by K. M. Shea
When she finally reached the top of the tower, the wind ripped the cloak from her shoulders. She stumbled but clutched the leather satchel to her stomach as she staggered towards the lip of the tower, which rose to her stomach.
This high, Briar could see all of Ciane and the rolling fields surrounding it. The city spread out below her like a painting. She could see the knights moving into place around the palace and city.
Beyond the walls was chaos. Carabosso had set two different villages ablaze. Briar thought she could see Firra standing on one of the towers that marked the main gates to Ciane, trying to put them out in spite of the vast distance between them.
Flowing lines—like ants—trailed from the attacked villages. It took Briar a moment to realize they were people and animals, and they were pooling around Ciane itself, for Jewel was right. All Ciane gates were locked tight, shut against escape.
Briar wanted to scream. How could one person cause so much pain and chaos?
Her doubts were gone. There was a chance something might go wrong with the curse, and she might never wake up. There was also a chance that even if she did, her parents and grandfather would be so furious with her they would lock her up for the rest of her days and still ignore the threat Carabosso posed.
But I have to do this. If I don’t, we’ll never fight back.
Her eyes blurring from the strength of the wind, Briar searched the countryside for Carabosso. She almost fell to her knees in surprise when she realized he was near her tower, standing in a field just outside the wall.
“Carabosso!” she shouted. She didn’t think he would hear her over the thunder of his magic and the strength of the wind, but he unmistakably turned in her direction.
Shouts came from the ground below. Briar leaned out long enough to see a squad of soldiers streaming into the base of the tower. Her head swimming from the height, Briar opened the satchel with shaking hands.
She yelped when a bolt of Carabosso’s magic snapped directly above her. Compared to the magic of the legendary weapons that had pulled on her gravely, his magic felt sticky and dirty—like tar.
“Do you really think I’m afraid of you?” she shouted. She was, but that was the thing about fear: she could push past it. Being afraid wouldn’t keep her from her task.
Briar pulled the spindle out of the satchel. Her heart pounded in her throat, and dread filled her stomach. “I have to do this.” She tried to feel heartened by her own words, but fright still gnawed at her. “This is all I can do, so I will do it. I will be brave for those who can’t muster the courage themselves.”
She took a deep breath, and with shaking hands, she lifted the spindle above her head, locking eyes with Carabosso.
He froze, then gathered magic around him like a cloak.
“I will fear you no more!” Briar shouted. She lowered the spindle, then jabbed a finger on the point.
Hazy red magic, heavy like a waterfall of tar, twisted around her. It dragged at her—hot and invasive.
There was a boom, louder than any of Carabosso’s flashes of magic, and all of Ciane shook. Silver magic as shiny as polished armor blasted from the floor of the tower, swallowing the red magic like an ocean sinking a ship. It continued to swirl around Briar and the tower, as if searching for more of the red magic to devour. It found it. A part of the silver magic detached from the bright pillar and shot towards Carabosso like an arrow.
Briar’s muscles started to grow lax, but she lasted long enough to see Carabosso turn around and flee. She fell to her knees as the silver magic roared and thought, fleetingly, That was unexpected.
She lost all control of her muscles and fell face-first against the surface of the tower. Her eyes closed, her breath deepened, and she was asleep.
Chapter 8
Return of the Enchantress
Isaia saw Briar drop, toppling out of sight from where she stood on the top of the tower. “No!” His shout startled Valor, who snorted and reared. He threw himself off his mare and barged into the tower. Soldiers recognized his armor and pushed themselves flush against the wall so he could pass them.
By the time he reached the top, a few soldiers had already popped out and were helplessly gathered around Briar. She was on her side with the skirts of her dress twisted around her, the spindle held in her hand with a lax grasp. She was pale—and horribly still.
The soldiers scurried away, clearing a space so Isaia could kneel at her side. Hesitating, he reached out and brushed her shoulder. “Briar?”
Briar Rose slept on.
