Page 57 of Thorn Season (Thorn Season #1)

“ T here,” Tari said around a mouthful of hairpins, securing my last tresses. “Fit for a queen.”

“Not funny,” I mumbled.

“Not trying to be.”

I tracked my eye roll in the long mirror, glad I’d iced my dark, tired circles before she’d noticed them. I’d hardly slept in ten days. Though my specter felt more solid, coursing through me with new purpose, my muscles were stiff and aching.

The gown didn’t help. Though beautiful—strapless and shimmering in deepest indigo—the tulle skirts poured heavily from a tapered waist. A silver, crystal-embedded cape cascaded from the back, and hefty xerylite bracelets twinkled at my wrists.

I resembled the streaming flag of Daradon.

I felt more like a large, sparkly target.

Tari’s face turned somber in the reflection. “They’re baking lemon cakes and pouring the celebratory wine. The orchestra rehearsed the victory anthems. He’ll wait until after the fealty ceremony so he can make a spectacle of it.”

My palms grew slick, my anxiety overflowing. But I reminded myself that I’d chosen this. I needed this for the plan to work.

Erik would propose to me tonight—the last night of Rose Season, when the eighteenth-year nobles would assemble before him to swear fealty.

The court would erupt in celebration, the crowds growing thick and unruly.

It would be the perfect moment for a copycat to enter unnoticed—like on the night of Father’s funeral, or the night of Wray’s murder, when the palace had been bursting with coronation merriment.

I would make a lone exit, seemingly drunk and exposed. ..

And they would strike. I was confident they would.

I held my own gaze in the mirror and drew a deep, trembling breath. There was so much to be afraid of tonight that each new fear had tangled with the previous one, creating a mess of nervous energy inside me.

But I couldn’t let Tari see it.

So, I suppressed my rising dread and grabbed a letter from the vanity. My official seal waxed the envelope. “News of the initiative reached Vereen.”

Tari cringed. “Amarie.”

I nodded. Amarie’s note had been a panicked scrawl of confusion. She couldn’t understand why I would hunt sympathizers in my province; she seemed convinced I was dead and someone had given the order in my name.

“I need you to give her this.” I handed Tari the letter. “It explains everything.”

Tari tried to push the letter back. “Send a messenger.”

“You’re the only one she’ll trust. You need to tell her about the underground prisons we found. Tell her the mercenaries have orders to search , not harm.” I swallowed thickly. “Tell her I miss her, and I’m sorry I can’t come home.”

Tari frowned. “You say that like it’s goodbye.”

“Only for a while,” I murmured. Then, unable to hold her gaze, I turned to the vanity and brushed rouge across my cheekbones.

Tari believed exactly what I wanted the keeper to believe—that I’d hired Sabira’s mercenaries to search the tunnels for the copycats’ new stronghold. I hated lying to her, but if she discovered the extent of my hazardous plan, she would want to help.

They’d already taken Father. I wouldn’t let them take her, too.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said. I froze, following her approach in the vanity mirror. Beyond the window, the sun was bleeding into the horizon, and the red-washed light set her copper skin aglow. “You’re trying to get rid of me before tonight. You don’t want me to see you with him.”

I tried not to look relieved, even as guilt curdled my stomach. It was better that she thought accepting Erik’s proposal was the most dangerous thing I would do tonight.

“You know I don’t agree with this,” she went on. “Whatever good you think you’re doing by saying yes to him... it’s not worth it. You’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life. And scared. And scrutinized.” Her nose wrinkled. “And probably a little nauseous all the time.”

I faced her, brows high. “Is this meant to be encouraging?”

“I’m not finished.” Her cheeks puffed out with a long sigh. “I don’t agree with the path you’re choosing... But I’ll walk beside you, every step. Even if that means watching you tie yourself to a ship on fire.”

“Erik’s the ship?”

A cheerless, lopsided smile. “Erik’s the fire.”

She deposited the letter on my vanity, and I grabbed her hand.

Tari sighed. “Alissa, I can’t go. My contract doesn’t end until tomorrow.”

But I was already reaching toward the vanity again, handing her a second sheet of paper. “Actually,” I said softly, “your new contract overrides that.”

Tari’s eyes slowly widened as she read.

I’d detailed everything in my letter—had planned on Amarie telling her this last part—because I’d wanted Tari to know that this decision had nothing to do with my wanting her to leave.

This was the one decision I would make again and again, regardless of circumstance, because it might be the best decision I’d ever made.

