The Firethorn Crown

by Lea Doué

  “But we don’t have to be here!” Melantha said.

  “But you do.” He turned to Lily. “You will be the one to break my curse. I had hoped . . .” Sadness and longing filled his eyes.

  He had hoped what? That she would fall in love with him? Not likely ever, especially now.

  “I learned my grandfather’s sorcery. I practiced year after year after year until, finally, I broke through the barrier just enough to place the mirror and reveal the entrance to my dungeon.” His voice shook. “It’s not my fault that I’m here. That’s the truth! Do you think I want to do these things? I just want my freedom! I just want . . . ” He choked on the last word, stumbled to the edge of the gazebo, and placed both hands on the rail, breathing hard.

  She didn’t know what to say. He’d always maintained his innocence, but it didn’t excuse his actions. His behavior was just as reprehensible as the sorcerer’s.

  “Why did you bind us here with you?” Lily spoke softly, not wanting to set him off again.

  “Would you have returned if I hadn’t?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, either. As it stood now, knowing what she did and remembering the warning signs she had ignored at the beginning, she wouldn’t have returned. She wasn’t sure what that said about herself.

  “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I’m sorry for your loss and for your half-life in this place. But, please, release us from this curse you’ve put us under. We’ll help you however we can.”

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I won’t. I’ve waited too long, and I’ve never been so close. I can’t lose my one chance at freedom.”

  And she couldn’t marry him. But, if she refused, if she held out long enough, would he lose patience and marry Bay, after all? He’d told Lily that she was his one chance, that she was meant to break his curse, but apparently, anyone would do. What were the words of his curse? So much had happened, she wasn’t sure of the exact wording. Something about love and a union of equals.

  Willingly given. That was the key. He couldn’t force anyone to marry him. He had to have their cooperation. That might keep Bay safe, at least, or as safe as she could be down here.

  “Every curse has a weakness, a way out,” Neylan reminded her, loud enough for Tharius to hear. “Ask him what yours is.”

  Tharius had a dangerous glint in his eye when he turned around. “You’re a smart little thing, aren’t you.”

  Neylan’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t cringe.

  Lily wanted to crawl under a rock, but the girls were counting on her. She stood and approached him, closer than she wanted to. “How do I break my curse, Tharius?”

  Surprise flitted across his face, followed by too many emotions to tell them apart. He took a step towards her. Another. She let him wrap his fingers around hers, hoping he would answer. Hoping the answer wouldn’t be impossible.

  “I told you the truth about my regard for you. And I will tell you how to break your curse.” His look said he didn’t think she would be able to break it.

  “Well?”

  “Yes, well.” He paused, as if hoping she might reconsider. “It will be tied to your unique situation, won’t it? You will have to brave the consequences, and declare your love. If the words and sentiment are not returned, you’re mine. All of you.”

  What? She jerked her hands back.

  Melantha jumped up, and the others followed. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Surely your sister has a true love,” he said in a mocking tone.

  “We’re leaving.” Lily took Gwen’s hand and walked out of the gazebo. They had stayed at least as long as they had the other nights. She didn’t doubt that part of her curse. The pendants would ensure their silence and their return night after night to this hole.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about breaking his curse anymore. Now she just had to break her own. It was so simple, and yet so impossible. Her thoughts muddled, she gathered the girls and marched through the garden. Maybe Tharius’s mysterious sorcerer had a name—a real name—that someone remembered. He’d come through here during Grandfather’s reign, but she couldn’t ask anyone outright. There might be something in the palace records, though.

  They reached the archway, and Coral gasped.

  Lily startled—Tharius waited for them. Of course, he would know the shortcuts. She waved the girls through, shooing Gwen along when she hesitated.

  Tharius bowed low, as he’d done the night they’d first met.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  “Goodnight.” The word rolled off his tongue slowly. “Endless night. Empty night. I never knew real loneliness until I saw you leave me the first time. That is true, Lily. That is my reality.” He closed the distance between them. “I look forward to the day when you can be with me always. We belong together in the light.”

  Oh, dear. She’d forgotten to use his title earlier. She couldn’t let herself become too familiar with him, even if she pitied his situation. He already had the wrong ideas about how this was going to work out. It couldn’t work out that way. She couldn’t think about it, or her legs wouldn’t hold her long enough to get home.

  “Goodbye,” she whispered and walked through the arch into the swirling mist. She stopped where the path curved into the forest. He looked so alone. Like Bay, and yet unlike.

  As much as she had still to learn, Bay would never manipulate anyone to get what she wanted.

  The walls blurred on the ascent to the maze.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Azure’s complaint brought the stars into focus. Lily breathed deeply, letting the air clear her mind. She hadn’t realized they were out of the tunnel.

  “You ate half the almonds,” Melantha said.

  “That was ages ago, and we’ve been dancing for hours.”

  Some of the others added their complaints, so Lily blew out Melantha’s candle and led them to the kitchens. After stuffing their pockets and faces with fruit and cheese, they linked hands again and returned to their tower.

  *

  Lily woke early. Azure had gone for her run, and most of the other girls still slept. Down to the bathing room for a quick wash, back up to don the blue dress. She sat at a dressing table to braid her damp hair.

