Princess of Thorns

“All right, little prince?” Niklaas asks, a careful note in his voice.

“I’m not accustomed to bathing with other people.” I clear my throat and shift my gaze to a patch of sky visible between the leaves, wondering if my cheeks are as pink. “I’ll go get the fire ready and come back later. It will be dark soon and a fire is … good.”

“A fire is good,” Niklaas says. “Build it beneath the trees. The wind should scatter the smoke, but just in case, the leaves will hide the fire. The Boughtswords might still be looking for us. We don’t want to help them with the finding.”

“Right.” I risk a quick peek down to where Niklaas lounges in the pool, his thick arms stretched along the rocks, steaming water rising to his chest, watching me with a shrouded look that emphasizes the bright blue of his eyes.

Even in the shadows begi

Without another word, I slither down the other side of the boulder on my belly, ignoring my aching muscles, refusing to think about how nice it would feel to be soaking in the hot spring instead of hurrying back to the camp. I’ll have my chance for a soak later. Alone. Without any insufferable princes lurking in the water.

“I’m not some baker’s daughter,” I mumble, dumping an armful of wood to the ground with more force than necessary. “And even if I were, I’d know better.”

Across the clearing, Alama whi

I have to put up with Niklaas and his nosy questions and pearls of wisdom and piercing devil eyes; I don’t have to put up with being sassed by a horse.

My small triumph cheers me until a flash of black draws my eyes to the sky above the valley. There, dozens of vultures—crooked wings spread wide and bald heads craned toward the ground—drift in slow, relentless circles in the fading light, searching the world below for the ogre queen’s prey.

Chapter Six

Niklaas

When I arrive back at our camp—after a soak that has turned my toes to happy prunes and my aching back to mush—Ror is nowhere to be found. The horses are tied as they were and grazing peacefully, but I draw my sword anyway.

Better to find out the boy is off answering the call and not need a weapon than to be surprised by an enemy.

“Ror?” After a moment with no answer, I call a little louder, “Ror? Are you—”

“Shh!” comes a hiss from my left. “In here.”

I turn toward the sound of his voice, but find … nothing.

“Inside the tree,” he whispers. “It’s hollow.”

I circle around the petrified tree where the horses are tied and kneel down to peer inside. After a moment, my eyes adjust and I see Ror—a mad gleam in his eyes—crouched in the darkness ten hands away.

“I’m hiding,” he says.

“I see that.”

“Maybe you should hide, too,” he says, scooting farther into the darkness. “There were two of them at the mercenary camp this morning. I was too muddled to think they might have been sent by the queen, but they could have seen us together.” He waves an arm, motioning for me to join him. “Come on! I don’t know how much they know.”

“How much who knows?” I glance over my shoulder, poised to defend myself if whoever’s spooked Ror is still near the camp. “Who did you see?”

“Not who, what,” he snaps. “They’re everywhere. Don’t you see them?”

“See what?” I ask, not bothering to hide my frustration. If there’s danger at hand, the boy needs to be less flaming vague!

“The vultures swarming above the blasted camp!”

I lift my eyes, but the sky is empty, save for the sliver moon rising above the Feeding Hills. “I don’t see anything.”

“But there were so many,” Ror says, refusing to budge. “At least a dozen, and more flying in from the east.”

I stand and turn in a slow circle. “Well, they’re gone now. Vultures can’t see much better in the dark than we can. They’ll be off finding a place to roost. I suggest we do the same. If you want your turn at the pool, you’d better get moving.”

Ror crawls from his hidey-hole, staff clutched tightly in hand. He still looks spooked, even after his own search of the sky reveals I’ve told the truth. “I’m not mad,” he says, pointing a stubby finger in my direction. His hands are ridiculously wee, so precious I would be tempted to make fun of them if he weren’t acting so strange.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask, i

“With your careful eyes, and that careful voice, too,” he says, glaring. “I haven’t taken leave of my senses. My fairy mother says Ekeeta has enlisted carrion creatures as her allies. The queen throws them her scraps when she’s done harvesting a soul. In exchange, they spy for her.”

“Scraps, eh?” My empty stomach churns. “I thought they were giving the criminals who feed the ogres’ hunger a decent burial these days.”

“The days are changing.” Ror tugs his ear as he searches the sky one last time. “Maybe they didn’t see me. I hid the moment I spied them.”

“Or maybe they were normal vultures and nothing to worry about,” I say, unable to keep the mocking note from my voice.

“And maybe you’re a fool,” Ror snaps, but when he turns back to me he doesn’t look angry. He looks worried, older.

For the first time, I notice faint wrinkles at the sides of his lips, lines that emphasize his soft mouth. The boy is pretty enough to be a girl. His sister must be even prettier. It wouldn’t matter if she were the ugliest lump of troll dung ever birthed—it would be worth wedding a dog with an ass at both ends to live to see my nineteenth birthday—but I can’t deny I’d enjoy a pretty wife more than a homely one.

Just as I’d enjoy a friendly relationship with my brother-in-law rather than a strained one. Best to humor the boy. There are worse things than being too careful, or too shy to take a bath with other men around.

“Go on, take a soak. You’ll feel better after.” I chuck Ror on the shoulder, doing my best to put him at ease. “When you get back, we’ll have a bite and you can get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“All right.” Ror moves toward the woods but turns back before he reaches the path. “I’m not crazy. Ekeeta does have animals spying for her.”

“I believe you,” I say, with what I hope is an encouraging smile.

“This isn’t a safe journey,” he says, tugging his ear again. “It’s dangerous to travel with a briar-born child.”

He takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes before glancing back up with an expression so pitiful it makes me want to give the kid a hug. He doesn’t look old now. He looks like a child who has lost his mother. “Maybe you should leave me. I’ll understand. I don’t want you killed.”

“I won’t be killed,” I say, pushing on when Ror opens his mouth to argue. “I understand the risk, and I’m willing to take it.”

He blinks, and a furrow forms between his pale brows. “Why? For the chance to meet my sister? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Wanting to marry your sister isn’t a passing fancy,” I say, sheathing my sword. “I thought long and hard before I came looking for her. Aurora is the only match that makes sense for me. I’ll do whatever it takes for the chance to win her. Even risk death escorting her brother across the country.”