Princess of Thorns (31 page)

“I just wanted to make sure we were convincing.”

“No, you were punishing yourself, and using me to do it. When I think of all the …” He runs a shaking hand over his mouth and lets out a jagged breath. “That’s what I hate most. You made me brutalize a girl half my size, a girl I … cared about.” He shakes his bowed his head. “You turned me into a monster.”

“No, Niklaas,” I say, knowing I can’t let him live with guilt that is all mine. “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t in control, you—”

“It doesn’t matter.” He props his hands on his hips, but keeps his head bowed, as if he can’t stand to look at me. “I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be my father, and with one flaming kiss you made me as bad as he ever was. I would have killed you if you told me to. Killed you. Or worse.”

“No, Niklaas,” I say, remembering his moment of gentleness on the aqueduct. “You would never have—”

“Oh, I
would
have. If I believed it would have made you
happy.
” His lip curls. “It almost makes me glad I won’t be human much longer. I won’t have to look at that new scar on your cheek and remember I was the one who put it there.”

“Please, Niklaas …” I press my lips together, fighting tears as I realize the meaning behind what he’s said. “You don’t have to do this. You have your free will again. We can … we can be married.”

He sighs as he turns to walk away.

“Please!” I cry out, stopping him. “I know you hate me, but don’t throw yourself away because of it. I want to help you, I want to marry you. I—I love you.”

I lose the battle against the tears shoving at the backs of my eyes, but I don’t feel as bad about it this time, because when Niklaas turns back to me there are tears on his cheeks, too.

“No, you don’t,” he says “If you did, you wouldn’t have lied to me again and again, and you never would have used me the way you did.”

“Niklaas, I didn’t—”

My plea is cut short as a shout rises from the hall outside, a cry of celebration and thanksgiving so loud it shakes the walls. Moments later, fairy warriors stream through the throne room door, Jor carried along at the center of a group of mountain Fey hugging him too tightly for his feet to touch the ground. I see faces familiar from my visits to the mountains and then even more familiar island faces, men and women as dear as family, who rush to gather me in their arms, passing me from one hug to the next until I end in a soft, familiar embrace that sets me to weeping like a baby all over again.

“Janin!” I wrap my arms around her and cling tight. “I can’t believe you’re here. You must have been outnumbered ten to one. How did you ever—”

“Your letter came with a note from the witch woman who helped you in Frysk. She said there was a growing resistance movement within Mercar and gave instructions on how to find them. I sent spies to meet with their leaders yesterday,” Janin says, rocking me back and forth the way she did when I was little and needing a long hug. “They sabotaged the gates and fought with us. Hundreds of them. And some of the ogre soldiers fought for us, as well. The other ogres weren’t expecting an attack from the inside. They didn’t last an hour.”

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt,” I mumble against her shoulder, never wanting to let her go. “Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Janin whispers into my hair. “You did what you thought was right. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to keep you from trying to save your brother,” she says, pulling in a breath and swiping tears from her cheeks. They are more wrinkled than I remember, but her silver hair is pulled back in the same tidy braid and her face glows with a happiness I haven’t seen there in a long time. “You should have been able to use your fairy blessings as you saw fit.”

A hopeful cry leaps from deep inside me. “My gifts are gone,” I say, able to view the loss with excitement now that Niklaas is free. “Thyne should be himself again.”

“Thyne is himself again.”

I blink. That voice. Thyne’s
real
voice. It’s like a piece of my innocence restored, a part of myself I thought I’d lost forever falling back into place.

I shift my gaze to find Thyne standing behind his mother, his chestnut hair bound in a warrior’s knot and new armor sitting on his slim shoulders, and cry out with joy. He
is
himself! His green eyes shine with mischief, and his smile is as arrogant as ever.

Janin steps away and I fall into Thyne’s arms, shocked by how slight he feels after growing accustomed to Niklaas’s hugs.

“Glad to see you alive, scrapper.” Thyne presses a sloppy kiss to my forehead. “Guess it’s safe to kiss you now, right?”

“I’m so sorry, Thyne, I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t. It’s all right.” He laughs. “But I confess I’m glad to go back to being your brother.”

I smile up at him, relieved that he feels the same way I do. Our kiss was a mistake. We were never meant to be more than friends, but we will always be family. He is so many things to me—a brother and teacher and friend and first hero all in one—but he was never the boy I love.

That boy is slipping out of the throne room with a group of Fey soldiers, no doubt bound for the docks and a fight with any ogres who remain there.

