A Thorne in Time

by Lorel Clayton

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1 | Goodbyes

  2 | Far from Here

  3 | Trouble

  4 | Found Out

  5 | Time to Die

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Note to Reader: This story takes place before Eva Thorne Book 1, Tangle of Thornes, and can be read first or appreciated after.

  1 | GOODBYES

  ~

  I HATED THE RED, WHICH came out looking like rust rather than the blood I was going for. I washed hair dye from my hands and stained a good towel cleaning up. I didn’t need a mirror to know the new shade made me unnaturally pale.

  “I am unnatural,” I told my reflection.

  I shoved clothes into my bags. Punched them in more like. It felt good to vent. Morgan would chastise me for not folding anything, but he wouldn’t be coming. He’d never know what a wreck I made of things.

  “Get up you lazy, pathetic excuse for a Thorne!” Nanny’s screech carried through the house. I wouldn’t miss that. I didn’t know if she was talking about me or Ilsa, probably me, as the Dark One she avoided with superstitious dread. “Eva!” So, she did mean me.

  “I’m coming,” I screeched back. I added an elvish brassiere to my suitcase—wishful thinking, as I was thirteen and still flat as a board, but I might ‘bloom’ soon as Karo put it—and dashed out the door and down the stairs to the entry hall.

  The suitcase was new, the type with wheels that could move about on their own if there was magic to fuel it. Of course, no one had bought any of the green goo to run it, so it was extra heavy with dormant motors. Useless thing. I hefted it in two hands and tossed it at Morgan, proud of my athleticism. He was twice my height and built of muscle, so he hardly noticed the extra weight.

  “I’m not leaving yet. I’ll meet you at the gate.” I tossed the knapsack at him too, along with the other bag I’d dragged down the steps behind me.

  “Eva?” He raised an eyebrow, but Morgan was good. Not ‘good’ in the sense he never hurt a fly, as he hurt more than a few of them being the house steward, and he also hurt more than flies, being my uncle’s bodyguard. He was ‘good’ in that he would trust me and not tattle to Uncle Ulric. Nanny on the other hand....

  “Where are you off to?” Her voice hadn’t lowered a decibel. I stuck my fingers in my ears, but she didn’t get the hint, not even when Morgan dropped all the bags on the marble floor and stoppered his ears too.

  “You have an education to get, little missy,” she continued. “Learn to be a proper lady, leave the nest, stop being a burden upon your poor uncle and me with all your constant complaints, your judging and sniping. Wish it were a proper Solhan school; they’d teach you a lesson.” Solhan schools were the kind where three out of ten students survived, so it could be worse. Barely.

  “I don’t want to be a lady!” I dashed out the front door before Uncle came to investigate the commotion.

  I didn’t want to leave Highcrowne, but I knew when I’d lost. With Uncle, the only option was losing. One silent look from him and I froze. He didn’t need a bodyguard like Morgan when he had a look like that.

  There was one person I had to see before I went away. Okay, two, and they were always together.

  My boots skittered over icy stones, and I slipped in a few spots, going with it, letting my feet glide a bit before I regained my balance and picked them up again. It was sort of a running skate action as I made my way across the Outskirts.

  We lived in the best section of the dung heap, but it was still a dung heap. Literally. Piles of horse manure, human and other offal were shoved into the corners or waiting in the middle of the road for you to step in, or for the goblin street cleaners to come, but it usually got stepped in before they showed.

  No one cared about refugees like us. Bad as Uncle was, he and other members of the local council had built a civilization out of nothing—real houses and temples, businesses and schools, although none good enough for a Thorne—with no help from the kings who ruled the city. Our monarchs were dwarf, elf, and Avian, so why would they care about humans? Forget about Solhans, like me. We were the most unnatural. The failures of the world. The worst of the worst. This is what happened when a great culture fell: it fell hard.

