I nod and turn back to the tainted water in front of me. Part of me heard him, but I can’t bring myself to respond. Even though I accomplished my goal and my sisters are safe, I can’t feel any joy, knowing what their freedom cost. I can’t shake the feeling that Oren was vital to changing this land for the better, and now that he’s gone, I’m not sure how Zareen will achieve that dream.
Rayce clears his throat. “Rose, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
The change in his tone sends chills down my spine, but I keep staring at my distorted reflection. His presence reminds me of the things still left unsaid between us. The tops of Rayce’s shined boots come into view, but still Oren’s lifeless body won’t go away, swirling in the bloody surface of the water.
He moves the bucket and kneels next to me, grimacing from pain as he hovers inches from my face.
“Why did you leave my tent the day you returned to us?” he asks. “When we saw a loaded pack, I got the feeling you might have been trying to sneak away in the night.”
So Rayce must realize that I’m to blame for Oren’s death.
I press my wet hands against my forehead, cutting off his view of my face. I’ve perfected the art of keeping my emotions from showing, but right now, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Too much has happened.
He places a hand on my knee, the warmth from his touch blooming on my undeserving skin.
“I was trying to leave,” I whisper. “It’s my fault Oren was killed.”
Rayce’s grip on my knee slackens. A lock of hair falls onto his face. He looks perfect, even in his sorrow. Even with that scar and those wounds. Especially with that scar reminding him who he fights against and those wounds still fresh from keeping his promise to me.
“What?” he asks.
I don’t move. Can’t even wiggle my fingers. I sit here staring at the man who was like a son to Oren and take responsibility. No more running away. If Oren had never told me I deserved to be saved, I never would’ve gotten as far as I did.
“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been trying to run away then—”
“Oren’s death isn’t your fault,” Rayce says, his voice firm. He cups my chin, pulling my face so close to his I can see my own reflection in his pupils. “Listen to me, because it’s time you started blaming the right people. You didn’t capture Oren. The Gardener did. And you didn’t kill him. The emperor did. It doesn’t matter how much harder you should have fought or what you might have said differently. You, of all people, know that it wouldn’t have mattered to a piece of trash like the Gardener or my uncle.”
“Like you weren’t responsible for killing those people on your uncle’s orders?”
He looks away at my question.
It was a cruel thing to bring up, but he knows what it feels like to have screams play over and over in the quiet spaces. If I had just decided to trust Rayce instead of trying to make his choice for him and run away, then none of this would have happened.
“You’re right,” Rayce says, returning my gaze. “Those people’s deaths aren’t my fault the way Oren’s death isn’t yours.”
“But I left the camp.”
“Then it was my fault for asking you to be out there in the first place,” he says. “Or maybe it was Oren’s fault for finding you as you were trying to leave.”
I blink back my surprise. He slides his hand up to my cheek, rubbing circles on my skin with his thumb.
“I should’ve trusted you,” I say.
“Maybe, but that still might not have made a difference. The point is, we can’t keep blaming ourselves for other people’s actions,” he says. “It’s something we both need to work on.”
I can see him bent over his desk, agonizing over signing a piece of parchment he believed could kill almost a hundred of his people.
Rayce sighs and drops his hand from my face, clutching at the wound in his stomach. “I still can’t believe Oren’s really gone,” he says, his voice low.
If it’d been me in his position, I wouldn’t have been able to say anything. I wouldn’t have trusted myself enough to talk, and my sorrow would have paralyzed me.
“Me neither,” I say. “He was—” I stop, overwhelmed by all the things Oren probably did for the rebellion.
“The heart of this entire operation,” Rayce fills in for me, finally turning to look at me.
Even in the darkness of this little room, I see the sorrow pooling out of his dark eyes. Right now, we’re two pieces of the same torn fabric. Our sorrow makes us twins.
Rayce runs a hand through his hair, letting it fall loose. “He always said it was up to the young to lead this revolution. He refused to accept that, without him, Arlo and I would just be two boys playing pretend at defying my uncle. But the truth is—” His voice catches, and he rubs at his eyes. “Rose, I don’t think I can do this without him. The only reason I could even fathom leading was because I knew he’d be there to catch me if I fell.” He shakes his head. “Now he isn’t here and—”
“Hey,” I say, touching his cheek.
So far, words have failed me, but this time they don’t. What I need to say feels like it’s been growing in me all along.
“You’re going to be fantastic, do you understand me? I only got a few weeks with Oren, and I’m a completely different person. But you are his protégé. Everything that is good and kind about you are the things Oren cultivated in you, and you can continue to use them. You can do this.”
Indecision colors his dark eyes, but there’s a tiny spark of belief.
“One thing your rebellion has taught me is that you aren’t alone,” I say. “When Marin’s scouting party didn’t return, none under your command even considered abandoning her. Same goes for when I was captured by the emperor or when Oren and I were taken by the Gardener. Zareen always came. And they will be there for you, too. You’ve got Arlo and Marin and Suki and even Piper.” I take a deep breath and look away. “And you have me, if you’ll allow it.”
