Thorn

by Intisar Khanani

  I stand up and go to the window, throwing open the shutters. Moonlight streams down. I close my eyes, breathe in its cool wash, the night breeze. “Lady,” I call, standing with my hands loose by my sides. “Lady.”

  I wait, listening to the faint sounds of the palace, voices drifting to me from far away. I step back from the window. In the moonlight that streams in something flickers and strengthens.

  “Lady,” I repeat. She looks as I remember her from that first night, her face white as bone, her dress shining as if it were itself woven of light. “What have you done with Kestrin?”

  She holds her hands out to me, palm upturned. I study her features. In the corners of her mouth, the tilt of her face, there is a deep and dreadful weariness. I take her hand. The moonlight flashes once, bright and yet painless, and then we stand together on a gravel walk, sunlight streaming down on the garden surrounding us.

  “Where are we?”

  “In my gardens.” Here, the Lady wears clothes as any mortal might: a simple white gown with white-embroidered bodice and flowing sleeves. Her darksheen hair has been braided back tightly.

  “And the prince?”

  “He is here. Come; I will show you.” I follow her down the walk into a small square. At the center stands a statue of a man. “This is the first of my collection,” she tells me. The man must have once been quite powerful, both physically and intellectually. But his massive shoulders had slumped in defeat by the time the likeness was made, his once strong features wasted into a haggard, desperate mask. He wears the traditional Menaiyan armor of metal and leather, and at his side hangs a sword in its scabbard.

  “He was your prince’s great-grandsire. What do you think?”

  I study the face and my breath catches in my throat: every detail stands out exactly, each eyelash, each lock of lank hair that falls across the high brow. “This—this was truly him!”

  “Of course. Do you think I would put up a statue of such a man? No, it is he, exactly as he came to me. Do you not like him? I think he cuts a fine figure.”

  “You’ve turned him to stone,” I say stupidly, staring at the frozen features. “Why?”

  “Come along, princess. There is more for you to see.” The Lady starts forward once more, towards the next gate.

  I stay where I am. “How could you do such a thing to someone—anyone?”

  She turns back to me, her eyes glittering with anger. “Do you truly wish to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will show you.” The Lady reaches up and catches my face in her hands, and the world drops away.

  ***

  The soldiers drag the prisoner through the brush to the clearing, throwing it at the feet of a mounted rider. He swings down from his horse, his armor glinting in the sunlight, and kicks the prone figure onto its back. The soldiers laugh at its muffled cry.

  A child begins to shriek somewhere behind me, but I cannot turn my head to see who it is. The rider pulls off his helmet, tossing it to one of the soldiers. His features leap out at me—the high brow, the cheekbones, the dark skin.

  He reaches down and grasps the captive’s clothes in one gauntleted fist, dragging the person up. The child’s wails turn to a high keening. A woman, I think, staring in shock. The woman’s face is battered and scratched, but as she looks up at him her features twist and she spits. He laughs, a hearty, booming laugh that fills the clearing, and drags the woman to a tree, shoving her up against it. I look around frantically, but the soldiers all watch with lazy amusement. I cannot find my voice to scream for help. With a sickening thunk, he thrusts his dagger through her palm, pinning her hand above her head. She cries out, a hoarse sound, and then with a gasp she snaps her jaw shut. Tears spill from her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. She looks towards me and smiles.

  I am screaming silently, mindlessly, unable to look away as the man impales her right hand beside her left. He steps back, considering his handiwork. Then, with the same genial laugh, he draws his sword and slits her belly open. If I could move, if I could breathe, I would be sick with horror. I cannot even look away.

  The man sheathes his sword and returns to his horse. Mounted, he watches the writhing, jerking agony of the woman until her hands tear themselves free of the daggers, and she collapses on the ground. She twitches a few times, her body shuddering, the tattered remnants of her hands pressed against the gaping wound of her belly, and then she lies still in a spreading pool of blood.

