Princess of Thorns

Ror collects Button from where the horse is tied, while I fetch Alama and lead my good girl—she didn’t move a hoof from where she stood when I dismounted—over to join him. I dispense my own hard looks to the men glaring holes in Ror’s back, and by the time I reach the boy, most of the spectators have had the good sense to look away.

Ror waits until I’m close, but not too close, before leading Button out of the market. I follow, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from begi

We mount up and set the horses toward Goreman proper at a brisk walk, but we’re barely a field from the market when I let go, unable to control myself a second longer.

“What the devil were you doing back there?” I demand, shocked by how enraged I sound. I can’t remember using this tone with anyone, not even Regiene when she a

“I was acquiring more gold for the journey.” Ror pulls my cloak from the saddlebag and shrugs it around his shoulders. “I was told I’d need it.”

“Told you’d need it,” I repeat, breathless with anger. “By some mad fortune-teller who thought it would be amusing to see a kid get his guts spilled!”

“It wasn’t like that,” he says, still utterly—infuriatingly—calm. “She knew things she couldn’t have known without real insight into the future.”

“It doesn’t take insight into the future to know—”

“And even if she was mad,” Ror pushes on, “I didn’t need a fate reader to know the odds were good that I would win.”

“Against trained warriors two times your size? With decades of fighting experience? You thought those were good—”

“Yes, I thought those were good odds,” he says, tugging his hood up over his head with a sharp jerk of his arm. “You saw me fight. I won. I drew first blood easily, and I would have done it again if you’d let me keep going to the next round.”

“Are you out of your head?” My voice cracks with disbelief. “Were you fighting the same fight I was watching? Those people threw you back into the ring. They would have kept throwing you back until the Northerner killed you if I hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t distracted me, I would have been better prepared to begin the fight in the first place,” Ror says, heat finally coloring his tone. “And if you hadn’t stuck your sword in where it wasn’t needed, I would have kept at that man until he was unconscious or dead. I didn’t enter that ring intending to kill someone, but if he had given me no choice, I would have been able to defend myself. Until the death, if I had to.”

I shake my head, mumbling beneath my breath.

“Just say it,” Ror says. “I’d rather fight than hear you mutter for—”

“Maybe you’ll want to enroll in the blood tournaments, then,” I snap, the words making my chest ache. Ror is safe, I shouldn’t be so angry and afraid, but I am. “If you’re so eager to take a life, you’ll find ample opportunity there.”

“I’m not eager to take a life,” Ror says with a sigh. “I didn’t say that, I said—”

“My brother Usio fought in them.” I grit my jaw, remembering the way Usio would laugh when I begged him not to fight. Laugh, and then go to the ale tent right before his match to rub my concern for his life in my face. “Several times, no matter how I tried to convince him not to.”

“Why? You didn’t think he could handle himself, either?”

“No, I thought he was better than that,” I say, my voice revealing my hurt no matter how hard I try to hide it. “Better than our father and Ekeeta and other people who fight and kill when they don’t have to. I thought you were better than that, too.”

“Niklaas, be fair,” Ror implores his tone gentler than it was before. “I didn’t say I wanted to kill someone. Of course I don’t, but—”

“Then you shouldn’t have set foot in a ring, even a practice ring.” I turn, deciding I might finally be able to look him in the eye without wanting to grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. “Anytime you pick up a weapon, there’s a chance you or someone else could be killed. I think your sparring match back there made that clear.”

Ror stares up at me from the shadows of his hood, a hint of regret tightening the skin around his eyes. “I know, but I assumed … I didn’t know it would be like that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” I say. “By the gods, you’re fourteen years old! If you want to live to see fifteen, you have to be more careful.”

“I was being careful,” he says. “It was a calculated risk. I know what I’m capable of, Niklaas. Truly I do. Can’t you trust me? I’m younger and smaller than you, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that I’m more foolish.”

“You risked your life for gold when I have more than enough to get us to the Feeding Hills!”

“But what about after? What will we do for money if the exiles turn us away?” he asks, making enough sense for me to pause to consider the question. “And even if we had enough gold, you’re risking your life for an introduction to a girl you’ve never met. I know you have your reasons, but you have to realize how foolish that seems to me.”

I don’t say a word, not wanting to admit he’s right, not wanting to start another argument about his sister or girls or marriage or anything relating to the three.

“But I trust you, regardless. You’ve earned my trust,” Ror continues. “I think I’ve earned the same benefit of the doubt. I’ve been nothing but cautious and reasonable since we escaped the ogres that first night.”

I grunt. “Luring me into a false sense of safety. I should have known better than to let my guard down. Fourteen is a dangerous age.”

“I will be dangerous at any age,” Ror says, a teasing note creeping into his voice. “I think that was apparent from my time in the ring as well, don’t you?”

My lips curve and my shoulders relax, my body ready to let go of anger even if my heart isn’t there yet.

“Come on, Niklaas,” Ror wheedles. “I was good, you can’t deny it.”

“Maybe.” I shrug one shoulder.

“Maybe?” He guides Button closer and puts a hand on my shoulder, sending a rush prickling along my nerves. It’s an odd … aware feeling—one I wouldn’t normally associate with being touched by a friend—but I thought the boy was going to die. It makes sense that my nerves are out of sorts. “Were you watching the same fight I was fighting?”

I shrug his hand off with a laugh. “You were good,” I concede. “Like a boneless monkey.”

Ror smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Where did you learn your tricks? I’ve seen Fey warriors spar, but nothing like that.”

“My friend Thyne taught me, starting when I was only eight,” he says, his dimples vanishing. “The island fairies are all fond of tricks, but Thyne was the first to add them into training with the staff. He’s an amazing fighter.”

“The only person who can out-monkey you?”

“No. I could beat him. If I wanted to.” He sounds too sad for the words to be a boast, but when he looks back up at me, he’s smiling again. “I have an idea.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

He punches me, his grin growing bigger. “Let’s celebrate tonight.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Making it to Goreman, surviving the market, having enough gold to buy a second saddle.” Ror shrugs. “Take your pick.”

“A second saddle sounds worth celebrating.”

“Then I’m buying di

“And potatoes with onions,” I add, mouth already watering. “I can’t have fish and corn without potatoes and onions.”

“And potatoes with onions,” he says, “though I think I’ll skip those. Smelling your pits day in and day out has killed my appetite for onions.”