“The seat’s counsel?” Tari asked, half-confused, half-disbelieving.

“It’s an old title, created for the fusty aristocrats who would oversee the provinces when the ruling nobles were away at court, but...” I exhaled, smiling faintly. “I thought the role could use a revival.”

She blinked. Gave a startled laugh. “Are you feverish? I can’t—”

“Manage the Verenian nobles? Observe and navigate the social dynamics between them? Make quick, smart decisions under pressure? You’ve already been doing that here—and you’re good at it.”

For months, Tari had been agonizing over her calling, trying to map out the rest of her life. Yet I’d never seen her more content—more vibrant from the thrill of a challenge—than during these weeks at court.

“Don’t you enjoy it?” I asked.

“Well... maybe. All right, yes , but—Alissa—managing a province ? I’m not an aristocrat.”

“No, you’re not. You actually care about the people, no matter their background or bloodline.

You want to make this kingdom better than it is.

You deserve this role more than any aristocrat.

” I crossed my arms. “And if the lack of a noble lineage is the only reason you won’t take it, then it’s not a good enough reason. ”

Tari looked toward the contract again, concern etching her forehead.

It was a concern I didn’t share. Even in the best-case scenario—even if everything went to plan tonight—I would be engaged to Erik in the morning.

I was about to tumble into a world of pomp and royalty, leaving the home I loved behind.

And there was nobody I trusted more than Tari to take care of it.

When she looked at me again, something soft and joyful gleamed behind her worry. Something akin to true fulfillment. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she breathed.

I looked at my best friend and hoped she couldn’t see the sadness in my smile. Couldn’t sense the twisting in my chest as I made another painful goodbye.

“That’s all right,” I said. “ I know you can.”

Using myself as bait had been a last resort.

But I had too many unanswered questions—about the compass’s whereabouts, the keeper who’d ordered Father’s murder—and I needed someone willing to give me answers.

As Erik had told Quincy, anyone could be bought for the right price; Father’s killer had even suggested it before he’d pinned me in the study.

If the next brute sent to kill me wouldn’t reveal his secrets for a generous amount of gold, I was prepared to incentivize him in other ways.

But like the last man, he would bring a dullroot canister—and his eurium weapons could incapacitate my specter. So I’d made my first demand of Sabira: Map out the palace passageways for me. And over the last ten days, I’d practiced running through every route.

Because to disarm my next attacker, to truly best him in battle, I would need to draw him onto a playing field I could control.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have worn heels.

I clopped into the grand foyer, where the first hum of festivity poured out with the scent of sweet wine. Fabric rustled and I jumped, whirling around.

Perla was watching me from behind a marble pillar, her fine features pressed thin. “You look lovely in indigo,” she murmured.

“Thank you. You look lovely in...” I surveyed her gown: an awkward, watery color that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be cream or salmon. “You look lovely,” I finished. “Are you joining the celebrations before the ceremony?”

“I don’t have much to celebrate.”

“You’re young and beautiful. Many can’t boast the same.”

Perla huffed a little breath that might have been laughter if not for her air of defeat.

I couldn’t quite feel guilty about supplanting her, even after what Carmen had suggested about Perla’s father. Marrying the king would’ve been torture for someone like her; Erik’s bow-and-arrow stunt had proved it.

I was doing her a favor.

“I heard what happened with the Ansoran ambassador,” Perla said now, watching me closely. “You must have been very frightened.”

I maintained a blank expression. Whatever she’d once presumed about me and Keil, recent events must have proved her wrong.

“His Majesty straightened things out,” I said.

“I heard he could have been killed.”

“Thankfully, our king is stronger than one rogue Wielder.”

“One rogue Wielder can do more damage than people think.”

I blinked. I’d only ever heard Perla speak with such certainty the night she’d threatened me in the kitchens. Now that my suspect pool had widened to include everyone I’d previously overlooked... her threat seemed to hold a different weight.

“In that case,” I said, smiling tightly, “I was extremely lucky.”

I was walking away when she said, “I hear he’s proposing tonight.”

I stopped, eyes narrowing. “You hear a lot for someone who spends so much time in her chambers.”

Perla shrank back, her conviction lost. “Pardon, my lady. The servants talk. I meant no offense.”

“Oh, I’m not offended.” I stepped closer, and she recoiled. “You should speak your mind more often, Lady Perla. I daresay it suits you.”

I felt her eyes on me all the way into the ballroom.