Princess of Thorns

“Pull the lever!” Ror slaps my hand, and I reach for the lever, yanking it toward me, sending us into an even steeper dive,

down,

down,

down, so fast the wind stings my cheeks as the glider picks up speed, hurtling toward the rocks below, and I know it’s over, all over, and Ror and I are dead and there’s nothing left to do but pray to—

“Put it back and pull the other one! The other one!” Ror screams, straining to reach past me. “Pull it, Niklaas!”

I reach for the controls, but my hands are stupid with fear, my fingers shot through with aging stiffness and bound in winter mittens. It takes an eternity to shift the lower lever back into its previous position, and a second eternity to drag the upper level down, sending the glider soaring up and over the gorge.

Up, by all the merciful gods, up. I’m so grateful I can taste it, feel it stinging up my throat and into my nose, making my eyes water with relief.

As my heart lifts and my stomach shudders, I look down, expecting to see the treetops brushing my dangling legs, but the trees are still far below. We lost less than a field in the dive and are now sailing briskly along on an updraft, the nose of our glider aimed at the opening between two mountains.

“This one is different,” Ror says, sounding as breathless as I feel. “Your levers are up and down. Mine are left and right.” He adjusts one and the glider shifts to the left, centering us on the passage between the mountains. “We’ll be all right. We’ll be fine from here on out,” he says, though I’m not sure who he’s trying to comfort—me or himself.

“The ogre queen will have you!” Lord Heven’s shout carries clearly through the cold air, lifting the hairs on my neck. “She will, child. One way or another! Return and make your capture worth something to your people!”

“Go sit on a flaming pole and burn,” Ror mutters, but he doesn’t turn to look at the man who would have bartered his prince’s life for a kingdom of his own.

“How long will we stay up?” I risk a glance over my shoulder to where Lord Heven stands on the ledge, surrounded by armed men. One exile pulls an arrow into his bow, but Heven stops him with a hand, confirming that the queen must want Ror taken alive.

“I don’t know,” Ror says. “It depends on the wind.”

“They aren’t shooting at us,” I say. “But I’m betting they’ll be sending a party through the mountains to meet us. The farther we get on this thing, the better.”

“Well … we’ll definitely get farther than we would have on foot.”

“Yes, we will.” I silently send up a thank-you to whichever god is responsible for our get away. “We were lucky.”

“About time,” Ror mumbles beneath his breath.

I sigh in agreement. It is about time. Until a few moments ago, this quest has seemed as cursed as all my father’s sons. “How lucky depends on how far we fly,” I say, willing the wind to hold strong. “We’ll need a generous head start to make up for the fact that the exiles will be on horseback and know the secret ways through the mountains.”

“I’m sorry,” Ror says. “I’ll get Alama back for you. If I can.”

“The horses are the least of our worries.” I know it’s true, but I can’t help the pang of grief that tightens my chest when I realize I will never see Alama again. Since Usio was transformed, Alama has been my oldest friend.

“The fate reader said I would lose Button and need money for another horse,” Ror says. “I hate to lose such good animals, but at least we have enough gold to purchase new ones, though we may have to go without saddles if we can’t make a tight bargain.”

“What else did she say?” I ask, shivering. I tell myself it’s the crisp air blowing down the neck of my shirt that’s responsible, but I can’t help thinking of the reader’s rheumy eye and the black scabs pocking her skin. She was in communion with dark forces, and a part of me fears what it means for her predictions to be coming true.

“She said I would be safe in green hills,” Ror says. “By a bewitched stream.”

I grunt. “Obviously, she was wrong. Or lying through her rotten teeth.”

“I don’t think so. You said the exile’s waterfall was controlled by a lever. It was an invention. Men made it. Bewitching is the work of magic, not men.”

“Crimsin said her aunt was a magic-worker. We’ll have to see if the hills are green and the streams bewitched in Beschuttz.”

Ror sighs. “I suppose we have no choice but to seek refuge there.”

“Crimsin saved your life, so … Beschuttz seems like the most logical course.”

For you, anyway. The most logical course for me would be to demand Ror tell me where Aurora is hidden and start seeking the princess as soon as we land. My time grows too short to be swept up in anyone’s quest but my own.

But I’m already part of Ror’s quest, and obligated to protect him, at least from the dangers I’m responsible for introducing into his life. I knew better than to take him to the Feeding Hills, and I know better than to think he’ll last long without me watching his back. He’s like a headstrong little brother to me now. I could no more run off and leave him than I could have abandoned Usio to face sunrise on his eighteenth birthday alone.

“You’re right,” Ror says. “It’s just getting so hard to trust … anything.”

“You can trust me,” I say, hoping I’m telling the truth, and that I will continue to make honorable choices when I can count the days I have left to live on one hand.

Perhaps Ror can sense my doubt, because he doesn’t respond, he only pulls in a breath and holds it as we drift between the two mountains and come out the other side, sailing over a wide valley with more giant trees shooting up from the ground like whale spray rising above the ocean.

“Pretty,” I whisper.

“Beautiful,” Ror agrees. “Though I doubt we’ll find it pretty after being lost in it for days.”

“We won’t be lost. See that mountain?” I point to the tallest of the Feeding Hills, a behemoth already covered in a dusting of snow. “That’s Mount Ever. I had a view of it from my guest room while visiting Pe

“How many days until we reach Beschuttz?” Ror adjusts one of the levers on his side, aiming the glider for Mount Ever’s left flank.

“We’ll make it through the hills in two days, three at the most.” I gauge the distance between our glider and the mountain with a critical eye, knowing distances appear shorter when viewed from above. “From there it will be another day to the borders of Pe

“That’s assuming we’re on foot the entire time,” Ror says. “We can purchase horses in Pe

“I didn’t say I have friends there.” King Thewen would welcome me back with a stint in his dungeon if he knew I’d returned against his orders. “In fact, it’s best if I’m not seen in Pe

“Why’s that?”

“The king’s daughters cared more for me than he would have cared for them to. We parted on … less than friendly terms,” I say. “I was advised to leave his lands and never return. The twins cried for a week afterward. Or so I heard.”

“Twins?” Ror snorts. “Did you ravish both his poor darlings?”

“Of course not,” I say, offended, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. I’ve done my share of ravishing, but never sisters. And certainly never twins. The thought is vaguely repellent, in fact. “I was trying to convince the firstborn, the one named to inherit, to marry me, but her sister couldn’t seem to help falling for me right along with Priscelle.”

“But Papa didn’t approve of the match.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Because of your father?” Ror asks, his tone softening. “Because of what he does to his sons?”