Princess of Thorns

And when that trick, too, began to fail them, they stole magic from the human witches they consumed and learned to feed on human souls, to leave a corpse behind and no blood on their hands, no way to prove it was an ogre who killed the one you love.

They are relentless in their quest for survival, and have already outlived every creature but the Fey by several centuries. Ror wasn’t foolish when he ran to hide from the slightest hint of ogre presence today, but hiding was too little, too late. We both need to be more careful, begi

“Wait,” I call as the bridge comes into sight.

Ror reins Button in, walking the horse back to where I’ve stopped, while I dig into my saddlebag and pull out my tightly rolled oilcloth cloak. It’s not heavy enough to offer warmth—I bring it for protection from the rain—but it has a hood that should more than cover Ror’s small head.

“Put this on before we go down to the river,” I say, handing it over. “Cover as much of yourself as you can. Hopefully that will make things harder for Ekeeta’s spies.”

“I should have asked if you had something sooner.” Ror wraps the cloak around his narrow shoulders. It’s so large that it hangs past his waist to cover his knees and a good portion of Button’s rump. “I had a cloak of my own, but I lost it at the mercenary camp.” He pulls the hood forward, completely obscuring his features. “How’s this?”

“You’ve got a black hole for a face. It’s good.” I nudge Alama forward.

Button falls in beside, i

“What?” Ror tugs the hood even lower. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re ominous-looking is all,” I say. “Like a plague rider. Or Death’s little brother.”

“Really?” Ror’s laughs drifts from the dark hole where his face should be, sending a prickle up my neck. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, Niklaaaaasssss,” Ror hisses in a voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Death has not come for you tonight.”

“Stop that.” I shudder in spite of myself and urge Alama to move faster, past ready to be off the road and beneath the bridge.

“Why?” There’s a wicked merriment in Ror’s tone that makes his “Death” voice even more disturbing. “Death only wantssss to be friendsssss.”

“There’s something damaged in that head of yours,” I say, leading the way down the rock-littered incline on the south side of the bridge, holding my breath as Alama skips through the loose gravel to land lightly on the hard-packed dirt and larger rocks of the riverbank. Come the winter rains, this sturdy blue clay will be underwater, but for now it is the perfect makeshift road. The clay is too hard to take prints easily and the rocks should help conceal any trail we do leave behind.

“But has Death not saved your life tonight?” Ror asks as Button dances onto the bank. “Did I not shove your immense backside into your saddle? I shouldn’t scaaaaaare you.”

“Keep it up and you’re going to scaaaaare the horses,” I say.

Alama nickers in agreement, making Ror laugh as we set the animals to walking north, giving them a rest from the breakneck pace now that we’re off the road. We’re not out of danger yet—there’s always the chance the ogres will check the river—but it’s obvious we both feel safer down here, with the low water burbling over round stones, muffling the sound of our passage.

“And my backside is hardly immense for a Kanvasol prince,” I say. “I’m the runt back home. My brothers were all a hand or two taller.”

“Were?” Ror finally abandons his Death voice. “Did something happen to them?”

I open my mouth to lie, but for some reason the words won’t come. Maybe I’m too tired. Or maybe Ror has simply become enough of a friend that it feels wrong to lie to his face—even when I can’t see it.

“I’d rather not talk about my brothers,” I say. “It’s … a painful thing.”

We travel in silence for a moment, the only sounds the song of the river and the soft clop of the horses’ hooves, before Ror says, “I was only joking, you know. You’re not immense; I’m a runt, like you said. I’m only glad I was able to lift you.”

“You’re not a runt,” I say, regretting the nickname.

“Yes, I am.” He shrugs. “It’s all right. I’m resigned to it. There are worse things to be.”

“There are,” I agree, thinking of the boys I trained with in Eno City when I was younger. They were as large and strong as my brothers, but not a single one would have stopped to put me back on my horse when their own lives were in danger. But then, they knew the truth. They knew I’m not long for this world, and hardly worth risking their own necks over.

“Thank you,” I add after a moment. “I was sure I’d be the one pulling you up off the ground, but …”

“I find it’s best never to be sure of anything,” Ror says with a weary sigh that seems out of place coming from someone his age. “It’s easier to avoid making a fool of myself that way.”

“My pride is definitely more bruised than my body.”

Ror pulls Button to a stop. “Your wound. I forgot. We should—”

“The bleeding has stopped. It can keep.” I continue past him, around a bend in the river that grants a moonlit view of a long, lonely stretch of low water and wide bank. “Let’s keep going for another hour or two. Then we’ll find a place sleep for a few hours before moving on.”

“All right, but as soon as we stop, I’ll clean you up,” Ror says, falling in beside me. “I’ll keep an eye out for Cavra leaves. The Fey use them to fight infection. I saw some on the road earlier. I should have grabbed them. You can never be too careful.”

“I don’t think either of us were being nearly careful enough,” I say. “We’ll have to change that if we want to live to see the Feeding Hills.”

“I know. No matter how much I want to keep going, I’ll need to rest as soon as it’s safe. I’m exhausted and a danger to us both.” Ror sighs another weary sigh. “If I hadn’t fallen asleep in the pool, none of this would have happened.”

“No, if I’d taken your worries about the vultures seriously, this wouldn’t have happened.” I take in the seemingly peaceful landscape, wondering what dangers are hidden just out of sight. “But after all these years, with the ogres feeding on criminals and leaving the rest of us alone … I’d forgotten what determined blighters they are.”

“That’s what they want,” Ror says. “They want everyone to forget. Until it’s too late and remembering won’t make a bit of difference.”

He mumbles something that sounds equally ominous, but I don’t ask him to repeat himself. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight, Tonight, I want to travel this seemingly peaceful road and hold on to hope that it’s leading to something better. If I give up that hope, there will be no reason to run from the ogres, no reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no reason to do anything at all.

Without hope, I might as well lie down in the river and let it wash my worries away. Forever.

Some day—or night, it’s always harder at night, when the darkness outside makes the darkness within harder to bear—it may come to that, but not tonight. Tonight Ror and I are the lucky ones.

In the Castle at Mercar  The Ogre Queen

We’ve lost them, my queen. Our cousin’s voice comes to us from far across the land. His battalion is three days’ ride from the castle, but we hear him clearly.