Page 4 of Thorn Season
Tari regained her faculties first, seizing the tooth and tossing it aside with a sickening clatter. But the indent remained on my palm—little dimples where the points had nearly broken skin. I blinked rapidly, trying not to picture the Hunters’ faces. Trying not to guess which one of them had issued that tooth-loosening blow.
Had they unleashed a similar violence upon my mother before they’d killed her? Would they unleash the same upon me?
My ears rang as the guards’ voices drifted away.
“They’re leaving,” Tari said, eyes glassy. “We should go.”
I fought to steady my breathing, to settle the frantic thrum of my specter. Then we dashed out the door and into the street, the bucket wrapped in my sopping embrace.
I managed three steps before someone grasped my arm.
“All right, the fun’s over—”
The guard broke off as I turned, my eyes already framed wide with innocence. I hoped he couldn’t feel the nervous quiver down my limbs.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
The guard dropped his hand, stammering. “Lady Alissa. I didn’t recognize you.”
I tilted my head, letting my face bronze in the first light of morning. The guard was young enough that my smile sent a shock of pink to hischeeks. “I hope you don’t go around grabbing every citizen like that.” My voice lilted between a flirt and a threat. The voice of a courtier.
His blush deepened. “No, my lady. We received a report that someone was destroying town property.” He glanced to Marge’s dripping door. To where I could still make out the two connected spires of the Hunters’ Mark—a long, sharpMwith a plunging center.
Father once told me the spires represented the two gods of passing, a symbol to honor the dead. But my first visit to court had taught me that those spires mimicked the two-tined crown of Daradon. Not a tribute to the gods—but to the vicious king who held the Hunters’ leash.
And I’d just been caught scrubbing those tines away.
I readjusted my bucket, chin lifted. “That would be me.”
The guard’s eyes flicked to Tari and tightened on her tan waistcoat. “Are you sure, my lady?”
I gritted my teeth. The bucket was inmyarms.Myclothes were sodden with paint and water. Yet he’d seen Tari’s lotus pin—the national Bormian flower—shining proudly at her breast, and he’d thought to accuse her.
Bormians were always labeled as sympathizers.
“What’s your name?” I asked, fighting to conceal the bite in my tone.
He straightened. “Byron, my lady.”
“Byron.”Names held power, and I said his like I would never forget it. “You’re new?”
“Yes, my lady. I trained with the royal guard before coming to Vereen.”
The royal guard.I could work with that.
“You must forgive my father, Byron. He should have warned theguards I’d be here. With the preparations for tonight’s ball, it surely slipped his mind.”
Byron frowned. “This was Lord Heron’s idea?”
“It’s the first day of Rose Season. People from across the kingdom have traveled to Vereen to see our famed craftwork.” I leaned closer, confiding. “This street is so near the market. We don’t want to drive away shoppers.” When Byron looked unconvinced, I wrinkled my nose toward Marge’s door. “And we certainly don’t want to be associated withtheir kind.”
I felt sick at the words. Felt sick that Byron’s face softened with understanding. But nobody questioned cruelty the way they questioned kindness.
“My father didn’t wish to draw attention,” I said, driving in my final weapon. “He’ll be mortified to hear I dragged you from your post on such an important day.”
Bull’s-eye.Having trained at the palace, Byron would’ve seen how royal guards were punished for their oversights. Vereen was nothing like the capital, but Byron didn’t know that. And leaving his post to accost the lady of Vereen? That was a medal-worthy oversight.
He gulped, looking so ill that I almost pitied him. Then he said, as if doingmea favor, “Don’t fear, my lady. I won’t mention this to His Lordship.”
