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Vanis shoves me forward and I look around frantically, wondering if anyone here will help me. But there’s not a human in sight and the fae are too busy socializing to take much notice. Vanis arches an eyebrow at Galaphina.
“What now?”
“Bring her over there, by the hawthorn,” Galaphina says sweetly, and he complies.
I’m directed towards a flowerbed bursting with pink flowers on thick bushy shrubs. It’s right at the center of the garden, in full view of everyone, and at last some of the party guests glance our way, but their faces don’t initially show much more than a passing interest in what’s happening.
Both Vanis and I look at Galaphina expectantly.
“Now,” says Galaphina, her eyes sparkling, “climb in.”
I stare at her, then turn to look at the flowers. Their stems are crowded with wicked thorns, each one as long as my thumbnail.
“Do it!” Hortense shrieks.
“This is a mistake.” The words fly from my mouth. I’ve made this mess by stupidly provoking them, now it’s time to try to wriggle my way out of it. I’m uncomfortably aware of the proximity of the thorns as I speak. “I’m not here of my own accord. Prince Ruskin brought me and…” I spin the lie on the spot, hoping the fae’s inability to lie themselves will make it hard for them to spot my bending of the truth. “…he’s expecting me. He’d be very upset to find out I’ve been delayed.”
It's absurd to me that I’m trying to use the fae beast that abducted me for protection now, but it’s the only thing I can think of in the moment to save me from the hawthorn.
Galaphina exchanges a look with her friends.
“He’d be upset, would he?”
I nod furiously. “Very displeased.”
Her smile widens and my stomach drops.
“All the better.”
I hear Vanis breathe in sharply behind me.
“Galaphina, don’t you think?—”
“Shut up, Vanis. Get on with it.”
She jerks her chin at him, and he obediently places a hand around my neck, squeezing it hard. He doesn’t need to speak for me to get the message: follow orders or expect something worse. I think he could easily crush my windpipe where I stand, so I take a step towards the sharp branches of the bush.
All the while, I keep playing over what just happened. Galaphina seems to want to annoy Ruskin. Because of a grudge against him? Or because she doesn’t believe I’m that important to him? If that’s the case, then maybe she’s right. Perhaps all she’ll get for hurting me is a slap on the wrist. But I recognized the hesitation in Vanis’ voice. He’s afraid of Ruskin. Even if I’m new to this world, I think he’s the smarter one for it.
He pushes me forward now, so that my hands automatically reach out to balance myself—brushing against the outer branches of the bush. My palms lightly graze on some of the nearest spikes. I have no choice but to give them what they want, so I try to advance slowly, hoping I can avoid the worst of its thorns if I’m careful.
It’s hard. As I step over some of the lower branches, my dress almost immediately snags, but any attempt to bend and untangle it has sharp points grazing up against my arms and face. The caution in my movements seems to be highly amusing to Hortense and Galaphina, who giggle every time I have to stop and consider my next move. More partygoers join them now that there’s something “fun” to see.
“Get right in the middle,” Galaphina instructs in a sing-song voice. My audience releases another fit of snickers as I take a deep breath and get down on my hands and knees to crawl the last few feet into the heart of the bed, my scalp stinging where my hair catches and pulls on the thorns.
“Look at her!” Hortense says with delight. “She’s like a horrible little worm, crawling about on her belly.”
They want to humiliate me, make me feel wretched and powerless. I have no doubt they’ll make me stand, cold and scratched and trapped in the middle of this bush for the rest of the party, but then they’ll probably get bored and leave. I can handle that, I tell myself, it’s only my pride they’ll be hurting, only the few pricks of some thorns.
When I reach the middle, I gingerly stand up, trying to tuck in my arms and drop my shoulders down where they press against the spiky stems.
“How is it in there, louse?” Galaphina calls.
I say nothing, holding my head high in spirit, though the hawthorn stops me actually doing so in practice. But even my silent treatment is funny to them.
“Oh dear. I suppose you can’t enjoy the party much now, though,” Galaphina continues. “But you shouldn’t miss it just because you’re in there.”
Through the gaps of the branches and flowers, I see her moving, and follow the flash of blonde hair as she strides over towards the musicians. I watch her bend and speak with them, my throat feeling tight. This could just be more mockery, but I have an idea that she has another piece of cruelty up her perfectly embroidered sleeves.