I move from Thyne’s arms, intending to follow Niklaas, but Janin stops me with her fingers at my elbow.

“Stay, Aurora,” she says. “You are a queen now, and your life too important to your people to risk it fighting battles that are already won.”

Queen.
I hadn’t stopped to think, but she’s right. Ekeeta is dead, and I am heir to the throne. This castle belongs to me. This city, and every soul in it, is mine to command. I suppose the thought should fill me with satisfaction, or triumph, or some similar emotion, but all I feel is a great weight settling on my shoulders, nerves clawing at my insides, and a terrible, creeping certainty that I will find a way to do everything wrong.

“Will you help me, Janin?” I ask as the rest of the Fey fan out across the throne room to douse fires, dismantle altars, transport our prisoners, and … dispose of the bodies. “I want Ekeeta to have a proper burial. She’d changed. If not for her, the prophecy would have come to pass.”

“Of course,” Janin says. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“And, Janin,” I say, stopping her before she can move away. “Can we put together an advisory council? With elders from the mountain Fey and the island Fey? And some of the resistance leaders from the city, and there’s an ogre I trust, too, if she’s still in the castle.” I take a deep breath, silently hoping Nippa is alive and well. “Her name is Nippa. She said there are other ogres who opposed the priest’s plans. I don’t want them punished and I … I’m going to need help. I can’t do this on my own.”

Janin smiles and her blue-green eyes shine. “You will be a good queen, Aurora,” she says, catching my chin between her fingers. “Never doubt it.”

By the time I’ve sorted out who should be imprisoned and who should be freed, found Nippa and had her attend to the fresh wound on Jor’s neck, and helped the Fey clear the throne room of the dead, it is dark and a group of curious human men in servants’ uniforms lurk in the doorway.

I learn that they are the lamplighters, wanting to know if business should continue as usual now that nearly every ogre in the castle has fled.

“Yes,” I say. “Please light the lamps, and let the rest of the staff know they are safe. No one will be harmed. Anyone who wishes to stay is free to; anyone who wishes to go can go.”

“Why in the good lands’ would we want to go, my lady?” The man who speaks is old enough to be my grandfather, with a full gray beard to prove it, but his smile is as giddy as a child’s. “Long live the true queen of Norvere!”

The rest of the men take up the cheer, making me blush. I’d expected my people to be grateful to be spared the fear of losing their loved ones to the ogres’ hunger—the ogres only consumed criminals, but their version of what classified as a “crime” ranged from murder to stealing an apple from a cart—but I hadn’t expected such an unabashedly enthusiastic reception.

My father wasn’t a beloved prince and my grandfather’s choice of an ogre for his third wife left many of his subjects feeling betrayed, but apparently my people are ready to treat me as my own person, a person they believe will right the wrongs of the last ten years and before.

I still don’t feel like a queen, but I swear at that moment to do everything I can to be worthy of my people’s faith, starting with providing them with a brave and good-hearted king. I will persuade Niklaas to marry me. Even if I have to promise never to speak to him again after we say our vows. I will save his life, and my own, because I can’t imagine living my whole life without him.

It can’t be too late.

It is my last thought before I fall asleep in the corner of the throne room, curled up next to Jor on a blanket someone brought when we refused to leave the makeshift war room or each other, filled with gratitude for my brother’s life, and determined to make things right.

Four Days Later 

What do you pack for your final night of human life?

A brush? Rosemary ash? A flask full of barley liquor and a hammer?

Every item I pick up, I drop. Finally, I leave the clothes and supplies spread out on the bed beside my pack and cross the carpet to the window to stare down at the garden, stabbing at the open wound festering on my heart one last time before I go.

She’s still there, sparring with Thyne. They’ve been at it for nearly two hours, his hands wandering over her body as he adjusts the angle of her staff or steps in to give her a boost when her boneless monkey flips bring her head too close to the ground. Aurora is determined to regain as much of her former fighting skill as possible without being fairy-blessed, and her dear old friend
Thyne
has been all too eager to help.

He’s just waiting until I’m gone, until the sorry oaf Aurora pities so much she’s begged him to marry her ten times in the past four days has turned into a bird, and then he’ll offer his shoulder to cry on and his hands will be free to wander wherever they like.

I saw the way she looked at him that night in the throne room, the way she threw herself into his arms with a sound like she was dying of pleasure to be there. She loves him. She might love me, too, in her way, but I would never be happy sharing her.