  “Where is Azure?” Gwen bustled about the bedroom.

  “Not back, yet,” Coral said with a yawn.

  “She’s standing in for Lily at the final dress fitting.”

  “Maybe she forgot. Can I do it?”

  “You’re too curvy and too tall.”

  Coral sighed loudly, and the bed creaked as she rolled over. She wouldn’t be out of it soon.

  Lily belted Melantha’s dagger around her waist and grabbed her full satchel off the floor. Someone had shoved all the worn slippers under a bed. They didn’t need maids reporting to Mother about their midnight dancing.

  Eben looked surprised to see her so early. She smiled, not waiting to see if he returned it, and he fell into step behind her.

  “Are . . . we not going to The Tree today?” His curiosity got the better of him, but he remembered to ask a “yes or no” question.

  She mimed opening a book.

  “You need a book?”

  Close enough. She wanted to get in and out of the library before too many people were about.

  Once there, she crossed to the second room and climbed the narrow, winding stairs to the top where court records were kept, an area she and Eben frequented rarely over the years. He preferred histories, especially stories about the soldier-king. Guessing at the correct year, she took down a volume and hefted it to one of the tables. No cozy leather chairs here. Eben dragged a stool over for her. She sat and flipped through the pages, not sure exactly what she was looking for. Something mentioning Makar, or Rasmus, or the sorcerer whose name she still didn’t know.

  Half an hour passed. She moved on to a second volume. Nothing.

  Normally, her silence with Eben in the library was comfortable, but this was heavy, like the b
ooks she waded through. He must find her behavior odd lately. And hurtful. Maybe he even thought she had finally figured out her place, which was not to hobnob with the lower classes. “The Future Common Queen” some called her. It didn’t bother her. Not really. Did it bother Eben? Did he think it mattered to her?

  He sneezed. “Not exactly light reading.”

  She might as well give up for the day. She flipped idly through a few more pages, recognized a couple of names, and kept going. There was Father’s name—a record of his birth. She scanned down further. Names, judgments, events.

  Wait. There.

  Request for asylum from a northern princess for herself, her husband, and her father-in-law. The princess and gentlemen disappeared before the request could be granted or denied. Search and inquiry undertaken. Someone had added in the margins, No sign of refugees. Presumed fled.

  So, that part of Tharius’s story was true. She read it again, flipped a few pages ahead. There was nothing more.

  Always alert, Eben noticed her change in mood. She stared into his eyes, willing him to understand, but it was no use. She closed the book, her finger still marking the passage, and then paused. She looked back up. He still watched her. She looked at the book, and then quickly back at him a few times. She was afraid to point, not knowing just when the strange curse might interpret her actions as speaking. Watching him carefully, she opened the book slowly and tried to guide his gaze to the pages.

  It worked. He came closer and looked at the page. She snatched her pencil from the satchel and marked the passage she’d just read with a small dot. Eben’s eyes widened—they both knew never to write in library books—but he read the passage silently.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She didn’t dare try to underline even one word. Instead, she drew a goose in the margin, hoping Eben would catch on that way. Orin was from the north. Maybe he would know something.

  Eben frowned in confusion. Probably at what she was trying to say, but also at how she was trying to say it. “Does this have something to do with Orin?”

  She shook her head.

  “You think Orin knows something about this?”

  He was a genius. She nodded and clutched his arm. He looked at her hands in surprise, and she let go quickly.

  “Wait.” He tore the page from the record book and closed it with a thump.

  Lily let out the breath she’d been holding, thankful that Eben now realized how serious this was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lily and Eben wove through back alleys, away from the swelling crowds, keeping a respectable speed so as not to draw attention. Once they reached the dirt road, Lily congratulated herself on avoiding Runson. Two minutes later, they met him riding from the direction of The Tree and scurried off the road to avoid being run over.

  He reined his horse around. “Lily!”

  His surprised face could use some work. She let Eben place himself between her and Runson’s skittish mount. She didn’t need to add trampled to her list of problems.

  “No time to talk.” He swiveled his head to keep his eyes on her as his horse turned. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Not if she could help it.

  He grinned and spared a glance for Eben before addressing her again. “This must be an exciting time for you, announcing your betrothal at The Starlight Ball.”

  Eben made an odd coughing noise, but his face remained stoic.

  Great. Now Eben thought she was marrying Runson. She’d rather be trampled right now; it would probably be less painful. She wanted to explain so badly, but she couldn’t, and Runson wouldn’t, and Eben wouldn’t ask.

  Runson said something, but she walked away. She’d given him more than enough time to talk. He laughed.

  How dare he find amusement in this! She’d had enough. She ran, the dress light enough not to slow her down, and it felt good. Let Runson interpret that however he wanted. Hopefully, Eben would pick up that she didn’t want to be near the man. Unless he misunderstood it as embarrassment on her part, fleeing from an awkward situation.

  Eben kept pace with her easily, but when they slowed to a walk at the field, he limped the last few steps. She hardly noticed his old injury anymore. Her eyes filled, and she sniffed loudly. She pulled out Eben’s frayed handkerchief and dabbed at her face. All she did lately was cause him pain.

