Princess of Thorns

I move to dismount before Alama comes to a stop, but Ror is even faster. He leaps from the saddle, landing with a hop that sends him into a front roll and back to his feet without breaking speed. He knocks Crimsin’s attacker to the ground before the man can turn to see who’s behind him, and a few blows later my father’s final assassin falls to the dirt with a miserable groan.

Only when the man is unconscious does Ror drop his staff and reach for Crimsin. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m all right.” Her words end in a sob as she clutches Ror tight. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ror says, smoothing the girl’s hair from her face.

“No, I do. I couldn’t get to my axe and he …” She swipes at the tears on her cheeks with a fist. “You risked your life for me.”

Ror takes her hands in his. “You’re one of my people. It’s my duty to defend you.”

The girl blinks. “You really believe that?”

“What’s the point of having a ruler if he or she doesn’t protect the people?” Ror asks. “I know that’s not the way it’s been since Ekeeta took control, but—”

“That’s not the way it was before, either.”

“What do you mean?” Ror asks, a wary note in his tone.

Crimsin bites her lip, hesitating a moment before she whispers, “I had an older sister. Fifteen years older. Gernin was … perfect.” She swipes at her damp cheeks again. “Beautiful and kind and always helping people. We thought she’d take over as the healer for our village one day, but then, the king came … and took my sister away.”

“The king?” Ror gives a small shake of his head.

“Your father.” Crimsin watches Ror, a cautious expression on her face. “He tried to win her at first, giving her silks and promising gold for her family if she would become his third wife, but it’s not the way of our people to have more than one wife and Gernin didn’t love him. She told him no.” Crimsin’s eyes shine, but when she speaks again her voice is flat, emotionless. “His men came to our house that night and stole her away. I never saw her alive again.”

“You’re … That’s the truth?” Ror squeezes Crimsin’s hands. “You swear it?”

“I swear it on my eternal soul,” Crimsin says with enough conviction that even I believe her. “The king took Gernin, and a few months later … she was dead.”

Ror is quiet for a moment before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Crimsin’s lips part. “You believe me?”

“I do. My mother suspected …” Ror lets Crimsin’s hands slip through his fingers. “Mother didn’t know my father was already married until after I was born. Father kept her hidden in the woods for years. She still loved him after she found out the truth, but she hated him, too. I know she longed for another life.”

Crimsin curses softly. “I didn’t know.”

“No one did. Mother didn’t want people to feel sorry for her, or her children.” Ror cocks his head. “Are you sure your sister is dead? Is there a chance my father could have hidden her away as well?”

“No.” Crimsin rubs her eyes. “They found her body by the road a week after the king was murdered. No one knew what had happened. After … Mother was never the same. She sold everything we had to pay the king’s treasurer to take me with him when his family fled Mercar. She had nothing left. She died the next spring.”

“I wish I could take back what my father did to your family,” Ror says. “I wish I could make things better for you.”

“You already have.” This time, the passion in Crimsin’s voice has nothing to do with seduction. “I believe now that you will be a different sort of ruler. That’s why I can’t—”

A howl sounds from higher up the hillside, seeming to emerge from the guts of the mountain itself.

“Hund,” Crimsin mutters as she struggles to stand, a fearful look in her eyes. “He shouldn’t be here. The settlement is hours away.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, clutching my sword as I urge Alama over to where Ror is springing to his feet beside Crimsin, deciding it’s time the pair of them remember I’m still here.

“They must have sent an escort.” Crimsin shakes her hands in obvious panic before turning to Ror and grabbing him by the shoulders. “You have to run. Now!”

“What?” Ror asks. “But we—”

“Please.” Crimsin takes Ror’s hand and pulls him toward where Button is grazing. “Go northwest into Frysk, to the village of Beschuttz. It’s a hidden place, but I’ll send Hund with word to expect you. My mother’s sister, Gettel, watches over a valley there. She’s a powerful healer and magic-worker. She’ll keep you safe.”

“But what about the boy’s army?” I demand. “We haven’t come all this way to—”

“Please! You must leave these woods!” Crimsin turns to me, desperation written plainly on her face. “It isn’t safe for Ror here.”

“Come with us, then,” Ror says, vaulting into his saddle.

Before Crimsin can answer—or I caution Ror to think this through—the mountainside opens as if by magic, and mounted men in red exile cloaks spill from between two gray rocks. There are twenty riders, maybe more, each one heavily armed. They move between the trees with confidence as the stones ease closed behind them, sealing the hidden passage into the mountain.

My jaw drops. It’s a gate. A gate formed by slabs of granite as big as a fisherman’s ship. I know the exiles brought great wealth with them when they fled Norvere, but even with all the gold in the world, I can’t imagine how they constructed such a thing. The sight of those shifting stones makes me wary, though the men have yet to draw their swords or bows.

What other marvels might the exiles have at their disposal, and how could those wonders be used against us?

I drop my sword to my side but keep it tightly in hand. If Ror and I are to be forced to fight ten times our number, I’ll take any advantage I can get, even if it’s only the seconds it will take to draw my weapon.

Alama fidgets beneath me as the squat mountain horses stream down the tree-littered mountainside, led by a swarthy man with tightly curled silvering hair on a shaggy mount larger than the rest. The man wears heavy leather armor and a hack sword designed for making men into cuts of meat, but beneath his neatly trimmed beard a welcoming smile graces his dark face.

“We’ve found you!” he shouts, pulling his horse to a stop. “We hoped we would catch up before the hour grew too late.” His gaze alights on the unconscious Kanvasola soldier and his eyes narrow. “Looks as if you ran into trouble.”

“Nothing my new friends couldn’t handle,” Crimsin says in a light, teasing voice as she skips across the dirt toward the silver-haired man, her panic from a moment ago vanished without a trace.

“We’ve found heroes in these princes, Lord Heven.” Crimsin clutches his leg with the familiarity of a girl embracing a beloved uncle before motioning back to me with one hand. “Allow me to introduce Niklaas, the eleventh son of King Eldorio and protector of our prince. And Prince Jor Ronces of Norvere, second in line to the throne.”

“Your Majesties.” Heven smiles at me before inclining his head in Ror’s direction. “It is our honor to meet you both, especially you, Prince Jor. I am Lord Heven, former head of the treasury for your late father and leader of your exiled people. Our hearts, minds, and weaponry are at your disposal, my prince.”

“Thank you, Lord Heven,” Ror says with a regal nod my father would approve of. “Finding friends among you means more than I can say. I look forward to working together to take back what was stolen from our people.”

“As do I, my prince,” Lord Heven says. “But first we must ensure your safety. Our settlement is only a few hours’ ride. When we are secure behind our protections, we will feast in your honor and discuss how we may best serve you.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Ror says, still displaying no sign that he was ready to run from these people a few minutes ago.

“Excellent.” Lord Heven reaches a hand down to Crimsin and hauls her onto the saddle in front of him with a theatrical groan. “This one is a lot heavier than when I first took her into these mountains.”