The Castle of Thorns, page 17
The same man as before spoke, and Knorren assumed he was the captain, especially since he wore a cluster of golden leaf pins on his doublet. “Whispers here and there, but I don’t trust any of them.” His head cocked, studying the man whose composure grew steadier the longer he was in his presence. “I certainly don’t trust you.” Knorren’s lip curled as he paced back and forth. His plumed tail caught on thorns and several burrs.
The man’s gaze shifted as he looked to his comrades. “Your games have led to discontent among the citizens of Tursch, and some militias have formed. There have been attacks in the capital, and elsewhere, pushing for a revolution.”
Knorren paused to the side of their path. Guilt didn’t nip at his conscience—it was the king’s fault for antagonizing him. Every ill deed had a consequence and that was something he knew far too well. Werner’s consequence for playing a game he couldn’t hope to win would be the end of the king.
With bared teeth, Knorren growled at them. “Go, and don’t stray from the path or I may not be so generous next time we cross paths.”
He bounded away into the green foliage of the forest, and when he was far enough, he swiped at the dirt in irritation. Ylga had tricked him, or maybe she hadn’t. He wasn’t certain any longer of what the witch’s end game was. Was she destined to torment him for the rest of his days? Confusion aside, something akin to relief flooded him to know that Gisela hadn’t written to her father asking for a rescue attempt.
A strange new feeling rushed through his veins and he wasn’t keen on it. It flooded him with something other than hatred, and it felt . . . oddly pleasant. A warmth grew within his chest, pulsing, and it unsettled him. What was happening?
* * *
A few days later, Knorren lounged in the midday sun, basking in its warm rays. The sound of an approaching horse caught his attention, but the scent was one he was familiar with: Maxim. He barely roused as the boy walked into the yard, but when the rustling of movements became awkward, Knorren forced his eyes open.
Maxim eyed the entrance toward the castle, as if wondering how to get past the fox. When he took notice of Knorren staring at him, he almost collapsed to his knees.
Knorren squinted as Maxim’s foot landed on the tip of his tail. It didn’t hurt; it wasn’t pleasant though, and it made Knorren’s voice harsher than he intended. “Well? What is it?”
Maxim’s face paled. “I’m sorry . . . I have a letter for Gisela.” He waved the sheet of paper in his hand.
From who? Had her father written her again? An involuntarily growl thundered in his chest. Maxim, who had visibly just gained his confidence back, looked as though he wished the bridge would give way and devour him on the spot. With little patience left, Knorren yanked his tail from underneath Maxim’s foot, which made the boy stumble backward. “Klette!” he bellowed for Gisela. She was inside after having successfully hunted a deer earlier and, per her words, she wanted to know how to prep one after it was slain.
The princess’s curiosity and willingness to learn was commendable, to say the least. Never did he think she’d take to death as well as she had. Although she’d initially feared the castle and the death that permeated the woods, she’d seemed to settle in little by little.
Moments later, Gisela emerged from the castle, dressed in a forest-green gown that clung to her slender figure. Despite living amid a forest, far from the civilization she grew up in, Gisela seemed to flourish. Instead of drawn and pale, she seemed stronger in Todesfall. Color filled her cheeks, and her figure had filled out too.
A familiar animal scent filled the air. Metallic and mouth-watering. Blood. Knorren’s eyes roamed over Gisela’s figure again and noted the blood stains on her apron and on her hands. Tufts of fur also peppered her dress.
So she’d been addressing the deer’s carcass herself? Impressive, he mused.
“What is it?” she asked, breathless as if she’d been running through the halls. Her pink cheeks puffed as she drew in a quick breath. At once, Gisela’s full lips pressed together as she eyed Knorren, then Maxim. Confusion wrote itself across her expression, wrinkling her brow.
“You have a letter.” He stood and stretched, only to sit and curl his tail around his legs.
“My lady,” Maxim called from behind Knorren, stepping forward with the fluttering piece of parchment.
