by Unknown
And then she says—
“I will marry you, Niklaas, but only if you swear never to kiss me.”
—and I can’t help but laugh, no matter how serious her expression.
“The thought is that repulsive, eh?” I laugh away her attempt to explain. “Don’t worry, runt, I feel the same way. But thanks.” I ruffle her hair the way I did when she was Ror and it feels good. Normal. The way things are supposed to be between Aurora and me. “It’s good of you to offer, but we wouldn’t work in that way.”
“No?” she asks, a chilly note in her voice. “Why not? I’m still first in line to Norvere’s throne.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, still laughing. “You’re not upset I turned down your romantic proposal, are you?”
“Of course not,” she says, spine stiffening. “It’s flattering to know you’d rather die than marry me.”
“I’m not going to die. I’m going to be turned into a swan, a lovely white bird with a great long neck and—”
“Oh, shut up and get out of my bed.” She shoves at my shoulder, wincing as she puts stress on her injured arm. “You’re even stupider than I thought!”
Now it’s my turn to stiffen. “You’re right, I am stupid.” I stand, brushing my hair from my face with a clawed hand. “And you’re about as convincing as a member of the gentler sex as I am a sea cow!”
She glares up at me, her cheeks pale but for two bright spots of pink above her dimples. “It is stupid to give up when you still have time to find some ignorant girl to marry you.”
“So she’ll have to be ignorant, too!”
“And it’s stupid not to consider my offer!” she shouts over me. “People get married for reasons other than love all the time, and saving a life is better than—”
“So the incredibly tempting offer still stands?” I ask, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from my tone. “You’d still marry the big stupid oaf to save his poor, dumb life?”
“Yes, you insufferable brat,” she says through clenched teeth, her hands balling into fists. “And believe me, I have absolutely no desire to wed you or anyone else.”
“Good, because I don’t want your pity or your—”
“But I would do it!” she shouts. “Despite the fact that you are ridiculous and—”
“Ridiculous? Well, isn’t that the donkey calling the ass a—”
“What’s going on?” Gettel opens the door and hurries in, sloshing milk from the glass in her hand onto the floor in her haste. “What are you two shouting about?”
“Nothing,” Aurora and I say at the same moment, earning me another glare from my would-be bride.
“It didn’t sound like nothing.” Gettel casts a stern look in my direction. “Really, Niklaas. Aurora is in no shape for a lovers’ quarrel. You know how ill she’s been.”
At the words lovers’ quarrel, I see red. Red with pointy black daggers dancing about and battle horns blaring in the background. I hurry to excuse myself, aiming my body out the sickroom door before I wring Aurora’s scrawny little neck or say something I’ll regret to the woman who saved her life.
At the moment I’d be happy to ride away from Aurora and never look back, but I happen to like Gettel.
“That’s right, run away!” Aurora shouts after me. “That’s what cowards do!”
I want to spin around, storm back into the room, and demand to know how I went from being brave and clever to an infuriating coward in the span of ten minutes, but I don’t. I pound down the stairs and through the kitchen, where Gettel’s assistant is stirring sharp-smelling medicine on the stove, and out into the end-of-summer day.
There is a hint of autumn in the air, a bite to the breeze that carries the sour scent of leaves ready to change through the valley. I break into a run toward the barn, focusing on the sun on my face and the hills still green with summer grass, refusing to think about Aurora or autumn or the fact that the fifteenth of Nonstyne is only eight days away.
Chapter Twenty
Aurora
“I’m sorry.” I glance at Gettel as she unlaces my nightgown to take a look at my arm. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
Gettel laughs. “Don’t worry, pet. I just didn’t want you hurt. I understand what it’s like to be young and in love. Things don’t always run smoothly, do they?”
I feel my cheeks heat and am glad it’s only Gettel in the room. “Niklaas and I aren’t … We’re friends.”
“Of course you are,” she says, unrolling the bandages covering my wound. “All the best lovers are friends.”
My cheeks burn even hotter. “No, I mean …” I clear my throat. “He thought I was a boy until a few days ago. He doesn’t … It’s not like that.”
“Ah … well then … that’s interesting …” She hums beneath her breath as she probes the skin around the place where the arrow punctured my flesh. It aches a bit, but the pain isn’t nearly what it was. “You heal too quickly, my girl. What exactly are you fairy-blessed with? If you don’t my asking?”
“With enhanced strength, among other things. It aids in healing.” I crane my neck to get a look at my wound, wrinkling my nose at the jagged black scab marking the skin on my arm. “That looks awful.”
“It should look much, much worse, my doll.” She pats my back before pulling my sleeve up and over my shoulder. “I don’t even need to re-dress it. If you keep mending so sweetly, we should get you moving tomorrow, start bringing some strength back to your muscles after the weakening effects of the poison.”
She passes the milk over, and I drink it down greedily. It’s so fresh it’s still warm. After three days with almost nothing to eat, it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.
“Thank the gods for your blessings,” Gettel says. “When Niklaas carried you in you were curled up so tight, I wasn’t sure you’d use your hands again. The poor boy was out of his mind with worry.” She smiles fondly, and I can tell she has a soft spot for Niklaas, no matter how sternly she scolded him a few moments ago. “Wept like a man over you, he did. And stayed right by your side until the fever broke.”
