Veil of Thorns

by Gwen Mitchell

  She pursed her lips, her brows gathering in the middle the way they did when she was worried, and Kean marveled at how all the little things about her were still so vivid.

  “Things have changed,” she said, somber. “A lot of things. It will be different when you wake up, so I also came to warn you…I know what I’m doing, okay?”

  “What?” He shook his head. “What’s different? What do you mean?”

  “Just please, let me handle things. I am on thin ice with the Synod because of what I had to do to get you back. Don’t intercede. That’s all I’m asking, for you to trust me.”

  Though a sense of foreboding was creeping up his shoulders, a cloak of the nothing still clinging to him, Kean nodded. “Of course I trust you, Bri. I love you.”

  She stroked the side of his face and leaned in to kiss him. Again, chaste. And this time also slightly bitter, like tears building in the back of his throat. She pressed their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

  ***

  Bri felt the familiar rustle of rose vines against her skin and her eyes shot open in panic, thinking she had dreamed it all and was back in Vika’s palace, trapped and powerless. Her heart thundered in her chest, but Lucas was there, his touch like a rush of cool spring water against her fevered skin. She sat up, and her arm throbbed where his magic tether had surged. The strain that he wouldn’t let show in his posture bracketed his mouth.

  She placed her hand over his. Thank you.

  Lucas nodded and glanced from her, to Kean, and then away.

  Bri reached into her shirt–what appeared to be her dress–and pulled out the page she’d torn from the book. She opened it, studied it.

  The spell was strange. It was written in English, for one thing, in a scrawled hand that looked eerily like her own writing, and it addressed her as if it knew her. She memorized the incantation, visualized the knot of spellwork.

  Her hands shook as she placed them over Kean’s fist, where it rested against his chest, clutching the amulet Geri had imbued with a protective spell. Bri had passed it on to Kean instead of wearing it, and that extra bit of magic may have been what saved his life. In Bri’s Second Sight, the amulet still glowed with a faint, lavender light. Traces of Aunt Geri’s spell dusted the roses coiled around Kean’s statue.

  The sense of Geri’s lingering presence comforted Bri, and she smiled, remembering conducting her first ritual under Aunt Geri’s instruction. With a lightened heart, she began the spell. Power built in her hands. Amber light with purple sparks swirled and pulsed as she repeated the incantation.

  The demon’s curse wasn’t a clean rending, like Vika’s. It hadn’t torn Kean’s soul out of his body. It was more like a disease. A rot, continuously eating away at the edges of Kean’s soul, severing it from his body and the mortal plane. The book’s counter-curse destroyed the rot.

  But it was up to Bri to find the disparate threads of Kean’s soul and stitch them back into the fabric of this plane. Slowly, carefully, she did, drawing her magic up out of the chasm within her and spooling out starlight to meld the seams together. Finally, something caught and pulled tight. Kean’s soul, wanting to be in only one place, did the rest of the work.

  His spirit settled into his body, making the cold marble glow with warm light, bright as a summer’s day. When the light faded, there was color. His skin, his clothes, his sandy blond hair.

  His eyes fluttered open, and Bri choked back a sob.

  Astrid appeared at her side, having somehow managed to both give her guards the slip and cross Ryder’s shadow barrier without incident. Kean had barely sat up before she ploughed into him, wrapping her arms around them both and squeezing the three of them together.

  “Thank the stars!” Astrid’s voice was almost a squeak.

  “My girls.” Kean kissed the top of Astrid’s head and buried his face in Bri’s neck. “Is this real?”

  Bri nodded against him and sank into the group hug gratefully, feeling the strength of Kean’s arms, and the vibrating energy of Astrid’s joy, and wishing she could stitch it into the fabric of her being so that she would carry it with her always. They sat there for a good minute, breathing each other in, squeezing each other tight. It was a small thing, but it was all she could imagine needing at that moment, and Bri realized, this was family.

