Thorns of Decision (Dusk Gate Chronicles)

by Breeana Puttroff

  “Yes, Quinn. It would have been the part of the kingdom that is now Eirentheos. I’m getting to that.” Stephen exchanged a wary look with Nathaniel.

  “And there was a problem with the kingdom this guy was setting up?”

  “Yes. The people of Dovelnia – where this man’s wife was from – have always challenged our beliefs about the Maker. They’ve always maintained that we – the original Philotheum, and later the two kingdoms of Philotheum and Eirentheos – don’t rule our people with enough power, that we use our beliefs as an excuse not to take advantage of the resources we have, both physical and human, to ‘improve’ our kingdoms.

  “They believe that a king should be someone with strong power over his people, that the people aren’t wise enough to decide on their own how they should live their lives – they require a king to interpret messages from the Maker and enforce those messages in law. In Dovelnia, the king has absolute power, and he rules through appointed religious leaders who own land and govern the people in small townships. The people become very dependent on these leaders.

  “Norman, in his short time reigning over this portion of the kingdom, acquired quite a large amount of wealth. His ‘people’ were practically slaves, living under those to whom he had gifted land – gifts that, of course, were not his to give. And his influence was spreading.”

  “Like a dandelion.”

  “Exactly like a dandelion. Meanwhile, the king had become elderly and ill, while two potential heirs were doing nothing, making no decisions.”

  “Did they fight over who would take the throne?”

  “Philip and Aaron? No. From all of the stories, it was never a battle. But it was a lack of making a decision.”

  William couldn’t be sure, but he thought that Quinn squirmed a little at his father’s words.

  “So what happened?”

  “The stories say that a messenger from the Maker himself appeared, separately to both Aaron and Philip. I don’t know if the messenger appeared physically, or in their dreams,” Stephen spoke now. “The legends say that it’s where the story of the dandelion and the rose came from. But whatever happened, it was Philip who eventually proposed the solution. It meant a war, to remove Norman from his rule, but they did it. Afterwards, the kingdom was divided equally along the Philotheos River. Philip allowed his brother to choose which side to take as his own. Eirentheos wasn’t much at the time. The already small population had been devastated in the war, and there was a lot of rebuilding to do, but it’s what Aaron chose. He wrote in his private journals that watching his brother make that decision had convinced him that Philip was the true leader – that he must have been the firstborn, and he deserved to rule the more powerful kingdom.”

  “And Aaron’s half became Eirentheos.” Quinn said. William could tell by the faraway sound of her voice that she was thinking deeply about this.

  “Yes. Although until very recently, the two kingdoms operated very much as one, two parts to a complete whole.” Stephen reached toward the middle of the table, and picked up two small, metal objects. William had been too preoccupied to notice them lying there before.

  When he held the first one up, they could see that it was a little silver replica of the Eirenthean seal, the same symbol that appeared on William’s pendant. The second object was a gold replica of the Philothean seal. For a moment, Stephen held them separately, one in each hand, and then he moved his hands together, joining them. They watched as the two separate images joined and became one complete design, the design of the tattoos worn by members of the Friends of Philip.

  “Why a tattoo?” William asked. It was something he had been wondering about for a while now. “Doesn’t it make you a target if you’re captured?”

  “Yes, it does. Especially now,” Marcus answered, looking William in the eye.

  “Then why do it? Why make yourselves vulnerable like that? It would be a whole lot easier to hide your membership in the Friends of Philip if you didn’t have it tattooed across your chest.” And less painful, he added secretly, although he doubted that was an issue for anyone else, and he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t make it one for him, either.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” Quinn asked, with that understanding tone her voice sometimes had, the one that raised the hair on the back of William’s neck.

  “No, it isn’t.” Nathaniel answered.

  William frowned. “What’s the point? What am I missing?”

  Quinn turned to face him. “The Friends of Philip aren’t trying to hide their identities. They believe in what they’re doing.”

  “What about all of the refugees? Why are they coming here? What about families like the Hardridges?”

  “Almost all of them are families, William – people who are worried about the safety of their children,” Nathaniel said. “Most of them came here with the intent of setting up their children and one parent somewhere safe, while the other parent went back into Philotheum. Some of them only sent one parent in the first place. Some with family here in Eirentheos have left their children and both parents returned. Eldon Hardridge was planning on going back there before he was killed.”

  Nathaniel’s face had taken on the expression that William had seen often lately, ever since Eldon’s death. It was grief, yes, and anger, too, but ... Nathaniel had been different since then, and William knew there was more on his mind than he was letting on, and he had a feeling that Quinn wasn’t the only one on the cusp of a major decision.

  “So the Friends of Philip are not worried about people finding out who they are.”

  “No,” Marcus said. “We’re not advertising it, of course, but when members of the Friends of Philip are caught; we aren’t afraid of letting them know who we are, and how many of us there are fighting for what we believe is right.”