  The man turns his horse towards me. I can hear the clump of the horse’s hooves in the rich earth, can hear it through the gasping keen of the child behind me. He looks down at me, his lips curling back in contempt. His booted foot lifts from the stirrup and snaps out, slamming into my face and sending me reeling back, the child’s weeping abruptly stopped.

  ***

  “The prisoner was my mother,” the Lady says, dropping her hands from my face. I shiver uncontrollably, my teeth chattering as my stomach roils. “I woke up alone with her body—they left me to tell my people what had become of her. She was one of our leaders, a great general. But she was betrayed into the hands of our enemy. They caught me, you see, and used me as bait to catch her.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. As if I might deny this, might rattle these images free. Over and over I see the daggers impaling the callused palms, the shine of the sword as it slices through the woman’s stomach.

  “I swore I would kill him, destroy his line, for what he did.”

  “He was…” I say hoarsely, and a deep shudder runs through me. Dark hair, eyes the rich brown of earth...

  “Your Kestrin’s great-grandsire. Now do you understand?” The Lady does not wait for my answer but walks to a wrought iron gate set between two high hedges. I stumble after her.

  “Lady,” I call, trying to regain my footing. My focus.

  “Little princess.”

  “That was—not the prince. Why do you punish him for his ancestor’s cruelty?”

  “I swore to end his line.”

  “But if Kestrin himself has never harmed anyone, then to kill him for something he has no control over—”

  “It is in his blood.”

  “But, Lady,” I say, unable to argue and yet knowing she is wrong—surely she must be wrong.

  “Enough. Here, then, is your prince.”

  The garden shifts, whirling soundlessly to resettle in a different pattern. I find myself in another square surrounded by high hedges, but at the center the stone figure does not stand. Instead, he kneels, leaning back on his feet to look ahead. One hand is curled into a tight fist pressed against his leg, but the other reaches out in front of him, curving around the air as if resting on it.

  I cannot bear to look at his face. Instead, I turn to the Lady. “He is dead.”

  “No,” she replies. “It takes a few days for the soul to tear itself away. But you cannot help him now; you have not the power.”

  “And will you kill the king? And Lord Garrin as well?”

  “They are the last.”

  “Then you are just like him. You are just like the monster who killed your mother.”

  She stiffens. “You do not know of what you speak.”

  “I do—you showed him to me, and I’ve seen you as well. You take as much pleasure in their deaths as he did in your mother’s.” She takes a step towards me. “You are willing to kill innocents to have your way. You killed Falada. You would have killed me as well, through Valka, and now she will die because of the games you played. For what? So you can avenge yourself against the man you already destroyed years ago?”

  “You go too far, princess.”

  “No, Lady. You do. You kill people who have never wronged you, destroying them as ruthlessly as your mother was killed. You’ve had your revenge on the man who did it and now you’ve become him.”

  “You don’t know of what you speak,” she repeats, and I can see the shimmer of power in the air around her.

  “Then show me otherwise, Lady.”

  She laughs
, a rippling of water over stones, her anger transforming to scorn. “What would you have me do, girl? Free him?”

  “Give me the chance to win his freedom and your forgiveness.”

  “I think not. You have certainly learned to speak since we first met, but you are still naive. You have seen what is in his blood; if you do not understand, it is not my concern to teach you.”

  “Test him,” I suggest. “If what you believe is true, he will succumb to his blood. But if he passes, then he must be innocent of the taint.”

  “Test him?” the Lady echoes, her voice the ringing of steel on stone. I swallow hard, gazing back into her deathless eyes. “Fair enough. There will be three tests. If he passes them, he is free.”

  “And if he fails?”

  “Then he remains mine, and you will be dead by his hands.”

  I do not let myself falter. “Very well.”

  Chapter 32

  The gardens melt away, spinning to darkness. A massive mouth closes around me, sharp teeth slicing though the air. My breath catches in my throat and I stumble back blindly, knocking into something. I throw out my hand to push away from it and my fingers touch rock. All around me, the teeth hover, glistening in the dark.