  This is home. She thought. Remember this feeling. It was over far too quickly. Bri and Astrid sat back, wiping tears from their eyes, and Kean finally took in his surroundings. He saw the pool of darkness on the floor first, and jerked his feet back, yanking both girls to his side. His gaze bounced from Ryder to Lucas, and finally, to the councilors and small contingent of Synod guards blocking the doorway. His brows locked into a scowl and his jaw clenched.

  Bri took that as her queue. She climbed to her feet and stood shoulder to shoulder with Lucas. “Councilors, I hope now you see my intentions were benign. I wanted to save my coven brother from a fate worse than death. Here he is, restored, as promised.”

  She would have liked to tell them she was harmless, but the blood still flaking off her skin spoke otherwise. Even if they couldn’t see it, Bri could feel it. And she was glad of it. It made it harder to touch Kean, to look Astrid in the eye, and much, much harder to delude herself into thinking her life could ever resemble her old one again.

  “You use dark magic,” the mysterious councilor intoned in a thick French accent. His voice was a deep, rich baritone that vibrated with authority. “Forbidden magic.”

  Bellini stammered, as if he knew his next line was “seize them” but couldn’t muster the courage to deliver it.

  Bri lifted her chin. She could practically hear Vika in her head. Do not show shame. Shame is weakness. Look at them like they are ignorant insects. She knew just the expression to mimic and added a subtle fog in her eyes.

  “I have learned much and remembered more,” she intoned in her Oracle voice. “You know not of what you speak. You will need my forbidden magic to survive what’s to come.”

  The room went still, as if she’d pulled the pin out of a grenade. All eyes were fastened on her, except for Lucas and Ryder, who looked straight ahead like this was not news to them.

  “The Synod is in desperate need of Oracles,” Bri continued blithely. “I assure you, I am more powerful than any diviner you have ever heard of. I can help you, and more importantly, I want to help you. But if you attempt to hurt me or restrain me in any way, I will take that as an act of war.”

  Bellini’s flabby cheeks puckered with displeasure. “There is no call for threats.”

  “It’s not a threat, it’s a warning,” Bri said, again channeling Vika’s icy displeasure. “Heed it. Now, let my coven-mates go, and give me your word that they will not be disturbed when they return home. They are under my protection.”

  Kean and Astrid were standing now, Kean leaning heavily on Astrid, and her doing her best to hold him steady. Kean’s lashes were fluttering, his head beginning to loll. Just before he tipped over, taking Astrid with him in a sprawl, the shadows caught and cradled him, lowering him slowly to the floor.

  The councilors turned in a circle and deliberated amongst themselves.

  And Gawain, Astrid said in Bri’s head.

  She’d forgotten about Gawain. Bri’s gaze sought him out. His bright blue gaze met hers from across the room, peeking between the shoulders of the Kinde guards blocking him in the corner. His face was a mask of general frustration, but for some reason she had the distinct feeling it was mostly aimed at her.

  Why is he here again?

  Long story, Astrid replied. Just get us out of here?

  Bri shrugged and added to Bellini’s turned back, “The Sheriff too.”

  After another moment of deliberation, Bellini turned back to her and waved at the guards. “Let him go.”

  They stepped out of Gawain’s way, and he shouldered between them–on purpose–and marched to Astrid’s side. The two of them exchanged a look Bri couldn’t quite read.

  Gawain’
s gaze swung to Bri and his face went remote again.

  You’re welcome, Bri thought. How could he still hate her after everything? Then she remembered that he was an ignorant insect and she wasn’t supposed to give a damn what he thought of her.

  “I also want your assurance that my guardians,” she gestured to Lucas and Ryder, “serve me, and not the Synod. There will be no collar or obligations placed upon them. None of your spells will touch them. Or me. They are an extension of me, and I will remain autonomous. These are my conditions.”

