The Thorn Queen

by Elise Holland

  Forget about Mother. He’ll be ten times worse when he finds—

  She jumped as her front door burst open. Her mother glowered down at Meylyne, lancing her with her ice-pick eyes, her raven-black hair coiled on top of her head like a serpent ready to strike. A blue vein pulsed in her temple.

  Meylyne swallowed.

  “H-hello Mother. I—”

  “Not a word,” her mother hissed. Seizing her arm, she dragged Meylyne inside their cave, slamming the door behind them. The small, stark living room looked just as Meylyne had left it. A sagging brown couch slumped in the middle of the room, spilling its insides on the uncarpeted floor from a tear that her mother had never bothered to fix. A cardboard box served as a coffee table. A single painting hung on the wall opposite—a garish jumble of lines that looked like two birds pecking the eyes out of a fish.

  “Sit,” her mother ordered, pushing Meylyne toward the couch. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Meylyne hung her head.

  “I-I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “Sorry for what? Trespassing in the Above-World or falling on the prince?”

  Meylyne felt herself flush. As usual, her mother knew everything.

  “Both.”

  Her mother clenched her hands, her already pale skin turning a grayish shade of white. “For goodness sake, Meylyne, when Groq gets wind of this, he’ll show no mercy. Family or not!”

  An icy finger crept up Meylyne’s spine. As luck would have it, Meylyne’s Great-Uncle Groq was also the Prime Minister of the Between-World. He was the opposite of lenient. Meylyne spent most of her time trying to be invisible to him, which was not hard as he seemed equally determined to ignore her.

  “I know Mother. I swear I never thought I’d get caught. I look just like an Above-Worldian!”

  Her mother’s face twisted with such anger that Meylyne wished she could bite back the words. “As if that’s an excuse for breaking the rules. You may be part-human but you’re still a Between-Worldian. Why, why did you go up there?”

  Meylyne looked down at the ground. Her plan had gone so horribly wrong. She felt her throat tighten.

  “I went to find your black opal,” she mumbled.

  For a moment her mother looked perplexed. Then she shook her head. “How did you know about that?”

  Meylyne blinked away the tears filling up her eyes.

  “I overheard you and Great-Uncle the other night. You said you had lost it. I know how much you love it, so I asked the Well if it knew where your opal was—”

  “What?” her mother interrupted. “You asked who?”

  “The Wise Well of M’Yhr.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so the Well is talking to you now, is it?”

  Meylyne nodded. “Uh-huh. Anyway—it said your opal was in the stream between Tyr and Welke. I wasn’t going to go, but then I woke up this morning and it was like I just had to. I figured there was no way I’d get caught—you were supposed to be gone all d—”

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to admit that last bit.

  “Go on,” her mother replied, crossing her arms.

  “Yes. Sorry.” Meylyne’s words started to tumble over one another. “I snuck out through the west grate and went to the stream which was just where Well said it would be and then the stream told me where to look and, and, I did it — I found your opal!”

  She reached inside her pocket and drew out a greenish-black stone. Her mother took the stone from her hand, her expression softening as she closed her fingers around it.

  “Then what happened?”

  Meylyne’s shoulders sagged. No “thank you” or anything. That was supposed to have been the part where her mother had showered her with admiration and love. Maybe even looked happy for once.

  “Then two people walked by, talking about how Prince Piam was coming out for one of his yearly visits to Tyr’s town square. I had to see him . . . I figured it was the only chance I’d have and I’d heard so much about him, what with that weird disease he was born with and all.”

  She drew a breath, aware she was babbling again. “So I went to Tyr and hid in a tree . . . but then this stupid woman knocked me out of it right as he was passing by underneath and I fell on him.”

  At the memory of this her face crumpled. She looked down at the ground so that her mother wouldn’t see her cry. Her mother couldn’t abide sniveling.

  “I’m sorry Mother.”

  Her mother’s eyes blazed. “As well you should be. I know you meant to do the right thing but this … this is a catastrophe.” She drew a deep breath. “Did anyone recognize you?”

