Garden of Thorns

by Amber Mitchell

  “Rose, you don’t look well,” Oren says, his voice loud next to me.

  My tongue feels three sizes too big, and I fight to keep him in focus. I try to tell him I’ll be fine, but words won’t form.

  He presses his cool hand to my forehead.

  “How much Zarenite did you give her?” he asks Rayce. “She’s burning up. We have to get her out of here.”

  No! I want to scream but only manage a throaty moan.

  “Not enough for a reaction like this,” Rayce says, his furrowed brow coming into focus.

  “I need to leave,” I say, trying to push off the railing. I search desperately for the puff of gray smoke in the sky to lead me back to the Garden, but everything’s spinning.

  Rayce sweeps his arms under my legs and picks me up. Fern’s face appears in front of my eyes. Can’t they understand I have to go back?

  My head lolls until it rests against Rayce’s cool chest. What did he give me? My flesh feels like it’s melting off. Never trust the word of a man. How many times must I learn this lesson before I remember to apply it?

  Then the Flowers, the Garden, the pursuing soldiers, and this vexing man who cradles me petal soft in his capable arms…everything slips away from me in the burning darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  I awake inside a black darker than a starless night, the pounding in my head louder than my pulse. At least my body doesn’t feel hot anymore. I try to open my eyes, but my lids feel too heavy. Instead, I focus on wiggling my toes, but they don’t respond.

  What did that powder do to me?

  The only thing I can do right now is rely on my other senses to figure out where I am. I lie still and wait for the jolt of a cart underneath me.

  Nothing.

  Horseback would be even rougher. No bumps or jostling leads me to believe I’m stationary. The pops and crackles of a fire confirm this theory. As soon as I hear it, the smell of wood burning overruns my senses, tickling my nostrils with the smoky scent. The intensity of it brings on a wave of nausea, but my body still hasn’t moved. The only thing I can accomplish is an involuntary gurgling noise.

  “I think she’s stirring,” a male voice says, unsettlingly close to my face. The voice sounds like stones crunching under a boot. Must be Oren.

  After a moment, Oren sighs, apparently satisfied I haven’t woken.

  “I guess the mineral powder hasn’t worn off yet,” he says, and there’s a rustling of fabric as he slides away from me.

  Finally, I can force my eyes open and catch a sliver of nighttime sky. I haven’t seen this much of it in years. Judging by the thick treetops that frame my view, we must be somewhere deep in the Shulin Forests that frame the west side of Delmar. My tutor taught me a little about the Delmarion lands before I was captured by the Garden, showing me that this forest stretches as far south as the sea does north, and beyond it lie snow-dusted mountains.

  It’s some time past midnight; the moon has already finished painting the sky a deep shade of navy. Judging from the soreness creeping up my back, they must have dragged my unconscious body for several hours into the forest. As I stare at the stars, the patterns warp into my sisters’ terrified faces. Fern’s screams reverberate around me, her last words sticking to my skin like sweat. She gave her life to set me free, and I failed her by not saving the others. How many more girls will die before I can free them all?

  I breathe steadily through my nostrils to stay calm. The Gardener lost his tent and his star all in the same night. There’s no way he’d be crazy enough to kill any more girls right now. He might be cruel, but he’s way too greedy to stop his show, even for vengeance. The other Wilteds pop into my mind. Perhaps they won’t be so lucky.

  “So what’s the plan, then?” Arlo says, cutting into my worried thoughts. “Once we get the girl back to base.”

  I keep still, hanging onto the silence as I wait for an answer.

  Someone clears his throat. “We’re going to have to observe her,” comes a commanding tone that can only belong to Rayce. “Right now she’s an unknown variable, and if she really was sent by her master or my uncle to kill me, she might have information on their treaty.”

  “So you want to lock her up and interrogate her?” Arlo asks.

