Free Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson

they reached the inn’s yard, a boy was leadingNathaniel’s horses toward the stable. The nearest horse pinned back its ears and flared its nostrils. A shrill whinny split the night.
    The sense of peace fell from Elisabeth at once, like a heavy blanket flung from her body. She sucked in a breath. “Let me down!” she said, struggling in Silas’s arms.
    What had happened just now? She had tried to run—she knew that. But how had she gotten so dirty?She couldn’t have made it far before Silas had caught her. Her last memory was of reaching the road, and after that . . . she must have struck her head in the scuffle.
    Nathaniel jumped down from the carriage. “My god, she bit me,” he said to Silas in disbelief. “I think she broke the skin.”
    Elisabeth hoped so. “That’s what you get for drinking orphan’s blood!” she shouted. The stable boy stoppedand stared.
    Unexpectedly, Nathaniel began to laugh. “You impossible menace,” he said. “I suppose it’s my fault for assuming you were harmless.” He shook his hand. “By the Otherworld, this stings. I’ll be lucky if I haven’t contracted a disease. Silas? Make sure her room has a lock. A good one.”
    Elisabeth’s struggling subsided as Silas carried her toward the inn. He was stronger than he looked,and she needed to save her energy, which was fading rapidly—more rapidly than she’d expected, even after the dungeon. Nathaniel watched her, but she couldn’t make out his expression in the dark.
    Silas set her down inside the door. To her relief, the inn bustled with activity. The Inkroads were the best-kept roads in Austermeer, maintained by the Collegium, and heavily traveled. Lamplight glowedagainst the whitewashed walls, upon which the shadows of patrons stretched and laughed and raised their glasses. Her stomach growled at the smell of cooking sausages,greasy and laden with spices. A wave of hunger left her light-headed.
    A maid hurried past them, but she didn’t so much as glance in their direction. No one in the busy inn seemed to have noticed Elisabeth looming there, drippingditch water on the rug, or Silas standing silently beside her.
    Before she could call for help, Silas steered her toward the stairs. “This way. Our rooms have been arranged.” He placed a steadying hand on her back when she tripped. “Careful. I fear Master Thorn would not forgive me if I let you fall.”
    She had no choice but to obey. Her head felt stuffed with cotton wool. The noise of the inn’scrowd throbbed in her temples like a second pulse: cheers and laughter, the clattering of cutlery. Upstairs, Silas led her down the hall, toward a door at the end. As he unlocked it, she noticed that he had on the same white gloves as that morning. But there wasn’t a speck of dirt upon them, even though he’d spent all day handling the carriage’s reins.
    “Wait,” she said, when he turned to leave.“Silas, I . . .”
    He paused. “Yes?”
    Her head pounded. There was something important she’d forgotten. Something she needed to know. “What color are your eyes?” she asked.
    “They are brown, miss,” he said softly, and she believed him.
    The lock clicked behind her. At once, the pounding in her skull improved. The room was small and warm, with a fire crackling in the hearth and a braided rug whosecolorful patterns reminded her painfully of the quilt on her bed at home. First she tested the window and found it wouldn’t open. Then she yanked on the doorknob, to no success. Temporarily out of options, she peeled off her dress and sodden stockings, whichshe laid out on the hot stones to dry. Despite the warmth, she’d begun shivering.
    She was busy reviving herself by the fire, trying to decidewhat to do next, when green light flared in the corner of the room. She leaped up, seized a poker from the hearth, and flung it in the light’s direction. The poker bounced off with a thud. It was not Nathaniel who had materialized there, but merely her trunk, now