Princess of Thorns

by Stacey Jay

  “Come on, Ror,” Niklaas calls, pushing the damp hair from his forehead. “It’s a ball stinger for a few minutes, but after that … pure heaven.”

  His wife. I will never be this prince’s wife, and once he knows it, he’ll have no reason to keep helping me, even if I tell him that my brother’s life, and the future of Mataquin, is at stake. No doubt he would refuse to accompany any girl on a hunt for an army, no matter what the circumstances. Human men aren’t like Fey men. They don’t believe a well-trained woman can fight, or lead, as well as a man. Niklaas already doubts my abilities because I’m small. Gods forbid he find out I’m female.

  As soon as he realizes the truth, he’ll leave. Or worse, kidnap me—to ensure my safety, if my judgment of his character is correct; to force me to marry him at sword point, if it is not and marriage really is what he’s after—and Jor will die.

  Niklaas can never discover my secret. I have to leave. Now. I should have run the moment his billowing Kanvasola shirt hit the bank.

  “All right, little prince?” Niklaas asks, a careful note in his voice.

  “I’m not accustomed to bathing with other people.” I clear my throat and shift my gaze to a patch of sky visible between the leaves, wondering if my cheeks are as pink. “I’ll go get the fire ready and come back later. It will be dark soon and a fire is … good.”

  “A fire is good,” Niklaas says. “Build it beneath the trees. The wind should scatter the smoke, but just in case, the leaves will hide the fire. The Boughtswords might still be looking for us. We don’t want to help them with the finding.”

  “Right.” I risk a quick peek down to where Niklaas lounges in the pool, his thick arms stretched along the rocks, steaming water rising to his chest, watching me with a shrouded look that emphasizes the bright blue of his eyes.

  Even in the shadows beginning to thicken the air, his eyes are aggressively blue, like a northern hunt dog meeting a stranger in the woods, debating whether to rip out the newcomer’s throat. I feel exposed all over again, though I know there’s little chance Niklaas has guessed what I was thinking a moment ago. He’s convinced I’m a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m not going to linger to give him reason to suspect otherwise.

  Without another word, I slither down the other side of the boulder on my belly, ignoring my aching muscles, refusing to think about how nice it would feel to be soaking in the hot spring instead of hurrying back to the camp. I’ll have my chance for a soak later. Alone. Without any insufferable princes lurking in the water.

  “I’m not some baker’s daughter,” I mumble, dumping an armful of wood to the ground with more force than necessary. “And even if I were, I’d know better.”

  Across the clearing, Alama whinnies, her long tongue dangling lewdly from her mouth. I stick my tongue out in return, smiling when she rears her head and stamps the ground.

  I have to put up with Niklaas and his nosy questions and pearls of wisdom and piercing devil eyes; I don’t have to put up with being sassed by a horse.

  My small triumph cheers me until a flash of black draws my eyes to the sky above the valley. There, dozens of vultures—crooked wings spread wide and bald heads craned toward the ground—drift in slow, relentless circles in the fading light, searching the world below for the ogre queen’s prey.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NIKLAAS

  When I arrive back at our camp—after a soak that has turned my toes to happy prunes and my aching back to mush—Ror is nowhere to be found. The horses are tied as they were and grazing peacefully, but I draw my sword anyway.

  Better to find out the boy is off answering the call and not need a weapon than to be surprised by an enemy.

  “Ror?” After a moment with no answer, I call a little louder, “Ror? Are you—”

  “Shh!” comes a hiss from my left. “In here.”

  I turn toward the sound of his voice, but find … nothing.

  “Inside the tree,” he whispers. “It’s hollow.”

  I circle around the petrified tree where the horses are tied and kneel down to peer inside. After a moment, my eyes adjust and I see Ror—a mad gleam in his eyes—crouched in the darkness ten hands away.

  “I’m hiding,” he says.

  “I see that.”

  “Maybe you should hide, too,” he says, scooting farther into the darkness. “There were two of them at the mercenary camp this morning. I was too muddled to think they might have been sent by the queen, but they could have seen us together.” He waves an arm, motioning for me to join him. “Come on! I don’t know how much they know.”