  My breathing stops. Of course they would want to throw me in another cage. That’s been the goal of every man I’ve ever dealt with. The vision of Park’s smiling face and kind eyes tries to surface, but I push it away. He can’t slip into my thoughts right now.

  What would a Zareeni interrogation be like, especially with that powder at their disposal? And even though I was just trying to escape, what if they start asking about my past? About who my father was and when I traveled to Delmar from Varsha? They would trade me to the emperor in exchange for whatever it is they’re fighting for, just like him. Or worse, they might try to use a position I feel I can no longer claim to their advantage. How can I convince them I’m not lying when I’ve been lying about my past every day since I arrived in this land?

  “I don’t see a better option,” Rayce says. “At least not until we know where her true loyalties lie.”

  I’ve been up front about my loyalties since the beginning. I want to help my sisters. But Rayce wouldn’t let me do that.

  “Just use caution,” Oren says, his voice almost lost to the fire’s crackle. “She’s already withstood the worst possible living conditions and survived better than most of our army would. I’d imagine kindness might be better received.”

  “I doubt she’d trust it,” Rayce says. “I wouldn’t, if I were her.”

  “Either way, I’ll prepare a cell as soon as we get back,” Arlo says, his voice wavering. “If she knows anything about the deal between the emperor and the Gardener, that information could be vital in turning the public’s opinion. If your uncle gains enough coin to fund his campaign into the woods, we won’t be able to hide for much longer.”

  An uneasy quiet falls over the site, like he just doused water on the fire. The weight of their separate thoughts presses down on my frozen body.

  Not that it matters. The moment I’m able to move again, I’ll disappear into the night, leaving their suspicions behind.

  “And what about Piper?” Arlo asks. “We’ve got to figure out what to tell her, because she’s going to be livid.”

  “Well, it stands to reason that we just tell her the truth,” Oren says.

  “We owe her that, at least,” Rayce adds.

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Arlo says. “But you know Piper. How do you think she’s going to react when we go back and tell her, ‘Oh, we were going to rescue your sister, but then we found this girl and saved her instead’?”

  What? I tilt my head toward the fire and can barely make out three figures beyond the bright glow. Guilt for not saving the other Flowers melds with the knowledge that the rebellion was trying to liberate another girl. It seems my plan to escape has left everyone captive.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on saying it like that,” Rayce says, and one of the blurs moves to throw something into the fire. “Besides, you said my uncle moved her, right?”

  My body begins thawing quickly. Numbness clinging to my limbs melts away, and the aches of our escape creep up my body.

  Arlo holds up his hands, palms out. “That’s the report. The troop sent to infiltrate the ground-level dungeon while we lit the tent on fire as a distraction said she was no longer there, which can only mean one thing…”

  “The pits,” Rayce and Arlo say in unison.

  “There isn’t a way for this to play out well,” Oren says. “No matter what new information we learned, the outcome remains the same. This girl walks free while Piper’s little sister remains locked in the Delmar dungeon. Twelve is awfully young to be held captive.”

  They were there to rescue a little girl? Panic pushes words out of my mouth before I remember that I need to stay silent.

  “You’ve got to go back.” My throat catches. I try to sit up, but my abd
omen is stiff from the serum and knocks me back to the ground.

  They all jump up like they were caught without their swords during an ambush. I turn away from them, fighting against the spots in my vision. Something sharp pokes against my right lung every time I try to breathe in deeply. Rayce’s creased brow breaks through the dark spots.

  “Yun’s beard,” Arlo curses from somewhere behind Rayce. “That kind of scare will stop the heart quicker than a stunner shot.”

  “You were trying to save a girl,” I say, using my elbows to force myself up.

  The three men look at each other, and I can almost see the question they’re all asking themselves: How much did she hear?

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Oren finally says, his eyes flicking to my face.

  “Why didn’t you let me go when you had the chance?” I ask Rayce, staring him down. “If you’d just listened to me, maybe everyone could have been freed tonight.”

