Spinning Thorns

by Anna Sheehan

  Will shook her head. He didn’t understand her at all, did he? ‘And leave Lyndaria in this mess?’

  He shook his head back at her. ‘Lyndaria is already lost, I fear.’

  Will pulled away from him. He gave up too easily. ‘So why haven’t you left?’ she asked.

  He smiled. ‘Without Lavender, I am lost too. If my fate be to sleep beside her for a thousand years, I will take it and gladly, rather than be without her.’

  She stared at him. He was mad. Love had driven him mad. He was still beautiful, still kind and courageous and noble, but Will never wanted him or anyone else to be so bound to her that they’d rather be dead than without her. What a useless, senseless way to structure your life! She still loved him, but if she had to choose between wasting away beside his lifeless, or rather sleeping, body, or living, she’d have chosen life. She would have honoured her love with her life, not with her death. Her death would be nothing more than a waste. And if he had asked her, she’d have said she wanted no more and no less from him.

  It suddenly occurred to Will that Lavender was mad, too. She was willing to sacrifice, her sister, yes, but her country most of all, to marry this man. She was more willing to start a war, to condemn thousands of people on both sides to death, rather than live her life without this man. What a selfish, small-minded, vicious way to behave!

  What did that mean? That Will did not truly love him? She did not think that was true. Her love felt as real as any other emotion, as real (though different) as her love for her mother and father. But she had Amaranth’s gift of Wisdom, and perhaps that light helped her to see through the fog of love.

  She suddenly understood the comparison between poets, lovers and madmen. All of them were blinded and made foolish by some passion or another.

  Reynard had been blinded, she realized. He was blinded not by love, but by hate. Wait, he had said. When she’d first come to him for his help when the Sleep had taken Lavender, he had told her to wait. That the spell would go away in a few days. Had something gone wrong, then? Had his revenge taken a more sinister turn than he’d intended? He was wildly powerful, so long as he had a spindle in his hands. Will had gathered that. He’d been keeping his magic hidden, as he kept his height and his ears and his shadows hidden. He was Nameless, and the common wisdom was that they were dangerous simply because they were faerie powerful, without the cool faerie reserve. But he had saved her life, more than once last night, and had never threatened her in any way. If he had wanted her dead, he could have killed her easily. If he had wanted her disgraced, he’d had that opportunity too.

  Will did not trust him, but suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

  She frowned at Ferdinand. ‘I could never leave Lyndaria,’ she said. ‘Not like this.’

  Ferdinand smiled at her sadly. ‘You’re braver than I,’ he said. ‘I’m … I’m sorry.’

  A groan from her parents’ bed made her start.

  ‘Just a dream,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Just another dream.’

  Will stood up. ‘I have to know if it’s the Sleep,’ she said.

  The guards shifted uneasily as she moved to her father’s side, but at a sharp look from Ferdinand they did not try to interfere. She sat on the side of the bed, and took her father’s hand in hers. ‘Father,’ she hissed. ‘Father, please.’

  His face was like so many faces she had seen these last weeks, twisted in terror, moulded into grief. She knew Ferdinand was right even before she reached out to place her fingertips on his brow. But, for more than one reason, she had to see the truth.

  I’m sick. I can barely breathe and my body is burning. I can’t get up. I’m being tended, but I’m in a dungeon. Or I might as well be. A hollow under the earth. It is cold – so cold. Terrible, biting winter cold, and the hollow is dank and damp and I’m too ill to fix it. I need to protect someone, but I’m too sick to take care of her. I want a bed. I want broth. I want peace. All I have is rags and damp and a hand to hold mine. I almost wish the hand wasn’t there. If it wasn’t, I could give up. I could let go and let the illness take me. But I am loved, and my life does not belong to me alone. I cannot steal it from them.

  Will pulled her hand away, shivering as if the illness were still with her. She held herself tightly. How could Reynard have done this, to her sister, her mother, her father? Will turned to Amaranth. The queen’s breath was coming in shallow gasps and her hands were clenched. Sweat dewed her forehead. Will gently took her hand. ‘I’m here, Mother,’ she whispered, but she knew she couldn’t hear her. ‘Mother, I don’t know how to help you.’ Will smoothed her brow with the damp cloth, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Not against … She quietly instigated the spell.

