Page 4 of Thornlight

“Nothing,” she said at last. “It was a long day, that’s all.”

But Brier was not as good at lying as she was at everything else. Thorn saw the truth plain on her face.

“The storms are fading, aren’t they?” whispered Thorn.

“No, they’re not,” Brier replied flatly.

“I heard one of the other harvesters yesterday, when I was doing my evening sweep, near the square. He said the latest harvest could power only ten eldisks, if we’re lucky.”

Brier pushed herself away from the railing. “Thundering skies! Don’t believe every single thing you hear on the streets. And you shouldn’t eavesdrop, you know.”

“But Brier—”

At the door to the sunroom, Brier whirled. “You’re not stupid, Thorn, no matter what everyone says. So stop acting like it.”

Then, her dark eyes flashing as if they held lightning inside them, Brier stalked into the cottage, leaving Thorn alone.

Thorn crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she could disappear into the fine, tangled mess of her hair. Each time she tried to inhale, her breath caught.

No matter what everyone says?

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips tight until the tearstingling behind her nose faded. She would not let such thoughts sink their familiar claws into her heart—that she was stupid, and dirty, and small. A mere sweep. The shadow sister.

Not today. Not again.

Brier hadn’t meant to sound so hateful. Brier loved her; she said so every day before kissing Thorn’s cheek and leaving with Noro for the mountains.

And if Brier hadn’t really meant such cruelty—and she hadn’t, shewouldn’t—then maybe Brier was just tired. She’d had a long day in the mountains. She missed their parents, just like Thorn did.

Or maybe, Thorn thought, her stomach flip-flopping, Brier knew a secret, and she didn’t want Thorn to find out.

.2.

The Rebel Bolt

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Brier threw on her long harvester coat and sneaked out of the house when dawn was but a hint in the sky.

Not even the sweeps had awakened for their morning rounds. Not even Thorn, who often left the house in near-darkness. As she’d once told Brier, it was easier to avoid talking to people before the sun came up.

Brier paused at the archway that led to the overgrown garden behind their cottage. Wisteria vines hugged the wrought-iron frame, their heavy blossoms an eerie soft purple in the misty almost-light.

Brier lightly dragged her fingers across the petals and waited.

Noro swore to her that unicorns possessed exceptional hearing and could hear even the flowers when they laughed. It was, he had instructed her, the easiest way to call for him without anyone else knowing.

Brier wasn’t sure she believed him. She always felt like such a fool, tickling the flowers like a child who still believed in stories of immortal stars and witches with magic in their blood.

But it wasn’t smart to doubt a unicorn.

“You called?” Noro said dryly, appearing to Brier’s right.

She flinched. “Great storms, Noro! Do you have to be so quiet all the time?”

“I cannot help my incredible natural grace.” Noro shook a long lock of wavy white hair out of his eyes. “Surely you should be used to it by now?”

“Yes, yes,” Brier grumbled. “Unicorns are graceful and magnificent and perfect and always land on their feet.”

“Precisely. Take that, cats.”

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