The Castle of Thorns, page 22
“I may find one along the way.” He grinned sheepishly.
This was hardly the time for humor. “You better.” She clucked to her horse, spurring her on in a steady trot. It was difficult not sending Tula off into a gallop, but Gisela couldn’t risk drawing attention to them. But Wurdiz, she wanted to run as fast as her horse would go until she was near her father.
The road seemed treacherously long on the way back, but as soon as the field near Adeli’s home came into view, so did the royal banners, which flew high. They flapped in the breeze, signaling the king. As if that wasn’t announcement enough, the horses in the party thundered their way down the king’s highway.
The display was elaborate and instilled pride within Gisela, but also horror, for they were announcing to everyone that they’d arrived. The rebellion hadn’t thought out their attack well, for if they did, they would’ve left Adeli’s fields intact to hide in. But now, with no wheat, and nowhere to hide, her father’s party couldn’t dodge any attacks either.
So where were they?
Gisela glanced to the woodline on her left, her eyes scrutinizing every minute detail. Just as she went to turn her head, the glint of something caught her attention. She focused better and saw a face.
“Maxim, to my left, archer,” she whispered softly, continuing to march Tula on as though she hadn’t noticed at all. But her hands clenched the reins so tightly that she thought the braided leather would leave an imprint.
He nodded. “Just smile and ride along. Our help will make their way into the woods too, if they haven’t already.”
The royal party surrounded the king, blocking him from view except for the flash of his armor. He sat proudly on top of his horse, wearing a stoic expression. Gisela knew what lay behind his helm: a crippling worry for his kingdom. The need to gain control.
“Halt. Do not come any closer,” the captain shouted, barring the path from them.
Gisela arched a fine brow at the man. While he was only doing his job, didn’t he recognize her? “I will come closer.” And she did. Her horse plodded forward, setting the soldiers on edge. “Would you keep a daughter from her father?” Gisela jerked her chin toward the king, smiling despite the nerves threatening to snuff the air from her lungs.
“What?” the captain cried. “Nonsense. You are not—”
Maxim snorted at the soldier.
“Move aside!” her father grumbled, pushing his horse through the throng of other mounts. “Gisela?” Disbelief filtered into his gaze, rumpling his brow. “Why . . . how are you here?” He urged his horse forward until he was beside Gisela. Twisting, he leaned over to hug her with one arm.
The cold metal of his helm pressed into her cheek as she embraced him and as he withdrew from her, bewilderment wrinkled Gisela’s nose. “What do you mean, how? I rode here.”
“But Knorren . . .” When he pulled away, he shot a look to Maxim as if asking, Did you have a part in this?
“That’s neither here nor there. You must go back into the forest.” Gisela grabbed a hold of her father’s chainmailed arm. “I know why you’re here, but the rebellion awaits you in the treeline. They have arrows on you as we speak.”
Werner didn’t look surprised. Gisela surmised it was the reason he wore his battle armor, and she was grateful for it. “You need to get out of here, now.” His words came out rushed, panicked.
Whatever argument Gisela may have had at the tip of her tongue died off as an arrow plunged into the neck of a soldier’s horse. Squeals erupted as the horse bucked, ramming into his surrounding comrades. With the chaos erupting, the other men rallied around her father.
“Gisela! Come to me!” Maxim cried out over the shouting, but it was no use. The soldiers barricaded her father and in the mad dash, Maxim’s gelding and her mare panicked.
“Nevermind me! Cover Gisela,” Werner barked.
Amid the madness, Gisela’s mare reared, twisting in a clumsy pirouette. Not ready for it, Gisela lost her balance at the same time the mare did. It happened so fast—too fast—that Gisela didn’t have time to propel herself away from the falling horse. Instead, both rider and mount collapsed to the ground with a hard thud.
She screamed in surprise and pain. Fire erupted in Gisela’s hip, then spread down her back and down her leg. Unsure if anything was broken, she scarcely moved, but as her mare scrambled to right herself, Gisela found the moment to slip out from under her.
Her ears rang loudly, and the sound of shouting seemed distant even though she was amid it all.
“Gisela!” her father called from a distance, but where was he?