  I’m hiding. They know I’m here. There are many of them, with gleaming weapons. More of those terrible pitchforks, and heavy shovels, all of them as deadly as soldiers with swords and arrows. I’m hiding in a space so small I can scarcely breathe. I can’t see them, but I can hear them, coming for me, looking for me. My heart is beating so loudly I’m sure it’ll give me away. I have an impulse to simply burst out, and tell them I’m there, just to end the suspense, the constant terror that they are about to find me.

  When Will opened her eyes she was curled in a ball on the bed, trying to hide. She pulled herself back to a sitting position. Ferdinand was no longer watching her. He was back at Lavender’s side, tending the princess in her nightmares. What was this? The nightmares were too specific for just a punishment. There was something more. Will reached out one more time.

  I’m lonely. There is a terrible blackness of emptiness. There’s no one I can trust, no one to run to. I am hated by all. I hate them back. I hate myself more than any of them. So, so alone.

  Will gasped. ‘Reynard!’

  She finally understood. These weren’t merely a punishment, not a simple series of horrors. These dreams, these terrible nightmares, were flashes of Reynard’s life. The life of a wandering criminal, a prisoner shackled by his flesh. ‘God of Wonders,’ she muttered. And she had cursed him to his face, called him a demon, threatened to arrest him. He had done wrong, cast a cruel spell upon innocents. But thinking of his sister, his small, pearly white sister with the sharp, mischievous teeth, Will swallowed. Protect them. Protect her. In the dreams he needed to protect her. He wanted to die, but couldn’t let himself, for her. Reynard had committed a crime in creating this Sleep, there was no doubt of that. But he had suffered his punishment before the act.

  Will reached out for Ragi’s brow again, but did not search out the dreams.

  They left her alone for a long time. She actually slept for a few hours beside her father on the bed. It was well after noon when a guard in Hiedelen livery was sent to fetch her. ‘Why is she unbound?’ he asked, angrily.

  ‘There is no cause to bind an unconvicted princess in her own palace,’ Ferdinand said angrily.

  ‘And who gave you authority here, Illarian?’ the guard snapped, and Will recognized him as Lesli’s personal bodyguard. His name was Levi. He was actually a relative, some illegitimate son of one of Lesli’s cousins. He clearly felt no deference toward Ferdinand’s status.

  ‘Queen Amaranth,’ Ferdinand said. ‘When she betrothed me to her daughter.’

  Levi laughed. ‘Oh, aye, that’s sure to take you far.’ He gestured to Warren. ‘Tie her up.’

  ‘You truly intend to parade her at trial trussed up like a suckling pig?’

  As Warren reattached the manacles the guard pulled a gag tightly around Will’s mouth. ‘Not going to trial. Already convicted,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Will said, but it came out a muffled shriek through the gag.

  Ferdinand tried to stop him. ‘Then I demand to know where you are taking her!’

  Levi half drew his sword, using the hilt to bash in Ferdinand’s fine nose. ‘Get your paws off me. I follow orders from King Lesli himself!’

  ‘He is no king here!’ Ferdinand cried out.

  ‘More than you are, Illarian. Hold him back!
’ Levi snapped at Warren’s soldiers. Will stood up to her full height and looked down at Ferdinand, shaking her head to tell him it was all right. She looked from him to Lavender, hoping he’d catch her meaning; she needed him here to watch over her family.

  He nodded, and a line of blood trickled from his nose. He wiped it with his black gloves and returned to his vigil at Lavender’s side.

  Which meant Will stood alone. Keeping her face stony, she allowed Levi and his men to lead her back through her palace. She kept her eyes straight, but couldn’t help but hear the murmurs as the servants and remaining courtiers caught sight of her being led through the corridors. Finally, her cheeks burning with shame, she was led to her mother’s study. The door was guarded by no less than six of Hiedelen’s remaining attendants. Without ceremony, Levi pushed her through the door, still bound and gagged.