Gisela’s pert nose scrunched up as she took the letter from Maxim and broke the seal. She scanned the words quickly. “There was an attack on the castle,” she whispered, eyes widening. “How could they? That is their sovereign.”
“And a degenerate,” Knorren offered.
Gisela’s posture stiffened. Her eyes found his and a challenge swirled within them. “Don’t speak of my father like that. You don’t know him.”
“I know him well enough from his actions, Klette. Haven’t you heard the saying ‘actions speak louder than words’? His actions beg for someone to rise against him.” His tufted brows slanted downward, waiting for her to hurl a verbal barb at him, but it never came.
“Even so, he is still king.” Gisela spoke rigidly, her fingers clamping onto the letter. She looked torn, as if she wanted to ride off to Tursch Castle to ensure everyone was all right. Knorren surmised she’d do just that if he allowed it.
“He won’t be king for long if he continues on his cowardly path,” Knorren drawled as he padded toward the bridge at the opening of the courtyard. Maxim, reading the growing tension in the air, slipped inside the castle, leaving Gisela and Knorren alone.
“And you would know?” She pressed forward, looking up at him.
He did, in fact, know, only because of the soldiers he’d seen in the forest. Knorren lowered his head, his snout close enough so that as he exhaled, his breath tussled Gisela’s curls. “I know, because Grunstadt is prepared to move against him. His capital has moved against him, too, so what happens when they all unite and attack the castle, Klette? What then?” Knorren hissed.
Gisela’s eyes widened. Horror crept into her face and she turned to her handmaid, who hurriedly walked to her side.
“It’s true,” the maid agreed, looping her arm through Gisela’s. She tried to pull her away from Knorren, but she didn’t budge. “What the beast says is true. The attacks are growing bolder and more frequent . . . but I never suspected they’d attempt one on the castle.”
“Dear Wurdiz . . .” Gisela’s eyes trained on the ground and her shoulders sagged. She looked as if she’d collapse at any moment.
The handmaid lurched backward then turned to run back inside the castle, but not before she pinned him with a gaze that conveyed the hatred she possessed for him. Knorren’s nose bumped into Gisela. It was light enough so that she didn’t rock backward. “Wurdiz will not help you or Tursch.”
“I thought . . . I thought that if I came here, all of this would stop.” Gisela’s voice broke. She crumpled the letter in her grasp, but even as Knorren pressed his nose more firmly against her, she didn’t pull away.
Her voice sounded hollow to him. Oddly enough, guilt nipped at the edges of his conscience, threatening to spread within. Don’t. Don’t let it. Nothing good would come from letting her wheedle her way into his conscience entirely. Gisela would no doubt take root in Knorren like one of the blasted burdocks or roses.
A soft sob shook her shoulders, then she leaned against Knorren’s muzzle. Her fingers played with his whiskers, and it shifted a piece within him. Another lock shifted open and rather than snap, or push her away, Knorren endured the gentleness she offered and in turn gave her what comfort he could.
No words tumbling from him would do it, so he remained quiet.
“I must stop this,” Gisela finally said, fingers still coming through the fur beneath his chin.
Half drowsing from her soothing scratches, he growled in protest at her words then again as her fingers stilled. “No. You will not.” Knorren’s voice rushed out, sounding far harsher than he intended. “Gisela . . .”
Her back stiffened the moment the words left him. “Then what is the point of me being here?” Gisela’s tear-streaked face turned up, her glistening green eyes staring up at him accusingly.
The point of her being in Todesfall was . . . His mind blanked. Originally, it had been to cease the killings, but now . . . he wasn’t certain.
Knorren’s eyes narrowed as Gisela rallied. She looked as if she wanted to say something. Those plump lips of hers parted and her cheeks puffed with every breath she took, likely warring with what to say—or not say. She turned on her heel and stormed into the castle instead, leaving him confused and blinking.
Gisela was not some hero from tales of old. Yet, here she was, wanting to dash into the proverbial battlefield with nothing more than her voice. The notion angered him, but as Knorren considered why, he grew uncomfortable with an unfamiliar feeling: worry.
Trouble was coming to Tursch whether the king was ready or not.
