Briar Rose (15 page)

I bet you do.

Ruric sent a look Briar’s way. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Go on, catch up on the village gossip. I’m sure it’s really important.’

That earned her a scowl from the miller’s daughter, who clearly saw Ruric as the ideal husband and Briar as a liability.

‘After our walk, I shall visit the smithy. One of the horses needs a new shoe,’ he said, graciously giving in to his fate. He put his arm through Dimia’s and they set off at a
leisurely pace round the side of the building.

Briar stood, brushing the crumbs from her skirt. Was she jealous? Maybe a bit. Ruric was a hottie, and he’d been very good to her. But cat-fight jealous?
No.
The clock was ticking
in this Village of the Damned: either she figured how to get home or her hair was going to be the death of her.

It had taken Ruric some time to free himself of the miller’s clinging daughter – Dimia was not easily shaken off, much like a burr in a horse’s mane. Now, as
he entered the smithy’s hut, he felt more anxious than usual. With the man’s death today, he knew his time here was coming to an end.

It had been a fine game of cat-and-mouse he’d been playing over the months, gathering information on the regent and her servants. Now there was more at stake – his
‘cousin’ could die because of his fanciful plans.

‘Ah, there you are,’ the smithy said, looking up from his work.

‘Here is the shoe,’ Ruric said, handing it over. ‘The nail holes have worn too much to hold it in place.’

‘A common problem,’ the smithy replied. He began applying the bellows to the fire, his eyes not on Ruric, but at the entrance to the hut. ‘Your cousin presents a problem. Is
she truly of your blood?’

‘No, she’s not,’ Ruric said. ‘But she needs our help. She has . . . something that will cause her to
lose her head
if it was discovered.’

The smithy thought for a moment, then nodded in understanding. ‘That is to our benefit, then. You never saw our princess, but I did, and your cousin looks strikingly similar.’

That knowledge only complicated matters. ‘I wondered if that was the case. I also wonder why she’s here at this moment in time.’

Ruric positioned himself so he could see the door, though to any who might walk by it would appear he was having a leisurely chin wag with the smithy.

‘Have you had luck in finding more . . . supplies?’ he asked.

‘I have,’ the smithy allowed. ‘They are tucked away safe. All we await is for you to make your move.’

‘I know. I have not felt it was the right time yet.’ He knew what would come next. They’d had this argument before. ‘I am aware that we cannot wait forever.’

‘If the princess is dead, perhaps we can use your cousin in her place, since she looks so much like her.’

Ruric wasn’t sure what he thought of that notion, so he did not reply.

‘We are running out of time,’ the smithy warned.

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’ll talk to our . . . friend at the inn tonight. See what she has learned.’

The smithy smashed the hammer on to the molten metal, flattening it. Then his eyes sought Ruric’s. ‘We must master the metal, before it masters us. We have no other
choice.’

Ruric inclined his head and left the man to his work, his heart heavy and his mind full of doubts.

But what if the metal proves stronger?

Once inside the stable, Briar applied herself to the pitchfork. She’d done this kind of duty two summers ago when she’d taken riding lessons, the ones her mother
had reluctantly allowed after much badgering from Briar’s dad.

Briar had found immense freedom on the back of a horse, but it’d only lasted one summer. The next year Joshua had taken a job there and the stables had become off limits, like so much in
her life. She wondered if Mrs Quinn had done that on purpose, or had she even known that Briar was taking lessons when her son applied for the job?

At the thought of Joshua, she held up the arm with the charm bracelet, watching the little figures turn in the air. Instead of making her feel better, it only made her feel lost.

I want to go home.

On top of everything the huntsman charm was missing, something she regretted. And she had developed a lovely set of blisters.

Argh.
So much for being a real princess.

When her back began to cramp and her arms twitch, Briar jammed the pitchfork into the manure pile and then leaned on it, trying to catch her breath.

‘You’re doing well for an apprentice,’ Ruric said from the doorway.

She welcomed the break. ‘Enjoy your ramble with the buxom maid of the mill?’

‘Not really. Dimia’s mother is keen to have her middle daughter wed by autumn. Both of them feel I would make a suitable choice.’

‘I don’t have to go eat with them,’ Briar said. ‘I can stay here, out of sight, if you want.’

‘You would throw me to the wolves, dear cousin?’ he asked, amused.

‘Oh . . .’ He really wanted her to run interference. ‘Or I can be there and make sure that you don’t agree to anything you’ll regret.’

He nodded. ‘That would be wise. The reeve’s son accepted an invitation to dine with the miller and his family two months back. From what I’ve heard, the ale flowed heavily and
it is said he was very deep in his cups when he made the proposal to Dimia’s older sister.’

‘Does he regret that now?’

‘Of that you can be sure. I hear that his lady wife is a shrew.’

Briar’s mind obediently coughed up the image of a small, needle-nosed rodent. She pushed it away. ‘I’m definitely going along with you.’

‘As I’d hoped. Your hair is coming loose again,’ he warned. ‘Hold still.’

Ruric stepped closer and then gently tucked the errant piece under cover. This time his hand didn’t retreat, but remained in place for longer than was necessary.

‘Ah . . .’ she began.

He smiled, then stepped back. ‘There, perfect.’

Perfect.
No guy had ever called her that before.

‘Thanks,’ she said, feeling her cheeks flame. Eager to change the subject, Briar asked, ‘Have you ever thought about trying to wake the princess?’

Ruric stilled, as if she’d just slipped a knife between his ribs. ‘Why would you think I would do that?’

‘Everyone else seems to want to.’