Heat rises to my cheeks hearing what I just offered.
“But I thought you were going to leave when you rescued the other girls from the Garden?”
“I’d planned on it, but after fighting by your side,” I say to the wall, unable to look him in the eye, “I decided I might stay.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.”
His hand slips from my leg, letting the cool air attack it. I stiffen, never expecting a refusal from the man who begged me to stay when we were alone.
His fingers twine gently through my hair, sending shivers down my entire body. He turns my head so I meet his gaze. His eyes suck me in, deeper than the darkest parts of my old cage. I’m completely unprepared to fight against the gentleness radiating from them, and my breath catches.
“You have to be honest with me,” he says, his voice rough.
My heart hammers against my chest as my face heats up. I’m trapped in this moment, in his gaze, and like a moth drawn to flame, it will be the death of me. This is the thing I’ve been fighting against since I met Rayce, since I was imprisoned in the Garden, since I crossed the border from my homeland. The person I never wanted to be.
My eyes flick to the open door, waiting to see someone walk through and break up this moment, but it remains empty, as if the gods and goddesses suspended this tiny slice of time for only us.
“I’m going to ask you a single question,” he says.
“W-what is it?”
He shifts forward, the sides of his stomach brushing against the insides of my legs as he moves even closer. I see each ridge and bump on the long scar twisting down his face, and the soft scent of leather from his holster and honey tickles my nose. His free hand brushes my burning cheek.
“When we first met, I asked you this same thing,” he says. “I need to know your real name, Rose. Not your stage name, but the one you hide from. I can’t really know you until I know who you are.”
He moves even closer, our lips a mere inch away from each other. The thing I�
�ve been longing for since he showed up on my side of the tent is now within reach, and this time I’m ready. I hold onto his shoulders, balling the fabric of his sleeves in my fingers. I rub my lips together and steel myself for the thing I already know I have to give him. To this man I might have once been married to.
“My real name is Arianna Vasile,” I say. “And I’m the true heir to the Varshan throne.”
Every bone in my body tenses as the words escape my lips, as if their freedom has unlocked a piece of myself that doesn’t fit anymore. I watch his face, not even daring to breathe. I’m as helpless to it as a leaf falling from a tree.
I wait. Wait for him to say something. To move. To do anything besides sit here and stare at me like I’ve just sprouted wings.
“Arianna,” he says finally, his voice rough in his throat. “Now that name suits you.”
His words echo Oren’s. I wonder if he even knows he did it.
“Okay.” I hesitate. “But you heard the part abou—”
He puts his finger to my lips, cutting me off.
“I heard everything, and your title changes nothing.” He tilts his head to the side. “It does, however, answer the question as to why my uncle wanted you desperately enough to line the streets with your wanted poster. But it doesn’t change anything for me.”
My stomach drops. What does that mean? Because he’s no longer an heir of Delmar? Or…what? I want to ask, but he keeps talking before I can get another word out.
“Arianna, right now, all you need to know is you’re safe. And there will always be a place for you here in the rebellion.” His hand tightens on my chin and his eyes search mine. “Here with me.”
I can’t fight the tricky smile that slides up my lips.
“I love that,” I say.
He cocks his head in question.
“The way you say my real name.”
He leans in, closing the space between us, sealing our words with something deeper than promises, stronger than steel. I tilt up my face, my own mouth tingling as I meet him inch by slow inch, breath by breath, heartbeat for heartbeat.
Our mouths meet, as hesitant as he looked when he first walked in, his stubble scratchy against my face. But as he pulls me closer, crushing me against his hard chest, our bodies begin to form their own language. Our skin forms our words in the places that touch and the ones that don’t. Our lips create the cadence, rising up and down as he gently bites my bottom lip, and our shared breath provides the pauses.
For once in my life I don’t measure time passing with the sound of our breathing. There aren’t any heartbeats ticking out seconds or stories to weave into the empty space. Right now there are only little nicks and scars covering Rayce’s skin and the knowledge that I’ve finally told him everything. And even more amazing, he’s accepted the real me.
Our lips finally part, and it feels like my world has been doused in color. Rayce’s eyes still remain closed, and a peaceful expression dominates his face.
“Your lips taste sweet, delicate, like a flower,” he says.
“Don’t call me that.” I bury my face in his neck.
He runs his hands through my hair, creating slow circles on the back of my head, lulling my tired limbs into relaxing in one circle and sparking them to life in the next.
“Why not?”
“Because that word is ugly.” My voice catches. “It represents all that has been wrong with my world.”
He pulls away so that he can look at me, creases back in his forehead, and I regret speaking.
“No,” he says, his finger trailing over my lip. “Flowers are beautiful, delicate, artful. Each one a painting from Lin. They’re unique. They come in every color imaginable, grow even in the hardest of places with just a little sun and water and…” He peers into my eyes. “And love. With love, their colors deepen, their soft petals withstand rainstorms, and when they blossom, they take your breath away.”
Is he…is he saying he…does he love me, too?