Isaia felt like his heart had been yanked out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Briar!
Numbly, he gathered her up in his arms and stood. He tipped her so she leaned against him, her breath brushing his throat. He adjusted her so his armor wouldn’t pinch or poke her, then carried her carefully down the stairs.
The soldiers had retreated to the bottom of the tower, and as Isaia walked through the path they had created for him, they murmured uneasily.
Ciane was silent as he exited the tower, Briar still in his arms.
Isaia was lost in a sea of misery as he walked across the lawn and carried her back to the palace.
He should have stopped her. He should have grabbed her the instant he realized it was she who was holding Valor.
Isaia wasn’t stupid. He knew one day her curse would lash out at her…but he’d wanted to put that day off for as long as possible.
Things were going to change, for the worse.
When Briar woke up—because Isaia couldn’t fathom, couldn’t even think of her remaining asleep—her true love would be at her side. Isaia would have to step back from his role of protector and closest confidant to make room for another man. He would no longer be first in Briar’s affections.
Despair made him pause at the great front gate of the palace. Enough. I have been prepared for this day since I was knighted and took an oath to protect her. It is more important that she wakes up.
Isaia squared his shoulders and stepped into the castle. Waiting inside were Princess Alessia, Prince Consort Filippo, and Sir Artemio.
Prince Consort Filippo paced back and forth in the reception hall, wearing a path in the red carpets. Princess Alessia, positioned on the landing atop the double staircase, gripped the back of an ornate armchair. When she saw Briar, she cried like an injured bird and crumpled to the ground. “Rosalinda!” she sobbed.
Prince Consort Filippo hurried to Isaia—almost knocking Sir Artemio over at his post next to an ornate marble support pillar. The prince consort gently brushed a strand of Briar’s chestnut hair out of her face. “Daughter,” he murmured.
Briar did not stir.
Sir Artemio gently guided Princess Alessia to her husband and daughter. Her lips trembled, and tears trickled down her cheeks. “My darling…why did you—?”
A set of doors creaked open, and King Giuseppe stared down at Briar. His face was white, and a muscle on his cheek jumped. Wordlessly, the king turned around and stormed from the hall.
Princess Alessia’s crying grew louder, and Prince Consort Filippo swept his wife up in his arms, not bothering to wipe his own tears.
Sir Artemio nodded courteously to the sleeping princess, then rolled his shoulders back. “Come, Sir Isaia.”
“Where are you taking her?” Princess Alessia asked.
Sir Artemio’s armor gleamed in the dim light as he strode away from them. “Her room. Staying here does no good.”
Isaia followed the legendary knight, carrying his burden with all the gentleness he possessed. Princess Alessia and Prince Consort Filippo followed after them, exchanging murmured words of support.
It was easy to tell which room was Briar’s, for almost a squadron of guards stood outside her door. The squadron gaped when they saw the young woman Isaia carried.
The leader stepped out of formation. “But—Your Highness, Sir Artemio! She never left her room!”
Sir Artemio frowned slightly. “I imagine she never stepped through thi
s door, but she did, obviously, leave.”
This made Princess Alessia start to cry again, sounding as if her heart were breaking.
A soldier flung open the door to Briar’s bedroom, revealing an open window—probably her escape route.
Isaia crossed the room and tenderly placed Briar on her bed. She sank slightly into the coverlets, and her neck looked uncomfortably cramped, but Prince Consort Filippo slid a pillow under her head, and Princess Alessia—with a trembling chin—fixed Briar’s skirts so they didn’t twist around her legs and waist.
“Send for her ladies-in-waiting,” Sir Artemio ordered.
A guard saluted, “Sir!” and ran down the hallway, holding his sword to keep it from hitching up his waist.
Isaia knew he should leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on Briar. For the first time since she collapsed, he recalled her last words to him.
