Curses of Lavender, page 15
“Let’s go, Princess,” Marcellus called.
Thicket drew the hood of her cloak over her face and hastened towards him. She tripped on a vine and tumbled into someone. They caught her, wrapping warm arms around her waist. “Sorry!” she said, face heating. “I guess my lack of sleep has made me a bit clumsy…” she trailed off when her eyes met brilliant blue ones.
Her heart flipped. Elian.
She hadn’t expected him to be here. She wasn’t prepared—didn’t know what on earth to say.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She nodded. “Y-yeah! Just fine.” She peeled herself from his arms. “Sorry, again.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said. The words sounded… sad, and not completely meant for this moment.
Someone tackled her in a hug. “Surprise!”
Thicket jumped, glancing over to see Bern. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We couldn’t let these two have all the fun,” Bern said, gesturing towards Marcellus and Lotta. She clutched Thicket tighter. “They have been hogging you for long enough.”
“I hate to break up the reunion, but we really need to go,” Marcellus said.
Bern huffed and unraveled herself from Thicket. “So bossy.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know, I outrank you.” She jabbed a thumb at Elian. “Technically, so does he.”
“Then you go be the boss by yourself,” Marcellus said impatiently. “But the Princess and I are going.” He marched up to Thicket, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her down the street. Lotta trailed silently after them, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Oh, come on. I was just joking,” Bern called after them. “Wait for us!”
“But you’re not wrong,” Marcellus mumbled.
Thicket turned her head towards him. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” He let go of her wrist and, in a few short strides, put distance between himself and the rest of them. She stared after him, wondering what about Bern’s words had gotten under his skin.
After following Marcellus through narrow alleyways, they stopped at the beginning of a wide street. In the dark, she could make out what looked to be town homes. These homes were in decent condition, meaning they must be near the center of the safe zone.
“I’m going to split us up,” Marcellus said. “I don’t want to risk an early riser seeing a large party traipsing through the streets at night—especially a large party of the Princess’ closest confidants. It would arouse too much suspicion.”
“Would it kill you to say my name?” Thicket asked, scowling half-heartedly.
He gave her an all too serious look in return. “Perhaps.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You two will go first,” Marcellus nodded at Elian and Bern. “After two minutes, Lotta.” He looked at Thicket. “Then us.” He said it in a way that suggested after the hog attack, he was never letting her out of his sight. Thicket huffed, turning away from him. She found Elian staring at her. She tensed as he opened his mouth, closed it, and followed Bern down the street.
A wave of guilt churned in her stomach.
“Don’t worry about the prince,” Lotta said. “He is kind. He will give you the time you need to adjust.” She paused. “Just, don’t make him wait too long. It hasn’t been easy for him this last century.”
Before Thicket could ask why, Lotta was swallowed by the dim street.
When it was their turn, Marcellus tugged the hood of her cloak lower. “Keep this pulled tight. Don’t look suspicious.”
Before she could comment on his vague advice, he started down the street leaving Thicket to hurry after him.
Once the state of the buildings they passed became too ramshackle for anyone to call home, they met back up with the others. Marcellus wound them through an odd zig-zag pattern; to avoid the guards who were keeping watch, he’d said. Once they’d emerged from the center of the town, they picked their way through dilapidated buildings until they trickled away to dry patches of dirt and dead grass.
Now that they were away from the building cramped sky, the wall was visible. Thicket’s breath hitched when she saw it. It was magnificently horrifying, an enlarged version of the vines strewn about Bilya. They spiraled taller than she could see and were as thick as a grown man’s forearm. There were millions of them, all woven together to create a wall—a cage.
The stone roads soon led to dirt pathways, stretching out onto a large, barren field. The grass was short, dry, and yellow—as if it hadn’t breathed life in years. Now that she looked, she could see scars in the land where fields had once been carved, old, splintered fences scattered across the grass, and patches of what appeared to be decayed crops diminished to only dry husks.
These were the farmlands Marcellus had told her about. The ones the Soumort Princess destroyed.
What sort of person could do this to the place they called home? Could it even be fixed?
For the first time, she wondered what had happened to make the Soumort Princess this malicious.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time they reached the wall an hour later, Thicket’s stomach was in knots. Watching it go from a green blur, to a tower of spiraling vines, to a crisp picture of thorny doom didn’t help her nerves. She continuously wiped her hands on her cloak, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach as it threatened to roll up her throat.
“Are you feeling alright?” Thicket turned to see Elian. She didn’t remember him coming up beside her. Her cheeks flushed and her heart fluttered nervously. She wanted to nod and then catch up to Bern, but Lotta’s words played over and over in her mind.
He is kind. He will give you the time you need to adjust. Just, don’t make him wait too long. It hasn’t been easy for him this last century.
She knew she couldn’t ignore him forever. They were tethered to each other, even if she didn’t remember him. Talking to him didn’t have to mean anything. Didn’t have to lead to anything.
“I’m alright. Just, a bit nervous.”
“About getting us through the wall?”