  When I reached the outskirts of the Outskirts is when it got really depressing. This was where the most desperate refugees lived, those newly come to the city without patron or family or anyone to help them. No cobbles, no stone buildings. It was all mud and filth and shacks made of discarded wood, if the people were lucky, straw and tarpaulins of oil-treated cloth if they weren’t. It wasn’t enough to keep out Highcrowne winter, and the frozen dead were found covered in whatever rags their families could spare. They didn’t lay in the street long at least. Someone came by to burn them every morning. Leaving them would have been a very, very bad idea.

  The Crowns cared about hazards to the city proper, if not the people who huddled at the city’s feet begging for help and mercy from the horrors of the world outside. I hadn’t encountered those horrors, heard about them only. But if what I saw here was any indication, if this was the place of solace for people, how much worse must it be beyond the borders of the Three Kingdoms?

  For some reason, my brother, Uncle’s heir and favored one, chose to come here every day. I did too, to be with him and, you know—Duane.

  Duane stood, back against a wall, doing nothing, and he looked great doing it. He was next to a burning brazier, but he wasn’t huddled around it like the family beside him or the people on the other side of the square who crowded around their own small fires. They all shivered and rubbed their hands to stay warm, while he radiated heat of his own. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket. Maybe he didn’t own one, but it didn’t matter. He looked hot. I mean in terms of ‘not cold’. Not cold at all.

  “Hey there, Eva.” Somehow, I’d blinked and he was standing beside me. He was fast, but I think I lost time around him. I needed to sleep more, as he often sent me into a daydream.

  “Hi,” I squeaked.

  “So, you’re headed out of this filth hole today. Lucky you. You lookin’ for Vikky?”

  “Yes,” I managed through a throat that had swollen up.

  “He’s over at the market grabbing some grain. You know. I’m here to distribute, while he hides out for a bit. All part of the plan. You up for helping with the plan?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I always agreed to whatever he asked. It was automatic. “But, I gotta get going. Coach is heading out. I’ll go find him. Only. You got a minute?”

  “What you need?”

  “Um. In private. Over there.” I pointed to what amounted to an alley between two shanties, one made of broken crates and tumbled stones stolen from the wall, and the other of tarpaulin, tied to a wood frame using cat gut. Lots and lots of cat gut. The rest of the cats were probably eaten and the bones turned into forks, what with how thorough refugees could be about using what they had. Poor kitties; in the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time. I’d been eyeing the secluded and relatively clean spot and led the way, Duane following, quiet as usual.

  He never spoke unless he had something to say. I liked that about him. It was a bit unnerving, though, when the two of us were standing there. I couldn’t look at him. His face anyway. I saw his dirty hands dangling next to filthier breeches and a shirt that should have been white but was brown and gray. He was thin but starting to grow muscle faster than I was growing a chest. I felt awkward standing next to him.

  “Duane?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to be gone for years. Years. I’ll...I’ll miss you. Will you miss me?”

  “It’s a long time.”

  “Don’t forget about me.” I looked up then, into his green eyes, and my heart was fluttering so madly I
thought I’d throw up.

  I grabbed the back of his neck with a sweaty palm. He was older and taller than me, so I practically had to climb him to reach, but I gave him a kiss. On the lips!

  There were running footsteps then, and my brother shouted, “Hey!”

  Duane backed away so fast I thought his feet were on fire. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and gave me a surprised look. And that was it.

  He ran out to the square where Viktor handed him a bag of grain. Duane did a circuit of the square with the heavy bag on his shoulder, spilling out piles in every shanty house he passed, with cheers and pats from the locals. He got all the credit for Viktor’s risk.

  Duane shot me a look every once in a while, an expression I could only call dismay. Or horror. I should never have kissed him. Not ever.

  “This is a good hiding spot.” Viktor was checking out the alley where I stood, rooted. “I’ll stay here for a while, in case the guards come. I was pretty fast. Not sure they even saw me.”

  “Why didn’t you buy the grain?” I said, annoyed. I adored my big brother; he could do no wrong, but the stunts he pulled with Duane made me doubt his wisdom.

