Page 80 of Thorn Season
And plummeted into the grass.
I released a wobbling exhale as a collective sigh rushed across the fields. Too overwrought to lift my specter, I dragged it back through the prickly grass.
It was pouring thickly into me when Keil’s power slid inside my glove.
I twitched, peeking toward him. But while his specter thrummed against my fingertips with that soft, familiar strength, Keil was looking behind me—toward Erik, whom I assumed was holding his steady gaze. A bitter anger worsened my trembling. Had this display been for Keil’s benefit? Just one more hideous example of Erik showing his thorns—a habit he’d adopted as a young king and now couldn’t relinquish?
I was still shaking when Keil’s specter flared, reminding me of his warm touch at the Opal when he’d asked,Are you all right?
I turned before Erik noticed the trail of my attention. Then I curled my fingers slightly. Answering Keil’s question with my own silentyes.
Erik squeezed my shoulder, and I jolted. Keil’s specter glided up my arm in retreat, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its path.
“An unfortunate fate,” Erik declared as the gentry bustled up again. “All produce, no appetite.” The exact of opposite of Sabira’s result.
I struggled to uphold a smile. “I don’t possess your skill in archery.”
“No matter.” His expression softened with understanding. “There’s still time to learn.” His tone made me uneasy; it was the indulgent tone one used toward a child who wasn’t yet daring enough to dive into the deep end of a lake.
Before I could analyze it, he repossessed the bow and swept it wide. “Lady Perla. Take your turn.”
Perla gulped, looking as ill as I felt. “Oh, no, Your Majesty, please—”
“Quickly, now. Don’t make the other ladies wait.”
Perla stumbled forward. And despite the jelly looseness of her limbs, she took the bow with a steady hand, her knuckles slightly clenched.
I went to excuse myself just as Erik said to me, his voice rich and sweet, “I ordered a gift from Vereen to be sent to your chambers. Tell me how you like it.”
With another fraught smile, I darted off.
All the way through the palace, one scene saturated my mind: Sabira’s mercenaries tying down those sixty-three Parrian sympathizers, shooting arrows into their foreheads one by one.
This show of violence would surely deter more potential sympathizers. Where other nations may have mutinied, Daradonians would recoil. I’d witnessed it myself at the Opal; for every step forward this kingdom took, those in power would shove us back.
And yet... for the first time in four years, I felt a kernel of hope opening up. I’d told Keil that Wholeborns wouldn’t fight for Wielders. But the recent increase in Huntings must have fostered enough sympathy that for one brief, shining moment,sixty-threeWholeborns had actually tried to organize shelter for Wielders.
The knowledge was bittersweet. After all, it had cost them their lives.
I was pulling off my gloves, silk clinging to my palms, when I approached my chambers and slowed.
My door was ajar. Even if Erik had sent a gift, why would anyone leave the door open?
My specter stirred as I inched over the threshold, door hinges whining.
Sunlight blanched the empty lounge. A shuffle sounded and I backtracked, reaching behind me for the doorknob.
And from my bedchamber, Father stepped into view.
23
Father’s face had just begun to sink with uncertainty when I crashed into him, wrapping my arms tight. He went rigid for a moment. Then he exhaled long and warm into the crook of my neck, his arms enveloping me.
Maybe I’d known how fast I would melt for my father. Maybe that was why I hadn’t tried to see him before leaving home—because I couldn’t hold on to my anger while I was holding on to him.
We pulled apart and he looked me over, eyes glassy.
“You look like a courtier,” he whispered. Regret tinged the words. With a weak sniff, he drifted to the window and stared across the gardens. An aura of sunlight bronzed his face.