  Rayce looks away from me, unhooking a brown leather water pouch from his belt.

  “Right now you need water,” he says, ignoring my outburst. “You must have ingested too much of that powder and it sucked up all the water in your body.”

  I push the pouch away.

  “Please don’t make us force it down your throat,” Rayce says, waving the pouch in my direction.

  “You can try, but it will be the last thing you do.” I clench my jaw to emphasize my point.

  “I already told you,” Rayce says, shoving the pouch toward me again. “As long as you have no intention of harming us, we won’t harm you.”

  Which means I’m safe, but only for now. I move to accept the drink, but my elbow gives out and my head slams onto the ground. I didn’t think the pounding could get worse. I was mistaken.

  I close my eyes against the pain and don’t fight when someone places a hand on either side of my head and gently lifts it onto a soft surface. The smooth fabric cradles my cheek.

  Opening my eyes, I find Rayce staring down at me. I realize I’m resting on a shirt bundled up on his knee, but before I can protest his closeness, he holds the water pouch to my mouth. The cool liquid trickles down my throat, but all I can think about is whether that girl they were supposed to rescue is dying of thirst in the dungeon. The water suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth, and I turn away from it, letting the rest dribble down my chin.

  “Better?” Rayce says.

  I keep silent, refusing to look away from the flames in front of me.

  “Is that how they say thank-you in Varshan?”

  His words kick me more than I care to admit.

  Oren clears his throat. “Speaking of Varsha, do you have any family there?”

  My gaze flicks to his face, and I work to keep my limbs perfectly still. My heart hammers against my chest. They’re already getting too close to the thing no one can ever know about, especially since they could use it to accomplish whatever they’re trying to do with their rebellion.

  “You shouldn’t feel afraid of the past, Rose,” Oren says, misinterpreting my fear for shame. “Our history is what shapes us. We all make mistakes. Look at me. Just last year, I was on the Imperial Council advising Galon on the best way to handle rebellions, and now I’m helping lead one.”

  I can see Oren in that life, dressed in the grand blue-and-white robes of the council, walking around the palace with an armful of dusty scrolls. It suits him much more than sitting here in the middle of the forest with soot covering most of his brown robe.

  “How long have you been gone?” Arlo asks.

  When I don’t respond, Rayce jostles me gently, so I look at him. “Remember what I said. Honesty will go a long way to us trusting you.”

  Is that before or after you throw me in a cell?

  I roll my eyes, already knowing how this will go. If I remain silent, they’ll try to piece together my past. Instead, I give them the bare-bones version I’ve rehearsed even more than my dance routine.

  “I’ve lost count,” I say. “I don’t know, maybe eight years. It’s hard to keep track where I came from.”

  I lied. The truth is it’s been almost exactly ten years since I was ripped from my land. No matter how much I block out my life before the Garden, I can’t erase that clock in my brain ticking out the days since I knew the gentleness of my father’s touch. But locking all that away keeps me safe. Only the Gardener knows the truth about where I came from, and if anyone else found out, I’d become nothing more than a bargaining tool. To accept my past would mean accepting everything that comes with it, and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that.

  “A lot has happened since then,” Rayce says. “The Varshan throne has changed hands and the old king was killed.”

  I pretty much knew this, but hearing it hurts. The Gardener never let anyone talk about Varshan politics around me, his own personal brand of cruelty.

  “His daughter, though,” Oren says, stretching out the words. “The rightful heir to the Varshan throne? She was never found. Many believe she was killed, too.”

  I keep my face straight. That life, that girl. She’s dead. But even if I knew she was still alive somewhere, what would the rebellion do with that kind of information? They owe me nothing, so why wouldn’t they use me as a pawn? The Gardener did. How quickly could they reach a truce with the emperor if they had a rose with a crown to barter?

  “I couldn’t help but notice those odd markings on your heels,” Oren says. “How long have you had them?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Another lie. “The Garden left lots of scars.” They just usually weren’t on me.

