Princess of Thorns

“Is it only fear that plagues you, sister?” Illestros’s voice is soft, dangerous, a peach soaked in poison. “Or doubt as well? Do you doubt the prophecy revealed to me by the goddess?”

“Of course not, brother.” We force a gentle smile, ignoring the racing of our heart. “It is only for worse if we fail to capture Aurora, or to win her cooperation. You’re right. We must make good use of the prince.” We snap our fingers at the slaves lurking in the corner. “Draw a bath and repair our hairpiece. We ca

“I will fetch the instruments and meet you in the prince’s cell, my queen.” Illestros kisses our cheek, seemingly ready to put the fraught moment behind us.

But we know better than to let our guard slip again.

We keep smiling. We smile as we are bathed and dressed. We smile as we glide into the boy’s cell, baring our true teeth with no bone mouthpiece to give them human aspect. We smile as we strip the boy and lash him with a three-tailed whip before releasing the biting beetles to worry at the wounds.

“Please! Please, no! No!” The boy’s shouts become wordless screams so sharp we can feel them lash at our own skin, but we stay and we smile, though his pain gives us no pleasure, and our secret, soft heart weeps for the prince.

But Illestros is right. This is part of the Mother’s plan, and even suffering is made holy in her name. It must be made holy … Because if it isn’t—

Our brother turns to watch us; we smile again.

“We struggle, but we will find the Mother’s gentle darkness,” we say, wrapping our arm around his waist. “We do not truly doubt. Do not doubt us, brother.”

“Never, my queen,” he whispers. “You will be the right hand of the goddess. And I will be your strength and comfort until the end.”

The end. It draws so close we feel its fingers closing around our neck.

Chapter Nineteen

Aurora

I awake on a bed, leaning over a woman’s sweet-smelling shoulder. I am warm all over, a little damp, and absolutely naked. I try to pull away and cover myself, but I am so weak I can barely manage a pitiful moan of protest.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” the woman whispers, pulling a nightgown over my head and guiding my good arm through a sleeve. “You’re safe in Beschuttz. No one will hurt you here.”

I bite my lip, stifling a moan as she works my wounded arm through the other sleeve and lays me back onto the bed. I rest my head on a pillow that smells of lavender and watch the smiling stranger pull the nightgown down my legs before covering me with a heavy down blanket.

“I’m Gettel,” she says. “It’s nice to finally get a good look at your eyes. You have lovely eyes.”

Gettel is the one who’s lovely, with dark hair, sun-kissed cheeks, and a wide smile that crinkles the skin around her eyes. She has a motherly warmth about her that reminds me of Janin. She reminds me of someone else, too, but I can’t seem to remember …

My mind is sluggish, my thoughts tangled, but at least my head is blessedly cool. My fever has broken. I’m going to live. I can feel it in my weary bones, no longer aching from ogre poison but simply utterly exhausted. I am so tired, all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep for a thousand years, but before I do, I have to know—

“Niklaas,” I whisper, my voice scratchy. I lick my lips, working up the energy to ask where he is, if he’s safe, but Gettel spares me the trouble.

“Niklaas is well, and eager to see you,” she says. “But rest first, poppet. When you wake, I’ll bring you milk with something in it for the pain and bread to eat.”

Eat. The thought makes my stomach snarl and Gettel smile, but I am too tired to return her smile, or to stay awake … another …

Niklaas

I sit in a chair by the window of the sickroom and watch Aurora sleep, her cheeks pale now that fever no longer flushes her skin, her hair liberated from its warrior’s knot, free to spill in a yellow wave across the pillowcase and over the side of the bed.

Gettel washed Aurora’s hair the day we arrived, three days past, when Aurora was still burning up and submerging her in tepid water was the only way to keep her cool. The fever broke yesterday, but she hasn’t remained conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. Gettel says she’s out of danger, but I won’t believe it until I look into her eyes and see something in them besides fever madness.

And so I sit, and wait, and watch, comforted by every peaceful breath she takes.

I was too close to losing her before I could tell her that I forgive her. I can’t forget, and I can’t stop wishing that things had ended differently, but I can forgive.

I owe her that much before I go.

She sighs and shifts her arms, but she is still asleep when she shoves her blanket down, revealing the top of her white nightgown and the gentle curves beneath. She’s not the scrawny rail she appeared to be in her boy’s clothes. She dips and swells in all the girlish places, though she’s still on the runty side, even for a female. But with her chest unbound, her hair free, and lace at her throat, it is impossible to believe Aurora ever passed as a boy. She’s not simply feminine, she’s … pretty.

I know I should look at her and feel something—curiosity, attraction, appreciation at the very least, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything but the concern I’d feel for a friend, or for Haanah if it were my sister lying there looking like a rough wind could shatter her into pieces. I feel protective, of course, but that will fade once Aurora is recovered. I know she’s more than capable of fighting her own battles. As soon as she wakes up and drills me through with that determined gaze of hers, the protective feelings will be banished by the force of her … Aurora-ness.

She is unlike any girl I’ve ever met, a foreign creature in every way, too strange for all the pieces that make her up to be held together in my mind at once. I’m not sure what to call the emotion I feel for her, but it isn’t what a boy feels for a girl he wants to marry. I can’t imagine trying to seduce her.

My lip curls at the thought.

“What a … pretty face.” Aurora’s voice is breathy but amused.

I look to the bed, relief spreading through my chest when I see her eyes open and her gaze clear, clever, and rested. “Thank you.” I grin. “I’m feeling pretty today. The sun is out, the skies are clear, and you, my friend, aren’t dead.”

Aurora smiles, but I see the uncertainty in it. “No, I’m not. Thanks to you.”

I wave my hand. “Think nothing of it.”

“I won’t think nothing of it,” she says. “I don’t remember much of the journey, but I know it was dangerous. You risked your life. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Four days ago, I would have told Ror to put a good word in for me with his sister and we’d call it even. Now I only force another smile and assure Aurora, “You don’t have to repay me. You would have done the same if our positions were reversed and you big enough to haul me over your shoulder through the mountains.”

“I would,” she says, her eyes troubled. “I’m glad you believe that.”

“Yes. Well … I’ve decided to … forgive you,” I say, the words sounding awkward aloud, not matter how many times I’ve practiced them in my head. “I came close to losing a good friend and I … didn’t like it. So …”

“So there is a good part to almost dying.” She smiles her first real smile, the one that dimples her cheeks and brings mischief to her eyes. She looks like Ror when he was teasing me, looking for a fight.