Thornwood by Leah Cypess (read after .txt) 📕

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t have enough pearls on me to scatter them around the room. If that’s what acting like a princess means.”

Behind me, someone laughed. I thought it was Edwin; but then, to my shock, I realized it was Varian.

Rosalin realized it, too. Her eyes went wide and her face went scarlet.

Varian stepped up beside me and bowed. “You look wonderful, Your Highness,” he said. “Like a creature from my dreams.”

Nope, her face hadn’t been scarlet before. Now it was scarlet.

The ladies-in-waiting exchanged looks, then moved in sync toward the door. One of them pulled my hair, accidentally on purpose, as she walked past me into the hallway.

“However,” Varian said, “your sister is right about the other matter. We must speak. If you have a moment…”

And for him, of course, she did.

There were a few problems with my plan.

First, none of us was strong enough to wield the sword. Edwin and Rosalin could both lift it over their heads and swing it down, but not for long, and they couldn’t control it very well. I couldn’t even get the point off the ground.

“Varian,” I said.

He gave me a pleading look, but it had very little hope behind it. No matter how bad a swordsman he was, he was clearly the only one of us who had a chance of using the thing effectively.

“Why don’t you try using mostly your right hand?” I suggested. “I’m sure it will be awkward and embarrassing, and obviously you won’t be able to use it as masterfully as with your left hand.” I gave him a meaningful look. “But at least you’ll be able to swing it.”

“It won’t be embarrassing,” Rosalin said firmly. She had fallen in with our plan surprisingly easily, probably because Varian had been the one to explain it. (And because we had fudged a few details, like how exactly the sword had reappeared. Luckily, it was hard to argue with “I don’t know, it must have been magic!”) “Varian is injured, and there is nothing shameful in that. But he will do the best he can, for our sakes.”

Which was kind of true, so I couldn’t even roll my eyes.

“I will be doing it,” Varian said, his voice low and intense, “for your sake.”

Oh, good. That definitely called for eye rolling.

But I found that I didn’t quite mean it. The weight of what I knew sat in my gut, and I found it hard to look directly at my sister. The more she glowed at Varian, the more her eyes went soft and trusting, the worse I felt. Maybe being a commoner wasn’t a big deal in Varian’s day (not that I completely believed that), but it was a very big deal in our day.

I didn’t know exactly how Rosalin would react when she found out the truth. But I was sure it wouldn’t be pretty.

Oddly, the knowledge that I was wronging Rosalin didn’t make me want to be nicer to her. Instead, it made me angrier at her. After all, if she hadn’t been stupid enough to prick her finger on a spinning wheel, the Thornwood wouldn’t be here in the first place.

And I wouldn’t have this ugly, gnawing guilt in the pit of my stomach.

“Before we go,” I said, “do you think you could change into something more appropriate for fighting magical trees with?”

“Good idea.” Rosalin sniffed at me. “I see you were smart enough to wear a dress that couldn’t possibly look worse no matter what you did to it.”

I looked down at my green dress with the dark stain near its hem. A memory of this morning—hundreds of years ago—swam up through my mind.

I left Rosalin’s room, my chest hollow and aching. I reached my own room and called for my ladies-in-waiting. When they didn’t show up, I got dressed myself, in the yellow silk gown I was supposed to wear for Rosalin’s birthday….

Panic climbed up my throat. “What happened to my yellow dress? This morning—I mean, that morning—I put on a yellow—”

“Mother made you change,” Rosalin said. “Don’t you remember? You weren’t supposed to wear the yellow dress until the banquet.”

I blinked at her.

“You threw an incredible tantrum about it. But honestly, Briony, it was a brand-new dress, and if you’d gotten it dirty before the banquet—”

“I don’t remember,” I said. “I barely remember anything from this morning. I mean, that morning.”

Varian’s brow furrowed. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t remember anything, either,” Rosalin said.

There was something odd about the way she said it—a lightness in her tone that didn’t fit her words. Like she was relieved. But when she went on, her voice was somber. “I’ve been trying since I woke up. I don’t remember anything from today.”

No one doubted Rosalin, or told her to try harder. Varian made sympathetic, soothing noises and turned like he was going to hug her. Then he thought better of it—or maybe he felt my eyes burning holes into his back—and he squeezed her hand instead.

“You remembered my dress,” I pointed out.

“That’s the only thing.”

“It seems like an odd detail to hold on to.” Then again, maybe for Rosalin, it wasn’t. I shrugged. “Though not as odd as the fact that we lost our memories to begin with.”

“Well,” Rosalin said, “we’ve all been asleep for hundreds of years, and there’s a forest of thorns around the castle. So I think the standard for odd has moved a bit.”

I grinned despite myself. “But it doesn’t make sense. A lot of things don’t make sense. Like, if you were the one who pricked your finger, why was I the one in the room with the spinning wheel? And how did you get out of that room and into your bed?”

“I guess…my fairy godmother moved me?” Rosalin winced. “You know. So the prince could find me. But why didn’t she move you, too?”

“Because,” Varian said, “it didn’t matter where Briony was.”

That was probably true…except there was something they didn’t know: that I had