  “How much who knows?” I glance over my shoulder, poised to defend myself if whoever’s spooked Ror is still near the camp. “Who did you see?”

  “Not who, what,” he snaps. “They’re everywhere. Don’t you see them?”

  “See what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my frustration. If there’s danger at hand, the boy needs to be less flaming vague!

  “The vultures swarming above the blasted camp!”

  I lift my eyes, but the sky is empty, save for the sliver moon rising above the Feeding Hills. “I don’t see anything.”

  “But there were so many,” Ror says, refusing to budge. “At least a dozen, and more flying in from the east.”

  I stand and turn in a slow circle. “Well, they’re gone now. Vultures can’t see much better in the dark than we can. They’ll be off finding a place to roost. I suggest we do the same. If you want your turn at the pool, you’d better get moving.”

  Ror crawls from his hidey-hole, staff clutched tightly in hand. He still looks spooked, even after his own search of the sky reveals I’ve told the truth. “I’m not mad,” he says, pointing a stubby finger in my direction. His hands are ridiculously wee, so precious I would be tempted to make fun of them if he weren’t acting so strange.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

  “Like what?” I ask, innocent as a lamb.

  “With your careful eyes, and that careful voice, too,” he says, glaring. “I haven’t taken leave of my senses. My fairy mother says Ekeeta has enlisted carrion creatures as her allies. The queen throws them her scraps when she’s done harvesting a soul. In exchange, they spy for her.”

  “Scraps, eh?” My empty stomach churns. “I thought they were giving the criminals who feed the ogres’ hunger a decent burial these days.”

  “The days are changing.” Ror tugs his ear as he searches the sky one last time. “Maybe they didn’t see me. I hid the moment I spied them.”

  “Or maybe they were normal vultures and nothing to worry about,” I say, unable to keep the mocking note from my voice.

  “And maybe you’re a fool,” Ror snaps, but when he turns back to me he doesn’t look angry. He looks worried, older.

  For the first time, I notice faint wrinkles at the sides of his lips, lines that emphasize his soft mouth. The boy is pretty enough to be a girl. His sister must be even prettier. It wouldn’t matter if she were the ugliest lump of troll dung ever birthed—it would be worth wedding a dog with an ass at both ends to live to see my nineteenth birthday—but I can’t deny I’d enjoy a pretty wife more than a homely one.

  Just as I’d enjoy a friendly relationship with my brother-in-law rather than a strained one. Best to humor the boy. There are worse things than being too careful, or too shy to take a bath with other men around.

  “Go on, take a soak. You’ll feel better after.” I chuck Ror on the shoulder, doing my best to put him at ease. “When you get back, we’ll have a bite and you can get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

  “All right.” Ror moves toward the woods but turns back before he reaches the path. “I’m not crazy. Ekeeta does have animals spying for her.”

  “I believe you,” I say, with what I hope is an encouraging smile.

  “This isn’t a safe journey,” he says, tugging his ear again. “It’s dangerous to travel with a briar-born child.”

  He takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes before g
lancing back up with an expression so pitiful it makes me want to give the kid a hug. He doesn’t look old now. He looks like a child who has lost his mother. “Maybe you should leave me. I’ll understand. I don’t want you killed.”

  “I won’t be killed,” I say, pushing on when Ror opens his mouth to argue. “I understand the risk, and I’m willing to take it.”

  He blinks, and a furrow forms between his pale brows. “Why? For the chance to meet my sister? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Wanting to marry your sister isn’t a passing fancy,” I say, sheathing my sword. “I thought long and hard before I came looking for her. Aurora is the only match that makes sense for me. I’ll do whatever it takes for the chance to win her. Even risk death escorting her brother across the country.”

  Ror bites his lip. “But there are other princesses. Princesses who have country and family and no price on their head. No ogre queen for an enemy.”

  “Ekeeta is everyone’s enemy.”

