Page 117 of Thornlight

He looked up at Queen Celestyna with such sadness it made Thorn’s stomach twist into a knot.

“As you wish, my queen.”

An hour later, Thorn sat on Princess Orelia’s bed, a steaming bowl of porridge in her hands and a net of nerves stretched tight across her throat. A spoon, glittering with candlelight, rested against the bowl’s rim, waiting for her.

She knew the poison would not hurther. Nevertheless, she longed to throw the bowl far away.

But first she had a job to do. The biggest job a sweep of the Vale had ever had.

Queen Celestyna Hightower the Twelfth, Queen of the Vale, Master of the Realm, Daughter of Westlin, and Mender of the Break, lay tucked carefully beneath a silver-beaded quilt at Thorn’s feet.

Her head rested in Princess Orelia’s lap, and the princess herself was surrounded by pillows. Tears streamed down her face, but she did not protest. That had been done already, during the last hour as Lord Dellier went to the kitchens, and while Thorn watched, wringing her hands from the corner of the room.

Now, the princess was quiet.

“Mender of the Break,” whispered Princess Orelia, tracing long soft lines down her sister’s cheek. “Mama and Papa said you would do it, and you are.”

Thorn’s mouth had gone sour. She wished desperately to send for Mazby—the queen had told her he was resting in the aviary—but she couldn’t bear for him to see this.

This, she had to do alone.

The queen kissed her sister’s hand. Then she faced Thorn,looking as peaceful as if she were merely settling in for a good night’s sleep.

“Go on,” she said, “Thorn of the Vale.”

Thorn swallowed, which reminded her of what the queen was about to swallow, and made her nearly drop the spoon.

“Go on,” said the queen again, gently. “It’s all right.”

Thorn held her breath and raised the spoon of porridge to the queen’s lips. The queen, arms wrapped tightly around Orelia’s arms, holding her sister as close as she could, opened her mouth, and swallowed.

“Tyna,” whispered Orelia, touching her sister’s hair with shaking fingers. Cub’s flower sat tucked behind her ear, a bright yellow sun against the golden waves of Orelia’s hair. “Tell me that story, about the stars. Do you remember, Tyna?”

Thorn refilled the spoon.

Queen Celestyna accepted it. “Of course I do. From the book. Thorn.” The queen glanced at the battered leather-bound book on the bedside table. She winced. Her body twisted, shifting, as if struggling against a great pain. “You should read it, sometime. A collection of stories about the Vale before the Breaking. It’s beautifully illustrated.” The queen sighed. “Again, Thorn. Another.”

Thorn scooped up another mouthful—and then did it again, and again, and again, so many times she thought the bowl would never empty. With each swallow, the queen’s body tensed and jolted.

“Once,” Princess Orelia choked out at last, “there were two worlds: one of light, brilliant and jubilant, and one of darkness, lonesome and lacking.”

Queen Celestyna moaned a little. She turned her face into Orelia’s hand.

“Tell me, Tyna.” The princess kissed her sister’s forehead. “Remember?”

“The world of light pitied its twin,” said the queen, smiling faintly as she looked up at Orelia. “It carved out pieces of its own self with a cold silver knife fashioned from a comet’s tail... again, Thorn.”

Thorn raised another spoonful—shaking now, wishing for Noro, wishing for her father, wishing for Quicksilver’s strong hand to come and take over for her.

New black veins branched out from the ones already marking the queen’s smooth cheeks. Where the spoon touched her lips, the skin began to crack.

“When the world of light shook loose its wounds,”whispered Orelia, “a thousand thousand embers cascaded down. Like a waterfall catching the sun.”

“And the light stuck there, spangling the velvet dark.” The queen’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing high and thin. She shivered. Her teeth chattered. Shadows darkened around her eyes and mouth.

Thorn’s thoughts were wild. Somewhere inside her, the curse had begun to scream. It had sensed the beginning of its end. Thorn’s stomach flopped and twitched like something was desperate to burst out of her.

But the queen’s fingers waved at her—once more, Thorn—and she found the strength for another spoonful.

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