  True greeted them with a honk and then returned to snipping grass. Their rushed entrance hadn’t bothered the other geese.

  “Good morning.” Orin stood, shading his eyes from the early sun. He frowned when he saw the state they were in. “Are you two all right?”

  Lily shrugged, sighed, rolled her eyes. How did you convey no, without inviting questions? She flopped onto the grass, breathing hard. Eben limped over and sat on the boulder.

  “We’re fine,” Eben said. “Her Highness needed a run.”

  She liked how he said that. Maybe he understood more than she thought.

  The breeze cooled her skin, worked its way under her braid. She took her sketchbook out and drew an outline of True.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Orin indicated Eben’s leg. “Looks like you might have gotten into it with some geese.”

  “Geese?”

  “I’ve limped a time or two after making one of them angry.”

  “Oh, no, this is an old injury.” He patted his thigh. “Shows itself from time to time.”

  Orin threw himself down on the grass in front of Lily. “You were a dragon soldier before, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, did a dragon get you?”

  “Sort of.” Eben shifted on the boulder.

  Orin pulled grass and wove the blades together, waiting. “I need details.”

  Eben chuckled. “First time, a horse broke it. Second time, a pit dragon.”

  “Ouch. I’ve never seen one of those.”

  “You wouldn’t, so far north. They need sand for their pits.”

  “So you slid into a pit, and . . . ?”

  “It was a small dragon. Had a hard time dragging me into the air. Someone shot it down before it flew too high, but I landed wrong. Re-broke the leg.”

  He’d also crushed two ribs, and the dragon’s claw had left a jaw-line scar running from his ear to his chin. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but Lily had watched it heal day by day as he lay in the palace infirmary.

  She added the finishing touches to True’s picture while the boys discussed dragons and soldier politics. Eben seldom talked about his job. After recovering from his second injury, he’d been granted a place in the palace guard by King Brido, and he’d worked his way up to become one of the youngest royal guards in history.

  Orin finished weaving a tiny green circle and tried to put it over True’s head. It didn’t fit. “Fat goose. It’s a crown, then.” He placed it carefully, while True held still, her neck extended. Who knew geese could be regal? She flapped majestically, and then the crown became a snack.

  Lily bit her cheek, determined not to be run off today with the threat of laughter.

  She sketched idly as the boys chatted, watching the geese and a handful of speckled starlings. The Weaver’s Maze took shape under her pencil, and she paused. She didn’t want to draw anything in the undergarden, but the maze would be okay.

  “This is my best side.” Orin presented his profile. “You’re drawing me now, right?”

  Grinning, she obliged and flipped to a clean page.

  “You could make me taller, if you want. Add a few muscles.” He flexed his arms. “Maybe a sword, a damsel in distress, and a dragon or two.”

  She flourished her hand to indicate her acceptance of his request.

  “Excellent. I’ll sleep . . . uh . . . pose right here, then.” He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes. “Wake me when you’re done.”

  If she had Ruby’s or Wren’s talent, the sketch would have taken much longer. She didn’t bother to wake him, but flipped back to the maze picture, penciling in the mirror and tryi
ng to capture what she’d seen reflected in it. She couldn’t fit in much detail. Her stomach grumbled, and she pulled out her lunch. True settled by her leg and pecked at the corner of the book.

  “Looks nothing like me.”

  Lily jumped, her pencil tracing a startled line across the paper. She’d lost track of time again.

  “Sorry. It’s good, really.”

  Eben watched over her shoulder, too. She swallowed nervously. Would he think this one of her fanciful creations? He hadn’t actually seen the mirror.

  “What is it?” Orin asked.

  “It’s the Weaver’s Maze,” Eben said.

  “Ah. I hear it’s creepy.”

  “Not really.” Eben stared intently at the page. “Just overgrown and dark.”

  “Sounds creepy enough to me.”

  Eben traced his finger along the mirror, nearly blotting it out. “Is this what the girls saw the other day?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you see it, too?”

  Yes, again. He almost had it—part of it. Quickly, she sketched an open book and a tiny goose, hoping to remind him of the page he’d taken from the library.

  He took his time responding, rubbing his hand down his jaw. “Does this mirror have something to do with the northern princess?”

  “What northern princess?” Orin asked.

  Eben gave him the page from the records book, explaining Lily’s search and pointing to the passage she’d marked. “Does this mean anything to you?”

  Orin studied it, squinting like he needed reading glasses. “It doesn’t say what kingdom they were from. Or when they went missing.”

  “It was just after King Brido was born.”

  “Frits isn’t know for sorcerers. Could they have come from Sotan?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I can ask around.”

  It might not be good idea for people to know she wanted information about a sorcerer.

  Orin picked up on her reluctance. “Discreetly, of course.”

  “Do it,” Eben said.

  “Of course,” Orin said again, and then he ran off to take care of a goose squabble.

  Eben paced. “I’ll ask around, too.” He stopped in front of her. “Whatever’s going on, Lily, you can count on me to help. You know that, right?”