Princess of Thorns

If it had been my choice, a single trip to Goreman and its infamous arena would have been more than enough, but Usio had a sick appreciation for the blood tournaments. He even competed on occasion, fighting like a boy who knew he had only a little life left to lose. He always won, but that didn’t keep my heart from leaping into my throat and choking me half to death every time the arena a

“We won’t linger long.” I push my dark memories to the back of my mind. “Anyone who stays in Goreman more than a few days is asking for a knife in the gut.”

“Then why should we stay even a night?” Ror asks.

“Because we’re road-weary, filthy, and in need of a decent night’s sleep,” I say, resisting the temptation to slap the boy on the back of the head to knock some sense into him. “And a change of clothes and an extra bedroll wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. I’ll duck into the exchange and see about that and soap and razors and anything else we think we’ll need, and then we’ll find an i

“But we should still be settled before supper. That leaves several hours left to at least start looking for—”

“Several hours to take a long bath and have a leisurely shave.”

“Even a long bath and a leh-sure-lay shave,” he says, mocking the lazy vowels of my Kanvasol accent, “can’t take more than an hour.”

“I’ll be washing my hair as well.” I shove the ratty mess from my face. “I suggest you do the same. Your knot is getting ripe under that hood. I can’t decide what smells worse, you or the saddle blanket.”

Ror snorts. “How you can smell anything over the fried-onion reek of your own armpits and the cheese stink of your feet is what’s truly amazing.”

I laugh. “Then you agree we should spend the evening getting clean and fed and enjoying a well-earned rest after crossing half the damned country in barely a week?”

Ror settles back into the saddle with hunched shoulders. “Yes. Fine. All right.”

“What was that?”

“All right. You’re right,” he mumbles in a dejected voice that takes all the fun out of the words. “It makes sense to have a good night’s sleep.”

“It does. And it’s only a few extra hours,” I assure him. “We’ll go looking for a guide first thing tomorrow. Should be easier to spot one in the daylight anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I say with a grin. “Wouldn’t want you rushing off to find one on your own and wiggling out of your half of the bargain, now, would we?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Ror says, sounding genuinely hurt.

“There, there, little man, don’t get sniffly, I was only joking.”

“I’m not sniffly, and don’t call me that,” he says, his hands tightening on Button’s reins. “I swear I’m going to bite your arm the next time you call me ‘little’ anything. Give you a scar in the shape of my ‘wee tiny little’ teeth to remember me by!”

“All right,” I say, surprised by how sensitive he’s being. “I said I was sorry.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I am.” I guide Alama close enough to Button that I can lay a hand on Ror’s shoulder. “Seriously. I was just taking it out on you, like usual.”

Ror sighs and relaxes beneath my hand, but he doesn’t say a word.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You haven’t seemed yourself today.”

“I’m worried about my friend,” Ror says softly. “About what might be happening to him. I put it out of my mind while we were traveling, but now that we’re so close …”

I squeeze his shoulder, amazed again at how slight he is. No matter how I enjoy teasing him about his size, it’s easy to forget how little he is. His personality comes off much larger than nine or ten hands. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a guide tomorrow and, if all goes well, be in the Feeding Hills by tomorrow night.”

He looks up, the hood shadowing his features, making the hollows of his eyes look bruised with worry. “I know but … what if you’re right? What if the exiles refuse to help? What if we’ve traveled all this way for nothing?”

“Then you’ll think of something,” I say. “I’ll help, if you like, as soon as you—”

“Take you to see my sister.” He shrugs my hand off with a roll of his shoulder. “You’re like a parrot. A lazy parrot, who would only be trained with a single, stupid phrase.”

Normally, I would laugh, but it’s obvious Ror is still angry. “Being single-minded isn’t a sign of laziness,” I say in my most reasonable voice. “It’s a sign of being focused on getting what you want. I would think you would understand that.”

“I do,” he says, some of the heat leaving his tone. “But sometimes you can’t have what you want, no matter how you focus. Sometimes you have to give up and move on.”

“Are you going to give up?” I ask. “If the exiles tell you no?”

He blinks, as if I’ve said something that makes no sense at all.

“Well, will you?” I press.

“Of course not,” he says, brows furrowing with determination. “I won’t give up trying to save him until I know he’s dead. And then I still won’t give up. I’ll keep hunting for an army until I find someone willing to help me destroy Ekeeta for what she’s done.”

“Well then. Don’t expect me to give up, either.”

“Getting some girl to marry you isn’t a matter of life or death, Niklaas,” Ror says in his uppity voice, the one that reminds me of Haanah’s when she used to chastise me for wasting my time adventuring with Usio when, in her esteemed, feminine opinion I should have been hunting for a way out of the curse.

She didn’t understand how hard it was to imagine a way out, let alone go hunting for one. By that point, I’d seen nine brothers transformed, watched the painful shrinking of their bones and the obscene ripple of their flesh as their human skin was stolen away and replaced with a swan’s feathers. My fate seemed inescapable. It took time—and a meeting with the witch who cursed the males of my line—for me to learn how to hope.

Haanah didn’t understand that, just as Ror doesn’t understand that it is impossible for me to give up the hope I’ve fought so hard to possess.

“You don’t know what will be the life or death of me,” I say in a soft voice. “You don’t know me at all, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your opinions to yourself.”

“I know more than you think,” Ror says, ignoring my request.

“Is that right?” I don’t bother hiding the challenge in my voice.

“It is,” he says, a cu

“I’m not kind,” I say. “I’m self-interested.”

“That too,” Ror agrees, guiding Button close enough to crowd Alama to one side of the road. “And fiercely secretive when you want to be. That’s how I also know that you’re never going to tell my sister the truth about why you want to marry her, no matter what you say. If you won’t tell me, you’re certainly not going to tell her.”

“You’re mad.” I give Alama a squeeze with my legs, urging her to pull ahead, deciding I’d rather not ride beside Ror for the next leg of the journey.

“Am I?” He nudges Button with his heels until the larger horse keeps pace. “I hear the way you talk. You think the girls you care for should be coddled and protected, the girls you lust after charmed until you grow tired of them, and none of them told what’s really going on in your head.”

I flinch, u

“And so,” he continues, “whether you decide to care for my sister or to lust after her, it won’t matter. You still won’t tell her the truth.”

“And how have you worked that out?” I ask with a bemused look in his direction.

“Well, if you care for her, you’ll lie to protect her from whatever it is you’re hiding.” I chuckle, and Ror pushes on with a stormy look. “And if you lust after her, you’ll seduce your way into getting what you want.”