“I need you to wake me up when the curse hits…”
The memory mocked and teased him. Isaia was not Briar’s true love. Briar might hold him in high esteem, and she might even think she loved him—certainly she adored him, but that was not at all the same thing. She had seen very little of the world and of the noble and royal men who awaited her attention. Her heart was young and naïve. She didn’t yet know there was some more appropriate suitor who would steal her heart.
She was only seventeen, and he was her cherished childhood friend—the only male of her age she really knew. Her debut into royal life was spectacular but rough, and she had continued to lean on him as a result. Given time, she would put him behind her and step into her role as a princess and a future queen. Then she would meet someone more suitable.
The bedroom door banged open and dragged Isaia from his musings.
King Giuseppe stormed in, his eyebrows lowered and purple eyes flashing. Apparently he had recovered enough to speak. “She set off her curse.”
Princess Alessia gently pulled herself from her husband’s arms. “Father…”
King Giuseppe shut the door behind him, and his voice was as cold as winter. “Did she or did she not set off her curse herself?”
Princess Alessia cried silently.
Prince Consort Filippo tucked his arm around her waist. “Rosalinda set off the curse herself.”
King Giuseppe was unnaturally still. “Who was responsible for watching her?”
Sir Artemio stood next to the prince consort and princess in a move of solidarity. “It does not matter, Your Majesty. She would have escaped her guards no matter what was done. I doubt even the Magic Knights would have been able to stop her for long.”
King Giuseppe swung his gaze to the legendary knight. “Are you telling me my guards and knights couldn’t keep a mere girl under watch?”
Sir Artemio, a longtime friend of the king’s, didn’t flinch at the anger in his words. “Yes,” he said calmly. “She evidently inherited your own determination, Giuseppe. Attempting to hem her in is just as difficult as trying to protect you.”
The king paused by Briar’s bed. For a moment, he seemed to collapse in on himself. His shoulders drooped; his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and defeat settled into the line of his lips. He looked lost.
Oh Briar, Isaia thought. Though he may scowl at you, King Giuseppe loves you with all his heart.
“What do we do, Artemio?” King Giuseppe whispered.
Sir Artemio joined the king at Briar’s bedside. “We wait, and we hope.”
“The curse will be broken with true love’s kiss,” Prince Consort Filippo said. “Why don’t we attempt it?”
Isaia curled his hand around the hilt of his sword, but no one looked his way.
Sir Artemio frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Summon every eligible male of noble birth,” the prince consort said. “Have every one of them kiss her. One of them is bound to wake her up.”
Isaia yanked his eyes from the floor to the prince consort. Have everyone kiss her? He glanced at Briar out of concern.
King Giuseppe drew himself up, casting aside his sorrow and once again taking up his usual stony expression. “It will be done. Send out the summons immediately.”
Prince Consort Filippo nodded. He squeezed his wife’s hand and offered her a smile. “Worry not—we’ll soon have our Rosalinda back.”
Isaia wanted to shout at them. Did they understand their daughter so little? She would rather sleep forever than let the majority of the young nobles put a hand on her. Isaia was all for finding her a proper partner—someone worthy of her—but at least think of Briar Rose and narrow the possibilities!
His armor whispered when he shifted, and Sir Artemio—who was frowning slightly—raised an eyebrow at him.
Princess Alessia gave her husband a strained smile and watched him leave. She then turned her attention to Sir Artemio. “You do not approve, Sir Artemio?”
Sir Artemio offered her a bow. “It is not my place to say, Your Highness.”
King Giuseppe snorted.
So that’s where Briar got it…
“Speak, Artemio,” he ordered.
Sir Artemio kept his expression open and even. “I applaud the reasoning behind the idea, but it seems…” He hesitated and cast a glance at Briar. “The princess has very strong opinions. I don’t know that such a wide net will work to find her true love.”
“The princess is stubborn and mule-headed,” King Giuseppe said. “But she has no way to influence who breaks the curse.”
Princess Alessia glanced at her daughter. “Doesn’t she? It must be her true love—not the man we choose for her.”
