Brambles: A Thorn Short Story, Intisar Khanani [popular ebook readers .txt] 📗

to use him. There won’t be much of mercy or kindness in their reign.

“And we shall meet again at lunch, shan’t we?” Valka says, smiling sweetly at him. “After all, I don’t want it said that I’m a distraction to you.”

“Of course not,” he says. “Come, Alyrra, I’d better deliver you to your lessons, or you might try to weasel out of them again.”

I bite my lip and let him lead me on, Valka’s laughter ringing in my ears.

“I don’t think we’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Maralinde tells me, casting a look about the room she shares with her parents. Her clothes are all neatly folded and tucked away in her trunk, but her parents’ things are only half-packed, piled on the bed and still visible in the wardrobe.

“There’s not really all that much left to pack, unless there’s another reason,” I observe. It’s true: with the help of a maid, they could easily be ready to depart within a few hours.

Maralinde shrugs and settles onto the bench beside me, our backs pressed against the carved wooden backrest. “I think my father is angling for an extra day to talk with your mother once some of the others have left.”

I nod. It’s been a difficult few years for Mother since Father died, keeping the peace among the vassals and keeping the throne for my brother. At first, she’d been pushed and manipulated in an effort to force a marriage that would put one of their chosen lords on the throne—with the alternate possibility of being driven with her children into exile dangled over her like an executioner’s axe. She’d lowered her head meekly and outmaneuvered them all, and when she finally stood up tall and smiled at them, they knew never to underestimate her again. Not that some of them don’t still try for a gain, they’re just more careful about it now.

Maralinde’s father, though, probably wants a break on taxes or the like—something he can plead most successfully when there’s no one else around to object. Unfortunately, his family’s holdings being as small as they are, and his power among the other lords as paltry as it is, Mother is unlikely to offer him any concessions. No matter how little his taxes might mean to her, the other lords would be displeased not to have received a concession as well.

Maralinde, eyeing me sideways, laughs. “I didn’t think it would work either. Poor Father.”

“It might,” I venture. “She’s allowed concessions before.”

“Mmm, and the two of us might become the darlings of the court overnight.”

“Well, with fewer people here, it’s more likely.”

She coughs another laugh. “Always optimistic, aren’t you? It’s all right. I don’t mind being largely ignored, and I rather think you prefer it.”

“Easier that way,” I agree.

Maralinde grins and switches subjects. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your lessons right now?”

“I was late—my brother kept me. By the time I got there . . .” I shrug. Arriving to find your tutor has given up on you is never a good thing. I’d taken the time to write an apology painstakingly composed in Faransi, the language of one of our neighboring lands, and sent it by page to my tutor, but I doubt it will win his forgiveness.

“Do you think he’ll mention it to your mother? She won’t be pleased.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Why don’t we go down to the hall?” I suggest, rising to my feet. “It’s nearly lunch.”

Maralinde allows this with a knowing look. I fall into step with her as we enter the hallway, grateful for her friendship, for the questions she asks and the answers she doesn’t push for.

Most of the girls our age flock to Valka and follow her lead in treating me like a sweet but rather useless child. I would like to think that I am something better than that, but the truth is, I don’t have the coldness that politicking seems to require. I’d rather be sweet and useless than sharp and dangerous.

In the hallway below, we step to the side to allow Valka’s father, Lord Daerilin, past. He’s a large man with a wide belly and thick hands, and the most valuable lands in our kingdom.

“Ah, Alyrra, good to see you. And who is this? Little Maraleen, isn’t it?”

It isn’t and he knows it. Maralinde dips her head, her jaw tight.

“We’re just going to the hall for lunch,” I say.

“Very good.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll sit with Valka there, won’t you, Alyrra? She considers you such a friend of hers.”

“I do like sitting with my friends,” I say pleasantly. “But it depends on if Mother is there.”

“Quite, quite,” he says, appeased, and continues on.

Maralinde slides me an amused look as we begin walking once more.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re trickier than you let on, you know.”

I grin and offer her a small shrug. “I really do like sitting with my friends.”

We step into the hall a moment later. We’ve used the side entrance nearest the nobles’ table, just below the dais, which means we’ve also stepped right into a confrontation between Maralinde’s mother and Valka not five paces away.

“Oh.” Maralinde halts abruptly, eyes widening. I stumble to a stop just past her.

“I expected better from you,” Lady Emmanika says, her voice sharp.

Valka, facing her, nearly vibrates with fury, two bright red spots staining her cheeks, her mouth twisted in a barely contained snarl.

“You are the daughter of one our leading families. You are placed above so many others here. The servants are here to serve you, certainly, but you have a responsibility to them as well. Or did you think you are only meant to receive and never to serve in return?”

“I know my place,” Valka says haughtily, lifting her chin. “I know exactly what I deserve. You ought to know what you risk by saying such things to me!”

Lady Emmanika raises her brows. “I risk a great deal more by not speaking at all. Now, do not make a scene. There are others