It was so dark. Darker than the night sky. Briar took a deep breath and tried to push away the claustrophobic feeling of the briars and thorns pressing in on her. Since she couldn’t see anything, anyway, she closed her eyes tight to protect her sight. With arms out in front, she felt her way through the thorns and prickles.
Ouch. They jabbed at her, drawing blood. Their attack felt personal, vindictive. Her heart raced as she battled the thorns. They were letting her in, but reluctantly. Like stinging scorpions, they’d jab then back away and let her move forward one more step. After surviving the spindle, she knew she could tolerate a new level of pain so she steeled herself and slowly pressed on.
Henry’s voice had long ago dimmed, and she was truly on her own now. She pictured him fighting the hedge with his ax, frustrated and getting nowhere. His family was the protector of the spindle, but now the spindle was back in Isodora’s control. She would not be satisfied until she got her revenge and she’d come closer with Briar than at any other time. Her will was strong. Briar would have to be stronger if she were to find a way out of this alive.
The branches creaked and groaned in an eerie rhythm as they grew. The hedge towered over her head, and the way in front of her seemed endless. How thick and tall would the briars get? She fought against rising panic. Her head throbbed, and her competing instincts to flee and to save the boys pulled her in two directions. The boys. She needed to keep her mind focused on the boys. Those poor, scared boys. They were what mattered right now.
The narrow passage was like a tiny hallway that continuously closed in on her from behind, directing her forward. The thorns scratched at her arms as if disappointed they couldn’t hold on to her. But as she moved away from Henry and Miss Olive and inched closer to the mill and Isodora, the branches parted more easily.
“Briar.” A voice called above the rising howl of wind.
She peered through the darkness trying to see the dark form caught in the briars. “Nanny? Are you hurt?” Briar asked.
“No, but I can’t move. Isodora is stronger than we think. Don’t be fooled. I’ve never seen her so determined.”
Briar swallowed nervously. “I’ll do my best.” She redoubled her efforts to get through the briars.
Finally, they let her go completely and she found herself alone in the darkened mill yard. The air here was still, despite the wind roaring around the briar hedge.
A flickering light shone in the window of the third-floor spinning room. The light drew Briar to it, the way the lightning bugs called the boys. Up the stairs she went. Trade her life for the boys’.
Thinking about it now, she wished she would have had a chance to say good-bye to Henry. He was going to carry the weight of guilt unnecessarily. Briar was making the choice, fully aware of the consequences.
She was just glad Isodora hadn’t taken Pansy. The other mill girls didn’t die because they were too old, and Maribelle had the protection of the cloth helping her. Briar patted her pocket and was relieved to feel the cloth. Could it do anything else to help her? The curse was for a girl before her seventeenth birthday. Pansy would have fit that description, too. But Isodora wanted Briar Rose.
At the door, Briar pressed her ear to the wood, straining to hear if the boys were unharmed. There was a noise, but she couldn’t make out what it was. She turned the handle and opened the door a crack. The hinges were blessedly silent.
Candlelight shone from the back of the room. Briar couldn’t see her frames from this angle but knew the light was coming from her area. She scanned the shadowed frames closest to her, looking for two messy-mop-haired boys, but all she saw was thread-laden spindles stacked like tiny soldiers in their frames, waiting to begin the day.
She slipped in, then quietly closed the door behind her, thankful that the wind was making enough noise to cover any rustling of her skirts. Taking a lesson from the children, she clung to the wall to quietly work her way around the room instead of taking the straight path to her frame. The shadowed plants along the windowsills made it feel like she was in a jungle, hunting down a tigress. A tigress who hadn’t heard Briar come in. Or one who was so secure in her trap that she needn’t lie in wait.
There. Isodora’s silhouette bobbed around the frame. What is she doing?