I pause, letting the edge of the glass slip from my lips. “Really?”
She nods as she straightens the covers. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
I finish the milk and clutch the glass to my chest. “The love of a friend.”
“No, my dear,” she says, a secret smile on her lips. “I’ve seen the way a boy looks at a sick friend. Niklaas feels the way you do. Just give him some time.”
He doesn’t have time, I think, not sure what to think, or feel, about what she’s said.
It’s probably best not to feel anything. I’m not sure she’s right about Niklaas. I can’t even say for certain that she’s right about me. I care for Niklaas and admire him and there are times—when he isn’t being impossible—that I’d like to kiss him and keep on kissing until I’ve pressed my lips to every bit of his ridiculously perfect body, but is that love? And what if it is? Even assuming Niklaas loves me and I return his love, what does it matter? We’re both cursed, and he’ll be a swan before Nonstyne becomes Harmontyne.
But he doesn’t have to be. If Gettel’s right, all it would take is a kiss …
My hand shakes as I set the glass on the bedside table. I can’t believe I let the thought enter my mind. I can’t do that to Niklaas. As frustrating as I find him sometimes, I’d never want him to agree with everything I said. I’d never want to see him empty of his own desires, a slave to my every whim. I’d never want to see him like Thyne.
“Don’t fret, sugar. These things have a way of working themselves out,” Gettel says, resting a hand on my head.
She has no idea how complicated things are between Niklaas and me, but I nod anyway.
She grins, causing a starburst of wrinkles to form around her eyes. “Now let me help you to a chair by
the fire downstairs. I’ll put up your hair before dinner. I think you’re well enough to join the rest of us at the table, don’t you?”
“That sounds wonderful.” I toss off the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed, grateful to feel the floor beneath my bare feet. I let Gettel help me into a pale blue dress and hold my arm as we walk down the stairs, though I’m feeling stronger than I thought I would. Still, a hand to hold is appreciated. I’m nervous to see Niklaas, anxious that somehow he’ll read all the conflicted thoughts racing through my mind on my face.
But I needn’t have worried. Niklaas is gone.
The only people in the kitchen are a gray-haired woman Gettel introduces as Baba, her assistant, and a little girl of six or seven with coffee-colored skin and wild brown curls asleep on a giant pillow before the fire, a snoring Hund curled by her side.
“That’s my granddaughter, Kat,” Gettel whispers as she settles me in a chair a few hands away.
“But you’re so young,” I say before I think better of it.
“I’m older than I look. Kat is my third granddaughter. The eldest is twelve.” Gettel winks before turning to fetch a brush from the mantel, where a hundred different objects, mundane and magnificent, fight for space.
There are brushes and stacks of soap and a giant bottle of honey, side by side with small animal skulls, a vase of exotic feathers, a black-haired doll with shining stone eyes, and a gray rock filled with purple crystals. The rock is the same sort witches are said to leave behind after they steal a harvest. I wonder if Gettel leads raids on the surrounding villages in Frysk, and how she happened to be living so far south of the frozen lands the other witch-born are said to call home, but I’m too shy to ask. I don’t know Gettel well and I’m too deeply in her debt to risk being nosy or rude.
“Kat is my special helper,” Gettel continues as she brushes my hair in long, soothing strokes. “Her mom is … away for a time, so Kat is staying with me. She’s thrilled to have Hund for a visit. They’ve been wearing each other out running wild, helping with the Evensew preparations.” She chuckles. “I’m not sure how much of a help they are. The others are probably glad to have the little menaces out of their hair for an hour or so.”
“Is Evensew already so close?” I ask, tension creeping into my neck.
“Tomorrow evening,” Gettel says, banishing the laziness from my bones. “I was afraid you would miss it, but now that you’re up and about, you’re welcome to join us.”
“I’d like that,” I mutter, mind racing. Gettel continues to chatter about the festival as she twists my hair into a pile of coils atop my head, but I listen with only half an ear. I must have spent more days with the mercenaries than I thought, or lost track of a day while Niklaas and I were traveling or … something. It can’t be Evensew already!
Evensew, the day when the living sew the memory of the dead back into their lives with a festival honoring the ones they’ve lost, is always on the seventh of Nonstyne. That means Niklaas’s birthday is only eight days away. He has only eight days, and Jor may not have much longer. Surely the Hawthorne tree will be changing its colors soon.
I would be tempted to tell Niklaas I’ve changed my mind about his offer if I thought he had a chance of getting both himself and Jor out alive. But if he became a guest in Ekeeta’s castle, she wouldn’t take her eyes off of him long enough for him to free Jor. He would have to have someone else with him, someone who could journey to the dungeon without arousing suspicion, another warrior posing as a servant or a—
“Prisoner,” I breathe as a plan blooms in my mind, flowering as fast as the morning lilies on the west side of the island back home.
“What’s that, sugar?” Gettel steps back to survey my hair with a critical eye.
“Nothing,” I say, though my thoughts are still racing.
