Page 84 of A Treason of Thorns

Without answering, I walk faster, in through the kitchen where Mira’s ghost watches me pass by.

“Violet Sterling,” Mira repeats, “where are you going?” And as she speaks the words, vines burst from her mouth.

I clutch my broken bit of stone and hurry on through the House, heart pounding in my chest, pain rattling about beneath my skull.

“Don’t do this, Burleigh,” I choke at the foot of the stairs, which are thicker with brambles than ever, twining around the banisters and covering each step. But the thorns only seem to grow longer as I speak.

“Wyn!” I call. “Wyn, where are you?”

The only answer is the whisper and creak of yet more brambles growing up around the steps. Letting out a ragged breath, I scan the first stair, looking for a place to set my foot.

And I climb, step by step, searching for gaps in the thorns and tearing the skin on my feet and ankles to ribbons. When I look back the way I’ve come, each gap has widened, the brambles parting around a slick trail of blood I’m leaving on the stairs.

By the time I reach the landing, my legs are shaking so that I can hardly stand. But I don’t have time to sit. What’s more, I don’t trust the House if I do. My head still feels like bursting and my wits are clouded. All I can remember is that I must keep hold of this insignificant bit of rock and find Wyn. As quickly as I can, I hurry down the hall to my bedroom and shut the door. It flies open again. Three times I shut it, and every time it refuses to close. With a sigh of frustration, I turn and cross the room.

Fire flares on the hearth, tall flames roaring upward and licking at the chimney. I ignore it and pass by, bent on reaching the linen cupboard, where vines are creeping from the floorboards and twining up the cupboard door as if to seal it shut.

Ignoring the sudden spike of pain in my head, I scramble for the door and grasp the knob before the vines are able to have their way.

The latch burns beneath my palm and I snatch my hand back with a hiss. Using a fold of my dressing gown, I try once more. Better. I wrench the door open before the vines can finish their work.

Wyn is sitting inside, arms wrapped around his knees.

“Don’t, Violet,” he says in a voice like heartbreak, and reaches for the door to pull it shut again. I wedge it open with one foot, because I have forgotten so many things but when I look at him, everything is a little clearer.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I tell him reproachfully. “Wyn, we were supposed to find each other. I need your help. Whatisthis?”I hold the stone out, resting on the palm of my hand. “Why can’t I remember what it is?”

Wyn pulls away with a groan. “Don’t show it to me, Vi. I can’t see that. It’s too hard to hold on to myself when I’m looking at it.”

For the first time, I slip it into my pocket. I can hardly remember Wyn, besides the fact that I need him at my side, and that everything in me says I’m safe with him. I know it with my bones and not with my mind. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t forgotten.

“Better?” I ask, and he nods.

I start forward, then hesitate, eyeing the vines that have stilled and wait, just shy of the door latch. What if this is exactly what Burleigh House wants? For me to take two more steps so it can seal me away forever?

“Can I come in?” I ask Wyn, and put all my uncertainty into the question.Is it safe?is what I’m really asking.

“Yes.” He nods, and when I step forward it’s as I feared. The door slams shut and I hear the sinuous rustle of vines as they jam the knob. But Wyn said it’s alright, and even when I can barely recall our history together, I trust him.

The interior of the cupboard is pitch-black. I’ve never felt anything so like being buried alive, and my heart begins to race.

“Wyn, are you there?” The words come out ragged and shaking, and then I feel his arm go around me and my blood sings, because in this moment, sealed up within the walls of an incensed Great House, I’m safe.

“What’s happening?” I ask him in a whisper. “I can’t think. I can’t remember. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

When he speaks, he’s so near that his breath warms the side ofmy face. He smells, incongruously, of warm rich earth, and it’s an indescribable comfort in this place that is running to ruin.

“Violet Helena Sterling,” Wyn says. “You’re here to unbind Burleigh House, and Burleigh House is bound to kill you for trying.”

Everything comes rushing back.

The king. The heartstone in my pocket. The House and me, struggling against one another. It hits me like a blow to the stomach, and I inhale sharply, tears pricking at my eyes.

“The House doesn’t want to harm you.” There’s misery in Wyn’s voice, and my heart breaks for him, caught halfway between himself and Burleigh. “It thought this would be simpler. That eventually you’d forget, and let the heartstone go, and we could all die together, when the last of the binding breaks or the king comes with his torches.”

The sure and certain knowledge that Burleigh House has been in my mind, rummaging through my secret fears, tainting my perceptions of the world, acts on my spirit like slow poison. I can’t think of it. I will lie down in the darkness and never move again if I let myself dwell on the wrongs and misfortunes and betrayals I’ve suffered on behalf of Burleigh in this life. And yet here I am, fighting for this stubborn, infuriating House.

“Death and freedom, all at once, and a tragic end to our story,” I say to Wyn bitterly. “Is that all Burleigh can dream of? After thousands of years in this world, it can’t bring itself to hope for more?”