Thornwood by Leah Cypess (read after .txt) 📕

But no one was coming. The only thing coming for us was the Thornwood, and it was going to keep coming, worming its way into the castle, climbing and stabbing and strangling. And no one—no one—knew how to stop it.

Varian and Rosalin had pulled their chairs close together, and they were exchanging whispers as they ate. I heard a snatch from Varian—“the stories didn’t say you were also brave”—and saw a blush creep up Rosalin’s cheeks.

I knew my sister. Not as well as I’d thought, maybe, but we had grown up in this castle together. I knew that the one part of her story she had always loved was the end, when her prince came for her.

Even if Varian wasn’t a prince, I knew she was falling in love with him.

And Varian? He watched her with a surprised respect. I had seen it first in the Thornwood, when he’d realized how scared and how brave she was, and it had been growing ever since. He leaned close when she spoke, his expression hopeful. I suspected he was falling in love, too.

You should ask him your questions. He knows more about the fairies than he pretends.

But why should I believe the fairy? What if she had simply intended to sow discord among us? To keep us from working together to figure out our own way out of the castle?

Across the table, my parents were also conversing in low tones. (I caught the words royal wizard a lot.) I was the only one who had no one to talk to.

I looked over at the servants’ table again and was surprised to meet Edwin’s gaze. He jerked his head toward the door, as if indicating that he wanted to meet me outside the ballroom.

I suddenly felt lighter, despite the food sitting like lead in my stomach. I put my napkin down. “May I be excused?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my mother said.

“But I have to clean my face,” I said.

“And fix your hair,” Rosalin added. “You look like a Pegasus caught in a windstorm.”

She flashed me a grin. I didn’t grin back.

“Very well,” my mother said. “But please be quick. We don’t want to insult Rosalin’s fairy godmother by not being here when she arrives.”

The food I had just eaten roiled in my stomach. I have a better idea, the fairy had said on the rooftop. Whatever that idea was, she had staged this ball to announce it to us.

But was it a better idea for us? Or just better for her?

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” My mother looked around the glittering, mostly empty room. Her gaze paused briefly on the far wall, where a thorny branch had grown through a crack in the stones and was reaching into the room with gnarled, fingerlike twigs. Her hand trembled, and she put her fork down. “I can’t wait to hear what she has planned.”

There was no point in arguing with my mother, so I didn’t. But I knew, deep down, that putting ourselves in the fairy’s hands was a terrible idea. She didn’t care about us; she only cared about how she could use us to fight her battle with the queen. She would do everything she could to keep us trapped here so her queen couldn’t get free.

The only way we could escape was to outwit her and force her to help us.

And since I couldn’t think of any way to do that, I very much hoped Edwin had a plan in mind.

I folded my napkin, put it next to my plate, and twisted again to look at the servants’ table. But Edwin was no longer watching me. Instead, he was leaning over a platter of roast duck, listening intently as one of the page boys spoke.

My throat tightened. But just as I was about to turn back to my own table, Edwin glanced up and caught my eye. I half-rose, and he grinned and swung his legs to the side of his chair.

A clash of cymbals rang through the hall, and I jumped. A moment later, it was joined by the quick, high strains of a fiddle, and then the gentle, layered melody of a harp. I sat back down and looked around, but there were no musicians, no instruments. The music was coming from nowhere.

It was a dancing tune, lively and urgent. Even before my heartbeat slowed, I caught myself tapping my foot against the floor.

Varian put his knife down, stood, and held his hand out to Rosalin. His fingers were long and slender, his skin smooth and unbroken. How had his scratches healed so fast?

Rosalin crammed the last of her bread into her mouth, swallowed, and burped. I giggled. My mother glared at me, but Rosalin shot me a conspiratorial look as she dabbed her lips with a napkin.

Varian waited, his hand trembling slightly. He looked so hopeful that I nudged Rosalin under the table.

“My lady,” Varian said. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I would…I would be honored if you would join me in a dance.”

Rosalin looked up at him. For a long moment they stared at each other, like they were committing each other’s eye color to memory. It was probably very romantic for them, but it was awkward for the rest of us. I looked down at my plate. My father coughed. My mother kept watching the thorn branch across the room, which seemed to have grown in the past few minutes.

“My prince,” Rosalin said finally, and slid her hand into his. “Of course I’ll dance with you.”

Varian’s eyes widened. Then he smiled, and for some reason, I felt tears coming to my eyes. I blinked them back as Rosalin let Varian draw her to her feet.

For a moment, I thought they were going to kiss yet again. I shifted my eyes to Varian’s plate, which was still covered by small, perfectly square pieces of chicken.

Wow. He really must have been in love,