  “You know what I mean.” His head tilts to one side, studying me. “And why the rush? You’re not even eighteen. My father didn’t take his first wife until he was twenty-six. Wouldn’t you rather wait until you’ve had a few more bakers’ daughters?”

  “I’ve already had my share of bakers’ daughters,” I say with a wink. “And farmers’ daughters, and noblemen’s daughters, and magicians’ daughters, and a few fairy girls I met at a carnival who taught me the most amazing trick with—”

  “I understand.” Ror rolls his eyes. “You’re terribly successful at convincing girls to sleep with you. I’m sure your country is very proud.”

  I laugh, but Ror doesn’t join in. He folds his arms across his chest and his studying expression becomes scrutinizing. “You haven’t answered my question. Why the rush? Why tie yourself to a princess with nothing to offer you but trouble?”

  I sigh and run a hand through my damp hair. “I have my reasons.”

  “What kind of reasons?”

  “Reasons I’ll be happy to discuss with your sister,” I lie, knowing I’ll do no such thing. Hopefully Aurora will be of a less suspicious ilk than her nosy little brother. “Now go on and have a soak, will you? Maybe it will put you in a better temper.”

  “I’m in a fine temper. I only want what’s best for Aurora.”

  “As do I. I mean her no harm.” I hold out my hands, palms up, showing I have nothing to hide. At least not when it comes to treating his sister well. “I’m not a bad sort, Ror.”

  “I don’t think you’re a bad sort,” Ror mumbles. “I just …”

  “Just what?” I ask, growing nervous of this conversation.

  If the boy backs out of our bargain I’ll be back where I started, with time running out and no idea where to find the one girl who might save me before it’s too late. Finding the witch my father paid to curse his sons was a bit of pure luck—a drunken conversation in a bar by the sea led to another drunken conversation, which led to a woman living in an abandoned shrine my father hadn’t gotten around to burning just yet.

  The woman knew who I was at once and apparently felt guilty for what she’d done to my brothers and me, but not guilty enough to give me the charm to lead me to a briar-born child free of charge. She took my armor—the only truly valuable thing I owned, a gift from an ancient king of Norvere passed down through my brothers—and made me split the skin on my palm and press it to my forehead while she whispered a spell, banishing my memory of her appearance to protect her in case I decided not to honor my promise to keep our meeting a secret from my father.

  If I lose Ror, I’m up a ladder without a basket. “Come on,” I say, doing my best to keep desperation from my tone. “You can trust me.”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  “I’m not a spider.”

  “No, you’re the fly, and you could be risking your life for nothing,” Ror says. “I know my sister, and there is a very, very good chance she’ll want nothing to do with you. At least, not as more than a friend and ally.”

  “Very, very?” I chuckle.

  “I’m not joking.”

  My smile slips. “Well, that’s a chance I’m willing to take. Now go on,” I say, shooing him with both hands. “Have a soak and give the fretting a rest.”

  Ror sucks in his lips, biting them before giving a terse nod. “I won’t be long.” He starts to go, but turns back again. “Thank you. I appreciate your help. And your bravery.”

  Before I can respond, the prince spins and scurries into the forest. I watch him go with a sinking feeling in my stomach. There was something in his voice … almost as if he knows without a doubt that Aurora will want no part of me. But he can’t, not for sure. Not even a brother can know all the secrets of his sister’s heart.

  Perhaps especially not a brother.

  I certainly had no idea Haanah was carrying on with a castle guard before Father caught on and sent the man away. Greer was a decent sort but plain-faced and serious to a fault. I never imagined Haanah would give him a second thought, but she was mad for him. She spent a month mourning like an orphaned puppy when she learned he was gone.

  Ror can’t know Aurora better than I know Haanah. Haanah and I are practically twins, the only two children named after my mother’s side of the family, just eighteen months apart and even closer than Usio and I were before his change. Aurora could very well surprise her brother the same way my sister surprised me.

