We can be happy. I believe it. But…
I pull away from him and stare into his face. All the worry and pain there just a moment ago have been erased by my words, a promise I can’t be sure he’ll let me keep until he knows who I am. “But there’s something I need to tell you first.”
“Anything,” he whispers, his fingers trailing down my cheek and pushing through my waves.
“I don’t know how to say this,” I say, my heart hammering in my chest. But he needs to know. “The thing is—”
“Sir!” a female guard shouts, rushing into the tent and cutting off my words. She quickly salutes Rayce, completely ignoring me.
Rayce drops his hand from my side, his gaze wavering from me to the guard, and I silently will him with everything I have to send her away. If I don’t tell him now, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to try again.
Please…
If he notices my pleading, he doesn’t give in to it. He frowns and focuses on her.
“Report,” he says.
“Oren and his platoon have been sighted five hundred feet from camp—”
Rayce pulls away from me before she’s even finished speaking and hurries toward the entrance of the tent. The tenderness emanating from his eyes when he asked me to stay is completely gone. How easily he shifts back into his role as leader, just like his uncle.
I reach out a shaky hand toward him then let it fall on the desk beside me, the fact that we might once have been wed hanging on the tip of my tongue.
He touches the tent flap and turns to me, his brow furrowed.
“Hold that thought,” he says. “Once I’ve confirmed Oren’s whereabouts, we can continue.”
My fingers turn to a fist on the edge of the desk, and I nod for him to go.
“I’ll let you know what Oren reports,” he says, running out of the tent.
The woman rushes ahead of him, yelling for Rayce to follow her. The tent flap waves in the wind, signaling his exit, but I stay rooted in my spot. I’ve never spoken the truth about my past to anyone. Not to Fern or the other girls. Not even to people who know it anyway, like the emperor and the Gardener.
And I was about to tell Rayce.
My vision blurs. One more minute and everything I’ve been keeping inside for ten years would have been lain bare like the parchment covering the table in front of me.
I try to move. Electric pain shoots down my wrapped leg, and I embrace the searing agony, more familiar with it than the boulder of disappointment crushing my body. Pain is easy. Something I can understand.
Arlo’s words circle in my head, and I cover my ears in an attempt to block them out: Rayce will always choose his people before himself.
But he asked me to stay with him.
The heat in the air sticks to my skin.
How can those two thoughts live in the same headspace? I don’t doubt that he cares for me, and it’s clear now that I have feelings for him. Why else would I want to tell him the truth about my past?
But I have no doubt the knowledge would kill him. He’d be forced to choose one more time between what he might want personally and what’s best for the rebellion. And because of his kindness, because I’ve seen him call to every one of his people by name and seen him stand in the rain to help others before helping himself, I know the choice would break him. His tormented face the night he told me about burning down that village… I can still feel his sorrow weighing down his every action.
If he felt like it was for the good of his people to barter me away, even if it meant losing his own life, even if he’d never forgive himself, his sense of duty would force him to.
Why would I put him in that position?
I don’t ever want to see him in that much pain because of me. Which only leaves me one option. I have to take away the temptation before he has the chance to act on it. I have to leave.
The tent flap rubs rough against my fingertips like the warning alarms back in the imperial dungeon, and I run through the camp, pain shooting down my leg. I push past a man walking toward the middle of camp, keeping my head down as I go.
Even though it’s my choice, it doesn’t stop tears from brimming to the surface. I head for the tent I woke up in, knowing I’ll need the cover of darkness in order to slip away unnoticed.
Ducking into my tent, I lie on my cot and watch as the day stretches on until light is smothered with darkness. I gather my knees up to my chest, fighting against the panic that threatens to overwhelm me and wishing desperately for the comfort of Fern’s encouraging whispers. If only I’d known that was the last time I would see Rayce. Tomorrow and every day after that, all I’ll have is his plea to stay with him to keep my flame alight in the darkest places.
Chapter Thirty
Silence settles over the campsite after dark. Not finding me back in his makeshift office, Rayce came to look for me in the tent, but I pretended to be asleep, and eventually, he left. I remind myself that it’s best for him and let that idea settle into my bones.
Besides, right now I need to focus. I must get to the Garden and find a way to free my sisters. The heads of Sickle and Star greet me every time I close my eyes, and I wonder which other Wilteds have paid that price for my continued disobedience. Every day, another one clipped.
The Gardener’s threat falls over me again like cold water, and I snap upward on my cot. A few abandoned packs sit inside my tent, and after further inspection, I find they have enough food and water to get me back into Imperial City.
By now, the soldiers will have assumed I left the city and their search there will be less intensive. It’s time to go back.
As I slip the pack onto my shoulder, I consider the emperor’s offer as a possible option to end all of this. Though he’ll be a lot less likely to negotiate, if I could find a way to pardon the entire rebellion and free the other Flowers, siding with Delmar might be the only way I can get everything I want.
Not everything, though. Not Rayce. No matter which option I choose—going to the emperor or trying to free the Flowers on my own—nothing gives him to me.
