A Wicked Thing (17 page)

“PRINCESS, WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HANDS?” BETSY
turned Aurora's burned palms over, examining the raw flesh and barely formed scabs in the early morning light.

“I knocked over a candle,” Aurora said. Betsy tutted and fetched a salve to soothe the pain, but she accepted the explanation without question. Aurora could not forget the incident so easily.

She flicked through books, trying to lose herself in the words, but every time she turned a page, her fingers ached, and she wondered whether these tales, too, were lies. A servant brought in a harp, and she plucked at it with stiff fingers, but the
strings hurt her burns so much that she had to stop.

Although Rodric came every day to play, they did not talk about anything more compelling than the weather and the delicious food Rodric heard the servants were preparing for their engagement banquet. Once, Aurora dared to ask if anyone had caught the instigators of the violence at their ceremony. Rodric shook his head.

She ran her thumb along the healing burns, over and over, tracing the raw smoothness and the fierce blisters. The candle had left a spark of something in her. Not boldness, not resolve, and not a part of her old self—meek and adventurous, loving and resentful, hiding and smiling and curtsying and reading—but something secret and dangerous and entirely her own.

Or entirely its own. Although Aurora tried, again and again, to set something else on fire, shatter the vase on her table, knock a book off her shelf, she could not create even the slightest shift in the air. The hope of it flickered inside her, that spark that promised she was not as weak as she seemed, but it was unwilling to bow to her demands. If not for the red blisters that still covered her skin, she might have called it a dream, another moment of madness and flame.

She ran her fingers through her own story,
The Tale of Sleeping Beauty
, once again. She had spent a hundred years under a spell. Perhaps that magic had seeped into her, giving her power
that she could not entirely control. Power that the witch now wanted back.

“Good morning, Princess,” Rodric said when he arrived at her door a few days later. He hovered at the threshold, his cheeks pink. “I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

“No,” she said. She pushed her breakfast tray away and stood. “Of course you aren't.”

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

“A surprise?”

“I thought it must be getting a little tiring,” he said. “Being stuck in here all the time. So I thought we might go into the gardens.”

Aurora smiled. The gardens were not exactly her idea of an adventure, but even embroidery with the queen would have been preferable to staying locked up in her room for another day. The fresh air would clear her head.

“That would be lovely,” she said.

“I know it might be a bit cold,” Rodric continued. “The sun won't be fully over the castle walls for another couple of hours, but . . . well, my mother is otherwise engaged this morning. She won't be wanting us for hours.”

“And she wouldn't approve of what you've got planned?”

“I don't think she would
not
approve,” Rodric said carefully. “But it may be better if she doesn't know until after it's done.”

Rodric, being mysterious? Aurora had not imagined it possible. “What exactly are you planning?” she asked.

Rodric only smiled. “You'll see. Shall we go?”

As they walked through the corridors, followed by guards, Aurora tried to puzzle out what Rodric intended. It was too cold for a picnic, and they could play most games inside easily enough. Perhaps they would be taking Isabelle for an outing, but surely he could have told her that before.

When she finally glimpsed the garden, she paused, a smile spreading across her face.

Two horses stood on the path, held in place by a groom. The one farthest from Aurora was pure black with a lush mane and tail. The horse tossed its head, as though it were fully aware of its beauty and eager for everyone to appreciate it. The one nearer to Aurora was smaller and a little stockier, with a creamy gold coat and a white mane and tail that fell in rough waves. It had a pale splotch on its nose, and it was nuzzling the back of the groom's hand with its upper lip.

“You said before that you'd always wanted to ride a horse,” Rodric said. “So I thought—I mean, it isn't exactly riding through the forest, that wouldn't be safe, but—we could try it. For a little bit. If you'd like.”

“Yes,” she said, and the word came out more like a breath. “Yes, it's wonderful. Thank you.” Gratitude rushed through her. She spun on her toes and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He touched her gingerly on the back in return.
“Really,” she said. “Thank you.” She let go and turned back to the horses. “Which one is for me?”

“The smaller one. Her name's Polly. The black one is my horse, Shadow. Best horse in the kingdom. But she's a bit big for you.”

Aurora crept closer, her arm outstretched. Polly stopped chewing on the groom's knuckles and turned to look at her. Aurora brushed her fingertips down the horse's nose, feeling the softness of her fur.

“She likes it if you scratch under her chin,” the groom said. Aurora tried it, slightly scared that the horse would nip at her fingers. Instead, Polly's lower lip shook, and she tilted her head to butt Aurora lightly with her nose.

