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She didn’t cry. She’d learned long ago to keep those hidden, but she still sulked bitterly as her father helped her hobble home.
“Pain is a good teacher,” he remarked. “What did you learn?”
“Not to trust you!”
“To checkyourself.“ He paused, waiting for the words to sink in. “You are your own greatest ally, Juliana.”
All that Juliana learned that day was that it was better to go alone and trust absolutely no one, but watching Hawthorn from afar now, she felt like perhaps Markham had been right about another thing.
Pain was a good teacher indeed.
Hawthorn dreamed of monsters made of thorns, of vines twisting around him, dragging him down into the dark. He dreamed he was drowning, falling into the earth or away from it.
And nothing, nothing pinned him to the planet.
Nothing ever would.
Juliana.
If he woke at all, it was to darkness and cold. No one was there.
Just under a year ago, he’d fallen sick with faerie fever. She’d stayed with him then. Unwillingly, grudgingly, but she’d stayed.
Come to me, dark angel. Bring me spikes and barbs and irritated whispers.
Just come.
But she didn’t.
He dreamt she hovered over him at one point, a hand inching over him, but a second later she was gone. A whisper, a ghost of a thought. All he could conjure.
Bring me better dreams.
At one point, he dreamed of music, of an ethereal voice turningover the room, trembling and sighing. A voice he wanted to reach out and touch.
It was gone before he could.
Finally, consciousness returned. He opened his eyes. It was daylight, but the curtains were drawn. Juliana sat in a chair by the window, as far away as she could possibly be, polishing her sword.
Pain crackled in his centre. He reached down a hand, finding his middle padded with bandages. His chest was tight, mouth rusty.
He turned his gaze back to Juliana. He wished he could think of something smart or witty to say, but the words turned to felt on his tongue.
He almost died.
He killed those people.
Hewouldhave died, if not for her.
Slowly, her eyes lifted, as if feeling his gaze. She blinked, eyes bright. “You’re awake.”
“I think so.”
She put down her sword, crossed the room, and opened the door to speak to the guards outside, asking them to inform the Queen.
“How long was I out?” he asked her, after she shut the door behind her.
“Three days,” she said. “I think you’ve woken before, but not for any length of time.”