  Meylyne wiped her eyes.

  “Who would recognize me? No one knows me up there, and I don’t look like him.”

  Meylyne cringed the minute she said it. Him was her garlysle father, Meph. He had left to pursue a life of crime the day she was born. Not a welcome subject in her home—or anyone’s for that matter.

  Her mother turned her back on her. “I must have dropped my opal the last time I was out hunting for him. Fetch me my crystal.”

  Sliding off the couch, Meylyne trudged into her mother’s bedroom. On one side of the room was a mattress covered with a gray blanket. Opposite was a wooden dresser with a jewelry box on it. She reached behind her mother’s only piece of jewelry—a finely-spun rose-gold necklace—and pulled out an oddly-shaped piece of glass. Curved on one side and straight on the other, it was about the size of a text book and looked like a fragment of something larger. She returned to the living room and handed it to her mother.

  Sitting down, Meylyne’s mother tapped the crystal and whispered. Meylyne watched over her shoulder as images swirled on the glass.

  “Meylyne stop hovering. Go and sit down over there—out of my sight.”

  Meylyne retreated to the corner. “Can’t I just—”

  “Sit!”

  Meylyne sat in the corner. If only she had stayed in bed that morning. She wiped her nose. Well, maybe she would’ve still snuck out but she’d have come straight home after getting the opal.

  Five minutes passed. It felt more like five hours. As Meylyne watched her mother frown at the crystal, a memory popped into her mind. In it, she was just a little girl, allowed to look in the crystal for the first time. She had held her breath as a world of white ice, blue skies, and flowers that sparkled like jewels appeared in the glass.

  “See. Glendoch is a glacier,” her mother had said. “A gigantic ice-island.”

  A glacier. Meylyne had hungrily taken in the crooked buildings, parks, and trees that seemed to grow willy-nilly wherever they chose. But most of all, it was the Above-Worldians who captured her attention. A whole country of people that looked like she and her mother looked, with smooth skin, no beaks, no feathers … and their clothes! Meylyne had grown up in a brown pinafore, and looked upon their multicolored suits with awe.

  “There are so many of them,” she had whispered to her mother.

  “Yes,” her mother said, “more of them than there are garlysles down here.”

  “Then why are we down here instead of up there with them?”

  “Because you are part-garlysle. They wouldn’t have us up above.”

  The memory faded. Although Meylyne could only see the side of her mother’s face, it seemed like her frown was getting worse.

  Meylyne’s insides tightened. It was her fault her mother frowned so much. How could Glendoch’s most powerful sorceress be happy when her only daughter was an alchemical dunce? Meylyne felt like a gnat most of the time, buzzing around her mother’s head.

  A tear plopped out of her eye. Better a gnat than this.

  Finally her mother put down the crystal.

  “Well?” Meylyne asked. “What did you see?”

  Her mother gave her a long look. “It appears that you were recognized after all.”

  Meylyne gaped at her mother. “But—”

  “Yes,” her mother went on. “Right now, Queen Emery and her ghastly sage are
discussing what ought to be done about it.”

  She stood up.

  “Stay here. I must speak with your Great-Uncle. At least I am spared the task of punishing you,” she added, more to herself than to Meylyne. “That which lies ahead of you is far worse than anything I could have thought up.”

  3

  What the Well Said

  MEYLYNE STARED AFTER HER MOTHER IN DISBELIEF. Dread settled inside her like mud in the pit of her stomach.

  How could I possibly have been recognized? No one knows me up there. Mother must be mistaken.

  She chewed her nails. Her mother was Glendoch’s most powerful sorceress. She was never mistaken. Jumping to her feet, Meylyne dashed out of the living room, through the kitchen and into the pantry. A stack of cauldrons stood against the far wall. Pushing them aside, she crouched down and pressed her ear up to the wall. Her great-uncle’s study was on the other side. After a minute, she heard voices approaching.

  “Sit,” one of the voices barked. It was her great-uncle. “What is it, Ellenyr?”