“How did you get them here?” she asked. The garden was entirely enclosed, solid castle walls on all sides.

“Well, to be honest,” Rodric said, “I just led them through the corridors and hoped no one would tell me not to.”

“And they didn't?”

“No,” Rodric said. “One of the advantages of being a prince, I suppose.”

“Ready to ride her, Princess?” the groom said, and Aurora felt a jolt of panic. The idea of riding had always excited her, but now that the opportunity was before her, with a horse whose back was higher than her head, she realized she hadn't the first clue how to go about it.

“All right,” she said. “If you'll help me.”

The groom held the horse's head while Rodric helped guide Aurora's left foot into the stirrup. Aurora jumped up, putting all her weight in the metal loop, and felt the saddle shift slightly as she scrambled with her right leg, trying to find her balance. Then she was sitting on the horse, reins loose in her hands, her skirt tangled around her.

“Now swing your right leg back this way,” the groom said, “and put it between these two pommels here.” She did what he asked, wobbling as her foot brushed across the horse's neck. Her leg slipped between the grips, and she sat back. It was a lot more comfortable than it had looked. As the groom adjusted the saddle straps on either side of her and fetched her a whip, he explained the basics to her: pull back to stop, kick to go, steer with your feet on one side and the crop on the other.

Polly turned her head and nibbled Aurora's toe.

For all his talk about being afraid of horses, Rodric hopped into his own saddle without any apparent problems. He adjusted the straps from where he sat, and then turned to Aurora with an expectant look on his face.

“After you,” he said.

The groom still held the front of Aurora's bridle, but Aurora dug her heels into Polly's side anyway, and Polly plodded forward. Her footsteps clopped on the cobblestones, her whole body tilting from side to side as she walked. Aurora grabbed the front of the saddle.

“Are you all right?” Rodric asked. He was smiling, but he at
least tried to sound concerned.

“Yes,” Aurora said. “She just surprised me.”

“Hold your reins a little tighter,” Rodric said. “So that you can feel tension in her mouth, just a little bit. And then relax your hands in front of you. Yes, like that, that's good.”

The reins rubbed against Aurora's burns, but Aurora found she did not mind. She could feel the horse's body heat beneath her, the sway of her steps, the way she nodded her head slightly as she walked. She felt connected, and even though they were moving slowly, even though they were still locked within the castle walls, she felt lighter, freer. She dared to lower her reins slightly and run her fingers through the fur at the nape of Polly's neck.

Rodric urged his horse alongside her.

She had clearly been given the gentlest, slowest horse in the stables. Polly followed Aurora's every tentative instruction without complaint, and her simple lack of majesty was almost comforting. Occasionally, she would yank her head to the side to chew on flower buds or tree branches, almost pulling Aurora's arms out of their sockets in the process, but the groom would pull her firmly in the other direction. “If she eats any of those flowers,” he mumbled, “the queen'll have my head.”

After a couple of loops of the gardens, Rodric suggested, with slight trepidation in his voice, that Aurora might like to try a canter. “You only have to sit back,” he said. “Put all your weight in your saddle. Kick her on, one big kick, and then pull
back when you want to stop. Polly's a good mount. She'll take care of you.”

“All right,” Aurora said. “Yes. I'll try it.”

The groom frowned. “I can't run with you, Princess, if you do. It'll be too fast for my old legs.”

“I'll be all right,” Aurora said, although she did not feel as sure as she sounded. “Polly and I seem to be getting along well, don't we, Polly?” Polly blew air through her nose, as though in agreement.

On Rodric's shout, she sat down firmly in the saddle and kicked Polly forward. The horse leapt into a steady canter, her movements suddenly smooth, a flowing rise and fall. They came to a low-hanging branch. Aurora ducked. Twigs scraped the top of her head, and Aurora laughed. As though urged on by Aurora's glee, Polly picked up speed, her feet thrumming on the ground.

They reached a corner. Polly turned, leaning to the side to maintain speed. Aurora's foot slipped out of her stirrup. The metal clanged against her ankle a couple of times, and then Aurora was slipping too, her weight falling more and more to the left. She snatched for Polly's mane, but by the time she had realized what was happening, it was too late to stop it. The sky blurred before her eyes, and then she hit the flowerbeds with a thump.

“Princess! Princess, are you all right?”

