Spinning Thorns

by Anna Sheehan

  Roux, whom she had become quite fond of, really, turned around three times in the middle of the road, yawned at her, then promptly jumped onto her knapsack and fell asleep, covering his nose with his tail. Clearly he believed his job was done, but there was no Reynard in sight. Will tried to open the next walnut, but it wouldn’t crack. She asked a little girl playing in the street whether she could direct her to the nearest witch or fortune teller, who could tell her what she was doing wrong. She said, ‘I dunno about those, but the new faerie just set up shop by the creek side.’

  Will asked specific directions and tipped her a copper for her help.

  The cottage Will approached was bright with whitewash, and morning glories twined over the door. The garden was a riot of colour – but there were no roses. Autumn was coming, and pumpkins and squash were piled on the doorstep. A round, motherly faerie with bright yellow wings sat knitting on a swinging bench just outside. She shone with a buttery light. ‘Hello, miss!’ she said with a bright smile. Will was dressed in peasant travelling clothes for the sake of anonymity. ‘I’m Mistress Stiltskin, is there aught I can do for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Will said, unable to keep the smile from her face. ‘I am looking for your son.’

  ‘He’s not working today, but my daughter and I could help you. Between the two of us, there’s little we can’t do. We only need him for the heavy stuff – that unpullable stump, that dying child. You don’t want him anyway, he’s surly. Too much power for his own good, my son. But anything else, you’d do better to come to us. Charms, illusions, good fortune; tell us your wishes, and we’ll see what we can do for you. Modest prices, and we’ll take a good trade any day.’

  ‘I need to see Reynard,’ Will said evenly.

  Mistress Stiltskin looked confused for a minute, but then an enthusiastic voice cried out from the attic window. ‘Willow!’ A blazing white figure poured from the window, down the trellis, and nearly knocked her over with a hug. ‘I knew you’d come! He didn’t believe me, but I told him you would! No gift at fortune telling at all, Reynard.’

  Will grinned down at her. Reynard’s sister was an angel of beauty, her shining face and her flowing hair. A white flame amidst the autumn colours. ‘It’s you!’ she said.

  ‘Kitsune, thank you,’ she said proudly. ‘Kitsune Stiltskin. But you can call me Kit. Reynard’s down by the creek. I won’t tell him you’re here. It’ll ruin the surprise.’ She pointed at Will. ‘Ma, this is Willow!’

  Mistress Stiltskin stood slowly and curtseyed deeply, averting her gaze. Will blushed. ‘It’s all right, Ma’am,’ Will said. ‘Don’t do that. I’m not a princess here.’

  ‘You could be the lowliest scullery maid,’ Mistress Stiltskin said. ‘I’d bow to you all the same.’

  Will didn’t know what to say. Kit grabbed her arm and pulled her around the house. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘he’s down by the creek,’ and she darted away. Will suspected she was probably going to be watching from somewhere, but she supposed it didn’t matter, so long as she didn’t interrupt.

  As soon as she left, Will pulled out her little red fox, waking him gently. ‘Find him, Roux,’ she told him, and he twitched his tufted tail and took off down the bank towards a bend in the creek.

  Reynard was sitting high on a fallen tree by the creek, spinning something with a new drop spindle. He saw the fox before he saw Will. He folded up his spinning and smiled. ‘Hello, there,’ he said, stooping down as the little beast pawed at his feet. ‘What are you after?’

  ‘Good boy, Roux,’ Will called, and the fox dropped to all fours and scampered back to her. She fed him a tidbit of dried meat and he settled down to gnaw it. When she looked back Reynard was standing straight as a rod, staring at her with a look of horror.

  It was everything he’d dreamed of, and the last thing he wanted. Will looked lovely, tanned from her summer journey, her hair free from the aristocratic coifs, framing her face in a lovely cloud. She’d grown thinner over her journey, and stronger. She was still sturdy and tall, not at all the fashionable courtly waif people expected her to be. She looked exactly like the hero she already was to him. He wanted to cry out, or weep, or fall to her feet, or flee as he had done before. But he didn’t need to. Because he was Reynard, and he could control himself. All he did was stare, faerie tall and perfectly, faerie still.