* * *
With each passing day, Gisela grew more restless. The not knowing kept her up at night and during the day she penned letters to her father, hoping for a response. But nothing came.
When a week had passed, she could take no more and decided perhaps she could face Knorren’s wrath with the promise of a return. If it had been her first week with him, there was no way that she would’ve considered such a careless decision, but in a week’s time, they’d formed somewhat of an understanding of one another.
Knorren was by no means a gentle spirit. Nor did he perform acts of kindness in the typical sense, but after her initial fear dissipated, Gisela realized he pushed her to her limits and expected more from her than she’d ever had demanded of her before.
He believed in her.
In turn, she participated in his little games and when she fussed, Knorren found his amusement.
Today, however, Gisela was done with games. She stormed outside, pausing in the courtyard to glance around. Knorren wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but as she continued onto the bridge, she saw his face appear in the treeline.
Instead of his laughing smile that usually pulled his lips back, his facial muscles were tense, which gave Gisela pause. She took a step closer to him, quickly glancing over his legs, paws, and chest for any indication of injury. His sides rose and fell, like he’d been running.
“What is it?” Dread snaked its way through her, twining around her pounding heart.
Knorren’s yellow eyes flicked toward the side. “Villagers are growing bolder in Todesfall,” he began, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Some with weapons, and others purely out of curiosity.”
He didn’t have to say it. Gisela knew what it meant. Soon, they’d see how far they could push Knorren before he snapped and gave them cause to attack in self-defense, never considering how Knorren would also be defending himself.
She shook her head and closed the distance between them. Lifting her hands, she waited for his snout to meet her fingers. “I need to go to my father.”
“No,” he growled, finality in his tone.
Gisela withdrew her hands, bunching them into fists. Then what could she do? If he didn’t trust her to leave, what other options did she have? She heaved a sigh, pacing in front of him. If not the castle, then perhaps the village?
“If you will not allow me to leave, can you at least show me?” She did her best to keep the hope from her tone, but when she turned and peered up at Knorren, he was scarcely paying attention to her. His head lifted as he sniffed the air.
With a rumble, Knorren lowered himself to the ground. His head moved to the side as Gisela approached him. “I cannot bring you close to Hurletz. But I’ll bring you as close as I can.”
And that was good enough for Gisela. It had to be.
She clutched his fur, pulling herself up and onto his shoulders. Scooting forward, she twined her fingers into his pelt and prepared for the butterfly-inducing movement. No matter how many times she crawled on his back, when he rose to his full height and moved, her stomach flipped.
But Knorren had given up an easy pace and ignored Gisela’s tightening grasp on his coat as he fell into a lope. It wasn’t as jarring as a horse’s gallop, since he was so large his fur pillowed her body. The motion felt like a massive rocking horse, but this high up it still made her stomach lurch.
Sunlight trickled through the canopy, casting flickering shadows on the ground. Although it meant the pathway had less obstructions, the lighting made Gisela’s stomach knot all the more. This time it had little to do with how high she was.
By the time the forest gave way to the village’s road, the scent of smoke tickled Gisela’s nose. That’s odd, she thought, there are no homes so close to the forest . . .
Knorren swore as they emerged from the woods.
Before them, the once-bountiful fields of wildflowers blazed, catching the nearby trees on fire. Black smoke billowed into the sky, reaching for the hot morning sun. Gisela watched in horror as the fire lapped greedily at the dried grasses, devouring whatever was in its path.
“Who would do this?” Accusation dripped from her tone.
“Humans,” Knorren bit. Leaping off to the side, he circled around the fire to see if there was a way closer to Hurletz not blocked by the flames. “Their cruelties surpass mine. And I’ll never understand how they can think of me as the villain when they’d do this to their brethren.”
Gisela wanted to dispute the fact, but wasn’t it the truth? Her heart ached for those that would be affected. Frantically, she glanced around in hopes of finding a source of water or something . . . No, someone. Knorren.
“Knorren, you must run toward the other side of the fire. I have an idea.” She hunkered down, coughing as the smoke grew thicker.