And fighting a war. “I know I have my magic back, and I have been doing well with it so far. But I am still new to all this. And I don’t have the best track record for being reliable. I always seem to mess up when it counts.”
“Doesn’t everything we do count? Or is it only certain moments that make a difference?”
“I guess, if you put it that way, everything does make some sort of difference. Every action has a consequence, and all that.”
“So, wouldn’t you say the moments that count are no different than all the other moments? It is just the pressure you put on yourself that has changed?”
Thicket angled her head towards him and allowed herself to really look at him. In the early morning light, his blue eyes were brighter, lighter, softer, like the frothy surface of the sea rather than its cobalt depths. “You are actually very smart.”
Elian laughed. “Did you not think I was?”
“No.” She paused. “I guess, I just don’t know you very well. You surprised me.”
He smiled, a dimple forming on his left cheek. “Well, you are welcome to ask me anything you like.”
Thicket hid her reddening face. “I may just take you up on that.” She bit her lip, working up the courage to ask him something about himself when Lotta gasped and darted past them to the wall.
“What is it?” Thicket asked.
Lotta reached out and cupped something in her palm. “Astromeia... In its true form.”
“Oooh,” Bern said, moving to peer over Lotta’s shoulder. “This is much prettier than the ones in town. Those always look so… disturbing.”
“What’s astromeia?” Thicket asked.
Both girls turned to her.
“Astromeia is the flower of our kingdom,” Lotta said.
“And,” Bern added, “the reason we’ve survived this long.”
Thicket stepped forward to get a better view. The flower looked familiar, yet she was sure she’d never seen it before. She would have remembered something so beautiful. It had rows of dark, velvety purple petals. There were five in the center and layers upon layers branching from it, each hugging the last. The overall effect looked like a rippling star. At the heart of the flower were tiny white dots, almost like freckles. They shimmered iridescent in the dappled sun.
Lotta plucked a flower off and handed it to Thicket. She took it between her fingers and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its aroma. The purple buds… The scent… “This is…”
Lotta nodded. “Astromeia lives in everything. In the dyes of our clothes, the leaves of our tea, the scent of our soaps and perfumes. While food and supplies are scarce, astromeia is always abundant.”
“It’s beautiful.” She stroked a finger along the edges of the delicate petals. “I think I’ve seen these before. Not like this, but…”
“You have only seen them at night?” The question was more of a statement. Thicket nodded nonetheless. “Legend has it that at night astromeia folds in on itself, catching stars, and that in the morning it opens up to show them off to the world.”
Thicket stopped breathing, awed by the words. “Is it true?” In this world where magic flowed throughout everything like blood, she could believe it. Almost wanted it to be true. It brought a bit of light to the otherwise dark world she had come to know. The one with dust and vines, curses and ruin. Seeing these flowers brought a bit of the fairy-tale back to life, reintroducing the joy she felt as a child first experiencing the dreams.
“I don’t know,” Lotta admitted, making something inside Thicket droop. “But I think it is still beautiful either way.”
Thicket looked down at the flower in her hand. There was a beauty to astromeia—to the white dots sprinkled along the inside, even amongst the monster of a wall, as if they were truly stars stolen from the heavens itself.
“Do you know why the Soumort Princess decided to use astromeia vines to create the wall?” Marcellus asked from behind her, making Thicket jump. He watched her with an unreadable expression, most likely waiting for an answer. She couldn’t think of one, her mind and body were frozen from the question. From fearing what the answer might be. “Because your parents named you after it.”
Thicket wrinkled her nose. “How am I named after a wall?”
“Not the wall,” he said, tone sharp with impatience. “The astromeia it’s made out of.”
“My name isn’t astromeia—or vine.”
Marcellus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a quick breath. “What does Thicket mean?”
“Umm… A dense group of plants?”
“And what do you call this?” He gestured to the wall.
Thicket tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat was too large. If the wall was created after her namesake, then the Soumourt Princess’ message was clear. Thicket was the one trapping them here. Not just for her failure, but because of her people’s decision to follow her.
Her mind felt fuzzy and fatigued as thoughts shot through it. She almost didn’t feel the fingers brushing her own, delicate and perhaps a bit cautious. She looked down to see the astromeia pried from her unresisting fingers. Her body was numb as Elian stared at her, a reassuring smile on his face. As if he knew what pulsed through her mind. As if he knew guilt was clawing its way to her heart—knew because he, too, understood the feeling. The taste of failure, of disappointment. He kept her gaze as he tucked her curls behind her ear. His touch was feather soft, yet it sent electricity crackling like an army of miniature sparklers. Using one hand to hold her hair in place, he slid the astromeia through her thick curls.
“I think it suits you,” he said in a voice quiet enough that only she could hear. Somehow, Thicket knew he didn’t mean the flower.
A whole different lump pressed against her throat.
“T-thank you.” She stepped back, ducking her head to hide her burning face.
“Are you ready?” Marcellus’ voice made her jump and her cheeks flame brighter.
Focus. She needed to focus. “I am.”