  Will licked suddenly dry lips. God of Love, but he was stunning. Ferdinand would look a pale, washed-out trout next to this red flame. Gone was the skulking stance. Gone were the furtive glances. Gone was the concealing hood. Most of all, gone were the shadows. He shone with a brilliant light, as though his soul was part of the sun itself. But it was still Reynard. She could see the impression of those shadows behind the light in his eyes. He stared at her as if she were a ghost, or possibly a demon come from hell to torment him. ‘Will,’ he breathed.

  ‘Reynard,’ she said with a slight smile.

  He cringed at the name. It still hurt to hear it sometimes, a joy too raw, too tender to embrace fully. Kitsune had taken to it with a child’s adaptability, and his mother had fallen easily back into the role of Mistress Stiltskin, leader of her small faerie clan. But Reynard was too tainted by the years of darkness to fully be comfortable in the light. And to hear the name from Will … Will’s clear, rich voice, as it sounded in his dreams, in his errant thoughts, over and over and over, pounding in his head until he had to flee into his spinning or go mad … ‘How did you find me?’

  She took a step toward him. ‘Mistress Cait. She gave me him.’ She gestured to the little fox, Roux, who seemed to have caught the scent of a squirrel and was spinning in circles, his nose to the ground. ‘You kept me walking a long time.’

  He turned his back to her, his eyes back to the creek. He couldn’t look at her. ‘I didn’t want to be found.’

  She came up beside him and watched his profile. ‘Afraid to be arrested?’ she asked.

  He hesitated. He wanted to lie, and say yes. It would have been such an easy answer, a perfect excuse that had nothing to do with her. But lies were even harder to tell in the light, and he didn’t like lying to her. Not to her. Will could see the shadows move in his smouldering eyes as he forced himself to admit to something he didn’t want to admit to. ‘No,’ he said. He swallowed. ‘It was what I deserved, really. I even considered giving myself up, but …’ He glanced at her. ‘Is that why you’ve come? To arrest me?’

  Will smiled at him sadly. ‘I hope you know me better than that,’ she whispered.

  Why did this have to hurt so much? Reynard closed his eyes, but he could still feel her gaze, burning him.

  Will was frustrated. This whole thing was more awkward than she’d thought it would be. It wasn’t like the faerie tales; she hadn’t found him and taken his hand and walked off happy-ever-after. There was still one more task, one more mountain to climb, and she was afraid she wasn’t going to surmount it. If she didn’t do this right, she knew he would flee again. She knew how deeply his self-hatred ran, and he didn’t believe in happiness – particularly not for himself. And even looking at him was distracting. Oh, but he was handsome. He glowed like a stained-glass window, and his red hair caught the breeze and shone like a flame. ‘Your family is … looking well,’ she said, seizing on a lighter topic. ‘I’m glad to see it.’

  ‘I knew Kit well enough to name her,’ Reynard said, reminding her it wasn’t such a light topic after all. ‘There was nothing I could do for my mother, but fortunately Kitsune understood her better than I did.’

  ‘Good,’ Will said. ‘I did wonder about that. It didn’t seem quite fair. I was hoping, but I heard nothing about you and your family. The Stiltskin clan didn’t suddenly appear amongst the faeries. You all just … vanished.’

  ‘We thought it best to leave Lyndar lands,’ Reynard said. ‘Once we were no longer Nameless, the other clans had no reason to deny us passage through their territories.’ He swallowed. He had to ask, though the answer frightened him. ‘Your family? Is everyone …?’
<
br />   ‘No ill effects. They’re fine.’

  ‘Your sister?’

  ‘Married Ferdinand in the spring.’

  His eyes closed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not. They’re happy. She wore a gown embroidered with your gold. After that they intended to cut it up and give pieces to all the households that lost working family members in the Sleep, as compensation for the loss of labour. There was even enough gold left over to appease Hiedelen.’

  He looked up sharply. ‘Hiedelen?’

