Page 9 of Thorn Season
I lowered the flute as Garret slid beside me.
“The ambassador,” he clarified, his knowing gaze sweeping my face. “He’s making his appearance tomorrow.”
Hope flooded out of me as quickly as it had risen, leaving me hollow.
“It’s your eighteenth season.” Garret leaned back against the table and adjusted his bronze cufflink. “You’re bound to meet him during your stay.”
“I’m not joining court this year,” I said, surprised at the bite in my voice. Even more surprised that it wasn’t directed at Garret.
Each time I Wielded, I knew I scored another stress line into Father’s forehead, spun another silver thread into his hair. And because Wielding was the most selfish thing I could never stop doing, I tried to appease him in everything else. I didn’t push him to acknowledge the increase in Huntings; I didn’t push him to talk about my birthmother; I didn’t even push to join court for my eighteenth season.
But when I’d agreed to stay home, I hadn’t realized he’d been keeping me from another Wielder.
“Shame.” Garret’s faint, genuine smile pierced me through the ribs; it made his face seem softer. Younger. “I saw that trick you pulled on Rupert.”
It was Carmen, the princess of Daradon, who’d first taught me how to charm Rupert into sending me gifts. From there, I’d learned the secret to getting anything from anyone:
Never ask a person for what you truly want; wait until they offer it freely.
“You’ve always thrived here,” Garret said. “It’s your craft.” I tensed, waiting for the insult. But he left the compliment as it was—an invisible hand reaching across the chasm between us.
I stood a little straighter. Smacked that invisible hand away. “That’s what happens when you’re born into nobility.”
“Tell your father that.” He nodded toward a dim alcove, and I went taut. Father usually spent these balls cloistered with the Jacombs of Dawning, his closest acquaintances at court. But tonight, he was still shrinking under Briar’s tirade. Probably paying for having shut her up within earshot of the gentry.
My specter squirmed. With my next exhale, I let it breach my bare skin. I unspooled a tendril across the cool marble floor, feeling the satisfying stretch of release from deep inside me. Then I slipped it under a nobleman’s shoe.
The man stumbled. And crashed right into Briar.
I chuckled under my breath.
Garret grabbed my arm, his soft smile gone. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I wrenched away, all innocence. “I can’t help that she’smore sour tonight than usual. Though I’m surprised she has time to pout about the ambassador when she’s so busy with her nighttime excursions.” My tone turned bitter. “Ten Huntings within two months is bound to wear a person out.”
“Lower your voice.”
As Briar scrambled under the nobleman, I remembered her tight, anxious expression from earlier. And I understood what it meant.
“Oh,” I breathed, smiling grimly. “Don’t tell me the leader of the king’s Hunters is afraid of one little Wielder.”
Garret reached for my wine. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
I pulled back. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do.”
I was turning when Garret seized my wrist. He tugged me toward him and I gasped, stumbling into the space between us. Wine fizzled over our fingers.
“Is this fun for you?” he hissed. His stare bore down on mine, turning me rigid. “Seeing how far you can push before—”
“Beforewhat?” I gritted out.
His grip contracted around my wrist.
Before I expose you, I waited for him to say.Before I decide you’re not worth keeping alive.
My specter reared, and I was moments away from lashing it against him when he abruptly released me and dropped his gaze. A coiffed blond head crept into my eyeline, and my specter shriveled tight.
Then His Majesty King Erik Vard of Daradon asked, “Lady Alissa, may I have this dance?”
