Briar Rose by Jana Oliver
‘My head is buzzing,’ she said, grinning. ‘This stuff is way better than beer.’ Maybe I can get Dad to make some for me.
Ruric eyed her pensively. ‘You are unlike anyone I have ever met. You’ve never tasted mead, you’ve never witnessed someone dying and you speak very oddly.’ He leaned forward. ‘Tell me the truth, Briar. What is your story? You may trust me to keep your secret.’
‘You’re right, I do have a story.’ Boy do I. ‘I didn’t lie, I am from a village named Bliss, but it is not . . . around here. In fact, it’s not even in this world. I think.’
Ruric’s eyes widened, though he did not respond to such an outrageous claim.
‘I was cursed, like your princess. I was supposed to die when I turned sixteen, but I fell asleep instead. When I woke I was here, in an alley, and then the wolves came after me.’
As her companion continued to stare, she could only imagine what was going through his mind.
‘I know it sounds crazy, but where I come from there aren’t magical metal birds or things like that. Well, unless you count aeroplanes, I guess.’
‘Aero . . . planes?’ he asked, finally speaking.
‘Never mind.’ The cup was empty again and she held it out for a refill.
‘I think that wouldn’t be wise. You have no head for drink.’
That comment annoyed her, even though he was probably right. ‘You said you wanted to know the truth. That’s it.’
‘I find it truly fantastical.’
‘I figured. We have a story about a princess much like yours. She was cursed and fell asleep with all her family. Many years later a prince kissed her and the curse was broken and then they lived happily ever after.’
Ruric took a cautious look around to ensure that no one was near enough to hear them. Given the everyday village noises, it was doubtful that anyone could eavesdrop.
‘So if you are telling the truth, and I must admit I find this quite a tall tale, all we must do is have someone kiss the princess, and she is freed?’
‘Yes, but you already know all that.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Indeed, but here it is not as simple as in your tale. The regent insists that only she shall judge which man may kiss the princess, and that all others only mean to harm her. In the end, none are judged worthy and they are put to death.’
‘That’s clever. She keeps all of them away in case one of them is the right guy. If the princess wakes, she’s out of a job.’
‘Yes, that’s it. In your tale, how is the regent defeated?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps that will offer us hope in our present situation.’
‘That’s the problem, Ruric,’ Briar said, feeling bad that she was about to rain on his parade. ‘There is no regent in our tale. She isn’t supposed to be in charge of the kingdom. No one is, at least until Aurora is awakened.’
‘There has to be someone responsible. You cannot allow a kingdom to rule itself.’
His tone of voice had changed. It sounded almost regal, which triggered her suspicions. Maybe your dad isn’t just a reeve.
‘Is this story of a sleeping princess well known in your village?’ he pressed.
‘Yes. It was one of my favourite tales.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . there’s a happy ending. The princess falls in love with the prince. It’s all good.’
He was staring at her so intensely she automatically checked that her hair wasn’t showing. ‘You believe me, then?’ she asked.
‘For the moment. Or it’s possible you’re quite mad, though in a harmless fashion.’
‘I’m not mad. I know where I came from.’
‘But do you know how to return there?’ he asked.
Briar felt deflated. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well, then we shall tackle one obstacle at a time. We shall have to battle the tyrant to free the princess,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps we can find a way to get you home.’
‘Battle? Wait a minute. I’m pretty decent with a bow and arrow, and I’ve used a rapier . . . you know, fenced? But those warrior guys have big swords and all that armour.’
It took him some time to work out what she’d said. ‘Then you shall have to use your cunning.’
Briar rolled her eyes. ‘Riiight. I’m just full of that.’
‘Your cunning and the fact that your hair is the same colour as our princess. If we can make others believe she has been awakened, perhaps then we have a chance. But the timing must be perfect or—’
‘Ruric?’ a girl’s voice called out. ‘Are you here?’
He sighed audibly. ‘I am,’ he called out as he rose.
A young girl with jet-black hair and big breasts strode towards them.
Saralyn?
Except for the wrong colour hair, this girl could be her cousin, but, like the other villagers who resembled folks from Bliss, there was no recognition in her eyes.
Ruric turned towards the newcomer. ‘Good day to you,’ he called out, though his voice held little warmth. ‘Briar, may I present the miller’s daughter, Dimia.’
Dimia? ‘Hi,’ Briar replied.
A stiff nod came her way. Apparently the instant dislike was mutual.
Dimia’s attention returned to Ruric. ‘My father sends his good wishes and asks if you would join us for a meal in two days’ time.’
‘I would be honoured,’ he replied. ‘However, I do not wish to leave my cousin on her own until she knows the ways of the village.’
He’d purposely put Dimia in a corner.
‘Oh . . . I . . . you can bring her along,’ the girl said, though clearly she’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. ‘One more will not matter.’
Wow. Thanks. I’m touched. Don’t go out of your way or anything.
‘That is very generous,’ Ruric replied. The corners of his mouth were trying hard not to form a smile.
‘I am eagerly awaiting our time together.’