  ‘Lesli’s eldest son,’ Will clarified. ‘There was a trial after you left. After much deliberation they came to the conclusion that the Sleep was caused by Lesli.’ She laughed. ‘I didn’t disillusion them. There was one final tribute, but now that Lesli’s gone, much of Hiedelen’s structure seems to be crumbling. Apparently, he was using his magic to influence a lot of opinions. Now they’ve too much dissension on their plate to argue over our supposed debt. Lyndaria is free.’

  Lyndaria was free. Reynard was glad to hear it, after all he’d put them through. But Will … ‘And your marriage?’ he asked.

  Will smiled. ‘Lavender’s firstborn has been promised to Narvi. I read it on a broadsheet at an inn I stayed at. Cait has promised it’s to be a daughter.’

  That was not what Reynard wanted to hear. ‘But you …?’

  ‘Still the witch princess,’ she said. ‘People are frightened of me. After what happened to Lesli, I can’t exactly blame them. Mother and Father probably couldn’t sell me into marriage even if they wanted to. Besides, I wouldn’t let them. Not any more.’

  He looked away as she said that, afraid she’d see the hope in his eyes. He didn’t deserve her, there was no reason to hope. Even if she was free, she could never be his.

  All she could see was his shining red hair, and the tips of his pointed ears. It was strange seeing them, he’d kept them so hidden. She had a sudden desire to reach out and touch one, let her finger travel down his long, brightly lit faerie throat … damn it, he was distracting!

  ‘Oh, ahm ….’ He realized he was being woefully impolite. ‘Please, sit down.’ He gestured to the fallen tree he had been sitting on when Roux came up and announced her. She sat, cautiously. He sat down beside her and his eyes darted back and forth from her to the water, unable to look at her, unable to look away. There was something he needed to say. What he kept saying over and over again in his dreams, in the countless conversations he’d had with her while he was sure she was a thousand miles away, content with her life at her now-peaceful palace. While she was, apparently, walking over hill and dale, following her questing beast, to find him. ‘I never ….’ He stopped, and she waited for him to go on. ‘I meant to thank you,’ he said finally. ‘I never got a chance.’

  ‘You never gave yourself a chance.’

  ‘That’s true.’ He took a deep breath. ‘In truth, there are no words to say it.’

  ‘Don’t think on it,’ she said. She pulled down the collar of her dress and revealed the little golden briar that crossed her heart. ‘A life for a life is equal, isn’t it?’

  Her skin was smooth and unscarred, but the golden line of his spell cord was unmistakable. He’d known it was there – it had as much as killed Lesli, after all – but he hadn’t realized she’d ever see it. It was beautiful, in its way. But it was a symbol of something foul, a dark and dangerous experience that she would do better to forget. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, touching the golden briar, the smooth, warm, human skin above her heart. ‘I didn’t realize it would mark you.’

  His fingers left a line of heat on her skin that stayed long after his touch was gone. She hadn’t realized how closely he’d sat by her. ‘You save my life, rid Lyndaria of a tyrant, lift a pernicious ban from our economy, and you’re sorry?’ She touched the mark gently, tracing the patterns his fingers had left on her skin. ‘Besides. I think it’s rather pretty.’

  ‘Any effects? Lesli …’

  ‘Firmly planted in the middle of the throne room,’ she told him ‘When they tried to dig him out, I nearly fainted. We think if he’s truly killed, I’d die. They decided to let him stay. He’s quite decorative, actually. He’s growing, but not wild like the thorns, just normally – if you could call a golden briar with the vague shape of a king normal. He bloomed golden rosebuds in the spring. Mother plucked them and gifted them to visiting royalty at Lavender’s wedding.’

  ‘Did that hurt?’

  ‘No.’ She laughed. ‘Apparently, we can prune him without any ill effects.’

  He did not smile with her. ‘You’re all right, then?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, serious. ‘And you?’

  Reynard shook his head. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘You look ….’ she began, but she couldn’t go on. There were no words for how he looked. ‘Different,’ she said finally.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Is it better?’

  ‘It’s … easier. In ways I can’t begin to describe.’

  There was a short silence, and she tried again. ‘I wish you’d try,’ she said.

