Page 48 of Thorn Season
The outer door whined open to silence. I was smiling at the memory of Tari blushing after Carmen had called her “peach” when I noticed two hematite stones tucked into my case.
Emotion thickened my throat. Amarie must’ve stowed these in my luggage, a tribute to the gods of protection.
Daradonian religion revolved around duality, with each pair of gods balancing the weight of power like two pillars supporting a roof. Ever since that miserable tutor had frightened me with the idea that Wielder spirits were shackled to this realm, I’d felt ambivalent toward religion. But Amarie, who lit two protection candles in the foyer every night, taught me that even a single set of beliefs could be widely interpreted.
Some might believe that Wielders have no place in the next realm, she’d said.But don’t the gods have power too? How, then, are they different from Wielders?
The gods carry power in pairs, I’d said.
And you carry it alone.She’d cupped my cheek with a proud,maternal smile.Perhaps, then, Wielders have the strength to bear more than the gods themselves.
Now I remembered how she’d sobbed to the gods of protection during my kidnapping. How she’d darted between me and Goren, trembling yet determined. And I suddenly regretted my coldness before leaving home—refusing her help with my wounded palm, taking my dinners alone. All because Amarie was the only person Father had trusted with his secret.
So in her honor, I set one hematite stone on the dresser and turned to place the other at the opposite end of my bedchamber.
Then my door whooshed open, and I stumbled. The stone clattered under my bed.
“What is she doing here?” Garret sliced a path inside, bladelike, his expression livid. “If she’s discovered as an imposter—”
Tari gasped, storming after him with hands on her hips. “I got this job legitimately.” I cast her a look, and she added, “Well, mostly legitimately.”
“This isn’t a game,” Garret snapped. “If you draw attention—”
“Attention?You’re the one who traipsed in like a bruised potato.” She gestured to his face. “How did you explain those?”
“A mugging gone wrong.”
“What did they steal? Your self-respect? Oh, wait,” she deadpanned. “You don’t have any.”
His nostrils flared, his composure unraveling in a rare return to his childhood self.
Tari and Garret had always coexisted on the precipice of conflict, even during that window of youth when I’d been the chain binding them together.
He cheats at every game, she’d said.
So do you, I’d replied.
Yes, but I always confess.Hewon’t admit it until someone catches him out.
Now Tari surveyed him with unflinching disgust. He may have been a Hunter—but to her, he would always be the slippery little boy who never played fair.
The problem was: That boy now carried weapons. And from his dark expression, he was considering how best to use them.
“Sit down, Garret,” I said, drawing his glare off Tari. “Your tantrum can wait.”
His eyes narrowed with a hint of betrayal—the same look he used to give me whenever I’d taken Tari’s side in a fight.
Tari scoffed, plonking back onto the bed. My luggage case bounced with the movement.
Garret glanced at the open case, and color rushed up his neck. He looked quickly away from my undergarments, his scowl deepening. “Don’t they send people to unpack for you?”
I buried the undergarments, more for his sensitivities than for mine, then I retrieved the silver key from a side pocket and tossed it onto the bed. “I didn’t want anyone going through my things.”
He looked toward the rose-engraved key I’d taken with me from Capewell Manor. The key that had been found near Wray’s body, linking his death to a courtier.
This hallway still bustled with too much activity to attempt testing the key. For now, I’d have to settle for gory details.
“How, exactly, was Wray killed?” I asked as the last red bloom faded from Garret’s skin.
