture towards a pot fill with the dregs.

  “Quickly, Rose, apply the paste!”

  I throw back the covers. There is the quietest of moans when I hold his leg. He is still alive.

  Not needing to be told twice, I unravel the bandage and apply the medicine in thick clumps. I smear it over the wound, covering the whole of it. Thorn barely makes a sound, not even as I wrap the bandage tightly around him.

  Something clinks behind me. The fairies are refilling the cup.

  “He won't drink!” one of them calls out desperately.

  I snatch the whole teapot from mid-air and press it to his lips, pry them open. The water trickles down his cheeks.

  “Thorn, you have to drink this,” my voice is stretched. “Please, Thorn!”

  “Tilt his head!”

  This is no easy feat. He is so heavy. A dead weight. No, not dead, not yet. In the end, I scramble into the bed, stick my knees under his shoulders, and pull him into my arms. I tilt his head back in my lap and ram the spout into his mouth. Water creeps out of the corners. “Please!”

  “It's not working.”

  “It has to!”

  I need to get him to swallow. I need to get him to wake up.

  I barely know what I am doing when I wrench away the pot and cover his mouth with my own.

  Wake up. Drink. Breathe.

  Ariel gasps.

  I breathe into Thorn, and I feel his own chest rise with my breath. His body moves under mine. I pull back, he splutters, coughs up most of the liquid, and then looks at me.

  I wrap a hand around his neck, place the pot back against his mouth.

  “You need to drink,” I tell him.

  He nods, and slowly and carefully, he takes it.

  Chapter Twenty: A Bitter Kiss of Home

  Thorn falls into the deepest of slumbers, but I stay where I am, holding him tightly. His chest rises and falls in the sweetest of rhythms, and his heartbeat plays the the most beautiful of songs. My own is still lodged somewhere in my throat.

  “I think it's working,” says Ariel. “Thank you, Rose.”

  I stroke the hair from his face. “I couldn't let him die.” I drag my eyes away from him to look at her impish, glowing form. “How... how is it that I can hear you now?”

  “I have always been talking to you,” she says promptly. “It is about time you heard me.”

  It certainly is. “I don't mean to sound ungrateful,” I continue, “Because you helped me save him, but couldn't you just have magicked the Aspira out of nowhere?”

  Her little form shakes. “We can't actually summon things out of nowhere. All the food is placed in stores beneath the castle. It's preserved with magic, and we use magic to cook it, but we don't create it. You have know where what you're summoning is.”

  This makes me feel guilty for all the food I've wasted, and I wonder how much food is left. Perhaps Thorn and I should attempt to refill them now that I... now that I am trapped here for another six months. The gateway must be closed by now, but I do not have the strength to check on it now. I ask Ariel to go in my stead, and she flutters over to the window.

  “I'm so sorry, Rose.”

  “It's all right,” I lie. “It was worth it.” This, at least, is the truth.

  “You should tell him that, when he wakes.”

  The other two fairies drift down from the mantelpiece, where they have been loyally attached for some time. “We'll save introductions for tomorrow, bring up some food, and let you rest,” Ariel decides. “It's been a long day.”

  I thank her, glad of the stillness, the quiet. It is just the two of us now. Minutes thumb by to the slow, steady sound of Thorn's breathing. I half-sleep, dosing by his side, more restful than I have felt in days.

  “Rose...?” Thorn shudders awake, his eyelids half open.

  “I'm here.”

  “I wanted to tell you, before you went... I couldn't bear letting you go before you knew... you should know...”

  “Ssh, it's all right, dearest. I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. Rest. Just rest.”

  I take his hand in mine, and then, to ease him or myself, I begin to sing.

  “She didn't say it. He was dying and she didn't say it. Why won't she say it?”

  “It's so obvious she cares for him.”

  “Maybe not enough.”

  “She gave up going home for him. Also, did you see that kiss?”

  “That was not a kiss.”