Ruric didn’t return the sentiment. Instead, he turned back to Briar. ‘Come, cousin, the stable needs our attention.’
‘Oh . . .’ Flustered, Dimia fluttered for a second, and then took his arm. ‘Can it not wait? I wish to talk to you . . . alone. I promise, we shall not go far. I have much to tell you.’
I bet you do.
Ruric sent a look Briar’s way. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Go on, catch up on the village gossip. I’m sure it’s really important.’
That earned her a scowl from the miller’s daughter, who clearly saw Ruric as the ideal husband and Briar as a liability.
‘After our walk, I shall visit the smithy. One of the horses needs a new shoe,’ he said, graciously giving in to his fate. He put his arm through Dimia’s and they set off at a leisurely pace round the side of the building.
Briar stood, brushing the crumbs from her skirt. Was she jealous? Maybe a bit. Ruric was a hottie, and he’d been very good to her. But cat-fight jealous? No. The clock was ticking in this Village of the Damned: either she figured how to get home or her hair was going to be the death of her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It had taken Ruric some time to free himself of the miller’s clinging daughter – Dimia was not easily shaken off, much like a burr in a horse’s mane. Now, as he entered the smithy’s hut, he felt more anxious than usual. With the man’s death today, he knew his time here was coming to an end.
It had been a fine game of cat-and-mouse he’d been playing over the months, gathering information on the regent and her servants. Now there was more at stake – his ‘cousin’ could die because of his fanciful plans.
‘Ah, there you are,’ the smithy said, looking up from his work.
‘Here is the shoe,’ Ruric said, handing it over. ‘The nail holes have worn too much to hold it in place.’
‘A common problem,’ the smithy replied. He began applying the bellows to the fire, his eyes not on Ruric, but at the entrance to the hut. ‘Your cousin presents a problem. Is she truly of your blood?’
‘No, she’s not,’ Ruric said. ??
The smithy thought for a moment, then nodded in understanding. ‘That is to our benefit, then. You never saw our princess, but I did, and your cousin looks strikingly similar.’
That knowledge only complicated matters. ‘I wondered if that was the case. I also wonder why she’s here at this moment in time.’
Ruric positioned himself so he could see the door, though to any who might walk by it would appear he was having a leisurely chin wag with the smithy.
‘Have you had luck in finding more . . . supplies?’ he asked.
‘I have,’ the smithy allowed. ‘They are tucked away safe. All we await is for you to make your move.’
‘I know. I have not felt it was the right time yet.’ He knew what would come next. They’d had this argument before. ‘I am aware that we cannot wait forever.’
‘If the princess is dead, perhaps we can use your cousin in her place, since she looks so much like her.’
Ruric wasn’t sure what he thought of that notion, so he did not reply.
‘We are running out of time,’ the smithy warned.
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’ll talk to our . . . friend at the inn tonight. See what she has learned.’
The smithy smashed the hammer on to the molten metal, flattening it. Then his eyes sought Ruric’s. ‘We must master the metal, before it masters us. We have no other choice.’
Ruric inclined his head and left the man to his work, his heart heavy and his mind full of doubts.
But what if the metal proves stronger?
Once inside the stable, Briar applied herself to the pitchfork. She’d done this kind of duty two summers ago when she’d taken riding lessons, the ones her mother had reluctantly allowed after much badgering from Briar’s dad.
Briar had found immense freedom on the back of a horse, but it’d only lasted one summer. The next year Joshua had taken a job there and the stables had become off limits, like so much in her life. She wondered if Mrs Quinn had done that on purpose, or had she even known that Briar was taking lessons when her son applied for the job?
At the thought of Joshua, she held up the arm with the charm bracelet, watching the little figures turn in the air. Instead of making her feel better, it only made her feel lost.
I want to go home.
On top of everything the huntsman charm was missing, something she regretted. And she had developed a lovely set of blisters.
Argh. So much for being a real princess.
When her back began to cramp and her arms twitch, Briar jammed the pitchfork into the manure pile and then leaned on it, trying to catch her breath.
‘You’re doing well for an apprentice,’ Ruric said from the doorway.
She welcomed the break. ‘Enjoy your ramble with the buxom maid of the mill?’
‘Not really. Dimia’s mother is keen to have her middle daughter wed by autumn. Both of them feel I would make a suitable choice.’
‘I don’t have to go eat with them,’ Briar said. ‘I can stay here, out of sight, if you want.’
‘You would throw me to the wolves, dear cousin?’ he asked, amused.
‘Oh . . .’ He really wanted her to run interference. ‘Or I can be there and make sure that you don’t agree to anything you’ll regret.’
He nodded. ‘That would be wise. The reeve’s son accepted an invitation to dine with the miller and his family two months back. From what I’ve heard, the ale flowed heavily and it is said he was very deep in his cups when he made the proposal to Dimia’s older sister.’
‘Does he regret that now?’
‘Of that you can be sure. I hear that his lady wife is a shrew.’
Briar’s mind obediently coughed up the image of a small, needle-nosed rodent. She pushed it away. ‘I’m definitely going along with you.’