Even if I could trust her, even if I could forgive and forget …

But I can’t. Every time I think of the way I kicked her awake with my boot, I want to be sick. I hate myself for the way I treated her. Janin assured me it was magic no man could overcome, and that the darkness hidden in fairy blessings is the reason the Fey stopped gifting human children, but it doesn’t matter. I still hate myself, and Aurora, and
Thyne.
I’ve barely said ten words to the ass, but oh how I hate
Thyne
.

Imagining that fairy bastard with Aurora in his arms, kissing her tears away with his girly-soft lips makes me want to punch something.

So I do, slamming my fist into the wall beside the window hard enough to split my middle knuckle and send blood oozing from the busted skin. I stare down at the damage, but I can barely feel it, let alone work up the energy to fret about it.

What does it matter if I’m hurt? This body will only be mine for one more night.

A night I won’t be spending here. The fairies, aside from
Thyne,
are good people, and Jor has become a friend, but I can’t stay. I won’t share my transformation with anyone. I will find an inn, bar the door, open the window so the swan I’ll become can fly out of it come morning, and do my screaming and writhing in private.

“Niklaas? Can I come in?”

I turn to find Jor at the door, looking quietly concerned. He’s a quiet sort of boy, a thinker and a planner and a considerer of things. He will be a good foil to his sister’s rash, hurling-herself-into-trouble mode of living. She may have a council of advisers and seem to be slowing down to think now and then these days, but she’s still Aurora. Still impulsive and as stubborn as a stone mule.

“Come in.” I force a smile as I cross to the bed and begin shoving my things into my pack. I am determined to keep up a happy front; I won’t ride out of this city boohooing into Alama’s mane.

Aurora kept her promise to retrieve my horse. I’m not sure how she managed it, but Alama and Button arrived yesterday, delivered by Crimsin and a group of young exiles who had fled the Feeding Hills after Aurora and I left and been in hiding in the borderland woods ever since. Aurora was thrilled to learn Crimsin was alive, and Crimsin more than eager to start her new life in the capital.

She was surprised to find I’d turned down Aurora’s proposal, insisting I was in love with Aurora before I even knew she was a girl, a statement I found laughable and uncomfortable-making at the same time. But after an hour spent telling me how stupid I was, Crimsin didn’t waste any more of her time with me.

Which is fine. No one should waste time with me. I’m too far down the deep, dark well of my own misery to be fit company.

Jor stands watching me pack, observing in his quiet way until I sigh and look up.

“Yes?” I ask.

“You’re leaving.” He sounds more broken up about it than I thought he’d be.

We’ve had fun exploring the castle together the past two days since his wounds became less painful, but I know he hates how miserable I’ve made Aurora. I’ve been avoiding her when I can and making a swift departure from her pleading eyes and offers of marriage when I can’t. Nothing she, or any of the emissaries she’s sent to win me over, says is going to change the way I feel. There’s no point in dragging out the fight.

“When did you decide to leave?” Jor asks.

“I figured it was best,” I say. “Spare everyone the spectacle and the aftermath.”

“We never asked to be spared, but I know by now nothing can change your mind once you’ve made it up. I guess all that’s left is goodbye.” Jor plucks my comb from the bed and tosses it into my pack. “I don’t like goodbyes.”

“Then we’ll shake and be done with it,” I say, holding out my hand with a wink.

Jor scowls at my palm. “She’s always been my best friend.” He doesn’t bother clarifying which “she” he’s talking about. We both know there’s only one “she” as far as the two of us are concerned. “I know her better than anyone in the world. I was telling the truth when I—”

“I know.” I shove my spare shirt into my pack, though I doubt I’ll need it. “I’m glad you’re sure she loves me, but I’m not, and I’m the one who matters.”

“What does she have to do to convince you?” Jor asks. “She’s already sent a company to retrieve your sister from Eno City, and promised to take care of Haanah for the rest of her life. She did that out of love for you.”

“She did that because she is a decent person and knows my father is a monster,” I say, clenching my jaw, refusing to think about never seeing Hannah again. I won’t be here when she arrives. I’ll never hug her again, never get to tell her how sorry I am for failing and leaving her alone without a single decent family member left in the world.

“I disagree,” Jor says, “but even if you’re right, what about the way she’s begged and pleaded and written half a dozen letters to try to change your mind? You don’t know how strange all that is. Aurora doesn’t beg. Or write love letters. Or cry. Before now I could count the times I’ve seen her cry on my thumbs.”