  Meylyne heard her mother murmuring in reply. Rich and velvety, there was no mistaking her voice.

  “Meylyne did what?” her great-uncle roared.

  More murmuring from her mother. A bead of sweat trickled down Meylyne’s face.

  “No,” she heard her great-uncle groan. “They’re going to demand what?”

  Meylyne grew hot, then cold all over.

  “I can just see what’s going through the royals’ minds. Meylyne is Meph’s daughter. They will say she is just like him—born to do nothing but terrorize their citizens.” He paused and Meylyne pictured him clutching his head with his talons. “I just don’t understand it,” he went on. “Meylyne has always been so quiet —so obedient before now!”

  Meylyne’s mother murmured again.

  “Your opal?” Now her great-uncle sounded more incredulous than angry.

  Her mother said something in reply and for a minute there was silence.

  “Well, I suppose that counts for something,” her great-uncle said at last. “Not to the royals, mind you. They won’t care about your opal at all. All they shall want is to turn this situation to their advantage, which means that you must do as they say. I suppose we should at least try to reason with them and we might as well go now. The queen is easiest to deal with at this time of day while she partakes of her wine.”

  Meylyne heard a door close and then everything became quiet. Pushing herself to her feet, she traipsed back into the living room and mulled over what she’d just overheard. She didn’t like the sound of her mother having to “do what they said.”

  I wish I could see the Well right now. I bet it would know what that meant.

  She gnawed on her nails again. Her mother had told her to stay there.

  Oh she’ll be gone at least an hour—I’ll be back long before that!

  Jumping up, she ran outside and hurried down the lane, turning toward the town center. Here, the caves nestled closer together and in the distance she saw garlysles strutting in and out of shops and cafes. The sound of a flute floated toward her. As she passed by a bakery, a smell of ginger wafted out through an open window. Two garlysles sat with their backs to her, drinking ginger-nog at the counter. They turned as she walked past. One nudged the other and whispered to her friend.

  Meylyne ignored them. She was used to the stares by now. They were all part and parcel of being the daughter of the Between-World’s most notorious garlysle, and its most brilliant sorceress. Not to mention being the Prime Minister’s great-niece. Turning right at the next corner, she left the bustle of the town center and headed toward the old dye-making district. The tunnel widened, glowing red and green from the minerals in the clay, and the sounds of the town faded to silence.

  No one came to this part of the Between-World any more. The old, derelict dye makers’ caves were all shuttered up; their abandoned machinery cracked and rusted. Behind them was a mound of earth known as Thingummy and to its right a deep basin—the Old Well of M’Yhr.

  No one called the Between-World “M’Yhr” any more either. But as the Between-World’s oldest structure, the Well had been allowed to retain its original name. The Well’s waters used to have healing powers, but if they still did, no one knew. The healers had long since stopped using them, preferring to buy potions from the Above-World instead.

  Kneeling at the Well’s edge, Meylyne splashed her hand in the ruby-red water. A voice emerged, sweet and melodic like a choir singing.

  “What ails thee, child?”

  Her voice cracking, Meylyne explained all that had happened and what she had overheard between her great-uncle and her mother. “They’re with the royals now,” she finished dramatically, “probably bargaining for my life!”

  “There is no sense in that.” The Well sighed. “The Above-World is in turmoil. Queen Emery will have to deal you the worst punishment, or seem weak before her people.”

  Meylyne felt like a giant hand was inside her chest, squeezing her heart.

  “What should I do?”

  “You must flee.”

  “Flee?” Meylyne cried. “Where to? There’s nowhere in the Between-World that I can hide and I can’t possibly go above-ground again!”

  “Indeed that is where you must go—back to the stream in which you found your mother’s opal. There you will find a dappled gray stalliynx. Tell him you need safe passage to the Valley of Half-Light—”

  Meylyne gasped. “The Valley of Half-Light?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not going there!”

  “Yes, you are, for it is there that you shall find the cure for Prince Piam’s rapid-aging disease and you must cure him. It is the only way. This is your fate, Meylyne.”