  He heard the double meaning, and his eyes closed. He’d had this conversation a thousand times since he’d left her. Why was it so much harder now than it ever was in his thoughts? But he could deny her nothing. He tried. ‘I’m … I’m not who I thought I was,’ he said, swallowing. ‘I didn’t … I couldn’t see myself through the shadows. I’m still learning what it is to be … me.’ He didn’t say the name. He’d only said it twice since he’d received it, once to his sister and once to his mother, so they both could truly know him. ‘I haven’t changed, really, but … it’s different. The exact same path feels different in the dark, from in the daylight. I can see where I’m going … and where I’ve been. I can see where I am. I’ve never been able to do that before. I didn’t know myself.’ He shook his head. ‘I still can’t imagine how you could have begun to know …’

  ‘The Sleep,’ she said. ‘No one else can remember the nightmares you gave them. Not one. Not even Lavender. But I do.’

  He stared at her, confused. ‘But you never Slept.’

  ‘I had a dream-sharing spell, and I … I visited one, then another, then another. I couldn’t keep away. They were intense and terrible, and—’

  ‘I know what they were.’ Reynard’s voice was flat.

  ‘And I wanted to see them,’ she finished, unwilling to let him cut her off. ‘I wanted to be there. I wanted to know.’

  His red-brown eyes stared into hers. ‘Why?’

  Will wasn’t sure she could explain. ‘Right from the beginning … it seemed like they were trying to tell me something.’ And I think I was already half in love with you from the moment you insulted me at Madam Paline’s, she thought. But she didn’t say that.

  He took another deep breath. He’d just remembered he had to say more than thank you. ‘I’m sorry about the Sleep.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know why you did it.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t. Or maybe you could. Maybe you. But even I didn’t know why, not until I thought about it. It wasn’t revenge or pain, not what was in the dreams. Or not really. That was my excuse. I was trying … to prove to myself how evil I was. I’d been trying so hard for so long to hold on to what was good in me that everything ached. I was so … tired of it all. Then I met you, and you were … you smelled of roses,’ he said quietly. ‘You amused me. No one had done that in ….’ He trailed off. ‘And you were the princess. It didn’t match what I thought of as me,’ he continued. ‘And I knew … that if you knew who I was, you’d hate me. I thought if I just gave up and became evil – became what everyone thought I was – it might be easier.’

  He gave a rueful half laugh. ‘I didn’t know how much it would hurt knowing myself. I’m not what I thought I was.’ He wanted to hold her so badly in that moment that he felt like Will must have felt in the briars – as
if a hole had been punched in his heart. He realized if he was still Nameless he would have already reached out for her – or fled. He kept having that impulse, too. But he wasn’t impulsive any longer. Very deliberately he turned to face her. He reached out and touched a tendril of her hair, twisting it idly in his fingers, as if he would twist it into a spell. But there was no spell, not really. He was simply learning her. She shivered under his touch, and he didn’t want to believe that it meant what his heart longed for. ‘It took you to see,’ he whispered. He let her go and bent his head to the creek.

  She took a deep breath, and swallowed, banishing the shiver he had sent through her. ‘Mistress Cait explained it to me,’ she said. ‘About your name. She said if I’d given you the name when I first thought of it – which was the moment I met you, actually – that it wouldn’t have stuck to you. Even I probably would have forgotten it, such was the curse. But once I knew you, really knew you, I could, sort of … remind you who you were. I learned a lot about you from the nightmares … and the rest from what you did. Not how you acted, you always acted like a snarling puppy. But from what you were willing to do.’ She touched her heart. After they’d tried to uproot Lesli, and her heart had stopped, she had done a bit of research. She’d known how tired Reynard had been as they finished the thorns in the ballroom, and she knew, better than she wanted to, how deep the wound in her heart had gone. When she asked Mistress Cait about it, she had confirmed her suspicions. ‘You poured half your life into my heart, didn’t you?’

  His eyebrow twitched, and he refused to look at her. ‘Only about a fifth,’ he said.

  His modesty touched her. She reached forward and touched his hand – his bright, long-fingered hand. He’d always kept his fists closed before, she realized. His hands were lovely. Spinner’s hands. ‘Thank you.’