  “Uncle counts every coin. I can’t steal from him, and with what little he gives me, he expects me to buy certain clothes, certain arms, certain everything. If I’m not wearing them, he notices. So much effort spent on pretense rather than dealing with reality, but that’s our family, isn’t it? Our worth should be based on actions, not appearances, and most people’s actions are lacking. Helping people means I need to be willing to put my neck on the line. It means more this way.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I gave him a hug.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I’m going. Today.”

  “That’s today?” He ran his hands through his black hair, a black so pure it was darker than night. My hair was that color when I didn’t dye it. “Uncle is going to kill me for not seeing everyone off.” He kicked the poorly mortared wall, and it jiggled a bit.

  “Don’t worry. Uncle didn’t see anyone off either. At least I don’t think so. I left while Morgan was still packing the carriage. You didn’t want to say goodbye to Ilsa did you?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I did. She’s my favorite sister, don’t you know?”

  I punched him. “Well, you’re stuck saying goodbye to this one.”

  “At least you look the same.” He shrugged and gave me another hug. It turned into a real one once my stiff anger faded. “I love you, Eva.”

  “Love you too.”

  It was hard letting him go, but I knew I was late. It was time to get on with my life. At least start dealing with what it threw at me. I waved as I ran off, and he peeked out of hiding to give me one last wave too.

  The guards weren’t coming. They didn’t care about the Outskirts. The only ones who policed these streets were my uncle’s cronies, and they wouldn’t say anything. I spotted a few of them in shadows, sneering at Duane and Viktor. ‘Do-gooder’, they called my brother, like that was a bad thing. The worst of them, the one they called Gas, gave me a tip of the hat as I went past. He was only a few years older than Viktor but had a worldliness in his eyes I never liked, a hell of experience trapped behind black pupils, and it always looked like he wanted to share that hell with me. He gave me the creeps. I gave him a rude gesture and kept going.

  Through informants like Gas, Uncle knew all about Viktor’s antics. There was no rebelling. Uncle allowed it for some reason. I don’t know why Viktor hadn’t figured that out yet. Maybe he needed to believe he was a rebel? I certainly wasn’t. I was cowed and doing exactly what Uncle wanted. I’d soon be miles away from him and Ilsa. It couldn’t come soon enough.

  2 | FAR FROM HERE

  ~

  “WHAT’S SHE DOING HERE?” I asked when I reached the motor carriage waiting for me by the Outskirts’ gate.

  It was an unnatural sort of carriage, shuddering and chattering, and moved slower than horses could pull it, but it was expensive, imported from the Fortress of Mages in the South, and Uncle was showing off by owning it. I thought it would break down before we got more than a few feet away from the gate. It wasn’t a real gate like the city had, more a symbolic one sectioning off the richer section of refugees from the poorer section. Still, it was easier for Morgan to meet me there than get stuck in the mud of the shanty town.

  The ‘she’ I was referring to was my twin sister, Ilsa. She was looking at me with those creepy white eyes of hers. Mine were enchanted blue so I could pretend for a moment we weren’t identical. Her black hair was plaited in the most elaborate style I’d yet seen, woven into a bird’s nest atop her head, with birds in it. Or was it bats? That’s where she’d been all morning, surely. Getting her hair done.

  “We’re taking her to the docks first.” Morgan was in the front seat, my baggage crammed next to him, while Ilsa’s luggage filled the storage trunk at the back and was hanging out, tied down with rope. That left the rear seat for Ilsa and me to share. Great.

  “Get in,” Ilsa told me. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “We will be if we ride in this. Come on, Morgan. I thought you were ready to leave this thing in the junk heap last week. What about One-sy? Doesn’t she want to get out of the stable now and then?” One-sy had lost an eye years ago, and she was more a pet than a horse. “She could go faster than this thing.”

  Morgan cocked his head and glanced back at Ilsa, decked out in furs and sparkling jewelry. That said it all. This had been her idea. She wanted to look important.