“Remember,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “Don’t tear the wall down. Just make an opening large enough for us to get through.”
Thicket nodded and approached the wall.
Last night, she had practiced the different methods of casting spells. One could cast a temporary spell, like Bern had done when she’d fought the hog. Or, make it last for a certain period of time, so long as the spell was maintained—like Marcellus had done with his piranha of light. The third option was similar to the second, however instead of maintaining control, one could leave it to its own devices. The light in the lampposts was created by a spell, but given freedom by the caster to remain on its own without needing constant supervision. When one did this, they could abandon all control, or they could let the spell remain on its own, but tethered to the caster.
The wall was created by the Soumort Princess’ spell, but Marcellus and Caspian both had a strong suspicion she was still connected, as she could open it to let her army through. Because of this, they could only open a small portion, or they may as well wave a banner declaring to the world that they had escaped.
To create an opening in the wall, Thicket had to overpower the spell. This was something only she could do, as only magic that was equal to or stronger than the caster’s could overpower it. According to Marcellus, the Soumort Princess had purple fire. Thicket had blue. The question wasn’t if she could, but how.
If she was to go about taking over someone else’s magic, she would first need to find it.
Inhaling a shaky breath, Thicket wrapped her hands around the vines, closed her eyes, and opened her mind to the magic. Like when she’d cast her own spells last night, she felt the magical energy pulsing like a living entity. Only the tether connecting her to the spell wasn’t there. Instead, it felt like sitting next to someone on a crowded bus, their presence indistinct and unfamiliar, yet very much there.
She locked onto the Soumort Princess’ energy, harnessing her own to dredge it up from where it slumbered within the spell. In answer, an image of the Soumort Princess appeared in her mind. She looked the same as she had in the memoire, except she was now a giant, guarding the wall with her strength and might. She wore a cruel smile and her brown eyes glowed with triumph and mockery. Her expression seemed to say, You haven’t beaten me yet. What makes you think you can now?
Thicket’s fire shrunk inside her, cowering below the roiling mass of power, persuasion, and fear the Soumort Princess wielded. When Thicket’s own energy took shape, standing to rival the Soumort Princess’, it wasn’t as she appeared now—but as she had been in her dreams. The little, sad, lonely mess of a girl.
Thicket’s breath stilled as she stared at the Soumort Princess. She was nothing compared to her. Nothing.
She would never beat her. She’d fooled herself into thinking she could. Fooled herself into believing she could ever have a home, a family, people who supported her.
She was nothing. She could do nothing. Be nothing. Deserved nothing.
In the depths of her awareness, Thicket felt something warm press against her skin. Her awareness slipped back into her body long enough to feel the press of a hand against her shoulder. It was a reminder that she wasn’t alone. That she wasn’t nothing. That she was something—that she was worthy and capable and strong.
And for the first time, she believed it.
Tucking the feeling close to her heart, Thicket dove back into her mind. Her chest crackled with blue fire, warmed by both the intensity and knowledge that her friends were there to have her back.
Little Thicket changed. Grew. Face maturing, body lengthening, she grew and grew and grew until she was the same size as the Soumort Princess—larger.
Not wasting a single second, Thicket uttered the spell she’d repeated over and over the night before, memorizing the way it felt on her tongue, the way power churned as she’d shredded ancient buildings with nothing but a single word. “Zyporyr.”
Thicket threw her energy and will at the wide-eyed Soumort Princess, imagining the spell crashing through her—the wall—and tearing through it. Chunks of vine were pried apart, ripped away—and shredded to mere ribbons, opening a path for them to slip through.
Save.
Protect.
Live.
Escape.
Free.
Free.
Free.
The Soumort Princess shrank and shrank and shrank, her energy withering until she was hardly larger than a child.
Far away, the hand on her shoulder squeezed. Thicket felt herself smile.
The moment was short lived.
The Soumort Princess stopped shrinking—freezing in place. Her eyes fixed on Thicket long enough for silence to pulse alongside her pounding heart.
And then, the Soumort Princess began to grow again, fighting back against Thicket’s control.
Her eyes flew open. Just as she’d imagined, a path had been carved from the wall of vines. But it wasn’t holding. As the Soumort Princess fought and grew and hissed furiously, the wall slowly knit itself back together.
“Go,” Thicket gasped before slamming her eyes shut, focusing all of her energy on holding back the Soumort Princess’s attack. Energy tore at her like claws, trying desperately to seize back the control Thicket had stolen.
It felt like pieces of her were being ripped away and replaced by hot coals. She felt dizzy on her feet, the black behind her eyes spinning.
“Run!” someone yelled.
The words jolted Thicket from her vision. The wall was sealing fast.
She ran, propelling her legs as fast as they could go through the constricting mass of thorny vines. Her skin burned not from coals, but from thorns as they snagged on her skin. Black darkened the corners of her vision. Panic lodged in her throat.
The wall was going to smush and slice her into a thousand bloodied pieces.
Her blood would fall like rose petals among the ravaged earth.
She would not make it.
“Run!” someone yelled again.