  There was a slight rustle in the ranks of the Synod’s guards. Bellini exchanged a look with the tall councilor, ignoring Amin, whose earlier terror had morphed to blatant fascination. “And in exchange, you will serve the Synod?”

  She didn’t like the word serve but nodded. “In whatever capacity you have need of me. I am here to help.”

  “And you will remain here on the grounds?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows lifting.

  She’d been afraid they would ask her to. Of course they would want to keep an eye on her. She was essentially appointing herself as an honorary member of the council, and councilors lived in the Arcanum. But she thought of the room on the other side of the door behind her. The chamber where a monster had torn the last member of her family to shreds right before her eyes, and she shuddered. “I would prefer to return to my family home.”

  Bellini sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid that is out of the question, at least until the full council has convened. The three of us cannot rule on a decision of this magnitude.”

  She had to concede something. Bri sighed and slowly released the magic she’d been gathering, bracing for an attack. She let it trickle away into the cavern of her power, and it felt like it took the last dregs of her energy with it. “I will agree to stay here for now, but all of my friends are free to go.”

  I’m not going anywhere, Lucas said, and a knot of tension that had been twisting into her spine loosened. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

  To the other councilor’s dismay, Bellini finally softened toward her. “Of course, my dear. I will arrange for their transport.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Bri replied.

  She turned to Ryder, wondering if this would be the last time she saw him. He’d fulfilled all his promises. Once he left, he would finally be free of Vika, and free of Bri too, and all her pesky mortal problems. She hoped her gratitude—and genuine affection—showed in her face. “Will you take them home?”

  He bowed to her with a flourish and a winning smirk. “As my lady commands.”

  The darkness on the floor encircled the lot of them, and the shadows stretched, filling the space between heartbeats. When the black fog cleared, Bri stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Lucas, alone, facing half a dozen anointed servants of the Synod.

  Bellini stepped forward, clasping her hands, and he barely missed a beat when she quickly pulled them away.

  “Welcome back into the fold, my dear,” he said, his voice deep with practiced officiality. “When I first laid eyes on you, I knew you would come to do great things. Your father’s daughter.”

  He couldn’t possibly know how deeply the comparison stabbed her.

  “And clearly you will do more. So much more! Oh, but you’ve had such an ordeal. Wait here. I will have a chamber made up and send someone to attend you.”

  Bri must have muttered some sort of response, because it felt like she closed her eyes for a brief second and the last of the wolves was trotting down the stairs. Silence settled over her, like the pall that had cocooned the courtyard after she’d torn out Emil’s heart…

  “Oh gods,” she said, doubling over. She shoved her fist in her mouth to keep the building scream from spiraling out and calling the whole fortress down around them. It was as if all the horrors of the journey had been behind gauze curtains in her mind, and as soon as the silence fell, they all came whispering to the ground, assaulting her with visions.

  Not just her own. She had plenty of her own horror to sift through, but she was now also carrying the final moments of every statue in Vika’s garden. She had killed Vika once, and she had died by her hand a hundred-fold.

  Bri crumpled to her knees and let her glamour fall away.

  “I need–”

  Lucas had already conjured a bucket of water. He warmed it with a spell, and dunked her hands in, chafing the dried blood away until the water turned brown. Then, he conjured a fresh bucket and soaped her up and rinsed her again. And again. He gave her a white towel and bucket of warm water, and she wiped a layer of sweat and ash from her face. A few minutes later, she felt, well, not clean–she would never feel clean again–but cleansed of gore, at least.

  And utterly, utterly spent. Lucas held her in his arms for a few quiet minutes, combing through the rat’s nest of her hair until she dissolved into a sobbing pile of wet laundry heaped in his lap. But she didn’t even have the energy to keep that up for long. Her tears were nearly all spent, leaving her feeling like a dried-out husk.

  A guard came to retrieve them, and Lucas spoke to him in demonish as he carried her through the labyrinthine hallways of the fortress, her face tucked into his neck.

  They came to a well-appointed chamber, with high windows looking into the misty woods and a cold fire burning in the grate.

