Page 16 of Thorn Season
I felt far from my body—numb with disbelief—as the Hunter thumbed the cork off the vial and held it out.
“Drink,” he ordered, low and guttural.
I stiffened, recognizing the too-sweet scent emanating from the cloudy liquid. This wasn’t dullroot, the specter poison. It was nightmilk.
And I knew what that much nightmilk would do.
His leather glove groaned around the axe.“Drink.”
My ears rang, a more powerful dread seeping into me. This wasn’t right.
Then the smallest Hunter raised a knife to Garret’s throat in warning. And I took the vial, my shaky fingers smearing blood against the glass. Amarie sobbed her prayers as I brought the vial to my lips.
“Don’t,” Garret said. His eyes brimmed with sudden fear and regret.
But there was nothing to regret. Despite the bitter distance between us, Garret had tried to protect me tonight. They would hurt him for his disobedience.
I couldn’t let them kill him for it.
Slowly, so my free hand appeared lost in the folds of my skirts, I reached for my mother’s coin. I squeezed, feeling its face imprint my palm. Then I drew my hand behind me and dropped the coin to the carpet.
I didn’t want the Hunters to bury it with me. To buryheragain.
My eyes blurred on Father’s slippers as I tipped the nightmilk into my mouth. I lasted four seconds before the vial slipped from my fingers. An arm looped around my waist to catch me.
No—not an arm—
Garret yelled my name. My knees gave way.
5
Crackling torches. Flickering heat.
I inhaled the scent of earth and rotting wood, mingled with the saccharine aftertaste of nightmilk threatening to drag me back under. My eyes quivered open. Dark, rock-hewn walls curved around me, rippling with torchlight. An earth-packed floor sprawled at eye level, strewn with loose rocks that should’ve nipped my bare arms. But a thick quilt separated me from the ground, my head angled so the hairpins wouldn’t bite into my scalp.
As the grogginess faded, guilt took its place. Heavy, smothering guilt that made me want to curl up and wait for the Hunters to finish the job.
What would I do without you, my girl?
My father would outlive his only child. He would come apart from the loss. Though he couldn’t bear to talk about my mother’s Hunting, I knew he’d only survived it because he’d had to be strong for me. But now...
My specter poured around me like the gauze of a death-veil—solemn, grieving—palpitating with the torch-flicker.
Then I jerked upright, blinking when my vision spun. Impossible, and yet... my specter flowed free, unhindered.
They hadn’t dosed me with dullroot while I’d been unconscious.
I braced myself to stand, newly alert, but leaned too hard on my right hand and winced. A bandage wrapped my palm.
I unraveled it, confused—then remembered too late that I’d cut myself on broken crystal. Salve glistened along a shallow slice in my palm, slightly numbing the area.
The Hunters had tended my wound?
I hauled myself up, and my shoe connected with something round—an apple, now rolling across the ground until itplonked against a wooden door.
Heart slamming, I peeked through the keyhole. A torchlit passage stretched outside. Judging from the earthen walls, I had to be underground.
I pulled the door handle. Locked. I loosed a curl of my specter—then stilled it.
