“Even if that’s true,” she said dismissively, “he’s way too old for me.”
“No he’s not,” I said. She was about twenty, I guessed, and Quirk couldn’t be more than thirty. “He calls you sweetheart all the time.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Timothy said, but I could see that she hoped he did.
“I think he does,” I assured her. “I think the two of you could be very happy together.”
She stared at me for a moment. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
A laugh bubbled up in me.
“Stop it,” she said, trying to hide a smile. “Go on.” She shoved my shoulder and pointed at the door again. “Go and talk to my sweetheart, or whatever he is.” With another grin, she left me there.
I stepped into a room crowded with Breakers and Watchers, and a few ragged people from the City. Quirk stood on a chair; he was obviously in charge. The City’s Protector. I paused, watching him. He was pointing at a map that covered a table and issuing orders about making sure the people of the City were safe, and clearing away the debris from the fallen citadel, and opening up trade on the river so that food and supplies would start coming in again.
Looking up, he saw me and nodded. He said a few words to a big man—Bouchet—and then clambered down from the chair. He came over to me. He looked tired, but also like he was doing exactly what he was meant to be doing.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re looking for Griff.”
I blushed. Again. “Yes.”
“Ah, lass,” he said, shaking his head. “Pen would have loved the irony of it, you know.”
“What?” I asked.
“That the two people who were made to serve Story,” he answered with a gap-toothed grin, “were the ones to defeat it.”
I smiled back at him. “It’s really defeated, then?” I asked.
He cocked his head. “For now.” Then he amended his comment. “For a long time, I hope. Story can never be completely destroyed, Rose. But this time we’ll fight it a different way.” Somebody from the table called his name. He glanced over his shoulder and answered, “Coming.” Turning back to me, he said, “You’ll find Griff at the citadel. Or, rather, what’s left of it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“His father didn’t make it out,” Quirk added as I turned to go. “His body was found an hour ago.”
I went out of the new headquarters of the City and into the dark, humid night. While I’d been sleeping, the rain had stopped and the clouds had drawn off. A full moon hung low in the west, filling the streets with its pale light. There was a sense of big things moving in the night. Growth, change, the Forest settling in. The people of the City should have welcomed it in long ago, instead of forcing it outside the walls. The new Protector, Quirk, would let it stay. There would be love, too, and warmth, and happiness. Now that those weapons were established here, Story would have a much harder time rising again. As I went along the street toward the citadel, I could see that trees had grown up already. Springy moss was underfoot; as I went around a corner, fern fronds brushed my knees.
I found Griff sitting on a mossy chunk of stone near where the citadel had been. Nothing remained of it but a moon-silvered jumble of stone and broken wood. As he heard my footsteps, he got to his feet and came to meet me.
He was the perfect height for kissing. Not too tall. We kissed, and then we stood with our arms around each other.
“Griff,” I whispered.
I felt him shift, and knew he was listening.
“There is one more curse,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” he said. “I know.”
SHE LAID HER hand flat against his chest. Then she turned her arm to show him the fading rose on the inside of her wrist. “Can you break the last curse?”
He nodded.
With a sigh, she pulled away to stand before him.
He could see the veil of the third curse covering her, glinting in the moonlight.
“What is it?” she asked.
With a fingertip, he traced the delicate arch of her eyebrow. “It’s the beauty.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Of course.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “What if I’m a toad, underneath?”
The question caught him by surprise. He laughed. “You won’t be.” Gently he reached out. The edge of the beauty curse frayed under his fingers. It was only the faded remnant of a broken story. A pull of its threads, and it was gone.
She stood gazing up at him. Her face had changed. A few freckles were scattered over her nose. Her mouth was a bit wider, her eyelashes not quite as long, her hair not so golden blond. She held up her wrist, and it was smooth and unmarked. She was not the beauty anymore. She was just Rose.
“Well?” she asked.
“You look just the same to me,” he said with a wry smile.
“Oh, sure I do,” she scoffed, but she was smiling. “I suppose it doesn’t change how you feel about me.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he said soberly. “I love you.”
She sighed happily and leaned into him, resting her head in the angle where his neck met his shoulder. She fit perfectly there. He put an arm around her.
For most of his life he had been so sure of who he was—a Watcher. And then he’d met Rose and left the City, and he hadn’t known who or what he was, and it had felt like falling. After that had come the sick certainty that he was Story’s weapon. Now he was something else. He wasn’t sure yet what he would become now that Story was over, but it didn’t feel like falling. He was with Rose, and it felt more like flying.
“Look.” With his other hand he pulled the thimble from his tunic pocket. He held it out to her. She reached for it, then hesitated. “It’s all right,” he said.
She took the thimble and held it up, turning it in her fingers. It gleamed silver in the moonlight.
“Oh,” she said softly. “It’s changed.”
It had. Around its base, where before only brambles had been engraved, there were now roses among the thorns.
The End.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANKS TO
My always-amazing editor Antonia Markiet and the rest of the A-Team, Abbe Goldberg and Alyson Day.
To my most excellent agent, Caitlin Blasdell.
To the wonderful team at HarperTeen who turned the words into a beautiful book: senior production editor, Kathryn Silsand; production manager, Lillian Sun; my design team, Joel Tippie and Amy Ryan; and my marketing team, Nellie Kurtzman and Jenna Lisanti.
To my Goat Heaven buddies, Jenn Reese, Deb Coates, and Greg van Eekhout.
For information about burns, Erin Cashier. For horses, Jennifer Adam. For spindles and spinning, Sarah Goslee.
To Luke Reynolds for all his book-love and for snark about Pin.
To John and Maud and Pip for being the best family ever.
And for all the excellent copy editors, Stet is for you.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Courtesy Sarah Prineas
SARAH PRINEAS lives in the midst of the corn in rural Iowa, where she wrangles dogs, cats, chickens, and goats, goes on lots of hikes, and finds time to write. She is also the author of Ash & Bramble, a retelling of Cinderella. She is married to a physics professor and has two kids.
You can visit Sarah online at www.sarah-prineas.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY SARAH PRINEAS
The Magic Thief
The Magic Thief: Lost
The Magic Thief: Found
The Magic Thief: Home
The Magic Thief: A Proper Wizard
The Magic Thief Complete Collection
Winterling
Summerkin
Moonkind
Thrice Sworn
Ash & Bramble
Rose & Thorn
CREDITS
Cover photography © 2016 by Michael Frost
Cover art and design by Joel Tippie
COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
ROSE & THORN. Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Prineas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
ISBN 978-0-06-233797-9
EPub Edition © September 2016 ISBN 9780062337993
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FIRST EDITION
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