Princess of Thorns

Then better make your man count.

I turn, fist tightening around the hilt of the knife, strength rising inside of me as I find Illestros with my eyes. He is alone now that his soldiers are either fighting on the scaffold or fleeing the room. He leans over the altar, his hands braced on the glass, his head bowed. His is the one death that might stop this. He is the leader, the priest, the prophet. If he dies, the remaining ogres may lose their center and falter in their fight, giving Niklaas and Jor the chance to escape before Jor grows too weak to hold a sword.

I creep forward on shaking legs, circling the fire to approach from over Illestros’s shoulder one careful step at a time, hoping my luck will hold and I will continue to escape the other ogres’ notice until it’s too late.

The soldiers are busy with Jor and Niklaas and the priests have run to the window, where they seem to be trying to guide the graying cloud out the window with palm leaf fans, but I don’t spare them more than a second of my attention. I keep my focus on Illestros’s narrow back, judging where I must plunge the blade to strike a mortal wound, knowing I’ll have to shove the dagger with all my strength if I hope to hit his heart.

I ca

I am five steps away … three … two … close enough to see Illestros’s ravaged face in the altar glass as I lift the dagger, close enough to hear his sigh when he spies my blade’s reflection and turns to face me.

“So you will kill me,” he says, arms hanging limp at his sides. “Now that your blessings are gone you can kill without hesitation. Does that please you?”

“Call off your men and I won’t hurt you.” I try to firm up my muscles, to keep my raised arm from trembling.

“I could take the knife. I know you’re weak,” he whispers. “But I won’t. I’m ready to die. The ritual has failed.”

He points one shaking finger to the ceiling; I glance up to see the black and gray mass transformed, the oily smoke replaced by feathery white clouds that grow thi

“Your fairy magic was the fuel and your hatred the spark to set the new begi

He’s telling the truth. His pain and rage are too real for it to be a lie. For some reason, the ritual has failed.

I realize that there will be no living darkness, that the people of Mataquin will be spared, and relax for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Illestros to lunge for my throat.

I scream as his hands wrap around my neck, but the sound emerges as a gurgle, too soft to be heard over the shouts of the men behind us. I try to jab the dagger into his chest, but he spins, slamming my head into the altar, sending the weapon flying.

“You did this,” he hisses, his sharp teeth bared behind his thi

“I forgave her,” I manage to gasp before his grip tightens.

“And I suppose she forgave you, her own murderer,” he growls. “She knew your hatred played a part. She ruined everything. She deserved to die. She was weak. Weak!”

I kick at his legs and dig my nails into the skin at the backs of his hands until I draw blood, but his bony fingers only squeeze harder.

“You stole her death,” he spits. “And now I will steal everything you love. I will kill your brother and every fairy foolish enough to fight for a worthless child like you.”

My pulse pounds behind my eyes, white light flashes at the edges of my vision, and my ears fill with the echo of my suffering heart, drowning out the sounds of Niklaas and Jor still fighting on the scaffold.

I am fading, dying, but I will not give Illestros the satisfaction of knowing I died miserable and afraid. There are so many things I would do differently, but I am not worthless. I’ve made mistakes, but I didn’t fail. I was the girl my mother wanted me to be. In the end, I honored the most important gift she gave me. I was merciful. I wish I had been merciful enough to spare Ekeeta’s life, but at least I let her die in peace. I released my hatred before it was too late. I forgave Ekeeta and helped save my people, even if I can’t save myself.

I close my eyes, and spread my arms, ready to meet my death with the same bravery Ekeeta met hers, when my fingers brush against something cool and heavy.

The cup. The gold cup Illestros was holding above the glass …

I curl my fingers into a fist, drawing the stem of the goblet into my palm and squeezing tight, willing myself to remember my training, to remember where to strike for the greatest effect, before bringing the chalice down on Illestros’s skull with enough force that it bounces off his head with a gong that rings sweetly in the air.

He groans and his grip loosens. I twist free, air rasping into my raw throat as I stumble away.

Evasive tactics seem to work well without my fairy gifts. Now it’s time to see what else I can do.

I spy the dagger on the ground and snatch it up, spi

A moment later, I’m atop his chest, dagger at his throat.

I dig the blade into his flesh, knowing I must pull it across the thin skin and commit my second murder, but before I can strike, familiar hands snatch me beneath the arms and pull me away.

“Wait!” Niklaas plucks the dagger from my hand, keeping it trained on the priest blinking on the floor. “He’ll be more useful alive. I killed five of his men, and the others have run. He’s the last ogre left.”

“What?” I ask as Niklaas kneels, rolling the priest over and tying his hands with rope he must have snatched from the gallows. “Why did they run? When?”

“Just a few moments ago,” Niklaas says, double-checking his knots. “A messenger brought word that the fairies had breached the last of the castle’s defenses. With their queen dead, I guess the ogres didn’t feel like sticking around to defend her throne.”

“Where’s Jor?” I glance about the room, finding it deserted save for the ogres lying dead on the stones near the scaffold. “Where is—”

“I’m here,” comes a voice from behind me, making me jump.

I spin around, taking in my brother’s blood-smeared clothes long enough to be certain none of the blood is his own before throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re alive! I’m so glad you’re alive,” I sob against his filthy shirt.

“You too.” His arms go around me, hugging me so tightly he lifts me off my feet. “For a minute there, I thought we’d both … You stopped it somehow, didn’t you?”

“Yes. The ritual failed. The kingdoms are safe.”

“Thank the gods.” He pulls in a ragged breath and hugs me even tighter. “Still, you shouldn’t have come, Ror. You should have let me die. We both knew it might come to that someday.”

“I couldn’t,” I say, voice muffled. “I just couldn’t. I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you,” he says. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if it were you with the rope around your neck. It would have been easier to die than watch them kill my Ror.”

I pull back to look into his face, relieved to see his eyes clear and his gaze strong.

“You’ll be all right?” I whisper.