Aurora took a moment to stare at the clouds. Her back was
slightly sore, but otherwise, she felt unhurt. She pushed herself into a sitting position.

Rodric had dismounted Shadow and was hurrying toward her, the horse's reins in his hands. The groom was running to grab Polly, but that seemed unnecessary. The cream horse was standing a few paces from Aurora, looking at her as though wondering what she was doing on the ground.

“Princess,” Rodric said again. “Are you hurt?”

“I'm all right,” she said, and she stood up to prove her point, brushing the dust from her skirts. “It was only a little fall.”

But Rodric still looked pale. “Maybe we should stop for now.”

“I promise I'm fine,” Aurora said, but Rodric was chewing his lip, and she could tell that every possible riding-related disaster was now filling his head. “Another day?” she said. “With Polly? I just got ahead of myself. I'll be more careful next time.”

“Of course,” Rodric said. “I promise. After—after the wedding, we'll give you real lessons. And then you can ride out beyond the walls.”

After the wedding. Her happiness ebbed at the thought. There would be many good things to marrying Rodric, she knew that. The freedom to finally leave the castle and ride a horse would be one of them. Rodric's extreme kindness and consideration would be another. But despite all that, he still only felt like a friend, and the looming wedding seemed like the day when all her possibilities would finally be taken away.

“Shall I help you back to your rooms?” Rodric asked.

“No,” she said softly. “No, you help deal with the horses. I am sure the guards will walk me.”

“I'm happy to—”

“No, it's all right,” she said firmly. “I would like some time to think.”

Rodric nodded, but she could not help noticing his disappointed expression as she walked away.

AURORA WAS READYING HERSELF FOR BED THAT NIGHT
when she heard a quiet voice in the doorway.

“Hello.”

Aurora looked up. Isabelle was peering around the door. Aurora placed her brush on the table and stared at her. “Hello, Isabelle,” she said.

The girl slipped into the room. “Rod said you were hurt. He said that's why you aren't around anymore.”

“I'm okay,” Aurora said. “It's—it's just safer if I stay here.”

Isabelle moved closer, eyes fixed on the ground. “Can I stay here?” she said. “For a little while?”

“Won't someone be looking for you?”

“The guards know I'm here.” Isabelle shifted again. “My mother wants to see me tomorrow. She wants me to see Finnegan.”

“It will be all right,” Aurora said. “He's not too awful.”

Isabelle giggled. “He's okay usually. He's kind of nice. Smiles and tells jokes. But when my mother is there, it's like it's not really him anymore. All his smiles are too big.”

Aurora sat down on a stool, and waved Isabelle over to her. “I think your mother has that effect on a lot of people.”

Isabelle offered a small smile. She sat down by Aurora's feet, her chin resting on her knees. “I don't think he wants to marry me very much.”

“It sounds like he likes you,” Aurora said. “But you are a lot younger than he is. And I don't think Finnegan's the sort of person who would let anyone tell him what to do. No one would mind if he refused.”

Isabelle was quiet for a long moment. “Mother would mind,” she said. “She would say I failed.”

“It wouldn't be your fault.”

“But it would, wouldn't it?” Isabelle craned her neck to look at Aurora. “Mother says it would be the greatest thing I could do, and if it's the right thing, then shouldn't I do it? And if I didn't do it, doesn't that mean I wasn't good enough for him? So I failed.”

Aurora ran her fingers through Isabelle's hair. “No,” she said softly. “That's not true.”

“It's all right for you,” Isabelle said. “You have Rodric. Everything's already worked out.”

“That's not entirely true either,” Aurora said. “My mother told me the same things too, you know. I didn't have to meet princes, but she always told me—she said, it was my duty to be good and admired. If I did as I ought, happiness would come to me.” The words had been so promising at the time. If she did her duty, if she waited in her tower until she turned eighteen, happiness would come after.

“I think she had suitors in mind for me too,” she said. “I remember, on the day I—on my last day at home, she was preparing me for a big ball. For my birthday. And she kept telling me about all the princes who would attend. I think she intended me to marry one of them.”

“But you're going to marry Rodric, aren't you?”

Aurora nodded. “Those princes—they are long dead now.”

“And you—you love him. Don't you?” Isabelle peered over her shoulder with wide, meek eyes, as though desperate for the answer. Desperate, and a little afraid. “Because the princesses always love the princes in the stories, but Mother says that's silly. She says we have to marry whoever's best for the realm and we'll be happy later. But—but you love Rodric, don't you? Like in the book.”