His brow furrowed in thought, then he beckoned her further into the stable, away from the door. His voice fell low. ‘I do wish to wake the princess as much as any man, but since I’ve
been here twelve men have been caught and executed in the field. That doesn’t count the ones who perished inside the castle and were never seen again.’ He gave her troubled look.
‘I have the courage, but I do not want to be torn apart by some magical beast or turned into a . . . monster.’

‘Why do you want to do this? Why risk your life?’

‘To free the village from the regent’s tyranny, of course,’ he said loftily.

No, it’s more than that.
She could hear the longing in his voice, and she suspected it wasn’t for the princess or some vague notion of right or wrong.

As if discomfited by the conversation, Ruric shook his head. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s go find you a proper scarf before someone discovers your
secret.’

He fell silent as they walked to the small market at the edge of the village. This wasn’t the main market, Ruric explained, but a lesser one. As some of the other townsfolk walked by them,
she felt eyes scrutinizing her. Briar tried to ignore them, but couldn’t help wondering if one of them was a spy for the regent.

‘Why are they out here? Wouldn’t they want to be in the middle of the village where they could make more money?’ she asked, surprised that this market wasn’t that
busy.

‘Not all care to be that close to the castle,’ he said.

Ruric paused at a stall to inspect a selection of herbs. As he talked with the owner, Briar grew bored and wandered on her own, but never so far as to lose him from view.

She felt the sense of menace grow with each passing hour. It wasn’t just the regent, but the village itself, as if somehow it deemed her a threat and wanted to dispose of her.

Get a grip.

It was then she saw an old woman sitting on a tree stump, a piece of colourful red fabric laid on the ground in front of her. Resting on it was a set of crudely drawn cards, probably some
version of a tarot deck. Curious, Briar moved closer.

‘I shall tell your fortune, maid, if you dare to seek it,’ the woman said, eyeing her with some intensity. Her hair was frizzled grey and her hands gnarled, one eye milky and
unseeing.

‘Umm . . . sorry, I have no money.’

The woman cocked her head, studying her closer. ‘For you, I will not require coins. Sit, child, and learn of your future.’

It was tempting. Maybe this lady knew something that would help her get out of here. When she checked on Ruric, he had moved to another stand and was chatting up a girl. She could tell from the
way he was holding himself he was in full charming mode. As if realizing he was being watched, he held up a scarf for her inspection and gave her questioning look. She shook her head. Brown never
was her colour. He held up a second one, which told her he wasn’t going to stop until he found one she liked. This one was robin’s egg blue and rather pretty, so she gave a nod. He
pulled out the proper coins, which earned him a bigger smile from the stall’s owner.

The old woman tugged on Briar’s skirt. ‘You must sit, child, and listen to my cards,’ she said. ‘If you do not, it will go ill for you.’

That didn’t sound good. Besides, she had nothing to lose as it would make her look like any other villager. Blending in meant a better chance of survival.

Briar sat on the grass opposite the fortune teller and watched as the woman gathered the strange cards in her knotted hands and painstakingly shuffled the deck. Then she had Briar pull four of
them and place them in a row on the fabric.

Turning over the first card revealed the image of a golden-haired maiden frolicking in a field of blooming roses. Behind the flowers was a thicket of briars.

Roses and briars? OK, that’s spooky.

‘This is you, all innocent and trusting,’ the woman said. ‘For you are not from here.’

Of course I’m not.
She was Ruric’s ‘cousin’ from wherever the heck.

The second card revealed a dark forest dotted with glowing yellow eyes and glittering fangs. Briar couldn’t suppress the shiver that rode through her.

‘This is you now. You are lost and afraid. You think you are alone, with no one to protect you.’

The fortune teller’s eyes rose and sought out Ruric as he traded jokes with one of his neighbours. ‘You must find the strength to defeat the evil that controls you, but you are not
alone. You must find your prince, one who is worthy. One who will stand at your side. Only then will you find your way home.’

Ruric laughed now, slapping his thigh at some jest.

The third card flipped over. It was the girl again, surrounded by three torches, each lighting the way out of the darkness. ‘There are those who wish to help you in your quest. They will
come from a great distance.’

What could that mean? There was no way for Reena to get here. Even if there was some magical way to do it, Gran Lily wouldn’t send her own kin into this kind of hell.

Briar swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. ‘What happens if I don’t find that help? Or . . . my prince?’

‘Then the darkness wins,’ the woman said, turning over the fourth and final card. It was the gold-haired girl lying on a stone slab, a line of swords piercing her from throat to
stomach. Deep crimson flowed down her sides on to the floor, forming patterns that eerily resembled decaying roses.

I’m going to die here.

‘Briar?’

She jerked at the sound of her name and found Ruric standing over her. ‘Ah . . . sorry, I wanted to get my fortune told.’

‘The teller of fortunes is not here today,’ he said.

‘What?’ Briar turned back and found that the woman and her cards were gone. Even the piece of cloth had vanished.

OK, that was really weird. Did I just dream all that?

‘We can return tomorrow if you wish,’ he offered. ‘Perhaps she will be here.’

‘No, it’s OK.’ The cards had showed her two possibilities: either she found more help or she died. It couldn’t be simpler than that.

Briar fell quiet, unnerved by what the old woman had revealed. As they strolled through the market, Ruric handed over the scarf and she tied it round her neck for the time being.

‘It will look fine on you,’ he replied.

‘Thank you,’ she said.
Are you my prince?

An apple came her way and Briar eagerly dug into it, hungry once again. Unlike the supermarket kind at home, this fruit was actually good. When juice ran down her chin, she wiped it off. Briar
was about to take another bite when she hesitated. A thin worm crept out, waving its head above the fruity flesh.

The worm was all metal.

‘Ruric . . .’ she said, panicking. Had she eaten of some of that?

With a growl, he took the apple and tossed it away. ‘Now she is poisoning our food. When will this madness end?’ he said under his breath.