I rub my middle, trying to erase the feeling of Rayce’s arms around me from the night before. His warmth still sears my body, running hot through my veins. But I can’t let the way I feel about him affect what I must do to keep him from having to make another horrible choice that might destroy him.
I peek through the flap of my tent. The fire in the middle of the campsite burns bright, the smell of smoke clinging to the air, but there isn’t anyone around to stop me. Everyone is asleep. I move before I can talk myself out of it, sending up a silent prayer to Lin, the same goddess I saw on Rayce’s desk, that the rebellion doesn’t catch me.
The night air sticks to my skin, heavy with moisture. I move as quickly as I can, trying to step on leaves carpeting the forest floor so they can’t easily track my steps. My leg screams in pain, but I embrace the feeling. It keeps me alert.
Reaching the last of the tents, I look over my shoulder, back at the camp, my chest hurting. My freedom has dwindled down to a handful of hours, as fleeting as the last rays of moonlight before dawn.
I whisper a quick good-bye and hurry toward the tree line.
I’m so busy looking behind me that I don’t see the person in front of me until I bump into him. The moment we collide, hot tea pours down my shoulder, and the person I ran into clicks his tongue.
“It’s a little late for you to be out, isn’t it?” Oren asks.
He straightens his round spectacles on his nose and peers down at me. His long black hair flows loose down his shoulders instead of the orderly ponytail he usually wears at the base of his neck. It makes him look less buttoned-up, even though he’s dressed as impeccably as always in a brown robe.
I stand frozen in his kind gaze, the shock of seeing him thrumming through my limbs. A day ago, I thought he might be captured or dead.
The book he lent me burns a hole in my pack.
Before I can think better of it, I lean up and wr
ap my arms around Oren’s neck, tears springing to my eyes. This is the man who tried to help my father, and even though he didn’t succeed, I will never forget what he did. And he’s tried to help me, too.
He chuckles, the tip of his beard tickling my forehead as he returns my embrace.
“What’s this for?” he asks.
“I’m just relieved you’re back,” I say into his brown robe. The smoky scent of his pipe and the smell of ancient parchment waft up from the fabric of his robe.
His hand touches my stuffed pack.
“Nice night for a walk, isn’t it?” he asks, even though it’s obvious I’m not just going on a leisurely stroll. “Why don’t you accompany me?”
I pull away, and he reaches in his pocket, revealing a red handkerchief. He hands it to me without comment on my watery eyes.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
To my surprise, he turns east, the way I was heading, leaving the camp behind. I force myself onward, struggling at first to keep up with Oren’s long strides.
The moon peeks through the thin leaves, illuminating the white birch trunks like apparitions. The dusty white and blue world between the trees feels like magic personified. Oren doesn’t speak for a long time, and his silence sets my nerves on edge.
We stop in a small clearing outside the camp, and Oren turns to me, the moonlight splashing brightly on his calm face. He seems different than usual, but I can’t put my finger on how.
“You’re leaving because Zareen couldn’t keep our end of the bargain, correct?”
I open my mouth to protest but realize it won’t do any good. I am leaving, even if it’s not for the reason he believes. Besides, right now he seems content to let me go, and the less he knows, the better.
“And to that end, it’s my fault,” he says. “We fought hard to liberate those poor girls, but the emperor sent the majority of his forces on my platoon. We just couldn’t gain enough momentum to break through the endless throngs of Sun soldiers.”
His words send a chill down my spine, and his brow knits, his eyes tinged with sadness.
“I’m not leaving because of the failed mission,” I say.
The rest of the words stick in my throat. Every thought I’ve had swirls in my head, and the reason I’m actually leaving feels too raw to say out loud. To admit my fear of Rayce using me, to let anyone in the world know that I could be so easily broken by a feeling starting to well up inside me sends my knees shaking.
“I read the book you gave me.”
There.
I stand completely still, my body poised to sprint if he shows any sign of trying to hold me back.
“Ah,” he says, his voice betraying nothing. “I did warn you the writing was a little dry.”
Normally, I’d appreciate his humor, but I can’t right now. Not when everything I’ve been running from lies unveiled in the moonlight. I feel like I’m caught in the middle of an ambush without a sword. Open, exposed.
“You’ve known the truth about me the entire time I’ve been here.”
“Yes,” he says, looking up into the leaves. “I had my suspicions the moment I met you, and they were confirmed when I saw that marking on your foot.”
“Why didn’t you tell Rayce?” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes again.
“Because it needs to come from you.” He levels me with serious eyes, forcing my gaze instinctively downward to the tops of my boots.
“You were there in Varsha at the start of the uprising. You were the one negotiating the treaty with my father to join our two countries through marriage.”
“I was, yes,” Oren says. “I wish I could have done more to help your father then, but I made a promise to myself from the moment I found you that I would help you now. It won’t make up for my failure in the past, but you deserve for me to try.”
He scoops his large hand under my chin and guides my eyes to his.
“That’s why I believe you need to stay,” Oren says. “You have to face the thing you want to run from. Only then will you be free from it.”