  Lucas locked and warded the door behind them and set Bri down on the bed gently. Wordless, he pulled the heavy curtains closed, kicked off his boots, and climbed up the mattress to stretch out beside her. Once settled, he closed his eyes and patted his chest, inviting her to rest her head there.

  Knowing there was no reason for pretense, and that she would not rest without him beside her, she took the offer, settling against his warmth.

  He wrapped her in his arms and hummed something under his breath, a barely audible rumble deep in his chest, where her ear was pressed. There weren’t any words to the unfamiliar song, but as her eyelids dragged closed, Bri thought she felt them echo through her.

  Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.

  Epilogue

  Three days later…

  The council–not just the local council her father once sat on, but the High Council of the Synod–had agreed to most of Bri’s terms. They wanted her to reside within the fortress, but she was free to come and go. Not as she pleased, though. For each off-island excursion, she had to write a petition detailing her trip, which had to be approved by a member of the High Council.

  It was actually more freedom than she’d expected.

  Once she’d entered the White Wood, she hadn’t given much thought to what would happen if she ever made it back out. Standing in the aftermath, it had become wretchedly clear that she would have to face the Synod in order to save Kean, and that they would see how much she had been altered. And possibly try to kill her.

  The council had been content with spying before, waiting to see what she would do, what she would become. Now, she was too powerful to not be considered a threat. But Bri had taken a chance on the theory that the Synod had hoped to make her into a weapon. She’d played to that, and the gamble had paid off.

  She was alive, for now. Lucas and Ryder would remain untouched as long as they did not break any rules, and Bri considered that a matching concession on the Synod’s part. A sign the Council wanted to stay on her good side.

  They were hedging their bets too. She had so far kept the true depths of her power concealed. The tasks–or more likely tests–they had given her were going up in difficulty by degree, but she still accomplished them with barely any effort.

  It was almost boring. Except for watching their reactions. That was fun.

  Aside from slightly more opulent furnishings and considerably less fantastical surroundings, the Arcanum felt much like Vika’s palace. There were vaulted stone chambers hewn into the mountain, the walls silky smooth beyond the ability of any human tool, the ceilings lined with shimmering geodes. There were the carvings and tapestries, veins of silver and copper inked int
o the floors and walls. The likeness would sometimes startle Bri, make her question where and when she was for a moment.

  There were reminders everywhere of what Skydancers could do. She was surrounded by spells they had wrought in service to the Synod at some point, before they’d been hunted down and executed. Sometimes it felt like she was living in a mausoleum. The Synod draped themselves in the rich heritage of Skydancer power, yet they had nearly snuffed it out. They were worms feasting on a rotting apple, congratulating themselves on their bountiful conquest.

  The worst part was the magic of the Arcanum itself. It was just…wrong.

  Vika’s woods had pulsed with a raw, vital energy that was fresh and clear as a glacial spring. As if her mere presence had made magic burst from the earth like wildflowers. The Arcanum’s magic felt decayed and recycled, exhumed from the bones of the earth. Forced. It made Bri queasy, and whenever she let her shields down enough to sense it, the feeling clung to her like a shawl of spiders.

  The only upside to her living situation was easy access to the Archives. She had been given unrestricted access, though she was being watched. Bri took armfuls of books and scrolls back to her room and pored over them until she was bleary-eyed, searching for references to a crown.

  Just as the book had demanded.

  There is a price, the voice that was several blended together had said.

  I will pay it, she had answered silently.

  Then it had asked for a sacrifice. A life for a life.

  She refused.

  Your blood, then. You will swear on it each full moon.

  Swear what?

  That you are seeking the last of us.

  The crown.

  The book had already known she had the mirror. It said us. So, not only was the Hirune ridiculously powerful, it was self-aware. And it wanted to be reunited, just as Vika had said.

  As far as she was concerned, bringing all three pieces together went in the really bad idea category.