King of Thorns

“I thought I did,” I said. “But now I’m going to take it seriously. What just happened…” I put my hand to my head and my fingers came away bloody. “…is not going to happen again.”


“Well, at least it’s a kingly way to pass the time,” he said. “Help to keep your edge too. Have you even swung a sword since we took the Haunt?”

I shrugged and wished I hadn’t. My teeth made a nasty squeaking as they ground over each other.

“I’m told you’ve been attempting to father a bastard on pretty much every serving girl in the castle.” He grinned.

It’s good to be the king.

Except when you get hit in the head with a sword.

“It’s an effort at repopulation,” I said. “Quality and quantity.” I clapped a hand to my head. “Arrrgh, damn and fuck it.” Some pain you can distance yourself from, but a headache sits right where you live.

Makin kept grinning. I think he quite liked seeing me knocked down.

He reached into his saddlebag, dug deep, pulled out a tight wrap of leather and tossed it over. I almost missed it. Double vision will do that for you.

“Clove-spice,” he said.

“Been hoarding that one, Sir Makin.” You could trade a good horse and not get enough clove-spice to fill your hand. Wonderful stuff for pain. Too much and you die of course, but it’s like floating to your death, carried by a warm river. I almost opened the wrap. “Take it.” I threw it back. Giving in to things becomes a habit. I made an enemy of the ache in my head and started to fight.

We rode on. I filled my mind with old venom, brought out the hate I kept for the Count of Renar. I’d had little to exercise it on since he passed out of reach. The throb throb throb behind my eyes made the ache from my broken tooth feel like a tingle.

Rike caught up on that monster horse of his and kept pace. He watched me for a while. Makin might have enjoyed seeing me knocked on my arse; but Rike thought all his festival days had come at once.

“You know why I keep you around, Rike?” I asked.

“Why?”

“You’re like the worst part of me.” That squeak of enamel on enamel again as I ground my teeth. “Damn.” It slackened off. “I don’t have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. I got me a devil on both. But you’re like the bad one. Like I’d be if I lost my charm, and my good looks.” I realized I was babbling and tried to grin.

“Lose yourself, Rike.” Makin again. I hadn’t seen him come back.

“My father was right, Makin,” I said. “Right to take his brother’s money, for William and Mother. He would have lost half his army just getting to the Haunt.”

Makin frowned. He held the clove-spice out again. “Take it.”

“My father knew about sacrifice. Corion too. The path he set me on. The right one. I just didn’t like being pushed.”

I could hardly see Makin, eyes slitted against the pulse in my head.

Makin shook his head. “Some crimes demand an answer. Corion tried to take that from you. I crossed three nations to find the men who killed my girl.” He sounded worried.

“Idiot.” Numb lips shaped the word.

“Jorg.” Makin kept his voice low. “You’re crying. Take the damn spice.”

“Going to need a bigger army.” Everything had gone black and I felt as if I was falling. And then I hit the ground.





8





Four years earlier


I woke in a darkened room. A fly buzzed. Someone somewhere was being sick. Light filtered in where the daub cracked from the wattle. More light through the shutters, warped in their frame. A peasant hut. The retching stopped, replaced by muted sobs. A child.

I sat up. A thin blanket slipped from me. Straw prickled. The ache in my head had gone. My tooth hurt like a bastard but it was nothing compared to how my head had been. I felt around for my sword and couldn’t find it.

There’s something magical about a departed headache. It’s a shame the joy fades and you can’t appreciate not having one every moment of your life. That hadn’t been a regular headache of course. Old Jorgy got himself a bruised brain. I’d seen it before. When Brother Gains fell off his horse one time and hit his head he went crazier than Maical for the best part of two days. “Did I fall off my horse?” He must have asked that a thousand times in a row. Crying one moment. Laughing the next. We’re brittle things, us men.

I found my feet, still a little shaky. The door opened and the light came dazzling around the dark shape of a woman. “I brought you soup,” she said.

I took it and sat again. “Smells good.” It did. My stomach growled.

“Your friend, Makin, he brought a couple of rabbits for the pot,” she said. “We hadn’t had meat since the pigs got took.”