  I flutter my eyes and go limp, hoping they think I passed out.

  “Rose?” Rayce’s voice comes from above me. With my eyes closed, it almost sounds like he’s concerned.

  “She’s probably still weak from overheating and the excitement of our escape,” Oren says. “Let her be.”

  Only when Rayce’s retreating footsteps fill my ears do I let the tears for everyone I’ve let down tonight water the forest floor.

  Sometime later, I hear leaves crunching as someone picks their way toward me. I squint one eye open long enough to see Oren’s long black beard before closing it again. The footsteps stop, and the edge of Oren’s robe brushes across my hand as he sits on the ground next to me. He clears his throat. Though I keep my eyes shut and give absolutely no indication I’m awake, he speaks anyway.

  “I don’t believe Piper’s sister was in as much need of a rescue as you were,” he says as if it’s fact. As if he’s not trying to ease my guilty heart.

  My mind recalls every girl I’ve let down in one spectacularly disastrous night.

  “Her capture is for leverage,” he continues. “A card the emperor can play anytime to bend us to his mercy. As long as she isn’t used for this purpose, I don’t believe she’ll be harmed. On the other hand, if your true goal was to escape that show, then you made the only logical choice by escaping while the performance was happening. Had you not created your own release, it would have never come.”

  He pauses, waiting for my response. The thing I should say, the thing I might even want to say—“thank you”—lodges in my throat.

  He doesn’t stay to see the single unwanted tear that leaks out of my eye. But his words make me feel something I haven’t dared feel in a long time. Hope for my own freedom grows in my chest like a weed, and I’m too terrified someone will notice to move.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day Rayce gently shakes me awake as the sun begins its ascent into the sky. We head west toward the mountains. Arlo leads the way with steady steps through the never-ending trees. The bed of dead leaves coating the ground makes for soft terrain, but even though I pick carefully through the forest floor, cuts litter the bottoms of my bare feet. Toward the end of the day, the thin white tree trunks grow thicker and turn brown, their limbs twisting out in wild directions.

  We stop as the stars awaken. Each of the men takes out what’s left of their rations, piling
a few scoops of old rice and dried meat from each of their portions on a dinted tin plate, and Rayce hands me the result. I blink back my surprise and accept their food, not digging into the rice until after they begin to eat.

  Though the fire warms us, we don’t talk much. Rayce keeps one eye pinned the way we’ve come, like he’s expecting to see someone following us. Oren tsks over my battered feet and rips off a couple strips of his robe to tie around my feet tomorrow.

  Their unexpected kindness almost makes me sorry I’m going to leave them, but the need to rescue my sisters could never be quelled by a few rations and makeshift shoes.

  I peek through one open eye as Oren takes the first watch, followed by Rayce and then Arlo. All three have been annoyingly vigilant, but finally, Arlo slips behind a tree to relieve himself.

  If I’m going to sneak away, it has to be now. In the brown light of dawn, I force myself up. My mind swirls with exhaustion, but my heart hammers against the idea of being locked away in another cage. I will not be someone’s prisoner again.

  I crawl over to Rayce, ignoring the sharp pain in my right lung. He’s sleeping on his back, his arms threaded behind his head. From this angle, the scarred half of his face isn’t visible. It’s odd seeing him without it. He looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Too perfect. His sword rests an arm’s length away from his face, but I’m afraid to get close enough to take it, so I snatch the stunner by his feet instead. Hopefully I won’t have to use it.

  Lacing my hand through the strap of the water pouch, I snap upward and start moving in the direction I hope is east. Without the sun or moon, it’s impossible to tell. When it’s brighter, I’ll climb a tree to find Delmar, but the best I can tell now is we’re at least two days west of the Imperial City, very deep into the Shulin Forests. My only solace is I haven’t begun to see mountains yet. Once I figure out how to get back, I’ll find a way to save the others.