  I take a shaky breath. The teeth are those of a cave roof, hanging down around me. Smaller teeth rise up from the ground to meet them.

  “Who’s there?” Kestrin stands at one end of the cave. I can see his figure between the hanging teeth, behind him a fall of light.

  “Who’s there?” he repeats. “I have found no living thing in this land till now, but I heard you move. Show yourself.” His voice echoes in the cave, raising goose bumps on my arms. He shifts, and in that movement I see a fear I am well familiar with. I take a step towards him, my clothes rustling in the quiet. Surprised, I glance down, for I had been wearing a night shift when I spoke to the Lady. Now I wear a white dress. Kestrin recognizes it even as I do.

  “Sorceress,” Kestrin says, his voice harsh with emotion. “I’ll not be taunted by you here.”

  He raises his hand, his mouth moving. I throw myself to the side as his fingers flick towards me, the sickening memory of how hopelessly I had tried to avoid Corbé’s staff flashing through my mind. The power of Kestrin’s spell passes me by, only the edge of it touching me, but it is enough to slam me against the wall. The cave teeth crash down, splintering into pieces on the ground and raising a cloud of dust. I take two breaths, steadying myself, then put my hand up and pull out a strand of hair: it is darker than night.

  “Are you still here?” he calls, stepping further in, turning to scan the cave. He cannot see me; there is too much dust in the air. If I stay still, he will not find me. But then I will have failed, for what I must do now is convince him not to touch me.

  I stand up in one fluid motion. “Kestrin.” He spins towards me. “Hold your spells.”

  “Why? Because I cannot touch you? I know that.” His eyes burn in the faint light.

  “No. It is because you can: I have no magic here.”

  He laughs, a low feral sound. “Don’t you? In this place of your making? What a fool you must think me.”

  “I am as much a prisoner here as you; the difference is only that you still have your powers.”

  He walks towards me until he is only a pace away. Even in the dark, I can see the haggard set of his features, the dark stubble on his cheeks. “If you cannot use magic, then how will you defend yourself from this?”

  His hand darts out and catches my wrist. Pain runs up my arm like wildfire, scorching my veins. I cry out, staggering back against the wall, and rip my hand from his grip. He stands perfectly still. I bring my hand to my chest. The edges of my vision are bleached white, but I cannot afford to give in to the pain now. Instead, I straighten and meet his gaze, holding out my hand to him. The wrist is charred and blackened where he held it, bits of skin flaking off like ash.

  “I have no defense here.”

  “What game do you play?” he asks, and I do not trust the very softness of his voice. He does not believe me, I think, because the Lady would not speak to him so.

  “Look at it, boy. Had I any power, do you think you could have touched me? This is no game.”

  “Then how did you come here, to this wasteland? Why would you come unarmed? You knew I would kill you for what you did to my mother.”

  I dare not lick my lips; I must become the Lady now to win against Kestrin. She would never fear him. I force a laugh. “We were never good at answering each other’s questions, prince. As for your threat, you are not quite a murderer.” I smile. “Yet.”

  “Yet,” he agrees, and with one quick step he is before me, his hand reaching for my neck. I catch it with my good hand without thinking, and when he freezes I bring it down slowly, turning it palm up.

  “Well done, Kestrin. Kill me and you will become me. You are a quick learner.” He pulls his hand away. I think of the Lady, of the vision she shared with me. “My mother was murdered too.” His head jerks to the side as if I have slapped him. “Did you not think I had a mother? It was a man with your face who killed her. I thought to avenge her death when I killed him. I sought vengeance when I slew your mother, and when I forced you to come to me. Hatred grows, Kestrin.”

  “My hatred will die with you.”

  “But it won’t. If you find a way back you will kill Valka, the impostor princess.”

  “It will end there,” he says roughly, but he is listening now, despite himself, his hands clenched at his side.

  “It won’t. You will kill Alyrra as well.”

  “No,” he says, but I hear the slight tremor in his voice.