Isabelle trembled at the end of her speech. She continued to stare at Aurora, all hope and fear, and Aurora's reply stuck in her throat. How could she tell her the truth? How could she tell
her that she had felt more for a rebel in an inn than for Isabelle's kindhearted older brother? Rodric deserved her affection, and Tristan did not, yet Tristan's betrayal still ached, while Rodric's kindness felt like nothing more than friendship. “Your brother is a good man,” she said eventually, each word slow and careful. “But I barely know him yet. Perhaps, in the future . . . if the story is true . . .”

Isabelle did not flinch or look away, but the corners of her mouth turned down a fraction of an inch. She nodded. “It has to be,” she said.

No,
Aurora thought, staring down at the strands of Isabelle's hair caught between her fingers. The story was not true. She had awoken, out of need, or coincidence, or Celestine deciding it was time, or simply magic too weak to hold her any longer. Not because of fated love.

It did not matter, though. Others believed in it, and that, it seemed, was reason enough.

Aurora stayed up reading by the light of a candle. Her feet were tucked inside her nightgown, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The castle had been silent for hours. Even the servants were asleep, but Aurora's mind was still too full of her conversation with Isabelle to rest. She stared at the pages, but she could not process the words.

She was about to give up and try to sleep when she heard movement outside her room. Footsteps, and a few whispered
words. She stared at the door.

The handle shook.

Aurora stood up. She had nothing that even vaguely looked like a weapon, so she tightened her grip on the book, feeling its weight. If Celestine had come for her again, she did not know how she would defend herself.

But when the door inched open, it wasn't the witch who entered.

It was Finnegan.

“Good,” he said. “You're awake.”

She stepped back, suddenly very aware of the way her nightgown brushed below her knees. “Finnegan,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have something to show you.”

She shook her head. Her fingers tightened around the book. “My guards—”

“They let me in.”

“They let you in?”

“It's surprising what people will do if you give them enough coins. I'm doing you a favor, coming here.”

“You're doing me a favor?” she echoed. “By breaking into my room at night?”

“Something is happening,” he said. “Down in the dungeons. Something you need to see.”

Aurora shivered. She wrapped her free arm across her stomach, clutching her elbow. Explosions in the square, innocent
people arrested, rebels who wanted the king dead. Dread crawled up her spine.

“Show me,” she said.

Apart from her guards, her corridor was deserted, but she could hear voices and people running, the sounds echoing up from lower floors.

Finnegan took her hand. His palm was warm, his fingers sliding between hers. “This way,” he said.

He led her down the corridor until they reached a battered tapestry at the top of the stairs. He lifted it with his free hand, revealing a narrow passageway. The torchlight illuminated the first few feet, showing rough stone coated with dust, but the darkness beyond was impenetrable. Anything could lurk within.

Aurora hesitated.

“Only way to get around unnoticed,” Finnegan said. “Come on.” She stepped under his arm into the tunnel. He followed her, dropping the tapestry as he went, so the material slapped against their backs, plunging them into darkness. Aurora tightened her hold on his hand. He squeezed back.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I won't let the monsters get you.”

“I wasn't worried,” she said. “I don't want to lose you in the dark.”

“Of course not. I wouldn't want to lose me either.”

He walked on. Aurora's toes curled as she stepped in dust, the occasional cobweb sticking to her skin. She could barely make out the shape of Finnegan's shoulder ahead of her, the arm
stretching back to hold her hand. Apart from their movements, the hiss of their breath, the passage was still.

“There are stairs down here,” Finnegan said. “Be careful.”

The stairs twisted beneath them. She tested each movement with her toes, turning her feet so they fit on the worn steps. Finnegan walked without hesitation, as though he had taken this path many times before.

A light glowed ahead. She could hear voices again, faint ones, but the echo made it impossible to understand the words. They paused a few steps from the bottom, listening.

She recognized one of the speakers. Tristan.

Aurora hurried past Finnegan, her feet slipping in her haste. The stairs opened onto a small alcove. Beyond, Aurora could only see an unlit stone wall, the light of nearby sconces spilling across the uneven floor. Aurora clung to the wall with her fingertips, peering around the corner.

Tristan stood toward the end of the corridor, dressed in the garb of the castle servants. A guard held his arms behind his back, while another leaned into his face. “It's like I told you,” Tristan said. “I was passing through on my way to bed, and I heard a commotion. I rushed to see what was happening.”

“Strange that I haven't seen your face before, dutiful servant as you are,” the guard said.