  “It looked like a kiss-”

  “Did you see that man in meadow? He was very attractive.”

  “Ariel! Priorities!”

  “I haven't seen a man in a very long time, all right?”

  “This is not the time-”

  “She's trapped here for another six months. He's in no danger. We've got time.”

  “He's in no danger? Do you think that storm was a natural occurrence?”

  I wake up to the three sprites chattering above a breakfast tray.

  “I can hear you, you know.”

  Two of them hide behind a teapot in surprise. The remaining one giggles. “Thanks for help, last night.” I look back at Thorn, sleeping silently beside me. My arm is numb from holding him all night. I shuffle back and flex it.

  “It was my pleasure.” I imagine her smiling.

  The one with the littlest voice emerges from behind a teacup. She hovers there, shyly. “I'm Ophelia,” she says.

  “Lovely to meet you.”

  “I'm Margaret,” says the third, with the stiff, proper voice. “That was a very brave thing you did last night, my dear.”

  “Wouldn't you have stayed?”

  There is a slight pause before she replies. “Yes,” she says firmly. “I would have. But my reasons for saving him... might not be the same as yours.”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “By the time you do, it may be too late.”

  Thorn stirs.

  “Well,” Margaret says quickly. “We have plenty to be getting on with. Come on, girls...” With a quick goodbye, all three of them vanish with a pop.

  Thorn yawns, opens his eyes. “Who are you talking to?”

  “I believe they said their names were Ariel, Ophelia and Margaret.”

  “They can talk again?”

  “Quite a bit, apparently.”

  “We'll never have a moment's peace now,” he leans back against the pillows, pretending he isn't thrilled. Suddenly, his brow tightens into a frown.

  “What... what day is it?” he asks.

  I swallow. There is a hard lump in my throat. “The gateway opened yesterday,” I say quickly.

  “Oh Rose, I didn't know-”

  “It's all right.”

  “You should have-”

  �
��It's all right.”

  “I'm so sorry-”

  “It's all right!”

  But then it doesn't feel all right. It doesn't feel right at all. Suddenly, my family's faces come rushing up in my head, and the thought of having to spend another day, let alone another six months, hits me like a punch to the gut. I double over, and suddenly I am crying. Thorn puts his arms around me while I shake and my heart splinters everywhere.

  I cry for what feels like hours, almost as erratically as I did when Mama died. Thorn says nothing while I sob. He holds me tightly, strokes my hair. I go completely limp. Eventually, my sobs subside. A little bit of me creeps back.

  “I think... I think I'm done now.”

  Thorn looks at me uncomfortably. “You... you should have gone.”

  “I couldn't.”

  “Why not?” his voice sounds like a child, asking a question when they are afraid of the answer.

  “You shouldn't ask me that.”

  “I'm sorry,” he says quietly. There is a long pause before he speaks again. “Is it because you promised me that you wouldn't leave, because I didn't mean-”

  “What sort of person do you think I am?” I hiss, scuttling to my feet. “Do you think I am devoid of feeling? Do you think I am cold, heartless? That I have come to feel nothing for you? I was scared you were going to die, Thorn! I could never have left you! I didn't... the thought didn't even cross my mind, you know? All... all I could think about was you. If I could think at all.”

  There's more, so much more. Somewhere there are the words, I don't want to live in a world without you in it. I try to calm myself. Breathe. I am not mad at him. I am mad at the situation.

  “Rose,” he says gingerly.

  “It's all right,” I tell him. It isn't. It can't be. But it will be soon. “I just... I need to...”

  I sweep out of the room. I do not look back.

  Did you see that kiss?

  It didn't feel like a kiss, when I did it. It was more a... necessity. A way to shock him into waking, deliver the medicine. It didn't have the softness of the one and only other kiss of my life. It didn't feel romantic, just hard, and tasted only of the bitter, leafy taste of the potion. No fireworks, no sunshine and starlight, which I feel should occur whenever you kiss someone that you...