Princess of Thorns by Unknown

moment, the only sounds the song of the river and the soft clop of the horses’ hooves, before Ror says, “I was only joking, you know. You’re not immense; I’m a runt, like you said. I’m only glad I was able to lift you.”
    “You’re not a runt,” I say, regretting the nickname.
    “Yes, I am.” He shrugs. “It’s all right. I’m resigned to it. There are worse things to be.”
    “There are,” I agree, thinking of the boys I trained with in Eno City when I was younger. They were as large and strong as my brothers, but not a single one would have stopped to put me back on my horse when their own lives were in danger. But then, they knew the truth. They knew I’m not long for this world, and hardly worth risking their own necks over.
    “Thank you,” I add after a moment. “I was sure I’d be the one pulling you up off the ground, but …”
    “I find it’s best never to be sure of anything,” Ror says with a weary sigh that seems out of place coming from someone his age. “It’s easier to avoid making a fool of myself that way.”
    “My pride is definitely more bruised than my body.”
    Ror pulls Button to a stop. “Your wound. I forgot. We should—”
    “The bleeding has stopped. It can keep.” I continue past him, around a bend in the river that grants a moonlit view of a long, lonely stretch of low water and wide bank. “Let’s keep going for another hour or two. Then we’ll find a place sleep for a few hours before moving on.”
    “All right, but as soon as we stop, I’ll clean you up,” Ror says, falling in beside me. “I’ll keep an eye out for Cavra leaves. The Fey use them to fight infection. I saw some on the road earlier. I should have grabbed them. You can never be too careful.”
    “I don’t think either of us were being nearly careful enough,” I say. “We’ll have to change that if we want to live to see the Feeding Hills.”
    “I know. No matter how much I want to keep going, I’ll need to rest as soon as it’s safe. I’m exhausted and a danger to us both.” Ror sighs another weary sigh. “If I hadn’t fallen asleep in the pool, none of this would have happened.”
    “No, if I’d taken your worries about the vultures seriously, this wouldn’t have happened.” I take in the seemingly peaceful landscape, wondering what dangers are hidden just out of sight. “But after all these years, with the ogres feeding on criminals and leaving the rest of us alone … I’d forgotten what determined blighters they are.”
    “That’s what they want,” Ror says. “They want everyone to forget. Until it’s too late and remembering won’t make a bit of difference.”
    He mumbles something that sounds equally ominous, but I don’t ask him to repeat himself. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight, Tonight, I want to travel this seemingly peaceful road and hold on to hope that it’s leading to something better. If I give up that hope, there will be no reason to run from the ogres, no reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no reason to do anything at all.
    Without hope, I might as well lie down in the river and let it wash my worries away. Forever.
    Some day—or night, it’s always harder at night, when the darkness outside makes the darkness within harder to bear—it may come to that, but not tonight. Tonight Ror and I are the lucky ones.

    In the Castle at Mercar 
The Ogre Queen
    We’ve lost them, my queen. Our cousin’s voice comes to us from far across the land. His battalion is three days’ ride from the castle, but we hear him clearly.
    His panic. His rage. His … despair.
    Illestros is listening as he readies the altar at the center of the hall. He shakes his head. I know what he’s thinking.
    Our cousin should know better than to despair. The Lost Mother guides our steps. To despair is to doubt her presence and her plan and to turn his back on her love.
    We stroke the oiled feathers of the raven in our lap. The bird