Page 32 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

T he nightmilk was easy to find in the royal kitchens, shelved openly in glass vials for use in evening teas.

I hadn’t needed to take the sedative since my fourteenth summer, when the horrors of the Opal had roused me sobbing from so many nightmares that Father had arranged his blankets at my window seat so he could watch over me.

But tonight, with the peeled-and-faded corpse of the Opal bloating in my mind, I would need something to help me sleep.

I was tucking a milky-white vial into my pocket when the light shifted behind me, casting a shadow across the shelves.

“I know why you’re here.”

I spun and thrust myself back against the wall, whacking my elbow.

Perla stood like a wraith in her nightgown, kitchen blades gleaming around her, the lantern glow outlining her inky shroud of hair.

“Gracious gods!” I clutched my chest, a surge of anger drowning my alarm. “Are you barefoot? I didn’t even hear you approach!”

“I know why you’re here.”

“Yes, I heard the first time.” I grabbed an apple from a fruit basket and waved it around. “A late-night snack. Well done.”

Perla slowly took me in. Then her dark eyes lifted, round and clear. “You want to see if you can catch him. This is all a game to you.”

The apple drooped in my hand. I know why you’re here. Not here in the kitchens. Here at court. Perla thought I’d come to toy with the king—a cat with a full belly, tormenting a mouse for fun.

And when I’d chosen my prey, I’d deprived Perla of a meal.

I lifted my chin, head clearing. Perla’s sister, Petra, had died last year; according to Carmen, she’d been quite an enchantress . Perla must have felt she was falling short of her sister’s talents, and she needed someone to blame.

It was better to feed her theories than hint at the truth.

So, I would let her think me the cat.

“Everything’s a game here,” I crooned. Then I added, half-serious, “Don’t worry. You can have him back when I’m done.”

Perla’s eyes flickered with irritation. I set down the apple and went to brush past her.

Then she said, “You were with him tonight, weren’t you?”

And I halted, my specter lurching. The city stink clung all over me—sour ale and grill-fire smoke. But beneath the harsher smells lingered the softer notes of soap and linen.

The distinctive scent of Keil.

No. Perla couldn’t have possibly known—

“You think Erik won’t notice?” she asked, eerie with calm.

I held her stare, pulse thrumming wildly. She must’ve been watching me more closely than I’d realized. How much had she seen?

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“I mean you should leave while you still can.”

My specter reared at the threat. “What is that supposed to—?”

I gasped as she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh.

“It will be your own fault,” she said, hissing. “You know that, don’t you?”

I wrenched away, heaving backward into the counter. Trays crashed behind me, turning my head.

When I whipped around again, Perla was gone.

My nerves were in shreds as I hurried to my chambers. Even if Perla took her claims to Erik, she possessed no proof of my association with Keil. Yet I feared she wouldn’t need proof. I feared that Erik’s loathing of the Ansorans would be quite enough to kindle his rage.

So I didn’t drink the nightmilk. I stared at the ceiling—heart racing, ready to run at any moment. Because if Erik believed I was sneaking off with the ambassador during our courtship... I knew exactly what he would do to me.

Judging from the artisanal bonbons Erik sent up with my breakfast tray, Perla hadn’t made good on her threat. The miserable girl had probably just intended to unnerve me.

Yet I was still restless as I found a weary-looking Junius playing a solitary card game, his dark bun of braids glistening under a triangle of sunlight. He didn’t look up as I slid opposite him.

“I wouldn’t sit there,” he said flatly. “I’m contagious, apparently.”

Indeed, though Junius occupied the best table—positioned beside the open doors to the courtyard—the chattering nobles had miraculously filled every seat in the Games Hall except these seven empty chairs. Across the room, two noblewomen were bunching their skirts to squeeze onto the same ottoman.

Since their two dozen staff members had been Hunted, the Jacombs’ status within the gentry had dangerously declined. And courtiers embodied Daradon’s symbol better than anyone; why wield knives when thorns cut deeper?

“Don’t take it to heart.” I toyed with the gilded edge of a playing card. “Nobles hang off each other like accessories. You’re simply not fashionable anymore.”

Junius snatched the card, nearly nicking my fingers. “What do you want?”

“To be friends.”

“I have enough friends.”

“Oh?” I glanced at the empty seats. “Are they hiding under the table?” Junius continued playing, and I sighed. “I know you don’t like me.”

“Do you?” he purred. “How clever.”

“ But ,” I said, sharpening, “you’re spiting the wrong person. I don’t choose my friends based on popular fashions.”

“No, you choose them based on what you gain from the friendship. I’ve been a courtier far longer than you, Lady Alissa. So I ask again: What do you want?”

I breathed deeply, trying not to bristle at his tone.

After my failure with the Bolting Box, Kevi Banday was my best lead. If he was forging the copycats’ weapons, he might steer me directly toward the keeper of the compass. But the fastest way to find him was through records I couldn’t obtain.

Junius could.

So I said, with practiced calm, “As a lord of Dawning, you can access the records of every Dawni citizen. I have a name. I need an address.”

A breeze wafted from the courtyard, fluttering the cards. Junius laid a palm over them, then said, “No.”

I laughed under my breath. “Whoever taught you to haggle did a poor job. You’re meant to hear my offer before you refuse.”

“I know you overheard my disagreement with Rupert. In return for the address, you’ll convince the Creakish to deliver our grain.” Junius ran his dark gaze over me before returning to his cards. “A loaf of bread isn’t worth the trouble of your friendship.”

“Do you think someone smart enough to keep the king’s attention would tempt you with something as trivial as grain?”

“Oh, I doubt it was your smarts that grabbed his attention.”

I gritted my teeth. Garret had assumed the nobles would be tripping over themselves to earn my favor, but Erik’s interest worked against me when it came to Junius.

Luckily, I’d never needed the king’s interest to get what I wanted.

I lounged back, nails drumming on the table. “First, the Creakish grain; next, the fish from Avanford. Where courtiers are fickle in their admiration, they’re steadfast in their scorn. How far will they go to injure your once-great province?”

“Do you have a point, Lady Alissa, or has aimless cruelty become your nature?”

“I only lament that one allegation can cause such ruin. I’ll bet the person who accused your family of knowingly housing Wielders is laughing in their cell as we speak.”

I waited for Junius’s eyes to narrow. Then I grimaced in a weak imitation of embarrassment. “Excuse me,” I said breathily. “I assumed they’d been brought to justice. To besmirch the Jacomb name without consequence...” I shook my head. “Have you even identified the accuser?”

Silence.

Then: “Are you a Spellmaker?” Junius snarled. “Because only Spellmakers can bring back the dead. Is that what you’re offering?”

I blinked, suddenly rattled. “You know what I’m offering.”

“Vengeance?”

“Justice.”

“Justice would mean two dozen innocents returned to this world. If you can’t offer me that, we’re done.” He gathered his cards, chair scraping back.

I grasped his hand. He cast me a flesh-searing look, but I didn’t let go. Because I finally understood.

The trial hadn’t taken this toll on Junius. The Hunting had.

“I can’t bring them back,” I said quietly. “But maybe I can do something else.”