  “For a long time, I wasn’t sure what my part in this was supposed to be.” Stephen spoke now, a deep, sad look in his eyes. “I knew, of course, that I wanted the peace between our kingdoms to be restored; that I wanted Samuel to return and fight for his throne, and even when he died, I always held out the hope that you would return, Quinn. But it has taken these recent events – nearly losing Thomas, watching you have the courage to go after him, even though you didn’t know who you really were … and then watching my own people behave the way they have. It still shocks me to know that so many in Eirentheos are so willing to look the other way, to allow these terrible things to happen to those who are really our brothers. And I realized that at least some of it was because I, as their leader, haven’t taken a strong enough stand. I’ve waited, and negotiated, and I’ve never made it clear where my loyalties lie.

  “And then to have both you and my own son, seeing so clearly – making a decision that I hadn’t yet committed to … I was so proud of you both, and ashamed that I didn’t do this earlier.”

  Stephen stood, and William’s eyes widened as his father pulled back the collar of his white, woven shirt to reveal a tattoo, still red around the edges.

  “It is time for our kingdoms to come back together, and I’m ready to do what it takes to make that happen.”

  29. Complications

  “Does it hurt?” Quinn asked, eyeing the equipment that Nathaniel was setting up on the table near her couch, where she was sitting, curled up next to William. She wasn’t sure why she asked; she already knew the answer. William put his hand over her shaking one. It was an attempt to calm her, but since he, too, was pale with anxiety, it wasn’t very effective.

  Nathaniel stopped what he was doing to look over at her. “It’s several needles poking into your skin lots of times,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It hurts. The first few minutes are the worst, before you get used to it. After that, it’s mostly just really annoying.”

  “Then there’s the part at the end ...” she shivered, beginning to feel cold in the thin camisole she was wearing, as she glanced down to the spot where, a little while earlier, Ben Westbrook had already stenciled the interlaid symbols
in black drawing ink. The design was already on William’s chest, too, waiting to be made permanent.

  Last night, after they’d learned about Stephen joining the Friends of Philip, they had invited several more people into the room. Marcus had performed a simple ceremony initiating both Quinn and William into the secret group, and they’d made their promises to uphold the mission of rejoining the kingdoms and protecting the other members.

  They’d also shown them the tattoos, something that Quinn had never looked very closely at before. They were inked in a special blue pigment, which could only be made by certain members of the Friends – different from those members who knew how to draw the tattoos. They were lucky, it turned out, that Josiah Halpern was staying at the castle with his family. He was the only one nearby who knew how to craft the pigment.

  The tattoos were special in a different way, too, they’d learned. After the tattoo was drawn, a third artist was involved, usually a healer, who injected another substance made from the crushed leaves of certain plants underneath two particular sections of the design that caused scar tissue to form, and those sections to raise slightly in relief to the rest of the tattoo.

  Nathaniel, prince of Philotheum as he was, alone among the Friends of Philip knew both how to ink the tattoo and raise it.

  While several members of the Friends had other tattoos – many of Stephen’s guards had the symbol of Eirentheos on their upper arms; the raised portions of the Friends tattoos made them unique.

  Ben had described the raising process as quite painful – itself another way of weeding out any who might seek to join their group dishonestly. Nobody had disagreed with him, and Quinn had spent most of the morning pacing nervously.

  William gently squeezed her hand. “I’ll be right here the whole time,” he said.

  Linnea grabbed a blanket off of the end of the bed and laid it across Quinn’s lap. “We’re all here.”

  “Why am I doing this again?”

  Nathaniel raised his eyebrow and looked over at her, but William just smiled. “You know why, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I know what I want and where I stand. I’m not going to let a little bit of pain stop me.”

  “That’s my girl,” Thomas said. “You’ll be fine. It’s the first thing I’m going to do on our sixteenth birthday.”

  “Ladies first, T,” Linnea said.

  “Fine. Right after you, little sister.”

  Last night, Stephen had agreed that both Thomas and Linnea would be allowed to join the Friends after their sixteenth birthday, even though Thomas wouldn’t yet be of age. Simon had also informed his father of his intent to join. Maxwell was still wary of the whole thing, and Stephen confessed to the rest of them that it worried him a little, but he hoped Max would at least accept their decision and support it.

  Quinn looked up at William. “Are you ready for your turn right after me?”

  He shrugged, kissing her cheek before he answered. “I can’t let the girl I love do something I’m not willing to.”

  Linnea snickered. “Remind him of that one when you’re about to have a baby.”

  Red flooded instantly from Quinn’s head to her toes, heat replacing the chill she’d felt a moment ago. “Linnea!”

  As always, Linnea was unfazed. “Somebody around here has to daydream about the fun possibilities between you two, instead of all of the heavy decisions and gloom all the time. Don’t worry – I’ve only got colors picked for the nursery; I haven’t started sewing anything yet.”

  William rolled his eyes at his sister. “Let’s take care of first things first, Linnea.” He squeezed Quinn’s hand, and she was surprised once again at how easy and natural things between them had become. Not so long ago, he wouldn’t have been so cavalier about someone throwing out teasing comments like that. Nor, she realized, would she.