The tears spill over, running rivers down my cheeks as I remember the emperor drowning his precious ants and how much it reminded me of Zareen. I can picture Marin’s face splashed in sunlight as she told me why the rebellion was worth putting her life at risk, and Arlo standing over her broken body, guarding her from the worst of the battle in Dongsu. These memories swirl around into the one thing my heart truly desires—bathing my skin in Rayce’s heat. His plea for me to stay with him fills my ears.
And a pit even deeper than the one I faced in the imperial dungeon opens up in my chest. I don’t want to leave.
But if I don’t, Rayce might have to make a terrible choice.
“I can’t stay,” I whisper.
“Of course you can,” he says.
Staring at Oren underneath the canopy of trees with my pack weighing down my shoulders, I can’t keep in the darkest of my fears. They come festering up my throat, choking me.
“You don’t understand,” I say, another tear sliding down my cheek. “If I tell Rayce that I’m the lost Varshan princess, he’ll have to choose between giving me to his uncle or helping his people. I’ve seen what this type of choice has cost him in the past, and I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”
Oren’s eyes widen, his spectacles nearly slipping off the tip of his nose. I rub the back of my hand across my cheek, erasing the proof of my weakness.
“When you first got here, you wanted us to trust you.” Oren clears his throat. “And even though Rayce knew he shouldn’t, based on your actions, he fought to believe in you anyway. But trust works both ways. You must give trust to receive it, and you never even gave Rayce the chance to prove that you can trust him with your secret.”
My resolve shatters at his words.
“But everything in his past shows he’ll choose his people first, no matter what.”
Oren lifts his hand, his finger brushing across my cheek as he wipes a stray tear away.
“But he is also a man,” Oren says. “He’ll see you for who you are, not what you are, just as he saw you were more than a Flower when you first came to us.”
Air sweeps through my lungs. It feels like I’ve been underwater this entire time and finally broke the surface. Oren brings me close to him one more time, wrapping me in his arms the way my father used to do when I was young.
“I have a feeling that before this war is over, you’ll have a great part to play in it,” he whispers, placing a hand on the back of my head. “And I do believe you’ll be spectacular once you figure out what your role is. You’re going to do great things, Rose, if you let yourself.”
I press my eyes shut, falling back to a time when all I feared was a scraped knee. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for believing in me.”
Every step I’ve taken since the moment I escaped the Garden has felt like I was flailing, but under Oren’s watchful gaze my feet have mastered a proper dance. Maybe this new girl will learn to understand love, can have faith in people even when it’s hard. The gnawing panic that sent me fleeing from camp begins to dissipate like the night sky under the sun’s watchful eye, and a new path begins to take shape. A path that leads me back to Rayce. I look up, meeting Oren’s eyes.
Except his eyes aren’t on me. They’re intensely focused behind my shoulder.
“Here,” he says, shoving something into my hand then pushing me aside.
The ground comes for me too fast. But the arrow hurling toward the place I was just standing misses me, embedding itself into Oren’s gut. He crumples to the ground. In my hands now is a vial of Zarenite powder that he probably had around his neck.
“You’ve ruined my shot,” comes a sickeningly familiar accent behind me. “That one was meant to maim my Flower.”
The breath dissolves from my lungs. My mouth goes dry. Every hair on my body stands on end as I realize why he gave it to me. I shove the vial into my shirt.
The Gardener can’t be here. Not now, not
after everything I’ve done to escape. It has to be in my head, a physical manifestation of all my fears and panic bringing the voice from my subconscious. I convince myself that this is true, so I can force myself to turn around.
“I knew trailing that last troupee of rebels back would work out,” the Gardener says.
I look up at his bulbous belly, an inch of hairy skin peeking out from under his green silk shirt. He’s surrounded by eight lackeys, each with a crossbow aimed at my head.
“We caught ourselves a Flower and a pretty important rattie,” he says.
“Oren!” I shout, crawling toward him. “Run!”
The sharp bite of an arrow tip threatening my back freezes my limbs and I clamp my mouth shut as the lackey holding the crossbow motions for me to stay quiet. Oren lies a few feet away, one hand clutching the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his side. Blood coats his hand as he winces.
Pain explodes through my head as I’m yanked to my knees by my hair. I open my mouth to scream, but the Gardener tsks, pointing a finger to his lips. He signals with his eyes for me to look back at Oren.
“I wouldn’t do that, leetle Flower,” he says.
One of the lackeys holds a blade to Oren’s neck, though Oren’s already grimacing as his other hand fumbles for the arrow.
“Now let’s get going,” the Gardener says, a wicked smile carving into his face, puffing out his cheeks like an overstuffed plum. “We’ve got to send word to the emperor of Delmar that we finally have what he’s looking for.” He runs a single finger across my cheek, his long, yellowing fingernail scrapping against my flesh. “I look forward to seeing what he decides to do to you.”
The emperor doesn’t give second chances. I can’t imagine what punishment will fit my crime.
It takes three lackeys to pull Oren to his feet, and as he struggles up, his face turns paler than the moonlight. The long-haired man on Oren’s left kicks him forward, and Oren stumbles over a tree root. I move to catch him when a pair of hands yanks me to my feet. I squirm against the lackey’s touch as he clamps iron shackles on my wrists, the spikes lining the inside creating a familiar pain.
Garden of Thorns Page 26
