Page 10 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

K eil moved painfully slowly, sauntering like a predator who’d finished his hunt and was now enjoying the meal. He took several turns to confuse me, but it wasn’t necessary. My thoughts revolved grimly around one scenario: whipping my specter against the back of his head.

For now, I would play the helpless Wholeborn noblewoman and await rescue.

But what if Keil had demanded something Father couldn’t give?

What if they hurt him as they’d hurt Garret?

I had to protect him, even though I couldn’t tell how powerful Keil’s specter was—or how powerful mine was in comparison.

Even though the idea of fighting another Wielder hollowed my stomach.

The rhythmic scrape of metal on metal drifted over our footfalls, and I paused outside another concave room. The woman, Osana, sharpened a dagger over a tabletop of weapons, her blade humming across the honing steel.

“Give it a rest,” said the blond man, lounging in a chair. He was using a throwing knife to peel an apple in one long spiral. “You could fillet a sea serpent with that blade.”

“At least I’m being productive while you have a picnic.”

“You should join me, unless you want to be embarrassed at the exchange. Nothing intimidating about a growling belly.”

Osana gave him a rude gesture and tossed her weapon to the table.

Another dagger floated to take its place.

I heard a soft gasp—then realized it had come from me. My hand drifted across my waist. In the parlor, I’d felt a curling grasp as the nightmilk had taken hold... not an arm. The tendril of a specter.

It wasn’t just Keil. They were all Wielders.

“Show-off,” the blond man muttered.

A dagger shot at him like a dart. He caught the handle and twisted his wrist, slashing Osana’s invisible hold.

She hissed, recoiling. But she would recover quickly.

Permanently tethered to their Wielders, specters coalesced after injury.

There was only one way to amputate a specter from its Wielder:

The Wielder had to die.

According to old texts, all power began its life cycle in spectral form—born with the Wielder whose body housed it.

But while Wielders brought power into the world, they didn’t take it out with them.

After a Wielder’s death, the specter sloughed from the body like a snakeskin and remained within the world as a raw, intangible power—the exact power that had once been harnessed by the ancient Spellmakers.

My old tutor—a miserable woman who’d considered me a spoiled Wholeborn heiress—had therefore claimed that Wholeborn spirits passed happily to the next realm while Wielder spirits were forever chained here by their lingering specters.

When I’d sobbed to Father, fearing for my mother’s chained spirit, he’d permanently dismissed the tutor. And though his face had grown weary with grief, he’d swallowed his pain to ease mine.

Taking my little hands, he’d reassured me that my mother was at peace, but that a part of her—the echo of power that had once been her specter—would always linger in this realm beside me. Watching over us , he’d said.

More curious than comforted, I’d enlisted Tari to come “digging” for molted specters with a garden fork. I’d used my specter to lift the fork by its sharp tines, and the steel had sliced ribbons through my spectral muscle like flesh.

I knew from experience: The injuries hurt .

Now the blond man groaned, reaching down. “You made me drop my apple.” He palmed the fruit, then began lifting his mask as if to blow off the dirt.

Keil cleared his throat, and I jolted. I hadn’t felt him come up behind me, so close that I could smell the leather of his armor.

He watched me curiously, his strong jaw tilted to catch the torchlight.

I’d seen the same look on Verenian clockmakers before they dismantled a timepiece to study its parts.

An oops sound returned my focus to the blond man, whose hand hovered over his mask.

But Osana had gone stiff, her eyes trained on me. And despite the power she’d displayed, I returned her glare before continuing ahead.

The man’s sharp whisper trailed after us. “Don’t give her that look. You’ll scare her.”

“Did she look scared to you?” Osana growled, and their voices faded from earshot.

My heart raced as we continued down the passage, panic and amazement battling for the greatest share of my agitation. Five Wielders. Four more than I’d imagined having to fight two minutes ago... but also four more than I’d imagined meeting in my lifetime.

How had they kept hidden, especially clustered together? Were there more of them?

A pulse-skip brought me to my senses. I’d better hope there weren’t more of them. This group had kidnapped me, had hurt Garret. They were criminals first and Wielders second.

I couldn’t forget it.

Keil stopped ahead of me, foot propped against the door of my feeble cell. I stormed past him, faltering when I noticed a chair in the earthen room, stacked with a cloak, a waterskin, and three new apples. All courtesy of the blond man, no doubt.

Footsteps shuffled behind me, and I turned to find Keil holding a long strip of white cloth. “Your hand, please, my lady.”

I stepped back, wary.

He nodded to the fist I’d clenched around my skirts. “To rebandage your wound.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said, concerned that he might try to bind my wrists instead.

“I really must insist. Leaving a wound open in this environment risks infection.” He held his free hand out to me, palm open. “It won’t take a moment.”

The crackling of the torches filled the silence as I remained tense, unmoving. After a beat, Keil seemed to realize why.

“I mean only to dress the wound,” he said, voice softening. “Truly.”