  “Fine.” I liked how my twin curled her lip and her legs away from my dirty boots as I climbed in. There was a blanket on the seat, which she didn’t need with all those furs. I yanked it away before she could react and tossed it out into the street. Someone grabbed it before it got wet.

  “Eva,” she growled.

  I ignored her and rooted around in my bags, leaning over the seat and winking at Morgan. He rolled his eyes, used to our squabbles. I dug out a few things and shifted others around until I had a knapsack stuffed with clothes, mostly sweaters and warm things. I could always buy more in Gernwold.

  “I’ve decided not to bring this stuff.” I threw the bag through the shanty gate. I didn’t see who got what, as so many people pulled at it, but I felt better knowing someone might not freeze tonight. I eyed Ilsa’s boxes.

  “Get moving, now,” she snapped. Morgan obeyed, and the carriage trundled forward. I sat down with a disappointed exhale.

  “You won’t even need furs in Faellion,” I told her.

  “You know nothing about it. I will be in the best school in the Three Kingdoms, where the elven royals are tutored.”

  “Distant royals,” I muttered.

  “There could be trips to the highlands, weekends by the sea. The wind could get blustery.”

  “They have palm trees.”

  I didn’t know why she got Faellion, with its famed, pink crystal towers, while I got Gernwold. I’d never been to the Dwarf Lands, but I heard it was more of the same I’d known all my life: snow, mountains, ice...more snow. The Elf Lands might have been nice, if not for the elves. But as long as Ilsa and I were a kingdom away from each other, I’d be happy, which was the real reason I willed the carriage to go faster.

  We had blissful silence all the way to the docks. It took so long to unload Ilsa’s things and cart them to the ship, I thought we might be late to meet the stagecoach. I thrilled at that. A week longer at home, and a week late for school, before the next one came. Sounded like a plan.

  There were no hugs or false goodbyes. Ilsa didn’t wave or look back before she boarded the ship.

  I gauged the sun. We were still on time. Damn. The motor carriage didn’t die going up the steep path from the docks, either. It actually made better time than the mules and donkeys we passed. Damn, again. The carriage kept up its relentless pace all the way across the massive bridge that overlooked the Serpent’s Ribbon, and I thought I spotted Ilsa’s ship below.<
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  “Don’t lean out so far,” Morgan said. I obeyed, feeling slightly woozy from the height anyway.

  The carriage made better time on the straightaway, and before I knew it we were at the stables. The horses were restless and danced about, the groomsmen trying to keep them calm. I thought it was our carriage riling them up and told Morgan to turn the motor off, but then I heard the noises that were annoying them: Distant hammering and booming, a hissing clank accompanying each bang.

  “Steam machines,” Morgan explained. “For the rail line.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something to replace the stagecoach to Gernwold.”

  “Let’s wait for it.”

  “It’s not built yet.”

  “I can wait.”

  He did the eyebrow thing again, and I sighed. He handed my bags to the coach driver who packed them away. It was full and would leave soon. Time to go.

  I couldn’t do it. “Morgan...” I began. He gave me a hug, and I cried then. Just a little. I wiped my eyes before he could see. He was Solhan, believe it or not, but even as different as he was from Nanny and Uncle, he would chide me for weeping. Thornes could not be weak.

  My eyes were dry again by the time I pulled away and climbed into the coach. Karo had saved a seat for me. Unfortunately, it was opposite Juliette.

  I sat and glared at Juliette for a moment. She glared back. She wasn’t Solhan, so it wasn’t as effective, blunted by her blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. She backed down first, turning to gaze out a window with her nose in the air.

  “What’s with you two?” Karolyne asked. “Every time you meet it’s a contest of wills. You must have some reason to hate her so?”

  “No reason. We’ve never spoken. I just don’t like her.” Being friends with Ilsa told me all I needed to know. Juliette could hear me but pretended not to.

  “You’ve gone red, like me,” Karolyne said, finally noticing my terrible dye job. “We look like sisters!” Hardly, but I let her be thrilled.