Page 6

Despite it all, Thicket couldn’t unsee the image of the terrified little girl she had been in her dreams so long ago.

A knock at her bedroom door made her freeze. The all too familiar feeling of being caught revisiting her dreams churned in her stomach. Excuses jumped to the tip of her tongue as the door swung open. They dissipated as Marcellus stepped into view. He had changed since being home, exchanging his white tunic for a black one. His sword remained secured across his waist, yet there were more leather straps wrapping around his frame, housing a few additional knives.

Marcellus caught her eyeing them. As usual, his expression was unreadable. Her pulse leapt as his gaze slid from her face to examine the rest of her, taking in everything from her tamed curls to the delicate butterflies clinging to the skirt of her gown.

“Doesn’t she look lovely?” Lotta asked, turning Thicket to face him fully.

“She looks like a Princess,” he deadpanned. “What else is new?”

Lotta shot him a look. “Now Marcel, is that how you are supposed to compliment a lady?”

“Only complimenting someone when they change their appearance is contrary. Besides, I only came to tell you to hurry up. Caspian has worked himself up about being late and has chosen to displace all his worries all onto me.”

“It seems rather odd to worry about that when everything you say is contrary,” Lotta hummed.

Marcellus’ eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lotta smiled in that well trained way only maids knew. Marcellus met her with an equally practiced glower. Thicket knew in a battle between wills, as stubborn as Marcellus was, Lotta had him beat, so she said, “You can tell Caspian I am ready to leave whenever.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You are?”

“What?” She checked her reflection again, searching for any signs her hair had decided to be uncooperative. “Am I missing something?”

Marcellus’ reflection rolled its eyes. “Is eating a foreign concept for you?”

Before she could decide whether or not to admit she was too nauseous to eat anything, he tossed something at her. Her stomach lurched and she rushed forward to catch it. The object fumbled in her hands but she managed to maintain her grip. She turned it over. It was an apple. She glanced up at him, speechless.

“Eat,” he ordered. “You need your strength so you don’t trip and fall and make a fool of yourself.”

She opened her mouth, wanting to lay into him, but before she could, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall. Lotta followed quickly after. If Thicket could trust her racing mind, she would have sworn she’d seen an amused smile playing across Lotta’s lips.

Thicket begrudgingly finished her apple, not wanting to be berated by Marcellus about it later, before emerging from her bedroom. Caspian was pacing by the front door, hands clasped behind his back and fingers anxiously tapping the bottoms of his palms.

Marcellus stood beside him, arms crossed and looking as irritated as Caspian was fraught. His words from earlier replayed in her mind and, now seeing the full picture, Thicket couldn’t help but pinch her lips together to suppress her grin. Marcellus caught her in the act. He glowered, jerking his head towards Caspian as if to say, do something.

Thicket cleared her throat, forcing down her smile. “I am ready,” she announced.

Caspian spun to face her. “It is about time, Miss Vogeli. It will be a miracle if we can make it on time.” He looped his arm through hers and ushered her out the door.

“I thought it didn’t start for another half hour?” Thicket said, stumbling over the vine strewn street in her heels.

“That does not mean we arrive exactly on time.”

At the end of the street, half a dozen guards waited to escort them to the Pyre. The closer they drew to the Plaza, Thicket understood why Caspian had been so concerned about leaving early.

The number of people filing through the streets was insurmountable. Every man, woman, and child pushed through the mass. No wonder the streets closest to the Outskirts had been vacant during the last Pyre.

The guards shouted to the crowd, demanding they move aside to let Thicket through. The swell of bodies parted, yet with how narrow the streets were the opening was still small. Thicket gathered the fabric of her dress, but it didn’t stop her from being jostled into Marcellus as they squeezed through the gap in the crowd. The warmth of his chest seeped into her back and she caught the faintest whiff of woodsy spice.

“Can this many people even fit in the Plaza?” Thicket asked.

“What do you think?” Marcellus’ response was as stiff as his shoulders, which were drawn back as far as they could go. It was as though he was attempting to take up less space than he actually did.

The crowd must have been overwhelming. Marcellus didn’t seem like the sort who liked being surrounded by a surplus of people. Neither did Thicket. The mass of bodies only served to remind her how many people would be watching her tonight.

Helping out around town was different. She could pretend she was just another citizen, doing her best to support Vindrya in its time of need. Now, as she walked with an entourage of guards, she couldn’t help but feel like a spotlight had been placed upon her, marking her as something other. Something that didn’t quite belong.

By the time they reached the Plaza, Thicket’s nerves had spun themselves into one tangled mass. It didn’t help that the crowd had somehow doubled in size. She tried to pick out Elian and Bern, but it was impossible amidst the cluster of black attire and blur of facial features.