“Are you mad?” Incredulity crept into his tone as he stood rooted to his spot. Safe.
Desperation crept inside of her, oozing into every fiber of her being. “Please, Knorren. People and their livelihoods depend on it.”
“What do I owe to people?” he quipped. “As I see it, they don’t even owe anything to their brethren.”
Time was of the essence and if all the fox wanted to do was bicker, then she’d figure out a way without him. She shifted from her seated position, rising, but she stopped as Knorren craned his head around to look at her.
His eyes narrowed on her and his snout halted her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help.”
“How?” His eyes rolled, then a deep, resonating growl emitted from him. “The devil take you, Gisela. Sit down, I see a way closer.” He bounded around the wall of flames, coughing violently. “Now what?” Knorren wheezed as he looked side to side. His ears fell flat, giving him a pathetic look even from where Gisela sat.
Now what? The question echoed in her mind. “If we don’t have water . . . we need . . .” She looked down at the charred earth. The grass had long since burned away, but left behind was ash—dirt. Gisela couldn’t hope to dig fast or deep enough to make a difference, but Knorren could. “I need to get down.”
“No.” Knorren shoved his nose against her, righting her in place once again. “You’ll stay where you—”
“Luka!” a woman’s voice cried out. “Luka! Where are you?” Wind, created by the fire, shifted the smoke so that Gisela could see a portly woman frantically searching for her son.
“The boy?” Knorren blurted. “Get down,” he ordered, tone hardening as tension stiffened his muscles.
Gisela could feel every sinew tighten, and she wondered what was happening. “Are you all right?” The woman’s gaze settled on Knorren as Gisela climbed down his shoulder and slipped to the ground. The air was better on the ground, but not by much as the smoke wafted up from the dirt.
“No!” the woman bellowed, as if she realized what she saw was in fact real and not an apparition from the smoke. “You devil,” she sobbed. “Not my boy!”
Knorren shook his head and rather than stay put, he leaped over the wall of flames, disappearing behind the curtain of fire and smoke.
Gisela gasped, running forward, but then halted as the heat nearly scorched her from afar. Instead of standing and gawking at the fire, wishing Knorren would return, she ran toward the woman.
“Miss!” she called to her, “Miss! Get away from the fire.” Reaching the woman, Gisela pulled her away just as Knorren leaped in front of them. A small bundle hung from his mouth and the mother shrieked in horror.
Lurching forward, the mother grabbed a rock with the intent to hurl it at Knorren, but he carefully lowered the boy onto the ground. Gisela hadn’t the time to thank Wurdiz or soothe the woman.
With wide eyes, she tilted her head back to look up at Knorren. “Dig as fast as you can. Create a barrier that the fire can’t cross!”
Knorren cocked his head. With narrowed eyes, he glanced down at her as if she’d lost her mind. But dirt was their best option and he was large enough that his paws could unearth more dirt than any shovel.
Gisela watched as he turned and jumped toward the advancing flames. Then, she rushed to the boy’s side. Ash covered his figure from head to toe. Small burns littered his bare arms, cheeks, and legs. But he was alive.
Coughing, the boy turned onto his side and vomited. “I-I told you . . . Knorren wasn’t bad.” His eyes connected with his mother’s and then he collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“He needs help. I don’t know what the smoke or heat has done to him.” Gisela glanced at the mother. “Did you come here on foot?” Her brows raised as her voice rose an octave. If she did . . . How was this boy going to get back home to the aid he needed?
“Luka, my baby,” the woman crooned over her son, pulling his head into her lap. She brushed the hair from his brow and rocked.
Helplessness burned in Gisela’s chest. But as she searched the area for Knorren, he was nowhere to be seen. The smoke had grown thicker, but the fire seemed to die out, which meant the dirt was working.
Torn between staying put and finding Knorren, she opted for the latter and ran alongside the new dirt path. On the other side of it was a trench—another barricade for the fire. Freshly churned earth melded with smoke. The sun had long since disappeared behind a veil of smoke too.
