Page 16 of The Cruelty of Thorns

I didn’t know what to say to that so I merely nodded and followed the others to the cafeteria, where we ate a subdued dinner before wandering back to our dorms. Everyone promised to keep each other informed if they heard anything else about Lisa.

“I think Ron likes you,” Kristin remarked when we got back to our room.

I snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He sat next to you and didn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner.”

While it was true he had sat next to me at the table, I didn’t think anything of it. I certainly hadn’t noticed him watching me.

“I think you’re reading too much into things,” I said as I pulled out my books and prepared to dig into my psychology homework.

Kristin grinned. “I don’t know. He sure seemed attentive to you.”

No, that was impossible, I told myself. He was just being nice because he’d shown me his art.

CHAPTER 9

INTERLUDE

A new reality

I OPENED MY eyes and tried to focus on my surroundings, but my vision was blurry and my head hurt. I was aware of an incredible thirst, but try as I might, I could not muster the strength to move to find something to drink.

From what I could see, I was in another bedroom, this one smaller and not as well appointed as the last one I had awakened in. The bed itself was narrower and harder, the furnishings less luxurious. There was a fireplace at the foot of the bed and a window to my right, though the dark heavy curtains were pulled tight against it. Light was supplied by a candelabra on the mantle and a lantern next to the bed.

I glanced to my left and saw a table with a water pitcher and glass. I tried to sit up, but my body gave out, collapsing in a weakened heap onto the bed. Why was I so lethargic?

The need for water drove me to try again, rolling over onto my belly and pushing myself across the mattress toward the table. I made it to the edge of the bed before exhaustion overtook me, leaving me in a gasping heap. I must have dozed then, because I was startled awake by the sound of the door unlocking.

Rosetta entered, tray in hand, and approached the bed. “Are you awake?” She set the tray on the table and touched a hand to my brow. “You are not feverish, at least.”

“Water,” I gasped.

She helped me turn over onto my back and dragged me up onto the pillows so I was reclined against them. She then poured a glass of water and handed it to me.

“Thank you.” I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips, drinking greedily, then almost choked from the effort. My throat was so sore I could barely swallow. I laid my head back against the pillows and sighed.

“What happened to me? Why am I so weak?”

She bit her lip, as though considering whether or not to answer my question. At last she said, “It is the effect of the feeding. You must eat to restore your strength.”

She leaned over me and grabbed another one of the pillows and stuffed it behind my back, raising me almost to a sitting position. She then reached for the tray and placed it on my lap. It was laden with roast meat and potatoes in a brown sauce, fresh fruit, and bread. The wine today was red and warm. Part of me was famished, but I didn’t have the strength to feed myself. As though anticipating this, Rosetta picked up the knife and fork and cut a slice off the meat. She then placed the fork in my hand and indicated for me to eat.

The meat was not what I expected, and I almost spit it out. “What is this?”

“Liver. You need it to feed your blood.”

Not one of my favorite meals, but I can remember our cook at home foisting it on me when I was younger. Maybe we could just skip it, I thought, but Rosetta was having no part of that. She proceeded to cut the meat into bite-sized pieces and stared at me as though I was a child refusing to eat.

“I’ll eat the fruit.”

“You’ll eat the meat if you want to recover.”

Just what exactly I was recovering from I had no idea. Perhaps I had taken ill during the night, but no, I had never been afflicted with illness before. My mother had always remarked that I was as healthy a young man as she had ever seen. Rosetta had said something about a feeding.

“What did you mean by the feeding?” I asked, reluctantly taking another bite of meat.

She avoided my gaze as she stood and made her way around the bed to the window, where she threw open the drapes to reveal a cloudy day. I was almost thankful for the overcast as even that small amount of light hurt my eyes.

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