Page 28 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

“ Y ou should be watching Carmen,” I said, sweeping crystal onto a metal slat—the remnants of last night’s battle.

Tari had found me on the floor this morning, sweaty and exhausted from replaying the attack.

She’d cleaned my face, fetched me tea, then held my hair as I’d emptied the liquid straight into the washbasin.

She’d refused to leave my side ever since.

“Don’t worry,” she said now, wiping dried blood off the dresser. “When I went down for the tea, I told one of the girls to serve cocktails in the Games Hall.”

“Why?”

“Because then Lord Rupert will spend the day there, Lady Sabira will abandon the room because she can’t stand him, and without the pleasure of gossiping about Sabira’s winning streak, Carmen will grow bored and retire for an afternoon nap.”

I frowned. “Sabira can’t stand Rupert?”

“Well, she conveniently remains at least twenty paces from him at all times, so it’s either that or a legal order.”

I tipped the crystal into a waste bucket, wincing at the loud clatter. “You’re brilliant.”

Tari ignored the compliment. Because the moment she saw my pained grimace, her own expression darkened. “I think it’s time to leave court.”

“All right, I’ll call a carriage for you.”

“Alissa.” She slapped her cloth onto the dresser. “You could’ve died last night.”

“If they’d wanted me dead, they wouldn’t have threatened me first. Garret must be right.”

“A frightening start to any sentence,” she said flatly.

I threw her a look. “I’m serious. Whether or not they have a larger end goal, these copycats must be Wholeborn purists.

That man would’ve... hurt me.” I shivered, remembering the pullback of his fist. “But as long as he believed I was a Wholeborn, I don’t think he would’ve killed me.

” I added with bite, “They only kill Wielders.”

Tari’s mouth skewed with uncertainty, but it was easier to feign confidence when I hadn’t shown her the bruising around my ribs—the bruising that would’ve brought my father to tears if he’d seen it.

I’d faced one of Marge’s killers, and he’d been monstrous in his violence. So, yes, after last night’s horror, I ached to huddle in bed while Amarie brought me broth and hummed a Verenian lullaby, like she had during my blueneck fever. But how long would that safety last?

I hadn’t used my specter last night, which bought me more time before the copycats realized what I was. But if they really were scouring Daradon for every last Wielder—in every province and street and back alley—then the compass would find me eventually.

I had to find it first.

And I had to find it before another innocent took the brunt of those fists.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, firmer now. “That man wouldn’t have warned me off my search unless I was on the right track.”

“So, you think Nelle is the keeper?” Tari’s voice sank with a disappointment that matched my own.

Because the only way Nelle could have known about my search was through Carmen.

I hated imagining that my friend had any involvement with the copycats—or with my attack—but thanks to that incriminating pink feather, Carmen knew I’d been snooping around her suite.

Had she gotten word to her mother, not realizing that Nelle would threaten me?

Worse—had Carmen dispatched the attacker herself?

Or was there a third, kinder alternative I couldn’t yet see?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But the keeper now knows I’m searching, and they’re clearly worried. The answers must be here at court. I just need to find them.”

“And if that man returns?”

I looked away. Tari didn’t know exactly what had paralyzed me last night. That it hadn’t really been the man, but the memories of the Opal, roaring back from the grave on a tide of blood and roses.

It had been the idea of having to watch another man’s life wink out from his eyes.

“Then I’ll do what I have to,” I mumbled, not even believing the words myself. But as I thought more seriously about my attacker returning, I added, “I really can call a carriage for you. I’ll be all right.”

“Oh? And who’s going to hold your hair when you’re heaving over the sink? Lord Rupert?”

I imagined Rupert fumbling with my hair—red-faced, awkward, slipping on the back of my skirts—and I actually cracked a slight smile. With a hm of vindication, Tari continued cleaning.

Despite Garret calling her my sidekick, Tari had never followed me into trouble blindly; she followed so I wouldn’t bear the trouble alone. Of course she wouldn’t let me face this new threat without her.

But also... she seemed oddly content at the palace. There was a new glow of purpose about her; a shrewd, hyperaware glint in her eyes—the same look her mother always wore when facing difficult cases at the clinic.

