Thorns between us

Five: The Elves

I wasn’t going to the palace.

Not yet.

The woman in the stitched coat said to wait. Feed. Learn him.

_“Him”_ being the thing behind my ribs.

_“We are hungry,”_ it said.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Animals. Not people.”

Five days.

Deer. Boar. A wolf. The blood shut him up for an hour. Then:

_“More.”_

“I know.”

On the sixth night I found tracks.

Bare feet. Small. Into the old forest.

The Elven Ward.

Maps said it was empty.

Maps also said I was dead.

I followed.

The forest was wrong.

No birds. No bugs.

_“They’re watching,”_ the voice said.

“I know.”

An arrow appeared in the bark next to my head.

Six of them stepped out.

Tall. Lean. Bows drawn.

“Human,” said the one in front. Woman. Scar through her brow. “Bleeding wrong.”

I looked at my hand. The blood was black. Smoking.

“Shit.”

“Bind him,” she said.

They moved.

I got one in the throat before the others were on me. Too fast.

Vines shot from the dirt and wrapped my wrists.

“Where’s the girl,” I said. “From the marsh.”

“You mean the cursed,” said a younger one. “Why.”

“Personal.”

The woman crouched.

“Lirael. 4th Ward. You’re not going anywhere until we know what you are.”

“Drayk.”

“I know who you are, Prince.”

That stopped me.

“How—”

“We heard about the funeral,” she said. “So why are you walking around with gold eyes and something dead inside you?”

_“Don’t talk,”_ the voice said. _“They’ll bury us.”_

“Search him,” Lirael said.

Cloak. Knife. Gone.

Then one pulled my hood down.

Gold. Black veins.

“Blindfold,” Lirael said. “And iron. Real iron.”

They hauled me up.

Their camp was in the canopy.

They threw me in a cage. Wood, iron, vines.

“You broke Cael’s arm,” Lirael said.

“He tried to stab me.”

“He’s 17.”

“You’re leaking,” she said, nodding at my shoulder. Black dripping.

“It’ll close.”

“No. Not until we cut it out or you die again.”

“We’ve been tracking rot,” she said. “From the marsh. But not the girl. We haven’t seen her.”

My chest pulled.

“So she’s not here.”

“Not that we’ve found,” Lirael said. “Just what she leaves behind.”

_“She’s close,”_ the voice said. _“North.”_

Good.

“Let me go,” I said.

“No,” Lirael said. “Rule. Anything that comes back from death goes to the Elder. For judgment. Usually burning.”

“When.”

“Dawn.”

Around midnight the ground shook.

Marsh things came out of the trees.

Tall. Wrong. Arms like branches.

“They followed the rot,” Lirael said. “Not her. The trail.”

Arrows flew.

A small one hit the cage and it cracked.

I was out before the chains were.

_“Let us,”_ the voice said.

“Yeah.”

I tore through them.

Then it went cold in my chest.

The marsh things stopped.

Turned.

And ran.

Lirael had an arrow on me.

“Knees.”

I went down.

“More chains,” she said. “Double.”

Dawn.

They marched me to the Elder.

20 elves. Me chained, blindfolded.

“You smell like a grave,” the Elder said.

“Yeah.”

“You carry a demon,” he said. “Bound with blood and a seal.”

“A woman.”

“Name.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want, Prince.”

“To find out why I’m alive.”

“Judgment,” he said. “To the stone.”

They chained me to it.

Vines touched my skin.

Cold. Then hot.

Images.

The courtyard.

Dionne on her knees.

Blood.

The seal.

I screamed.

Then they stopped.

“The forest doesn’t want you,” the Elder said. “But it doesn’t want you dead. Not yet.”

“It means you’re rot and root,” he said. “Death, but something’s still growing.”

He turned to Lirael.

“Take him to the border. The priests asked for him. They’ll want to burn him.”

They unchained me.

Back in iron.

Back in the cart.

_“She’s gone,”_ the voice said.

“Good.”

Dawn again.

We crested a hill.

Tents. Banners. Priests in white.

And a pyre.

Lirael stopped the cart.

“This is where I leave you,” she said.

“For what it’s worth, Prince. I don’t think she killed you.”

“Why.”

“Because scared girls don’t leave black flowers,” she said. “Monsters do.”

She walked away.

The priests put new chains on.

Holy iron. It burned.

One of them, old, with a brand on his face, looked at my eyes.

“Demon,” he said.

“Prince,” I said.

They dragged me toward the pyre.

West. Running.

Not here.

Not caught.

Not dead.

_“We will find her,”_ the voice said.

“After,” I said.

The priest raised his hand.

The pyre was lit.

And I smiled.

Because they had me.

But they didn’t have her.