Dazed, she spun around, then a shriek tore its way from her as a rider brandishing a sword came straight for her. This was it, this was how she’d die. This time, when she screamed, her body lifted from the ground. She was floating, staring down at the assailant, but as her body jostled, she realized she was being carried.
Gathering her wits, Gisela craned her neck to take in Knorren’s narrowed eye. He was glaring at the gathering rebellion. Carefully, he placed her down on the ground and growled at her.
“You fool.” His words lacked bite and in them she heard worry.
She hissed the moment she sat up. Gisela lifted her hand to brush against his muzzle as he nuzzled her. “Says the one who is here.”
“And if I weren’t, you’d be dead. Thanks to that fool of a boy.” Knorren twisted around, assessing the melee. “Stay put.”
It wasn’t Maxim’s fault. Surely he must’ve known that. Frowning, she nodded. Gisela could hardly move without it feeling as though a knife were burying itself into her hip.
Knorren dug his claws into the dirt. His eyes kept darting back to the chaos, and it was clear he was torn on whether to scoop her up and run away, or stay and help. A moment passed, then he pressed his snout against her. “Stay,” he breathed.
“Knorren, you cannot kill them. They’re angry, hurt . . .” The words seemed feeble even to her ears. His lips tightened against his teeth. He looked positively feral, as if he’d launch at her.
“Are they? I suppose that gave them the right to attack you?” Knorren lifted his head and sniffed the air. “There is no way to come out of this without death, Gisela.” With that, he leaped into the fray.
In a blink, Knorren lifted a rider from his horse and tossed him aside. To his credit, he spared them impalement by teeth and claws. Still, his sheer size and presence inspired men to retreat.
Where was Maxim? Gisela searched the faces frantically. She finally spotted him close by her father. Relief flooded her, but it was short-lived as an arrow embedded itself in his neck. Blood sprayed even as he toppled from his horse.
“Maxim!” she shrieked as she hobbled toward him. Not Maxim . . . not another death. Tears burned her eyes from pain, horror, and shock.
This time, Knorren used his teeth to snap the assailant in half. Whether it forced the rebels to rally or it was their plan all along, they focused their attention on the king, and an archer was aiming directly at him.
“Papa!” Gisela shrieked, grabbing her bow and rummaging for an arrow in her quiver. It wasn’t full like it had been. Most must have fallen out during her fall. Her fingers found purchase on one and as she notched the arrow, readying to let it fly toward the archer, Knorren leaped into her line of sight and the arrow meant for her father disappeared into his fur.
Knorren hit the ground hard. An ear-piercing bark erupted from him as he slowly stood back up and his yellow eyes, filled with such hatred, focused on the men who remained.
“No!” With pure adrenaline fueling her movements, she limped across the field. With every step she sucked in a breath, grimacing as bursts of pain followed suit. “Knorren!”
With a whoop, the militia she and Maxim had gained converged on the field, weapons drawn. It wasn’t as if they wanted to fight their neighbors, but the need for protecting the king was stronger.
Most surrendered. They kneeled with their hands behind their necks, unwilling to cut down their brethren.
Gisela fell next to Maxim. She crawled to him, pulled the collar of his shirt down, and withheld a gasp. Blood. So much blood. The strong metallic scent washed over her, making Gisela dizzy. He gurgled as he tried to speak, choking as he clawed at the arrow. “No, Maxim, no. Don’t try that.” Maxim rasped as he found her hand, then squeezed it. She held on until his grip loosened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Scooping his head onto her lap, she rocked him as the surrounding chaos continued. Violet, Adeli . . . Gisela had promised to watch over him, to keep him safe. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing.
Something pushed at her shoulder lightly, then harder. A humid warmth washed over her, and as she focused, she could hear her name over and over. “Gisela!” Knorren wheezed, before scooping her up into his mouth and running as fast as his injury would allow.
* * *
In hindsight, Knorren should’ve remained on the beach outside of Ylga’s hut. But the moment Egon shuffled into view and mentioned the king passing through to Hurletz, every muscle in his body stiffened. There was no way Gisela didn’t know of this, which meant she’d foolishly attempt something.