Isaia relaxed his stance slightly, daring to hope the princess would protect Briar’s purity.
King Giuseppe peered outside the window. “You are remembering the spiteful speech she gave, aren’t you? It matters not. If we cast our net on enough titled nobles, someone will work.”
“That’s assuming Rosalinda doesn’t already have a true love.” For one alarming moment, Princess Alessia glanced at Isaia, but the gaze was so fleeting Isaia assured himself she didn’t suspect his affection for her daughter.
King Giuseppe scoffed. “The girl isn’t yet eighteen and spent her life in the woods. With whom could she fall in love—her cow?”
It felt odd to hear his own reasoning spoken by the king himself—and humbling to be compared to a cow.
“There were several men with her,” the princess said, rattling Isaia. “For instance, Sir Roberto, Mage Donaigh, Sir I—”
A knock on the door interrupted her.
“What is it?” King Giuseppe asked.
A soldier opened the door a crack, and the sounds of muffled sobs crept into the chamber. “We located the ladies-in-waiting, Your Majesty.”
For a moment, King Giuseppe’s stone face buckled. “Are any of them not crying?”
The soldier briefly shut the door, then opened it several moments later. “Just one, Your Majesty. Lady Delanna.”
“Send her in.”
Isaia took a deep breath, restoring himself.
Lady Delanna entered the room with her watchful brand of quiet elegance. Though she did not cry, her bottom lip trembled when she saw Briar lying on her bed. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, Sirs.” She curtsied with lowered eyes.
“Lady Delanna, as you can see, Princess Rosalinda’s curse has claimed her,” King Giuseppe said. “You and the princess’s other ladies-in-waiting will act as chaperones as long as she sleeps.”
Lady Delanna blinked. “Chaperones?”
King Giuseppe nodded, and there was another knock on the door.
“Sir,” another soldier said. “We have the preliminary reports from the scouts who chased after Carabosso.”
“I will speak to them in the throne room. Will you accompany me, Artemio?” King Giuseppe asked.
“If you wish, Your Majesty.”
The king and legendary knight left—though Sir Artemio paused long enough to bow to Princess Alessia and Lady Delanna.
I
saia shifted, as if to follow them, but Sir Artemio shook his head, and Isaia settled back in place with some relief. He wouldn’t be able to wake Briar, but at least he could protect her.
Lady Delanna waited docilely until the men were gone, then turned to Princess Alessia. “If you will pardon my question, Your Highness, why does the princess need a chaperone?”
Princess Alessia folded her hands in front of her and tried to draw up her shoulders. “My father and husband have decided to summon every eligible noble and have each kiss Rosalinda. They feel that surely one of them will be her true love and will break her curse. It would be best if she were not alone during such a time.”
Lady Delanna did not frown, but Isaia could see a hint of displeasure in the way she pursed her lips. “I see.”
Princess Alessia seated herself on Briar’s bed with a sorrowful sigh. “I do not know that it will work—Rosalinda isn’t biddable on such matters—but I don’t know what else to do.”
Lady Delanna eyed Isaia over the princess’s head. She looked from him to Briar, then back at him, and raised her eyebrows.
Isaia kept his expression stoic. Unless Briar had told her, there was no way for her to know Briar thought he could break her curse.
She finally did frown and, once again, purposefully flicked her eyes from Isaia to Briar and back.
So much for Briar keeping her silence. Isaia shook his head.
Lady Delanna paled, then pressed her lips together in a sign of doggedness that would have made Briar proud.
Isaia needed to make his getaway before she ventured so far as to speak…but he loathed to leave Briar unguarded, even if she was only sleeping. “If you will excuse me, Your Highness, Lady Delanna. I will make arrangements to set a guard for the princess.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Sir Isaia,” Briar’s mother said.
He bowed curtly and swept out of the room, though he glanced over his shoulder to look once more upon the sleeping Briar.
Lady Delanna is wrong. I can’t break her curse...but I wish I could.