Princess of Thorns by Unknown Read Free Book Online

slides off his horse. “No saddle means less weight for Button to carry.”
    “Button?” I shoot the animal Jor leads a pointed look. The horse’s back is higher than the top of the boy’s head. The beast is two hands taller than Alama, and she’s one of the largest horses—especially females—I’ve ever seen.
    He shrugs. “It was my mother’s nickname for me. I hope it will bring me better luck than I’ve had so far,” he says, casting his eyes down as we reach the stream and the horses dip their whiskery noses into the water.
    For the first time since I carried Jor from his makeshift prison—him whimpering in the middle of some nightmare—I feel for the boy. Everyone knows how the Sleeping Beauty died.
    My own mother died shortly after Haanah was born. I was not quite two and don’t remember her at all, which I’ve always considered a cruel bit of fortune. But what would it be like to harbor the memory of your mother slitting her throat in front of your eyes? The boy must remember it. If he remembers his mother’s pet name, he must also remember her suicide.
    “Jor …” I clear my throat, wondering how one offers condolences for such an old wound. “I’m—”
    “My Fey family calls me Ror,” he interrupts, sparing me. “You can, too. It’s more familiar to me than my given name.”
    I nod. “I would say you can call me Niki, but only my father does that, and I hate the man like toe rot and gangrene mixed together.”
    Ror glances up with a smile I return before handing him one of my waterskins and squatting to fill the other. I chug as much liquid as I can hold, hoping the water will help ease the aching in my skull. Ror stoops beside me, pulling his staff from the sling fashioned into the back of his armor and placing it within reach as he fills his own skin.
    I don’t think we’ll have cause to fight out here in the middle of the forest, but I appreciate that the boy is making an effort. It seems unavoidable that we’ll be traveling together, and I feel better knowing he has some instincts toward self-preservation.
    “We’ll try to reach the edge of the woods before we make camp,” I say, wetting my sleeve and using it to wash the grit of yesterday’s ride from my face. “If we pace ourselves and walk the horses now and then, we’ll reach the petrified forest before nightfall. Assuming we keep putting in long days, that should bring us within a week’s journey of Goreman.”
    “Goreman?” Ror wipes the water from his lip.
    “It’s the closest place to hire a guide to the exile camp. They’re well hidden. We could wander the mountains for weeks and never find them.” I cap my skin and secure it to Alama’s saddle before reaching for Ror’s.
    Ror takes one last drink. “All right. I suppose I have no choice but to trust you.”
    “I’m flattered,” I say with a sour twist of my lips.
    “I’m not being rude, I’m being truthful,” he says. “I’ve been in hiding with the Fey since I was four years old. I’ve lived my entire life on an island. I’ve studied Mataquin’s land and history, but I’m ignorant of many things about the human world.”
    “Does that mean you’ll listen the next time I tell you not to do something?”
    He glances up at the limbs swaying high above us. “I will take it under serious consideration.”
    “That doesn’t sound like a promise.”
    Ror’s grin has a hint of mischief in it. “You noticed.”
    “I’m not as dumb as I look,” I say, “And I’d like a promise. I need you to stay alive long enough to lead me to your sister, little man.”
    “How old are you, exactly?” he asks with a sigh.
    “I’ll be eighteen in three weeks,” I say, and immediately wish I hadn’t. Ror doesn’t seem to have heard the rumors about my family—not many people outside Eno City have; my father tends to kill those who share his secrets—but it’s best to be careful. I don’t want Ror or his sister realizing how much hinges on my making