Ylga only clucked her tongue and shrugged. Ever the helpful witch, she refused to give him any insight. How was he supposed to make the right choices when Ylga didn’t shine as much as a candlelight on the proper path?
Egon’s panic was tangible, which oddly set him on edge.
Damn it all.
Which was why he leaped into the forest full of rage, readying to shred the rebels into ribbons if they’d harmed a hair on Gisela’s head.
When he saw her toppling over, it sparked a fire beneath his paws and he bolted for her. How had his anger transformed into fear so quickly? He’d snapped at her, but it came from a place of worry, not anger.
If he’d stayed on the beach, Gisela more than likely would have joined Maxim in the afterlife. And as much as he was loath to admit it, it meant he cared deeply. The notion of a life without her seemed bleak. She was the sun to his moon.
A deep, gnawing pain blossomed with every breath he took. The arrowhead had met its mark, and if Knorren was right, it'd punctured his lung, which meant it was filling with blood. Knorren had no choice but to rise to his paws, if only to take Gisela away from the madness. She was injured already and the longer she remained on the field, the likelier a secondary wound was.
Knorren swept his gaze toward the king’s men, who were converging on the remaining rebels. He longed to sink his teeth into their wretched bodies, but time wasn’t on their side. With a sharp intake of breath, he propelled himself into a slow run.
“Knorren, please bring me back,” Gisela sobbed, but she barely moved in his mouth.
Unable to speak, he listened as she wept for the boy. Although Maxim was an annoyance, he didn’t deserve to die, and the thought gave him pause. Never once had Knorren considered whether death was deserved or not, and now he was.
Knorren withheld a cough. His body quaked as he fought off the feeling of a thousand fire ants crawling up his throat.
Dying. He was dying.
By the time he reached Ylga’s hut, the light in the gray sky was dwindling. Knorren swayed then collapsed to the ground, careful not to let his jaw slam into the sand. As he opened his mouth, Gisela emerged.
“Knorren!” She limped toward his eye. “Knorren, stay with me.” She turned her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she screamed. “Ylga! Someone!” Gisela’s fingers stroked his brow, and she leaned her face against his.
Knorren closed his eyes, far too exhausted to talk. At that moment, he was nearly at peace. If this was how he’d die, then so be it. Let him die with Gisela stroking him and knowing she cared enough to shed tears for him.
Hopefully it was enough to send him back to the demon realm.
“I am too old for this, and you’re far too heavy.” Ylga’s raspy voice stirred him.
Ylga?
His eyes popped open, and he nearly leaped to his paws. Her milky blue eyes stared down at him and she wore a satisfied grin.
“You’re not dead yet,” she offered quietly, lifting a finger to her lips. “Gisela is asleep. Between the injury she sustained and fretting over you and that poor boy, she wound up in a fit. Not a bad one, but enough to drain her further.” Ylga turned toward the bed in the corner of her hut but instead of frowning, she smiled. “I couldn’t heal you while you were in your other form.” Ylga ran her thumb along the silver ring on her middle finger. “I think we’ve played this game long enough.”
His form . . . this game? Knorren shifted, but his body felt wrong. He couldn’t feel his paws, his tail . . . He blinked, glancing around the room again. He was inside the hut. Not simply sticking his head in it.
Ylga lurched forward, hand held out. “Don’t do that . . . stay still.”
But he didn’t listen as he leaped to his feet. Feet. He collapsed to the dirt floor and his skin slapped against the cool surface. Knorren cursed as it sent a shockwave of pain through him, but the floor against his body distracted him from it.
Lifting a hand, he peered down at his pale, freckled fingers, then up at Ylga. “What is this?”
“This is you,” she said tiredly. “The true you.”
No. This was one of her games. Knorren crawled to the cot he’d been propped on and clumsily crawled onto it.
“If I had more time you’d have remembered upon waking, but now it’ll be the hard way.”
He could hear every word she spoke, but she sounded so far away and a throbbing pain in his head drove him down into the pillow. He fisted the linen sheet in his hands, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they’d snap.