“She feels guilty.” I shrug. “She’ll get over it.”

“No, she won’t,” he says with quiet assurance, not accusing me of anything, but not letting me off the hook, either.

“Maybe she won’t,” I grumble, closing up my pack. “But that’s her problem. I told her it’s stupid to let guilt eat her up over things like this. Sometimes you break people and sometimes you get broken. It’s the way life is.”

Jor sighs. “You’re as stubborn as she is.”

“Impossible.” I grin as I swing my pack over my arm.

“It’s not funny.” Jor crosses his arms over his thin chest. He’s a gangly kid—all arms and legs and knobby elbows—but I’ve never been tempted to tease him about it. Jor is a sensitive soul, so intensely earnest it would be no fun to tease him. He wouldn’t get all red in the face and fight back the way Aurora does.

The way she did …

“No, but there are worse ways to go,” I say, refusing to think about Aurora, to miss her smile and her laugh and the easy way it was between us. “Come on, now.” I extend my hand a second time. “Shake and wish me luck.”

Jor grudgingly takes my hand. “Good luck.”

“And good luck to you,” I say, giving his fingers a squeeze. “You and your sister are going to do great things for this country. I truly believe it.”

“Will you at least tell her goodbye?” he asks. “I think she deserves that.”

“Why don’t you tell her goodbye for me?” I’m already moving toward the door, the thought of being forced to face down Aurora making me want to run for the stables.

I can’t see her again, I can’t or I might weaken and say yes. I might agree to marry her and spend the rest of my life jealous and angry, doubting that I’m the one she wanted, fearing she took me as her king for all the wrong reasons. It would sour me from the inside out, kill all my dreams of a happy family before they could be born. I’d rather become an animal than settle for the farce of a human life.

I don’t want to pretend to be happy anymore. I wanted the real thing. I wanted someone I could love, someone who would love me back with no lies or curses or compromises getting in the way. I can’t have that with Aurora. There are too many things standing between us. It’s best if I leave and neither of us looks back.

“Tell her I hope she’s happy with Thyne.”

“She and Thyne are friends, Niklaas,” Jor says. “They never—”

“Fine, fine. Thyne or … whoever. It doesn’t matter. Just … tell her to be happy.” I drop my gaze to the carpet, not wanting Jor to see how much it hurts to think of Aurora with someone else. “I want her to be happy enough for the both of us.”

“Niklaas, I—Niklaas, wait!” Jor calls my name a third time, but by then I am out the door and down the hall, breaking into a run toward the stables, where Alama will be waiting to leave on our last ride.

I sprint for the stables, arriving as the master of horses is leading Button into the yard to be saddled. I silently thank Jor for sending word to get the horse ready before he came to fetch me and run faster, pushing my tired body to nearly fairy-blessed speed.

“Thank you,” I pant, snatching the bridle from the horse master’s hands.

Ignoring his startled protests, I swing onto Button bareback and urge my horse out of the yard with a dig of my heels, grateful I’m still wearing my sparring pants.

Not that it would matter, I would ride Button bareback in a dress or naked if I had to. There isn’t a second to waste. Jor said Niklaas left out the city’s main gate headed north ten minutes ago. I have to reach him before he turns off onto another road or checks into an inn. I can’t lose him.
I won’t.

“Hee-yup, go, go!” I shout, leaning low over Button’s back as he surges through the gates, his canter becoming a gallop as we leave the city.

My every muscle tenses, straining for a sign of Niklaas on the road ahead. But there is nothing, no one, only fields of freshly cut wheat and the tree-lined dirt road warming to a ribbon of rich brownish red in the light of the setting sun.

The sun is setting. If I don’t find Niklaas before it rises …

I grit my teeth and clench the reins, so angry and frantic that there is no room inside me for the despair I know I’ll feel if I fail to reach him in time.

I won’t fail, and I won’t take no for an answer, not this time. I’ll make him marry me at knifepoint if I have to.

I squint into the wind, refusing to let it bring tears to my eyes. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like crying, I feel like wrestling an insufferable fool to the ground and beating the stupidity out of him.

How dare he? How
dare
he leave me? How dare he throw his life away?

Deep down, I didn’t believe he’d do it. I thought he was only making me suffer until the last moment before he relented. I expected him to tell me to fetch the priest at dinner tonight and to be unhappily married to a boy who hated me by morning.