  “Yes,” I say, feeling the truth of it like a weight in my belly. “Doesn’t she know your greatest weakness? Hasn’t she betrayed you twice already? Having killed two, it is easy enough to kill a third, especially when there are no consequences.” He backs away from me.

  “Murder makes one cold.” I do not see him anymore; instead I see the Lady’s face when she came to my room, weary and empty. “It takes away your soul, piece by piece. It turns your heart to stone. Is that what you want?”

  “I would not kill her,” he says, his voice that of a young boy’s.

  “But you would, Kestrin,” I say gently.

  “It was I who betrayed her into your hands, not the other way around.”

  “Can you be sure? Didn’t she know who I was by then, what would happen to you?” He shakes his head. “Once you start killing, Kestrin, everyone becomes your enemy.”

  “What do you want from me?” he cries.

  My eyes wander to the shattered rock on the cave floor. I am still lost in my memory of the Lady. “Perhaps I want you to kill me. That would be a victory of sorts, because it would be an end.”

  “You will get nothing from me,” he whispers.

  I feel a smile touch my lips. “That is a good sort of revenge in its own way, Kestrin. At least no one will die for it.”

  “May you rot in hell, sorceress.” He leaves me, striding away, but as he turns out of the cave he begins to run, his boots thudding against the ground.

  I sag back against the wall, trembling. The earth reaches up and pulls me to its breast, sending sparks of pain shooting though my vision.

  “You are more talented than I would have credited,” the Lady says, the garden flowing into existence around us.

  I catch my balance, feet spread apart, and squint at her through the bright light, then look down at my hand. My shift is gray with dust, as is my arm, but for the charred ring where Kestrin held me. I look up quickly, fighting a wave of dizziness. “You turned me to stone.”

  “Had he killed you, your body would have remained stone. As it is, you have only lost a dusting of yourself.”

  “Then how—how has my wrist been burned?” I ask.

  “The wounds of the spirit are borne out upon the body,” she says, as if stating the obvious. She turns from me. “Come. I will allow you a rest before the second test.”


  I follow the Lady back up the path to the wrought iron gate. When she swings it open for me, though, we enter instead a large apartment. “You will find all you need here,” she tells me, closing the door behind me. I just make it to the bed before my senses slide into darkness.

  ***

  The light in the garden has the gentle luminescence of early morning. I follow the Lady wordlessly back into the square where Kestrin waits. In my room, I had found a small pot of cream on the table beside by the bed. It cooled the burning of my wrist for a time, but now the pain jars through me with every step. I try not to look at it, for the skin is black and charred, my flesh showing red and raw beneath the burns. I lower myself to the ground before Kestrin so that I will be sitting when I return. If I return.

  “Tell me,” the Lady says. “How did you speak of murder when you know nothing of it?”

  “I know something. I know that the men who killed Violet had no concern for her, and feared no punishment. They would have done it again.” I trace the Lady’s delicate features with my eyes, following the fine cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the beautiful, empty, pain-ridden eyes. “I tried to become you, Lady—or what I thought it must be like to be you—because Kestrin had to believe I was you.”

  The Lady gestures towards me, the gemstone on her finger flashing. “The second test, then.”

  The light shimmers and spins around me, taking the garden and setting me down in a strange, rocky valley cut into high cliff walls. As far as I can see, the valley continues in both directions, the cliffs riddled with caves carved out by wind and rock falls. Here, in the belly of the valley, rock formations rise up from the ground, uneven and rippled, as if formed by the currents of an ancient river.

  I rise and begin walking, knowing that I will meet Kestrin. A shadow flickers at the edge of my vision. I pivot, but see only a pillar-like rock that rises from the ground, bulging at the top. I hesitate, watching the pillar. Kestrin will not hide from me, nor will he attack me on sight again. The Lady will have set a different kind of test this time; she will not allow me to walk up to him and tap him on shoulder. But what is the test? Nothing moves in the valley. Perhaps it was just my imagination. I start forward again. Kestrin himself said that nothing lives in this land.