“All right. When I was little I colored in one of Jada’s books.”
“Sounds like something any child would do.”
“Is it? Well, Jada was very angry and said I must be taught a lesson. She asked me which chicken was my favorite and I was too stupid to—”
“No,” he interrupted. “You are not stupid and never were. I want you to stop saying that.”
She was silent a moment, clearly flustered. “All right. I was foolish and told her the truth. Jada always said she had magic to know when I was lying and I believed her for a very long time.”
“Which chicken was it?” he asked, already fearing the outcome.
“Her name was Pickles, because I liked pickles. And Jada made me watch while she wrung Pickles’s neck and then I had to clean and pluck her for dinner. And Jada made me sit at the table until I’d cleaned my plate.”
His heart broke for her. “Oh, Thorn. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said with quiet dignity, though her voice wobbled. “It was a long time ago.”
“So was mine, and it wasn’t nearly so terrible. These things don’t leave us.”
“No, they don’t,” she agreed. “But it’s odd—it feels better to have told you about it. Like it made the memory a little less awful.”
“Yes. I feel the same.”
They sat there together in comfortable silence, separated by an arm’s length and a snarl of briars.
“And now, you should go home,” she finally said, pushing to her feet. “I’m sure Bunny and Nonna are hungry.”
I knew I liked her,Bunny said.
Time to go finally?Kismet asked with enthusiasm.
Let’s go find Nina!Nonna said.
Feeling oddly lighter, Sebastien laughed. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he told Thorn, “even if I have to ride all night and then all day again.”
“Don’t harm yourself for my sake,” Thorn pleaded. “I’ve lasted this long. Another day or two or three won’t kill me.”
Unless Jada returned, but he didn’t say that. “I want to see you again,” he said instead. “Would that be… all right?”
“Yes. So much. I want to see you, too,” she returned, a shy silhouette in the gathering night.
“Until I see you again,” he offered, feeling the warmth of their special kind of goodbye.
“Until I see you again, Sebastien.” He heard the smile in her voice.
And he rode off, bleeding from the thorns, but with hope in his heart.
25
Rose braided her hair for the day, gazing at her solemn face in the mirror, searching for evidence of her inhumanity. She looked the same to herself as always, though. Adsila watched her with keen copper eyes from the nearby perch, offering no insight.
Sebastien hadn’t been there when she awoke the previous morning. Nor had he returned the night before. She could very well guess where he’d gone—to see Thorn, probably with some misguided notion of rescuing her, knowing him. Rose had considered walking the Dream to the cottage, but she had a queasy feeling about the three of them being together in the same place at the same time, as if some sort of magical cancellation would occur. Thorn, her creator.
She didn’t know how to tell Thorn about that—or if she should. Rose couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it, so she had no idea how Thorn would take it.
The one upside of Thorn casually dabbling in Sebastien’s dreams was that Rose had been spared that moment of decision. On the one hand, Thorn deserved to know the truth. There had been enough of lies and deception. On the other… this information was dangerous to have, both for Rose’s continued well-being and because Thorn knowing the extent of her power could spell disaster. Especially as Rose worried that Thorn was fragile and liable to act impulsively.
It was silly and superstitious, but Rose couldn’t help thinking of the tale of Witch Gornicka. The tale had popped into her head while Clotaire was talking. In Rose’s case, she was obviously the copy, a dream creature created from the fabric of anunreal world. Thorn had made her; Thorn could unmake her. And Rose was fully aware that Thorn had ample reasons to want to. All Rose had to do to prevent that was agree to keep Thorn trapped and warded. Their puppet.