‘As I’d hoped. Your hair is coming loose again,’ he warned. ‘Hold still.’
Ruric stepped closer and then gently tucked the errant piece under cover. This time his hand didn’t retreat, but remained in place for longer than was necessary.
‘Ah . . .’ she began.
He smiled, then stepped back. ‘There, perfect.’
Perfect. No guy had ever called her that before.
‘Thanks,’ she said, feeling her cheeks flame. Eager to change the subject, Briar asked, ‘Have you ever thought about trying to wake the princess?’
Ruric stilled, as if she’d just slipped a knife between his ribs. ‘Why would you think I would do that?’
‘Everyone else seems to want to.’
His brow furrowed in thought, then he beckoned her further into the stable, away from the door. His voice fell low. ‘I do wish to wake the princess as much as any man, but since I’ve been here twelve men have been caught and executed in the field. That doesn’t count the ones who perished inside the castle and were never seen again.’ He gave her troubled look. ‘I have the courage, but I do not want to be torn apart by some magical beast or turned into a . . . monster.’
‘Why do you want to do this? Why risk your life?’
‘To free the village from the regent’s tyranny, of course,’ he said loftily.
No, it’s more than that. She could hear the longing in his voice, and she suspected it wasn’t for the princess or some vague notion of right or wrong.
As if discomfited by the conversation, Ruric shook his head. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s go find you a proper scarf before someone discovers your secret.’
He fell silent as they walked to the small market at the edge of the village. This wasn’t the main market, Ruric explained, but a lesser one. As some of the other townsfolk walked by them, she felt eyes scrutinizing her. Briar tried to ignore them, but couldn’t help wondering if one of them was a spy for the regent.
‘Why are they out here? Wouldn’t they want to be in the middle of the village where they could make more money?’ she asked, surprised that this market wasn’t that busy.
‘Not all care to be that close to the castle,’ he said.
Ruric paused at a stall to inspect a selection of herbs. As he talked with the owner, Briar grew bored and wandered on her own, but never so far as to lose him from view.
She felt the sense of menace grow with each passing hour. It wasn’t just the regent, but the village itself, as if somehow it deemed her a threat and wanted to dispose of her.
Get a grip.
It was then she saw an old woman sitting on a tree stump, a piece of colourful red fabric laid on the ground in front of her. Resting on it was a set of crudely drawn cards, probably some version of a tarot deck. Curious, Briar moved closer.
‘I shall tell your fortune, maid, if you dare to seek it,’ the woman said, eyeing her with some intensity. Her hair was frizzled grey and her hands gnarled, one eye milky and unseeing.
‘Umm . . . sorry, I have no money.’
The woman cocked her head, studying her closer. ‘For you, I will not require coins. Sit, child, and learn of your future.’
It was tempting. Maybe this lady knew something that would help her get out of here. When she checked on Ruric, he had moved to another stand and was chatting up a girl. She could tell from the way he was holding himself he was in full charming mode. As if realizing he was being watched, he held up a scarf for her inspection and gave her questioning look. She shook her head. Brown never was her colour. He held up a second one, which told her he wasn’t going to stop until he found one she liked. This one was robin’s egg blue and rather pretty, so she gave a nod. He pulled out the proper coins, which earned him a bigger smile from the stall’s owner.
The old woman tugged on Briar’s skirt. ‘You must sit, child, and listen to my cards,’ she said. ‘If you do not, it will go ill for you.’
That didn’t sound good. Besides, she had nothing to lose as it would make her look like any other villager. Blending in meant a better chance of survival.
&nbs
Turning over the first card revealed the image of a golden-haired maiden frolicking in a field of blooming roses. Behind the flowers was a thicket of briars.
Roses and briars? OK, that’s spooky.
‘This is you, all innocent and trusting,’ the woman said. ‘For you are not from here.’
Of course I’m not. She was Ruric’s ‘cousin’ from wherever the heck.
The second card revealed a dark forest dotted with glowing yellow eyes and glittering fangs. Briar couldn’t suppress the shiver that rode through her.
‘This is you now. You are lost and afraid. You think you are alone, with no one to protect you.’
The fortune teller’s eyes rose and sought out Ruric as he traded jokes with one of his neighbours. ‘You must find the strength to defeat the evil that controls you, but you are not alone. You must find your prince, one who is worthy. One who will stand at your side. Only then will you find your way home.’
Ruric laughed now, slapping his thigh at some jest.
The third card flipped over. It was the girl again, surrounded by three torches, each lighting the way out of the darkness. ‘There are those who wish to help you in your quest. They will come from a great distance.’
What could that mean? There was no way for Reena to get here. Even if there was some magical way to do it, Gran Lily wouldn’t send her own kin into this kind of hell.
Briar swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. ‘What happens if I don’t find that help? Or . . . my prince?’
‘Then the darkness wins,’ the woman said, turning over the fourth and final card. It was the gold-haired girl lying on a stone slab, a line of swords piercing her from throat to stomach. Deep crimson flowed down her sides on to the floor, forming patterns that eerily resembled decaying roses.
I’m going to die here.