Alone, Niklaas and I would both fail. But if we went together—with me posing as his prisoner, a bribe to convince Ekeeta to grant Niklaas sanctuary from his father—it might work. Niklaas could keep the queen distracted while I find a way to free Jor and myself from the dungeon. And if I can’t find a way, Niklaas could risk freeing us knowing he has my staff at his back.
Niklaas is an amazing fighter, and, thanks to my fairy blessings, I’m as good as three or four men. All we’d have to do is get out of the dungeon and down the wall walk to the old dock. We could have a boat waiting behind the rocks, ready to spirit us all away to Malai. We’d still be taking a terrible risk, but at least we’d have a chance, maybe even a good chance. And if we act at the right moment—
“There!” Gettel jabs a final pin into the pile of hair on my head. “Now you look like a princess, sweet pea.”
I smile, enjoying the fact the Gettel feels free to call me anything but “my lady.” I don’t feel worthy of being anyone’s ruler, yet, but if I can save my brother and convince Niklaas to marry me and keep the ogre prophecy from coming to pass, then …
Well, then almost anything will seem possible, including raising an army to take back my throne.
“May I go outside?” I ask, coming to my feet. “I want to find Niklaas.”
“Of course you may. Tell him supper will be ready in an hour.”
I leap to my feet and hurry to the door, feeling lighter than I have in weeks—anxious and nervous and frightened, but hopeful.
The hope lasts just minutes, the time it takes to find Niklaas prowling back and forth behind Gettel’s barn, helping two other boys load casks of beer into a cart, and to convince him to walk with me to the stream where twin willows sway in the breeze.
A breeze that isn’t nearly strong enough to sweep away Niklaas’s shout when I share the bare details of my plan.
“Not in a hundred years!” Niklaas pants, still breathing heavily from his work. “Not in a thousand!”
We’re half a field from the barn, but his volume still turns heads. One of the boys loading the cart pauses to cast a look in my direction, clearly ready to intervene if I need protecting. I wave at him and take Niklaas’s arm, holding tight when he tries to pull away.
“Hold still and quit shouting,” I mutter behind my smile, “or your friend is going to rush over and defend me from your temper.”
“As if you need defending,” Niklaas mutters with a dark look toward the barn. But he stops trying to shove me off and covers my hand with his before leading me farther down the bank, away from our audience. “It’s me who needs protection,” he mutters. “From you and your mad ideas.”
“It’s not a mad idea,” I say. “It’s dangerous, yes, but—”
“It’s too dangerous. You can’t risk going to the capital,” he says, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly back and forth across the top of my hand. “If you walk into Mercar, you’re as good as dead.”
“But Ekeeta wants me brought in alive,” I say, ignoring the way my nerves prickle when he touches me, even an innocent touch like this one. “You know that.”
He grunts. “So she can kill you herself with some crooked ogre voodoo.”
“Most likely,” I agree. “But that would still give us time. She’s not going to kill me on sight. Rituals take time to organize. We would have at least a day, maybe more, before we would need to escape.”
“The answer is no.” Niklaas pulls his arm away and turns to face me, squinting into the setting sun. “I’m not going to escort you to your death, and that’s the end of it.”
“Niklaas, please, I—”
“No.” He props his hands on his hips. “I almost watched you die once. I can’t do it again. I won’t.”
I glance up, taking in his wrinkled forehead and pinched eyes, and wonder if Gettel is right. Maybe Niklaas does love me. Maybe I love him. Maybe this is what love is, being so afraid to lose someone that you’d rather face death than a world without them.
I step closer, heart beating faster as I reach out, laying my palm on his ch
est, feeling the warmth of his skin through his linen shirt. “How do you think I feel? Knowing that in eight days you won’t be here anymore?”
His takes a deep breath. “It’s not the same. I won’t be dead, and—”
“But—”
“And I won’t be putting the world at risk.” He covers my hand with his and pulls it gently but firmly away. “What if you can’t escape before the ritual? What if you’re the briar-born child Ekeeta needs, not your brother? If you go to Mercar, you’re gambling everything, every beautiful patch of land in the four kingdoms, every innocent child sleeping by the fire with her dog … everything.”
“So what?” I ask, though Niklaas has made sure I’m thinking of little Kat, hating myself for putting a child in even a speck of danger. “Jor is my everything. Why should he have to die if there is a chance I can save him?”
“Aurora, he could be dead already.”
“No, he isn’t! I won’t believe that!”
“Then why is Ekeeta so desperate to capture you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she wants to eliminate anyone with a claim to her throne. Maybe she wants to finish what she started and slaughter my entire family, I don’t know, but I know Jor is alive. I can feel it.” I spin, sending my skirts flying as I pace away. I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting for control before turning back to face Niklaas. “I can’t sit here and do nothing,” I say, voice trembling. “I have to save him, or die trying, and this is the only plan I can think of that might work. I’d rather have you with me, but if you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will. Or go alone. If I have to.”
Niklaas’s lip curls. “You’re really that selfish?”
“No, I’m that willing to give everything for someone I love.” I refuse to mind the guilt nudging at my heart, demanding my attention. I shouldn’t feel guilty, not so long as I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the kingdoms safe should my plan fail.
