Princess of Thorns

No sooner have I thought his name than I hear him calling mine.

“Ror!” He sounds panicked. He must have heard me scream. “Ror!”

“I’m all right!” I swim hard for the bank. Torchlight bobs beyond the rocks. Niklaas will be here in a moment, and I must be dressed when he does.

“Shoo! Get out of here!” I splash water at the creature closest to my clothes and it hops to the side with a nasty growl. Seizing the opportunity, I haul myself up onto the bank and fumble for my clothes.

My pants stick and cling to my wet skin, and the vulture I frightened away returns to peck at my legs as I bind my breasts, but by the time Niklaas appears atop the boulder overlooking the pool—sword in one hand, torch in the other, illuminating the vultures surrounding me like beggars at the royal gates—I am pulling my borrowed armor over my linen shirt and reaching for my staff.

“By the Lands …” Niklaas pauses to take in the alarming gathering before leaping off the rock and waving his torch at the nearest knot of birds. The vultures hiss and grunt as they hop away from the crackling flame, but they don’t go far, clearly determined to stay by my side until their master orders them to leave.

“Get moving or I’ll burn the lot of you!” Niklaas shouts.

“No, don’t!” I knock two birds out of the way with my staff as I hurry to his side, bones aching with the fairy magic that compels me to choose mercy whenever possible, even when it comes to carrion-eating creatures. “They’re i

“I

“They’re only animals, loyal to the one who’s fed and magicked them. They don’t know any better.” I snatch the torch from his hand and hurl it into the pool, plunging the woods back into darkness.

“What did you do that for!”

“It will make it harder for them to follow us.”

“It’ll also make it harder to find our way back to the camp!” Niklaas growls, sounding like the kinsman of the birds grumbling all around us.

“I can use my staff to keep to the path.” I reach for him in the dark, finding his chest with my fingers and following his arm down to grasp his hand. His palm swallows mine, making me feel absurdly small, a fact I immediately resent.

“Come on. Let me lead you.” I give his arm a tug. Thankfully, after a moment of resistance, he allows me to guide him away from the spring.

I tap the stones in front of us, using my staff to find the easiest route to the large boulder where Niklaas and I drop hands to climb over before linking up again on the other side. Behind us, much croaking and hissing and flapping of wings ensues, but none of the birds seem inclined to follow us just yet. Vultures don’t care for flying at night. Hopefully that will buy Niklaas and me some time.

“What the devil happened back there?” Niklaas asks as I find the path and aim us back toward the petrified forest. “Did they all come down from the trees at once, or—”

“I don’t know. I think I … fell asleep,” I mumble.

“You think you—”

“I fell asleep!” I snap, cheeks burning. “And when I woke up there they were.”

“You could have drowned,” Niklaas says in his big brother tone, the one that reminds me of Janin when she chides me for forgetting that even a fairy-gifted human body has its limitations.

“I know,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“You could have been killed. Killed by your own bath before you—”

“I know! It was foolish. It won’t happen again.” I debate dropping his meaty paw and letting him find his own way back in the dark.

“It will be a miracle if I manage to keep you alive. Flaming ridiculous,” Niklaas scolds, but the way he squeezes my hand makes it clear his temper is coming from a place of concern, and I feel bad for snapping.

“Thank you for coming to help me,” I say softly.

Niklaas acknowledges my gratitude with a grunt. “I can’t see a damned thing! Are we even walking in the right direction?”

“We are. We’ll be back to the horses in a few minutes.” I pick up my pace, relying on memory and the shadowy outlines of obstacles along the path as much as my staff. I have a good eye for ground and rarely forget a trail once I’ve traveled it. “There should be enough moonlight in the clearing to saddle Alama and gather our things.”

“We can’t ride now. The path to the grasslands is too steep to travel at night.”

“We have no choice,” I say. “An ogre battalion could be on their way. Ekeeta can communicate what her creatures see to her Captains of the Guard.”

“More magic?”

“No, it—” I break off when my staff finds an obstacle in the trail. “We’ve reached the fallen log. About three hands in front of you.” I climb over and wait for Niklaas to do the same before hurrying on. “It’s not magic. Ogres of the same clan have a telepathic co

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s how she organized the takeover of Mercar,” I say, my palm begi

“So you don’t believe your father was killed by bandits, then?”

“Does anyone?”

“No. Not even my father, though he’d never admit it.” Niklaas drops my hand as we reach the clearing, where a small campfire burns and the moonlight has turned Alama’s white mane to shining silver. “Put out the fire and conceal it as best you can. I’ll saddle Alama.”

I do as he says, hesitating only a moment to let the fire warm my fingers before scattering the burning sticks and stamping them out. I shiver as the wind rushes through my clothes, raising gooseflesh on the damp skin beneath.

It seems I’ll be starting a ride in wet britches again, but at least they aren’t as wet as they were this morning, and Button and I have had a couple of hours’ rest. I just hope a few hours will be enough to keep the horses going. The farther we get from our current location, the better.

“Can you find the trail we were on earlier alone?” Niklaas asks when I join him by the horses.

“I can,” I say, wondering if, now that the danger is real, Niklaas has changed his mind about staying with me.

Something inside me cringes with disappointment, but I should have known better than to place my trust in an arrogant prince I’ve known less than a day.

“Good.” Niklaas presses Button’s bridle into my hands. “We should split up. Give the ogres two trails, and divide their forces. You take the road, and I’ll take the steep path to the grasslands. I’ve ridden it before, and Alama knows the way. It would be more dangerous for you and Button.”

I nod, ashamed for my thoughts a moment before. “Which way should I go?”

“Ride hard back the way we came. When you reach the stream where we watered the horses, give Button a drink and let her walk through the water for half a field or so. If they have dogs, that should throw them off your trail. Then start through the forest toward the low road,” he says, lacing his hands together and forming a step I use to climb onto Button’s back.

“There’s a trail near there,” he continues, “but if you can’t find it, Button should be able to pick the easiest way through the wood. When you reach the main road, head east until you reach an abandoned gristmill. About a field past, there’s a grove of scorched birches that burned in a fire. Hide there and wait for me until first light.”

He swings onto Alama’s back and reaches into his saddlebag, pulling out something I can’t see clearly in the moonlight. “If I don’t join you by then, keep going on the low road. Choose the southerly branch for the first two forks before you turn north.” He reaches out, dropping a bag full of coins into my palm. “Take my purse and—”