Princess of Thorns

“No, I’ll wait in the grove until you arrive.” I shove the purse back into his hands. “It’s smart to give them two trails, but we’ll want to join up again as soon as possible. We’ll both be safer.”

“I agree,” Niklaas says. “But I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the bottom in time to lead the ogres north without being caught. Alama isn’t rested, and those torches are moving fast.”

“Torches?”

“Down in the valley, coming from the north.” Niklaas pulls Alama a few steps to the right, giving me my first clear glimpse of the world below the clearing. There, still far enough away for their torches to resemble matchsticks decorating a harvest cake, a group of riders at least forty strong makes quick progress across the valley.

Ogres. Coming for us on their range horses, the ones they’ve bred tall and fierce and perfectly suited for their abnormally long riders.

The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end and my hands squeeze the reins hard enough to make my knuckles crack. They’re coming. The monsters who’ve taken everything from my family, whom I’ve feared my entire life, are close enough to hear the hoofbeats of their horses echoing through the valley.

“I’ll try to lead them away and then double back and meet you in the grove,” Niklaas says. “But if I’m captured, I—”

“You won’t be captured, you’ll be killed,” I say. “I’ll take the steep trail.”

“No,” Niklaas says, his tone as stubborn as my own.

“Yes,” I insist. “I’m lighter and riding a bigger horse. Button and I will make it down to the grasslands faster and—”

“And be in greater danger, no matter how fast you ride.” He captures Button’s bridle in his fist and holds tight. “You’re the one we have to protect. I don’t matter.”

“You do matter,” I say, horrified by the thought of him risking himself for me, though I know he’s right.

I can’t be captured. If I don’t retain my freedom and find some way to liberate my brother, it could mean the end of everyone, including Niklaas. But that doesn’t mean he should take this risk. Using him to get what I want is one thing; letting him sacrifice his life for mine is quite another.

“Come with me. Please,” I beg. “We can find somewhere farther down the road to split up. Someplace safer.”

“No. Two riders are easier to track than one, and it’s—”

“Please.” I wrap my fingers around his arm, knowing the muscles there won’t do a thing to protect him from ogre arrows, arrows poisoned with the monsters’ own tainted blood. “I don’t want you to die for me.”

He sighs, but even in the dim light I can see the softening in his expression. “All right,” he says. “We’ll stay together as far as the low road.”

“Thank you.” I release his arm after a grateful squeeze.

“You obviously need a keeper,” he says. “It’s probably best if we stay together.”

I bite my tongue, knowing better than to argue with someone who’s given me my way.

“Come on,” he says, nudging Alama forward. “If we’re lucky, the ogres will take the steep trail instead of coming up through the woods and we’ll have a nice head start.”

Niklaas clucks his tongue and Alama takes off toward the ridge road at a trot, with Button close behind. I give Button his head—knowing he can see much better than I can—and concentrate on staying low over his back, avoiding being swatted by the branches that smother this portion of the trail.

I stroke his neck and tell him how grateful I am that he’s ready to ride again after such a long day. He whi

He’s a wonderful horse, much more amiable than Spirit, my horse back home. But Spirit is the offspring of a mainland horse and a wild island pony and has the feral, stormy blood of everything on the island of Malai, the Fey paradise hidden in the shadow of larger volcanic islands off the southern coast of Norvere. Everything on Malai—from the animals to the ancient fairy plants to the Fey who call the island home—is wild.

I know that’s why I’ve grown up as untamed as I have. Back home, I’d think nothing of falling asleep near a jungle waterfall and waking up when it suited me—fairy wards protect the island from observation by the ogre queen, and there are no enemies or predators to worry about aside from a few scuttlebugs as big as my hand—but I’m not back home. I have to make smarter choices, and allowances for things like exhaustion. I’ll be no good to Jor if I run myself into the ground. There is still time before autumn creeps in. At least three weeks, maybe more, and it’s better to use the time I have wisely than to rush and make foolish mistakes.

“We’ll both have a long rest as soon as we’re safe,” I whisper to Button, who pricks his ears back at me but doesn’t slow down.

We ride for another half hour through the silver night, the cool light of the moon transforming the road into a more magical place than it was during the day. With the constellations spi

It seems even more unlikely that we’ll meet anyone on the road, but not forty minutes into our ride I hear hoofbeats from down the ridge.

“Niklaas, wait!” I call out.

Niklaas pulls Alama to a stop, and I rein Button in beside her, pulling my staff from its sling. “Do you hear that?”

He nods but doesn’t speak, his entire body tensed with listening.

“More ogres?” I ask, too anxious to keep still.

Niklaas waits another moment before shaking his head. “Not enough riders to be ogres; moving too fast to be i

“Boughtswords.” I curse beneath my breath.

“That would be my guess.” He turns Alama toward the woods to the left of the road. “Follow me and keep moving. If they get too close, I’ll send you ahead. If we’re separated, go to the grove.”

I follow him into the forest. There is no trail to follow, only a steep decline and loose dirt where the plants of the forest floor have begun to lose the battle against the eroding hillside. Button hesitates, but I urge him on with a squeeze of my thighs, praying to all the gods my mother warned me not to believe in that our luck improves. If one of the horses falter or we meet more enemies on the low road, we’ll be killed or captured for certain and I will never be able to thank Niklaas for his help.

Or to insist he find another princess to dream about. I may admire his spirit—when he isn’t driving me mad with frustration—but I will never be his girl.

I will never be anyone’s girl but my own.

Chapter Eight

Niklaas

The darkness beneath the trees is alive with dangers—low limbs, hidden rocks, horse-crippling holes in the ground—and those are only the things I’m certain are there. There could be other perils as well, unseen enemies lurking in the night. I’m not sure how many breeds of carrion-eating creatures there are, but even three or four is too many.

The forest could literally be crawling with Ekeeta’s spies.

I can’t get the damned buzzards out of my mind, the way they crowded around Ror like Reformers at a witch hunt, ready to tear the thing they fear to shreds. It was u

We have to reach the low road. We have to make it to the next fork beyond the mill before riders—ogre or mercenary—block our way.