  “My fate? What are you talking about?”

  “You wish for your mother to be proud of you, do you not? You wish for the garlysles to see you as something other than the daughter of an outlaw and a sorceress, or as the Prime Minister’s great-niece.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then do not argue with me. This is your fate I tell you.”

  “But . . . but the Valley of Half-Light is where the sphers live.” Meylyne’s voice became hoarse. “They eat souls.”

  “Oh the sphers can be kept at bay with the right incantation.” The Well’s voice became mournful. “But you must go now, before your mother returns home. Take her crystal so she cannot track you. Take your Book of Enchantments too. You must improve your alchemical skills by far.”

  Meylyne sat back on her heels. “But—”

  The Well’s water rose up, spraying her. “No more arguments. Go. Now.”

  Meylyne pushed herself to her feet and ran back the way she had come. Once home, she began to pace across the living room, thoughts whirling around her mind.

  The Well must be crazy! No way am I going to the Valley of Half-Light. No one has ever come out of there alive!

  She plopped down on the couch and clutched her head. The Well was anything but crazy—it had never steered her wrong yet.

  If only I knew what was going on at the Castle. Maybe things aren’t as bad as I thought.

  Glancing down to her right, she found her mother’s crystal where she had left it. Meylyne had been told never to look in it without her mother’s supervision. Licking her lips, she picked it up and tapped it, murmuring the word she had heard her mother say a thousand times before. “Ostendee.”

  Colors swirled in the glass, blurring her reflection. “Show me Glendoch Castle.”

  A beautiful, three-winged castle emerged through the swirling colors. Built from the Glendochian mineral oremin, its pale green walls cast a soft glow in the evening sun. Rose-gold tiles sparkled throughout the roof.

  “Visitors chambers,” she added.

  A room flickered into view. Red brocade covered the walls. In the center of the room, an assortment of plush chairs surrounded a glass table. Meylyne’s mother and great-uncle perched on two of the chairs. Queen Emery was directly a
cross from them.

  Even sitting down, she looked very tall. Her long red hair was swept up into braids coiled around her head and she wore a long, white, satin gown. Next to her sat a short, hedgehoggy-looking man. This was Chifflin, her sage. Both he and the queen frowned while her great-uncle spoke.

  “We understand that she has broken a First Rule and should be subject to the maximum punishment. I feel just as strongly as you that we need to keep our worlds separate. We cannot return to a state of war. But you must leave Meylyne’s father out of this.”

  Meylyne’s shoulders sagged. Things never boded well for her when her father entered the conversation.

  “I know he causes your queendom great distress,” her great-uncle went on, “but you cannot blame Meylyne for his deeds.”

  “Can’t I?” Queen Emery replied. There was a razor-sharp edge in her voice. “How am I to know that she is not allied with her treasonous father?” She paused to sip from her silver goblet. “It does not help that she is regarded as an abomination by most of my queendom.” She shot Meylyne’s mother a cold stare. “Our worlds are not meant to interbreed.”

  Meylyne’s mother met the queen’s gaze. “Respectfully, I disagree.”

  Meylyne held her breath. Her great-uncle could get away with saying that—he was the queen’s equal. Her mother was not. The queen’s eyes blazed but her mother did not look away. Meylyne suspected that this was why Queen Emery hated her mother so much—her icy indifference.

  Meylyne knew first-hand how that felt.

  Chifflin cleared his throat.

  “It is just that we have a delicate situation here, Prime Minister Groq. As you know, the troubles that Meph—your nephew”—Meylyne’s great-uncle stiffened as Chifflin stressed the family tie—“heaps upon us divide our Queendom more and more every day and our citizens blame us for our inability to protect them. The memory of the Cabbage-Wind haunts us all still.”

  “Some of us more than others,” Meylyne’s mother replied, her voice steely. “You know I search for Meph constantly. Last time I came close.” She held up her arm to reveal a curved scar. “One of these days, I will catch my husband and bring him to justice.”