“Ask the king,” Tristan said. “He'll vouch for me. He gave me the job himself. I've worked for him for years.”

Aurora's fingers tightened around the stone. Her first
instinct was to help him. To provide a distraction, to run up to the guards and order them to release him, to do
something
. If he did not escape, he would surely be killed. But doubt made her pause. She could not think of a single innocent reason why he might be here, dressed as a servant in the middle of the night.

Finnegan rested a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. She shrugged him off.

“It's your lucky day, then, isn't it?” the guard said. “The king'll be here any moment, to deal with the lot of yeh. I don't think he'll be too pleased. Springing prisoners from the dungeon and all.”

Aurora bit her lip. She remembered the old woman who had been arrested on her first day in court, the healing woman accused of poisoning her village and locked down here to rot. If Tristan had been rescuing people like her, helping them escape . . .

Sounds of fighting burst down the corridor. Grunts. Yells. Metal crashing against stone.

The guard who had been interrogating Tristan turned at the noise and reached for his sword. As soon as he looked away, Tristan moved. His arms slipped free of the second guard, almost as if he had been released, and his foot snaked around the distracted man's ankle, knocking him off-balance. As the guard stumbled, still reaching for his sword, Tristan yanked a knife out of his boot. He plunged it into the guard's side. The guard yelled, twisting toward the wound, and Tristan ran, toward the
fighting, toward Aurora and Finnegan. He did not even glance at them as he passed. He skidded around the corner, swerving left, and then he was gone.

Aurora stepped after him as though she could catch him and demand to know what was happening, but Finnegan's hand tightened on her shoulder, yanking her back into the shadows.

“Careful,” he whispered. “Don't let them see you.”

“But—” She did not know how to process what she had seen. “The guard.”

“He will live,” Finnegan said. “That was a wound to slow him, not to kill him.”

“And you know the difference?”

He jerked his head in a nod. More footsteps were coming down the corridor. The bleeding guard lurched to his feet and ran after Tristan, his partner trailing behind. But with the guard's injury, Tristan had gained a decent head start. He might escape, if he did not join the other fight.

Aurora leaned toward the noise, but she couldn't see anything. “We should get closer,” she whispered to Finnegan.

He shook his head. “Any closer and they might see us.”

Then another voice she recognized drifted down the corridor. “Have all the traitors been apprehended?”

The king.

“The fighting is continuing in the north wing of the dungeons,” his attendant said. They marched into view. Aurora shrank back, pressing closer to Finnegan, trying to melt into the
shadows. “But they're outnumbered. We will overpower them quickly. A weak attempt, in all.”

“Any casualties in our ranks?”

“Not as far as I have heard. Except for the cost of the traitors among us, of course.”

“Indeed.”

The pair strode past Aurora and Finnegan's hiding place. Aurora held her breath, wishing that she could vanish into the stone itself.

“We cannot let word of this get out,” the king continued. “We must deal with this tonight.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

They turned right, heading in the direction where swords had clashed only moments before, but Aurora could still hear every word.

“You have killed all of the intruders? And everyone who tried to escape?”

“All the ones who fought back, Your Majesty. We have a couple of others in custody. We thought we might interrogate them.”

The king scoffed. “All you'll get from them is lies,” he said. “Kill them and be done with it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Aurora flinched again. Tristan had run the other way, away from where the king now stood. Away from the ongoing fight. She turned to Finnegan for confirmation. “The way that boy
took,” she whispered. “Would it lead out of the dungeons?”

Finnegan nodded. “It wouldn't lead to the north wing, at least. He probably got out.”

The footsteps stopped. Aurora strained to hear the words. “And the other prisoners?” the king said. “How many remain?”

“Most of them. We haven't done a full check, but it seems only those recently arrested for seditious activity were freed.”

So Tristan had not been here to free all the innocents in the dungeons after all. He had only been trying to rescue his allies, his friends.

“We can't have this happen again,” the king said. “Tell the guards to slit the prisoners' throats.”

Aurora jerked forward, but Finnegan wrapped an arm around her chest, pulling her back.

The attendant hesitated. “A-all of them, Your Majesty?”

“All of them. Then bring the guards who were on duty tonight to me. I want to deal with them myself.”

Aurora pulled away from Finnegan again, but he did not let go. “He can't do that,” she said. She saw that old woman again, bent double in court, so certain that her king would protect her. The terror on her face as she was dragged away. “He can't kill them.”