Knorren thought the arrow in his chest had hurt, but this was like a bolt hammering straight through his temple. Images of a younger Ylga flashed behind his eyes. Silky white hair, smooth skin, and crystalline blue eyes. She wasn’t looking at him but at a young lady with warm brown hair and laughing brown eyes. The sight of her caused Knorren’s heart to ache.
“No, I don’t want to remember,” he rasped, clutching his short cropped hair. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s time. You took an arrow for the king, the very man you so loathed. You did it for his daughter, despite how you felt about him, and you further endangered yourself by bringing Gisela here. That, old friend, is how you broke the curse.”
Lenora. Her lips on his, her hands clutching his back as he drove them to pleasure. The sound of her laughing, rasping breaths against his chest. He loved her. Worshipped her.
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, does it, Knorren?”
Knorren. The name didn’t feel right; it gnawed at him. He frowned as he rocked onto his heels and stared out the window, watching as the sea grass wavered in the moonlight. “I loved her.”
“You did, but you loved your power, too.” She frowned, settling down in the chair next to his cot. “Your kingdom loved you nearly as much as my daughter did. You were fierce, willing to protect those you loved. But when it came down to it, you chose your power over love. Your carelessness with my daughter’s heart killed her.” Ylga lifted a hand to smooth back her silver hair.
“You were to meet at the edge of Todesfall, since you were hunting and living in what I believe you affectionately deemed the castle of thorns. But while there, you chose to upstage some petty lord during an impromptu hunt. My Lenora waited for you, and do you know who found her, Knorren?”
Not Knorren, his mind hissed. Tears of frustration and pain welled in his eyes, but the memories raked against his mind, throbbing and beating. The memory of Lenora’s soft body cold in his arms, battered and bruised, sprung at him. “Highwaymen. If I’d been there, I would have slain them. I would have killed them.” He growled, curling his fingers into his palms.
Lenora’s mother, Ylga, had been the royal witch, in charge of aiding the kingdom when they needed magical tactics, or a healer. She’d been so devastated by her daughter’s death, she’d blamed Prince Jannik. It was his fault, after all.
The day of her burial was the same day Knorren emerged from Todesfall and devoured the Golden Prince. It was him.
Knorren was Jannik.
He swiped at his eyes. “I never meant—”
“I believe you, Jannik, and I’ve forgiven you.” Ylga’s gaze slid toward the slumbering Gisela. “Do you care for that girl?”
Jannik glanced down at his bare chest and ran his fingers along a fresh scar. The memories from both lives collided, dizzying him. “Gisela?” he murmured her name and slid from the bedding.
“Yes, that girl, Jannik.” Ylga huffed as she leaned into her chair. He hadn’t noticed how drained she looked. If he was nearly five hundred years old, and she was older than him, it was no wonder she tired easily as of late.
His feet touched the cool floor, and this time, he carefully crossed the room to her side. Kneeling, he watched as she slept peacefully. “She has known me at my worst. Nevertheless, she found a place within her heart to care for me.” Jannik’s fingers lightly ran along her curls, then up to her temple, where he brushed the pad of his finger. “I care for her beyond measure,” he whispered, leaning forward to leave a featherlight kiss on her brow. “That even while I was a demon, this willful girl forced her way into my heart and gave me little choice.” He chuckled softly.
Gisela wasn’t unlike Lenora. Both listened to their hearts, possessed a strong love for the community and their families. But Gisela had a distinct quality that seemed to keep him in check. She demanded more from him, expected better of him, and challenged him.
Jannik rested his chin against the mattress. “Ylga, get some rest. I’ll watch over Gisela.”
She nodded, rising to her feet with a less-than-subtle groan. “There is a linen shirt on the bench for you. Even as old as I am, I’d prefer a level of modesty in my home.”
He grinned as he rose from the floor and walked toward the bench. Jannik pulled the loose linen shirt over his head, then caught his reflection in a dirty mirror. It’d been so long since he’d seen his face. A pert nose, a smattering of freckles, and wild red hair, so dark that in dim lighting it looked brown. His eyes, even as Knorren, hadn’t changed. Light honey-colored irises traced his features, unsettling him. Being human again, possessing memories of both forms, was maddening. The guilt of every single death weighed heavily on him, and Jannik knew no amount of love could erase the blood staining his conscience.
