Free Tower of Thorns by Juliet Marillier Page A

there. Who drove it out the last time, and how, and why it came back.”
    Seen that look in her eye before. “You’re interested,” I say.
    â€œNot interested enough to risk my whole future. And don’t tell me I did that once already. I’ve learned my lesson.”
    â€œMm-hm,” I say. Keep the rest of my thoughts to myself. We’re cursed, her and me. Cursed to a life full of nasty surprises. Soon as you start thinking it’s plain sailing ahead, the worst storm in the world blows up. Still, a man can hope. If not, what’s the point of going on?
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Thought I knew Blackthorn pretty well: how she’s feeling, whether I should stay around or leave her alone, what she needs doing. How she’ll be if one thing happens or another. Then another visitor comes to court, and I find out how wrong I am.
    We’re out beyond the walls. Blackthorn wants to gather an herb that grows down on the rocks near the sea. Little crawling plant with flat leaves, looks like it’s trying to hide in the cracks and chinks. Easy to miss. Blackthorn says she can use it in a salve for sore joints. Lots of folk ask her for that, so she’s planning to make up a big batch. Gather it first, then soak the leaves to get the salt out, then grind them up and mix them with a lot of other things. Littlefoot, the herb’s called.
    She’s busy gathering. Not an easy job. Has to find the stuff first, then make sure she doesn’t take too much from one plant. Doesn’t want to kill it. She’s crouched down, picking and muttering to herself. Can’t quite catch the words, but I know it’s a kind of prayer, thanks for letting her take the herb and sorry at the same time. I’ve offered to help but she says no, my job is to keep an eye out for trouble. So that’s what I’m doing when the traveler comes in sight. Walking along the road toward the fortress with a dog at his heels, big handsome thing, shaggy gray. Fellow’s got a pack on his back, a staff in his hand, no weapons Ican catch sight of. Wearing a scholar’s robe. Looks harmless, but you never know. Dog sees us first and heads in our direction. Fellow clicks his fingers, calls it back. He gives me a nod, then catches sight of Blackthorn, who’s on her haunches with her back to him. Traveler freezes on the spot, staring. That’s a surprise. Her and me, we try not to catch the eye. I’m big, she’s got that bright red hair, but we’re not as startling as all that.
    â€œMan on the road,” I say, under my breath. “Looking at you.”
    She straightens. Shields her eyes, gives the man a look back. I see a smile break out on his face. Looks like he knows her, and that can only be bad.
    â€œSaorla!” he calls out. “Is it you?”
    Blackthorn makes a word with her lips, only she doesn’t say it—the fellow’s name?—and then she’s walking forward, and he’s opening his arms, and she’s running to him before I can say watch out, be careful. They throw their arms around each other; he’s got his hand on her hair; she’s crying. Dog’s jumping around them barking its head off. I’m shocked. Can’t think straight. This is not Blackthorn’s way at all. It’s like she’s turned into a different woman.
    For a crazy moment I wonder if it’s her husband, Cass, somehow not dead after all. Who else would she hold on to like that? Who else’s shoulder would she cry on? Makes me feel odd, all mixed up inside. Then I’m next to the two of them, putting a hand down for the dog to sniff, waiting for them to notice me. Blackthorn moves back but keeps hold of the fellow’s hands. She’s staring at him with her face all tears. Looks like she hardly believes what she sees. “But how is it you’re here?” she’s saying. “I thought you were dead with the