His lips brush mine, removing any question I might have had. This man who knows all his people by name, who carefully kneads dough and expertly wields a sword with the same hand, who can steal my breath with a single glance, loves me. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into our kiss, pulling him near, whispering my love back with every second our mouths touch.
But I know one other way to show him.
“Rayce?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s one more thing I have to do.”
He opens his eyes, and I greet him with a smile.
…
Rayce leads me deeper into the tunnels of his base than I’ve ever been before. The air grows warmer as the hall slopes gently downward, and my heart hammers my eardrums. When I’d asked him for this one thing, I thought it might take a few days, but the second the request left my lips, he already had my hand in his and was halfway out the door. All it took was a single command from Rayce and suddenly everything fell into place.
He pauses at a fork in the tunnel, holding out a hand to block my path.
“Are you sure this is what you really want?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“All right, then. No going back now.”
He takes a left and leads me into a large, open room. Piper leans over a low table laden with an array of strange tools—long ivory needles, several pieces of cloth, vials filled with black ink, a mortar and pestle, and a basket filled with Zarenite. The mortar holds a fine, glowing green powder.
Kyra sits next to her older sister, her long black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and a fresh pink robe clinging to her thin frame. She rolls a chunk of Zarenite in her hands, watching her sister measure out ink into a vial.
Arlo stands behind Piper, looking over the tools of her trade with his arms behind his back, and Marin waves from the back of the room as we walk in.
“In order to take the oath, you need two witnesses to it,” Rayce says. “I figured you’d want people you already know.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice small in the big room.
“Don’t worry,” Marin says. “It only hurts for the first few minutes. Then it’s just like sunburn.”
Only a few short weeks ago, I wouldn’t have remembered what that felt like, having the sun kiss your skin so hard it left a mark. Now that I do, it reconfirms why I want to join the rebellion. I want to help Rayce and the rest of his people fight for a brighter tomorrow.
“I imagine it will hurt significantly more for the Varshan,” Piper says, setting the ink down in front of her. “Considering the powder has countless adverse effects on her.”
“Nice to see you, too, Piper,” I say.
Kyra waves at me while her sister isn’t looking, and I smile back at her. One sister dark and gloomy, the other light and bright.
“Anyway,” Arlo says. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
He motions to the only other stool in the room. I walk over and sit. The surface of the wood forces my posture straight. I wiggle around, but no matter how I slide, it remains uncomfortable. A perfect representation of how I feel.
Arlo and Marin move so they stand behind me, one over each shoulder. Rayce walks up right in front of me and remains standing. Arlo holds out an official-looking piece of parchment with a green ribbon holding it shut, but Rayce shakes his head. He steadies his gaze on me and speaks, his words filling the huge room.
“Do you swear to remain loyal to the Zareeni cause for the rest of your days and to uphold our belief that only through kindness will the seeds of change grow?”
His gaze bores into me, waiting for my answer. I swallow, the words burning my throat, and I remind myself of the panic I felt at not being able to use a stunner at Dongsu.
“Yes.”
“Will you promise to always be truthful and to only use the abilities afforded to you by the Zarenite for the good of those who can’t fight for themselves?”
That sounds more like what I’m aiming for.
“I will.”
“And will you swear that your every action from here on out will be for the good of the people of this land, even if that means forsaking your own life?”
I understand that sacrifice means Fern taking a beating for my perceived mistakes the Gardener accused me of making and risking my fingers to steal another scrap of bread for Blossom when she looked too skinny. Or Oren giving up his own life so that my sisters could be free.
The thought is like an explosion in my mind, and by the time the dust settles, I understand what the tattoo means, too. It’s more than just joining their cause. It’s adopting a way of life that’s bigger than any one person. Every single person who bears the Zareeni mark tells the world they will fight to stand up for those who can’t, even if they won’t live to see that wish come true.
“I swear it on my life.”
The air shifts with my promise, almost as if my last words broke a spell.
Rayce smiles, his eyes gentle, and he cups my cheek in his hand. I’m so enraptured by the simple gesture that I don’t notice Piper coming at me with a tool until I feel the bite of her needle. I keep my body still, my face completely straight. I expected the pain of a broken finger, but instead, I’m greeted with the slow burn of sun-kissed skin.
The metallic scent of blood mixes with the bitter ink, clogging my nostrils. I focus on Piper’s tremor-like movements, watching as her hand scrapes starlight into my flesh. When she gets through with the first line, she wipes away the excess ink and blood before sticking the needle point back in the ink cup on her finger.
The longer I sit, the warmer the air turns. The prickles all over my body smooth, and the tips of my hair begin to press against my neck.
Rayce never leaves my side, his large hand lending mine endless support.
The Zarenite burns through my veins like downing an entire bottle of whiskey. Sweat leaks from every pore, sticking the hair to the back of my neck as Piper carves the pattern of a beautiful bouquet onto my arm, filling my blood with the mineral that will help Zareen change the world. I look up at Rayce, and he smiles encouragingly at me. He knows everything now, the little bits I’ve tried to hide for so long, and he hasn’t turned away from me.
Garden of Thorns Page 32