Princess of Thorns

They look exactly as I remember: eggs balanced one on top of the other, ending in a shape like a conch shell. Inside the shell, there will be ogre soldiers charged with watching the unusually high ocean for intruder ships. If we’re lucky, they won’t have their eyes turned on the coastal trail, on the rocky path so narrow it can be traversed only by a single rider at a time, so treacherous all but the most sure-footed horse would trip and tumble into the sea. That’s why we’re approaching on foot, the better to sneak in unseen, two small, human-sized specks against the gray of the cliffs.

The sight of the castle so close gives me strength. Niklaas doesn’t have to tug the rope tied to my waist again until we reach the base of the aqueducts. He unties my hands before we begin to climb the stone arches, but my fingers are numb and I struggle to keep up, nearly falling more than once. By the time we reach the top and tumble down into the conduit, where a shallow flow of fresh water streams into the city, I am trembling all over, and too weak to stand.

“On your feet,” Niklaas demands, giving the rope at my waist a sharp jerk.

“Please, I need to rest,” I pant, spots dancing around his face as he leans in close. “Please … I’m so weak. I’m afraid I won’t be able to … do what we came here for.”

For the first time since we left the cottage in the woods, Niklaas’s expression softens. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Gettel told me you won’t need strength, and if you need it, then it will do you no good.”

“She did?” I try to remember if she said anything similar to me, but I’m finding memories difficult to hold on to. There has been nothing for me but the ride and the pain and too little sleep for too many days. It seems everything else is a story, told to a different girl, a long time ago.

“She did. You’ll be fine.” He smoothes my hair from my face with a gentleness that brings tears to my eyes after so many days of cruelty. “I’ll sneak out of my room and come get you and your brother late tonight. Just like we pla

“Thank you, Niklaas. Thank you so much.”

“I’ve done a good job?” He smiles, lighting up with an i

But what doesn’t? I am broken, a dam with so many holes all you have to do is give me a little poke and I will leak.

“Yes,” I half laugh, half sob. “Yes. Very good.”

“Do you still want me to be cruel until I turn you over to the queen?”

“Yes,” I say, though I flinch as I say it, knowing what it will mean. “Yes, please. You’re doing a g-good job.”

“Then up you go,” he snaps, hauling me to my feet and dragging me along behind him. But even the ten fingers of water flowing through the conduit makes it so much harder to walk. My feet drag; my muscles scream and my ankles turn as I slosh along. All too soon, I fall to my knees and struggle to get up, only to fall again.

“I can’t,” I sob, clutching my swollen wrists to my chest. “I can’t. Please …”

A moment later, the world spins as I’m flipped over Niklaas’s shoulder, just as I was in the Feeding Hills. But this time, instead of carrying me to safety, Niklaas will deliver me into danger’s wide, hungry maw.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Aurora

A field from the castle, the aqueduct splits in seven directions. We follow the middle conduit, Niklaas setting me down and both of us stooping to crawl as the open trough becomes a tu

My arms shake and the flesh at my wrists howls as water rushes over my wounds; blackness creeps inky fingers in to beckon at the edges of my vision, but I force myself forward, knowing I could drown if I lose consciousness.

I will my weakening arms and legs to keep moving until I am spit out into the fountain at the edge of the royal garden and break the surface with a gasp. Only then do I allow myself to go limp, rolling over to float on my back, staring up at the explosion of pink blossoms crawling over the castle walls as Niklaas splashes down after me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, confused. How is it the gardens still thrive? How dare something so pure and lovely bloom in the shadow of evil?

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a woman scream and know we’ve been spotted, but I make no move to stand. I am too weak, and this is Niklaas’s mission now. He must be the convincing captor; I must save my strength.

I must wait and watch and …

Despite my best efforts, my eyes roll back and my lids drop, my body demanding rest before it runs to the end of its limited reserves. I am only dimly aware of Niklaas scooping me up in his arms, of more shouts and the sound of swords being drawn, of Niklaas declaring himself the son of the Norvere’s only ally and demanding to be brought before the queen to present his prize.

I fight to open my eyes, wanting to be conscious as I’m carried through the castle to refresh my memory of the path to the throne room, but I only manage to crack my lids for a moment before they slide closed once more.

In that moment, I see the gnarled Hawthorne tree at the middle of the garden, its green leaves just begi

Please let him be alive, please let me save him.

It is my last thought before I fade, sinking into the darkness.

I wake in a bed as soft as rabbit fur, my hair damp and loose and a heavy satin gown tangled between my legs. I blink at the tapestry stitched into the canopy above me—a scene depicting a girl embracing a satyr in a field of flowers—so startled by the luxury of my surroundings that it takes a moment to remember where I am.

And then I do, and try to bolt upright, only to find my arms pi

I cry out, whipping my head back and forth to find an ogre woman on either side of my bed gripping my arms gently but firmly in their long fingers.

“Don’t move, Princess,” the woman on my right, an ogre with warm amber eyes and a brown wig styled in a bun high on her head, says. “We need to finish with your bandages. We’ll let you sit up in a moment.”

I glance down to see a strip of partially tied linen trailing from my wrist but can’t seem to stop myself from trying to jerk away again. My mind can’t reconcile this waking with what I expected to find when I opened my eyes.

Where are the chains and the bars? The damp walls and the beetles? Where is the gloomy dungeon light and the stink of fear and the sounds of people quietly weeping in their cells?

“You must lie still.” The other ogress—a bald woman with six soul tattoos in a circle above her temple—doesn’t ask nicely. “We had to stitch the skin on your wrist. If you fight, it will tear and have to be redone,” she says, meeting my glare with cold eyes.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I force myself to relax. I don’t know why they’re patching me up, but there’s no doubt I’ll be better off when they’re finished. “Why are you helping me?”

“You are in one of the castle guest rooms,” the brown-haired ogress says, resuming her work, deftly wrapping the linen around my wrist. “I am Nippa and this is Herro. We are Queen Ekeeta’s personal nurses.”

“Only the best for the lost princess,” the other woman, Herro, mumbles.

“Why?” I ask, heart beating faster, frightened by this show of mercy. What does it mean? What does the ogre queen want?

“The queen is too kind for her own good,” Herro says, but I keep my gaze on Nippa and I’m glad I do, otherwise I would have missed the sadness that tightens her expression before she smiles.