  “Okay, Quinn,” Nathaniel said, holding up the tattooing device. It was something he’d designed himself, taking ideas from both traditional ones used here in this world, and ones he’d studied in Quinn’s world as well. This one used light electric currents that could be generated by friction, rather than plugged in.

  Her stomach twisted into knots and she felt lightheaded as William scooted to the end of the couch and pulled her head into his lap. Nathaniel, William, and Thomas all looked away as Linnea helped her pull the thin strap of the camisole off her shoulder and tucked a towel around her lower chest, leaving just the stencil exposed.

  Linnea settled herself on the floor next to the couch and took Quinn’s left hand in hers, while William firmly gripped the right.

  There was a click, and then a low vibrating sound came from the small machine in Nathaniel’s hand.

  “You’re sure?” he asked one more time.

  Quinn nodded, and then squeezed her eyes shut.

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe I’m actually going to Bristlecone with you tonight,” Linnea said.

  “I just wish your first trip was going to be under different circumstances,” Quinn answered, as Nathaniel paused to wipe away some of the extra ink. He had been right; the first few minutes were rough, but after that, she’d been able to relax and keep up with the conversation.

  It was annoying, and she held her breath again for a second as he started back up; he’d long since stopped trying to convince her not to do that; it happened every minute or so, and she just couldn’t help herself. William ran his fingers softly through her hair as she looked down at Linnea.

  “I don’t see why I have to let the fact that someone’s trying to kidnap me here affect my time there. Maybe it will be a break for all of us.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Always the optimist, Linnea.”

  “And you’re not excited about going?”

  “I won’t be able to do anything there. I’m going to have to stay in hiding. If anyone recognizes me, I supposedly just had major surgery, what … a week ago or something?”

  “Yes, a week,” Nathaniel said. “It will be Tuesday night in Bristlecone. I was going to have to be going back to work anyway.”

  Quinn wasn’t sure she was ready to go back, to try to fit in to her life at home with all of this new information and this huge decision hanging over her head. Part of her was worried, too, about how being back there was going to change things with William.

  At home, she was just a regular junior in high school who had broken up with her boyfriend just a few days ago. Here – she and William had managed to become more deeply connected in just over a month’s worth of time than she’d ever imagined possible. Certainly more connected than she’d ever been with Zander.

  Nobody at home was going to understand that.

  And she knew that this was it, too. Whatever she decided during this time she spent in her own world was going to change her life forever, in both places.

  * * *

  Nathaniel was almost finished inking William’s tattoo when there was a knock on the bedroom door and Stephen entered without waiting for an answer. He closed it tightly behind him, and Quinn could tell from the look on his face that something wasn’t right.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  His eyes went straight to Nathaniel. “Can I speak with you alone for a minute?”

  Nathaniel nodded, silencing the tattoo machine and setting it on the table. “I’ll be right back – I think.”

  “Yes, he’ll be back soon.” Stephen glanced across the room at Mia, who had come in and begun folding some of Quinn’s clothes. She hadn’t been planning on taking anything with her on the trip – and now her shoulder hurt too much for her to even think about carrying a backpack, but she’d let Mia work anyway, suspecting that her real motive was to have little bit more time in these last hours with Thomas.

  “Mia, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Charlotte was asking for you.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Mia said, bobbing her head toward the rest of them in apology, and ducking out of the room
behind Stephen and Nathaniel.

  “I wonder what’s going on now?” Thomas said, setting down one of Quinn’s shirts he’d been folding for Mia, and looking at the closed door.

  Quinn sighed. The pain, the lack of sleep the night before and the nervousness she’d been battling for hours now had started to get the better of her. She felt completely drained. “Probably something else cataclysmic. Maybe Tolliver’s just arrived.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Probably. It’s starting to get that bad around here, isn’t it?” Though he was joking, she could see that he was anxious, too.

  She looked down at William. “How are you doing?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You made this look easier than it is. Ow.”

  She coughed. “Right. I’m sure people would line up around the block to do this after watching me.” William wasn’t going to have any clean handkerchiefs to take back to Bristlecone with him after that. She’d ripped one of them completely in half when Nathaniel had first stated the injections that would raise part of her tattoo. Somewhere in the middle of it, she’d nearly thrown up.

  Ben had lied. “Quite painful” didn’t cover it. Excruciating might have been closer. She wasn’t going to tell William right now, but it wasn’t hurting any less as time went on, either.

  And yet, she’d done it. Though it was hurting now, the biggest thing she was feeling was pride – pride that she had done something that she was so afraid of, pride that she’d made a decision and gone through with it.

  For William’s sake, though, she almost wished that he hadn’t been there to watch. Most of his color had vanished after seeing that, and it hadn’t come back yet. She suspected it wasn’t going to until after his was done.

  Understanding the true implications of the tattoos had made her think – she had spent a good part of last night really weighing whether she should do it or not, put a permanent mark on herself, put her trust in something she didn’t fully understand.