Page 6 of A Treason of Thorns

Mira’s voice drifts up to me. “Violet, I’m begging you, love.”

“Not hungry,” I call back, looking down at the ivy until my eyes blur and lose focus.

The smell of damp soil.

Rain running down my bedroom windows at Burleigh House.

The weight of a full valise, tugging at one arm.

Below, the king’s carriage stands on the drive. I press my face to the glass, still only a child, just ten years old, not ready for any ofthis. It’s past time to leave, and Mira’s already come up to my bedroom to ask if I need help with anything. I sent her away, because I can’t bear for anyone to see how broken I am at the thought of leaving Burleigh, the only constant presence in my life since the day I was born.

But the House sees, and that hurts me worst of all. I want to be brave for it, to be a good Caretaker, but I can’t stop silent tears from tracking down my face. Wind moans in the chimney, rain sobs against the windows, and white funeral flowers bloom from the cracks in the wall. Hurrying toward the doorway, I stumble over one of my dolls lying abandoned on the bedroom floor. My valise falls and bursts open, scattering hastily packed clothes about the room.

Always, always, it is one last insignificant thing that finishes me. I crouch in the midst of the mess and sob, shoulders shaking, stomach aching, my heart torn to shreds. The House trembles on its foundations, but there’s nothing it can do.

And then, though I didn’t hear the door, Wyn is in front of me, picking up the mess I’ve made, pushing pinafores and stockings back into my valise. When everything is packed away once more, he holds the bag out to me. I look up and his face, too, is tearstained and pale.

“It’s time to go, Violet,” he says.

“I know,” I tell him. “You’re finally getting your wish. We’re running away.”

Wyn’s already wretched expression grows a little more miserable. “This isn’t what I wanted. You know that—I’d never want anything that hurts you so.”

He reaches out and takes my hand, a rare gesture from a boy who seldom bridges the gap between himself and the rest of the world.

I swallow and look down at our intertwined fingers. “Don’t let go. I can’t do this all by myself.”

“You can do anything you set your mind on,” Wyn says fiercely. “Anything, Vi, don’t you know that?”

But all the way down the stairs and out the door onto the drive, the only thing that keeps me from falling apart again is his hand, warm in mine.

Jed and Mira are waiting for us. We stand with them and watch as Papa emerges on the front steps of the House, flanked by half a dozen royal guards. Thunder rumbles low on the horizon and the darkened sky weeps endlessly, water pooling in low spots on the lawn and making wide puddles, rain dripping cold down the back of my neck.

When the guards bring Papa out and he catches sight of us, his jaw clenches and his gaze clouds over.

“Wyn, Violet,” he says, voice rough from unnumbered sleepless nights. “Come here to me.”

Wyn and I look at each other, and I see my own fear and despair mirrored in my friend’s eyes. Wordlessly, I tighten my grip on his hand and he does the same. We climb the front steps together as a peal of laughter sounds from the king’s carriage—His Majesty’s waiting to see Papa’s sentence carried out, but even today, he’s brought a trio of courtiers along to make up a foursome for whist. I’d like nothing more than to snatch the cards from his hands and tear them to bits.

Papa can’t put his arms around me—they’re bound behind his back, but he’s never been much of a one for displays of affection anyway. Nevertheless, I let go of Wyn and cling to my father for a moment, choking back tears.

“Be brave for the House, Violet,” Papa whispers. I gather my scant courage and pull away, reaching for Wyn again.

But before he can take my hand, Papa shakes his head. “No. Wyn, come stand at my side.”

Wyn turns toward him, wide-eyed.

“Come on now, Wyn,” my father says. “You’ll stay with me, just like we agreed on.”

“What?” My voice rings loud across the front lawn, even with the rain to deaden it. Papa won’t meet my eyes—he just looks at Wyn, who stares up at him and finally nods, stepping away from me.

The tears I’ve kept in check burn their way down my face and I feel as if something on the inside has shattered.

“Papa, don’t take Wyn,” I beg. “You and the House, and him now, too? It’s too much—it’s everything I have. I don’t know how to live without any of you. You’ll make a ghost of me.”

“Don’t be hysterical, Violet,” Papa says, and there’s steel in his tone. “You’ll upset Burleigh.”

“That’s because Burleigh loves me,” I stammer. “And I love the House, everyone knows it. So... let Wyn go free, and if someone has to stay, keep me instead. I would do it willingly. I don’t care—you know I don’t. Let the king seal us in together. I will stand by your side and be just what you taught me to be—a good Caretaker, who puts her House first. Please, Papa, please.”