I glanced skeptically between his broad palm and his bright, earnest eyes.

Slowly, I lifted my hand.

Keil met me halfway, his body shifting with the low groan of leather, his warm fingers taking mine. Cradling the back of my hand, he angled my palm to assess the cut. The salve shone in the firelight, and guilt flickered in his eyes.

Then, as promised, he began dressing the wound.

He worked quickly but gently, layering the bandage over and under my thumb, his fingers brushing my skin with every wrap around. He was securing the fabric at my wrist when he broke the quiet.

“I don’t want your father’s gold.”

I glanced up at him but found no trace of amusement. Only a solemn shadow, passing like mist across his face.

“Something was stolen from me.” His fingers paused, gaze still lowered to my hand. “This is the only way I know to get it back.”

I startled, and only Keil’s hold on the bandage kept me from tearing away.

“My father is no thief,” I ground out.

Keil tied off the bandage in silence, his jaw flickering. He was still holding my wrist loosely in his palm when his eyes lifted to mine—searching, considering something.

Then he said, quietly, “He’s a Capewell, isn’t he? They’re all thieves.”

“The Capewells ... ?” I blinked. Slowly shook my head.

It should’ve been impossible. The Capewells safeguarded their identities as the king’s Hunters, even to their own displeasure. But from the way Keil was looking at me, with bleak confirmation... he knew exactly what the Capewells were.

My stomach plunged. They will poison you, and bleed you, and show you no mercy , I’d threatened. These Wielders surely wanted revenge against the monsters who threatened their existence.

And I might have just enticed them to start with me.

I ripped my hand away and stumbled back, heart pounding. It was too cruel—too ironic—these Wielders killing me because of my Hunter blood.

Keil took a backstep of his own, clearly sensing my fresh panic. “You’re in no danger, my lady.” He spoke measuredly, holding my stare. “I’m not in the business of punishing innocents for the misfortune of their bloodlines.”

“No? Then why am I here?” My voice whipped out sharper than I’d expected. “You think the Capewells stole something from you—”

“I don’t think anything.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” I snapped. “If you’d given this kidnapping scheme two seconds of thought, you would’ve realized that my father and I are Paines . We have no interest in the Capewells or their business.”

“You and the young Capewell seem concerned for one another. Garret, wasn’t it?”

“Garret is...” Guilt stalled my tongue. Garret is not a Capewell , I’d almost said.

I told myself I wasn’t defending the Hunter; I was defending the person who’d tried to protect me tonight. But Keil’s Wielders had beaten Garret—had enjoyed it—for a reason.

Because Garret had deserved it.

“Garret is none of your business,” I said instead, flushed with equal shame and indignation. “The Capewells won’t give you whatever it is you want. Not for me.”

“Don’t feel too wounded, my lady.” Keil crossed his arms. “I hear the Capewells wouldn’t sacrifice a hot bath to save one of their own. But your father is one of the few outsiders who can access Capewell Manor. And now, the only one with incentive.”

Capewell Manor.

I tasted bile.

“What you wish to retrieve is at Capewell Manor,” I said. “You’ve ordered my father into the heart of the Hunters’ territory.”

“Yes,” Keil replied, unflinching.

He was going to get my father killed.

My specter coursed fast, pooling at my fingertips. The bandage cushioned the bite of my nails as my right hand curled into a fist.

Again, Keil noted the movement. But this time, he uncrossed his arms and widened his stance. And I knew he wasn’t waiting to intercept my fist. He was offering me easier access if I chose to strike him.

He was waiting for the blow.

I slowly inhaled. “You seek something from the Hunters,” I said darkly.

“You possess the uncommon advantage of knowing where to find them, as well as a team to confront them. Yet you would rather ransom an innocent man’s daughter to get what you want.

” I forced my fist to uncurl, my specter to settle.

“I will not bruise my knuckles on the face of a coward.”

Keil’s expression became unreadable. The torchlight sputtered behind him, gilding his armor and playing through the bronze in his hair. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “your father is not as innocent as you’d like to believe.”

I drew up at the cruel accusation. Father had never involved himself with the Hunters. And he never would.

“Perhaps,” I echoed, fury blistering over my better judgment, “whatever the Capewells did to you was no more than you deserved.”

Keil went rigid, and my specter lashed inside me with self-reproach. I’d gone too far.

But rather than the anger I’d anticipated, Keil’s face crumpled with something like sorrow. “You’re not what I expected, Lady Alissa.” He spoke tightly, as if the admission pained him. “I’m impressed.”

I looked him over—the first Wielder I’d ever truly met—and blew out a breath of sour laughter. “And I am profoundly disappointed.”

Keil offered a sad smile, then paused with one foot out the door.

A feather-touch trailed my scalp, and I gasped as my hair came loose, dark waves spilling like silk around my shoulders. My hairpins glinted through the air and assembled in Keil’s waiting hand.

“Forgive me, my lady.” He nodded to the keyhole. “For the lock.”

My mouth was still hanging open when the door clicked shut.