  Or so I tell myself as I start the fire and set about pulling together a meager meal from our rations. But my reasonable arguments offer little comfort. I need to know what Ror is hiding, what secret he’s keeping tucked inside that warrior’s knot of his.

  I decide to get it out of the boy, one way or another, but the hour grows late—insects sing their night songs, and the world beyond the cliff is devoured by darkness—and Ror doesn’t return. I wait as long as I dare, but finally decide he must have become lost and prepare to go hunting for him.

  I’ve just finished fashioning a torch from a thin log and dry moss from the limbs of the pin oaks when I hear him scream.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AURORA

  I wake to darkness so complete it swallows my gasp and stuffs it deep into its pockets.

  I lift my head from the stones of the bank and shift my weight on the underwater ledge, stomach lurching. I can’t believe I fell asleep—I’m lucky I didn’t slip into the water and drown—but there’s no other explanation for closing my eyes on a forest filled with moody gray light and opening them to blackness.

  I pull my knees in and cross my arms over my chest beneath the water, feeling my nakedness in a new and uncomfortable way. Ever since those days in Ekeeta’s dungeon, I have loathed the darkness with a passion exceeded only by my hatred of biting beetles, roaches, and anything else black and crawly with crunchy outsides and liquid innards.

  My mother’s fairy blessings have made me nearly fearless, but not even magic can banish my irrational terror of tiny crawling things.

  The thought of chancing upon a Skittery Small electrifies my nerves as I reach out to search for my clothes on the bank. But it’s not a crawly thing racing across my hand that makes me scream, it’s the brush of my fingers against stiff feathers and the guttural hiss that follows.

  I scream and the creature glock-glocks and hisses again, a warning echoed from the rocks all around me. I kick to the center of the pool, heart slamming against my ribs, staring wide-eyed into the night. After a moment, I’m able to make out hunchbacked shadows, denser concentrations of black that pitch back and forth on the rocks, stretching their wings, bobbing their bald heads up and down as they grumble and hiss.

  The vultures. Ekeeta’s vultures. They have to be hers. There’s no other explanation for why the creatures have tracked me down to keep watch on my bath. Normal vultures don’t hunt people—they don’t hunt at all, preferring to scavenge for their meals—and they roost at night. I knew that even before Niklaas reminded me that—

  “They don’t
see well in the dark.” The pulse racing in my throat slows.

  If they can’t see me clearly, that means Ekeeta can’t, either. Ekeeta’s magic allows her to see through the eyes of animals, but her spells don’t give the creatures supernatural powers. Theses vultures can’t see or hear any better than an unmagicked vulture, which means they can’t be transmitting a clear picture of my location. There’s still a chance Ekeeta doesn’t know where I am, a chance that Niklaas and I can escape.

  No sooner have I thought his name than I hear him calling mine.

  “Ror!” He sounds panicked. He must have heard me scream. “Ror!”

  “I’m all right!” I swim hard for the bank. Torchlight bobs beyond the rocks. Niklaas will be here in a moment, and I must be dressed when he does.

  “Shoo! Get out of here!” I splash water at the creature closest to my clothes and it hops to the side with a nasty growl. Seizing the opportunity, I haul myself up onto the bank and fumble for my clothes.

  My pants stick and cling to my wet skin, and the vulture I frightened away returns to peck at my legs as I bind my breasts, but by the time Niklaas appears atop the boulder overlooking the pool—sword in one hand, torch in the other, illuminating the vultures surrounding me like beggars at the royal gates—I am pulling my borrowed armor over my linen shirt and reaching for my staff.

  “By the Lands …” Niklaas pauses to take in the alarming gathering before leaping off the rock and waving his torch at the nearest knot of birds. The vultures hiss and grunt as they hop away from the crackling flame, but they don’t go far, clearly determined to stay by my side until their master orders them to leave.

  “Get moving or I’ll burn the lot of you!” Niklaas shouts.

  “No, don’t!” I knock two birds out of the way with my staff as I hurry to his side, bones aching with the fairy magic that compels me to choose mercy whenever possible, even when it comes to carrion-eating creatures. “They’re innocent.”