Tari had noticed Sabira’s dislike of Rupert when I hadn’t. She’d choreographed Carmen’s movements for the day. She’d even orchestrated her own recruitment into the workforce—via poison, admittedly, but still...

I wondered if Tari realized she was engaging in court maneuvers herself. If she realized how seamlessly—and skillfully —she was navigating this world.

I was watching her, lost in thought, when a glimmer under the vanity caught my eye.

I reached toward it, then startled as I withdrew my attacker’s knife—the knife I’d sliced across his thigh. A swirling, near-round symbol engraved the ashy white mineral of the handle. As I stood, the blade gleamed iridescent beneath dried blood.

Tari gasped softly. “Eurium.”

My specter jolted. Eurium could gouge into spectral muscles with unparalleled force.

“These copycats can afford to commission eurium weapons?” Tari sounded slightly horrified. “And can afford to lose them?”

“How many smiths in Daradon work with eurium?” I asked, holding the knife at a distance though it couldn’t harm my flesh more than any other blade.

“A handful, maybe. Eurium is rare on this side of the continent, and even scarcer since the king purchased all the eurium ore he could find at the beginning of his reign.”

I shuddered. Of course Erik would hoard the metal most harmful to Wielders.

“Would these smiths work from Parrey?” I asked.

“Henthorn is more likely. They’d need a license to build the specific type of forge, and legislation is most lax in the capital.”

I bit my lip, awaiting the offer.

Tari’s face slackened. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”

“I just need names,” I pleaded. “Your father must have contacts. If I find the right bladesmith, I can obtain their client list, and I’d know exactly who commissioned this blade.”

This could confirm my suspicions about Nelle, or at least point me toward the truth. I would get one step closer to the compass—and to stopping the copycats for good.

But Tari shook her head, braid swinging. “I won’t help you dig yourself deeper into this hole!”

“Fine.” I chucked the knife on the vanity with such disregard that Tari squeaked. “Then I’ll question every bladesmith in Daradon. Approaching the wrong people might raise suspicion, but what choice do I—?”

“All right!” Tari threw her hands up, scowling. “I hope you’re happy, using guilt as a weapon.”

Glancing at the knife, I felt an impossible twinge of hope. “Very happy.”

I sent Garret a report that afternoon, grateful that the halls had been empty last night and news of my attack wouldn’t spread. The gentry would’ve feasted on every morsel of gossip with their teacakes and almond pastries. Worst of all, Father would have rushed over and begged me to leave.

And after receiving Garret’s response, I wouldn’t leave for anything. The copycats had struck again, in Avanford. A family of five.

The youngest had been fourteen years old.

Over the following days, I kept my specter on a tighter leash than usual.

The sensation was stifling and uncomfortable, like trying to inhale through a blocked nose, but I couldn’t risk exposure.

The copycats hadn’t yet brought the compass to the palace, or else they would’ve discovered my specter the night of the attack.

But I didn’t know how my attacker had stolen the silver-tipped boots of the palace guards—whether he’d been previously stationed here, or the keeper had somehow accessed those uniforms. Either way, it meant they could be watching me now.

And while they may have spared me as a Wholeborn, they would slaughter me as a Wielder.

I was about to retire from an early dinner with Erik when Tari tumbled into my lounge, cheeks flushed.

“Carmen’s leaving the palace,” she panted. “The stable master said she mentioned Backplace.”

I rushed to my bedchamber for a cloak. “The stable master just told you this?”

“I may have borrowed some gold from your purse. For bribing purposes only!”

This was it. Carmen had to be meeting Nelle.

“One more thing.” Tari thrust out a note. “Papa sent a list.”

My eyes widened at the list of bladesmiths, each placed beside a Henthornian address.

Vincent Meade

Ada Zari

Constance Winters

Kevi Banday

Emile Chance

“He’s a gem,” I said, and left with the eurium knife wrapped in my cloak pocket.

I’d thought leaving the palace would feel like taking in a lungful of fresh air—the walls opening around me, the white spires fading into the distance, the heaviness melting off my limbs.

Instead, I felt exposed.

It was ridiculous; my attack proved that the palace was no safer than anywhere else. Yet every shoulder-brush made me flinch, every shout made me turn, and every up-and-down glance made my specter shiver with dread.