  Lesli sat at Queen Amaranth’s desk, dressed in more formal attire than he had been before. ‘I’ve just come from your trial,’ he said, his tone unctuous and unpleasant. ‘I’m ashamed to call you my kin, Highness.’

  Will had a dozen things she wanted to say to that, her gifts of Honesty and Wit raking at her tongue, but the gag forced her to remain polite.

  ‘No doubt you’ve guessed at the outcome. I stood up valiantly in your defence, but in the end the prosecution was simply too formidable, the evidence against you too apparent.’

  Will’s eyes narrowed, the only act of defiance she was capable of, bar butting him in the nose and kneeing him in the crotch, two options she considered. But the guards were right outside, and she would likely be tortured for such an attack.

  Lesli leaned back in Amaranth’s chair. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘when I was a boy, I always wondered what the interior of this palace looked like. There were tales of gold-draped walls and gem-encrusted furnishings. Every tapestry a king’s ransom, every rug a baron’s fortune. I was highly disappointed when your father brought this place to life. Ageing wood and drafty corners, every article a hundred years out of date, and failing to maintain its splendour. Truly heartbreaking when your childhood dreams are spoiled by the reality.’ He leaned forward. ‘Do you want to die?’

  Will stared at him. He knew the answer. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of begging silently for her life with a gag in her mouth. He lifted a little nest that was sitting on the desk. ‘I’m sure you know what this is, my dear,’ he said. Will blinked at it. In the light of day, the little tangled skein of thread was clearly gold. She didn’t even have to touch it to know. The heavy way it sat in his hand was enough. And Will knew how heavy it was; she’d held one not so long ago. ‘I must say, I was impressed. You do realize that the art of spinning straw into gold was lost more than a hundred years ago.’ He pulled out a strand of the thin, silky wire. ‘But this is even more impressive. Those thorns have become a true nuisance. There was a time, after your father proved less than loyal to me, that I considered invading this country. But I realized it was pointless. Kingdoms that still dabble in magic cannot be held without taking the royal seat. The thorns made taking this palace impossible, and sieges take so much time. Time an old man like me doesn’t have.’ He smiled at her in a way she was sure she didn’t like. ‘Or maybe not so old as all that.’

  He idly began wrapping the thread of gold around his index finger. ‘You have been sentenced to death. However, if you would care to place your fate at the hands of the gods, I can arrange for you to undergo a trial.’ He twisted the gold between his fingers. ‘Yes, a trial, such as we have in my kingdom for witchcraft. If you fail the trial, you will die. If you succeed at the trial … I will think of some other fate for you.’

  Will glared at him over the gag. He thought much of himself if he thought she would follow his false thread of hope for a moment.

  ‘The East Wing has been overrun with thorns, has it not?’ he asked. ‘None ever uses that portion of the palace for fear of being throttled and bled to death. There are many rooms which hold now nothing but solid canes of these deadly briars. Am I correct?’

  Will guessed where this was going, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. If he was proposing what she suspected, she was already dead. Her body just hadn’t realized it yet.

  ‘Your trial is this. I am going to shut you into one of those East Wing rooms, those rooms entirely overgrown with briars. You will have one night, and your spinning wheel. If, in the morning, you have not spun every last briar cane into gold, you will be hung publicly upon the gallows, your body burned, and your ashes scattered in an undisclosed location. You will be branded as a traitor to your country, and people will use your name as an insult.’ He smiled. ‘Ah. And if you are found bled dry in the morning, I will exonerate you. Announce you were falsely accused and your remains will be buried in state.’

  She stared at the nest of gold thread in his hand and gestured to it with her manacled fist. And if I succeed?

  He frowned, then his face cleared when he understood what she was asking. ‘Ah, you want to know what happens if you succeed.’ He smiled again. ‘If every single briar has been spun into gold, and you stand, hale and whole in the midst of the glittering. What a fine picture that would make. Should you succeed in this way, you shan’t be killed in the morning. That is all you need know.’

  Will sighed.

  ‘I already know where I shall put you. Guards, take this woman to the East Receiving Room. There you may unbind her. Treat her respectfully,’ he added. ‘She is of the royal line. The spinning wheel is all ready for you, my dear.’

  If hatred alone could kill a man, Will would have been a murderess and glad of it at that moment.

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  As always, it was much easier to find my way back to the burrow than it had been to find the way to Cait’s tower. The kit jumped up from under a snowbank as I approached, surprising me. She was rosy cheeked and well fed, thanks to Cait’s eternal bag of food. Even though her weight had not begun to fill out, it was strange seeing her without that look of hunger in her eyes. I stared at her in wonder for a few minutes, imagining what that silver-white hair would look like illuminated with the Light of a true faerie. It hurt my heart. ‘Gottcha!’ she cried, and hurled a loosely packed snowball into my face.

  I sputtered and she dashed behind a tree, awaiting my returning volley. I wished I was in the mood to play with her. She rarely had the energy and freedom to play. Neither of us had had much of a childhood. I brushed the snow from my face and reached into the bag. I pulled out what appeared to be a cinnamon bun and hurled at her instead, still steaming with ensorcelled heat. She caught it deftly and looked at me awed. ‘Cait gave you another bag,’ she said.

  ‘This one does desserts,’ I said, but I couldn’t sound pleased about it. ‘Where’s our ma?’

  ‘Collecting firewood,’ the kit said.

  I heaved a sigh. ‘Good.’ That meant the burrow was empty. I crawled in and curled up. I hadn’t slept last night.

  It took me a long time to get to sleep. At first I kept thinking of Cait and Ylva, and how we would never be anything but Nameless. Unknowable. I think I growled under my breath as I tried to pursue the elusive slumber. Then I thought of Ylva’s crimes, and how that had resulted in so much hardship. Thinking of Ylva’s crime made me think of Will, and her anger at Cait’s wall of thorns which had caused so much death. And then I was thinking of Will.

  Damn.

  The scent of roses. The scent of her, thick and very human. Her body had been so soft and so strong beneath mine. Stop that, I told myself. Stop it, she hates you, you’re Nameless. She called you a demon. The last thing you need, the absolute last thing you need is to get obsessed over some other human, risk another Lynelle. Damn Lynelle to the depths of the darkest hell, and damn Will along with her!

  It wasn’t working. The scent of roses was still hidden in my clothes where I had held her. Finally I gave in and just thought of her, how she had reached forward to kiss me, how she’d simply waited for me to come ba
ck. She thought herself unhandsome? What madness! She was probably comparing herself to that pale, washed-out twig of a sister. The scent of her hair was enough to lead a man to hell. I turned my head and breathed in the scent that still lingered on my shirt sleeves. Finally, curled around a warm human body which was not there, relishing a scent which was rapidly fading, I lulled myself into sleep.

  My dreams were unpleasant. I was chasing a wisp of light, through a snow-covered forest. A light no more real or substantial than the kit’s baby attempts at foxfire. Sometimes I could see by it, but mostly it was just a hovering twinkle darting behind black trees. I needed to catch it, and I kept getting closer and closer, until I had it cornered, or so I thought, near a hollow under a tree, like our burrow. I darted in after it, but inside it was a large ballroom, and there was Will, gleaming like a flame in the darkness, spinning at the spinning wheel. She had caught the light and was spinning it into a gleaming thread that I knew I was not permitted to touch. I was furious that she had stolen the light from me, and I launched myself at her. She turned into Ylva as a glowing wolf, and savaged my arm with teeth made of ice.

  I yelped and sat up too quickly, knocking my head on the curved wall of the burrow. My arm was all pins and needles, the icy patch on my wound half melted. I was healing, but it almost hurt worse for that, the pain kept less at bay by Winnowinn’s icy bandage. On an impulse I sniffed at my sleeve again. My father might have been able to read the trace of Will’s scent still on it, but my nose wasn’t so strong.

  I poked my nose out of the burrow and saw my ma sitting by our pile of firewood. She was ostensibly piling more wood neatly atop it, but I could see she’d stopped in her labours. Her hand was running idly over Mistress Cait’s new gift. A small layer cake was sitting on the snow before her feet. I grunted a greeting and she looked up at me. ‘You’re awake,’ she said.