Rose & Thorn by Sarah Prineas

Author:Sarah Prineas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2016-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

17

I WOKE UP IN A CLOUD THAT SMELLED LIKE MILDEW.

No, not a cloud, I realized, as I came to myself. Just a very soft, slightly damp bed. Somewhere in the castle, I assumed, remembering the end of our long journey through the Forest.

Timothy had warned me. She hadn’t had time, or the energy, to explain why, but this castle was dangerous somehow.

I struggled to sit up, and pushed tangled hair out of my face. The bed was enormous, bigger than my entire attic room in Shoe’s cottage, and had ivory-colored sheets covered by a heavy spread made of some sort of slippery ice-blue cloth, thickly embroidered; at each corner of the bed were posts of intricately carved dark wood that held up a canopy of the same blue cloth, with curtains edged with gold held back by gold-encrusted ropes. The sheets were the source of the mildew smell.

I peered past the bed—with its canopy and posts it was its own room, really, or would be if the curtains were closed. The room beyond was also enormous, with a high, arched stone ceiling; the walls were paneled in dark wood, and a patterned carpet covered the floor. There were various heavy pieces of furniture made of carved wood—a wardrobe, a few chairs, a table. A fireplace with an elaborate stone mantelpiece took up half of one wall; in another was a door with a carved wooden frame, and across from that was a pillow-covered bench set below a row of windows made of tiny diamond-shaped panes. Watery sunlight filtered through them—it was daytime.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a nightdress with a row of pearl buttons down the front and a froth of lace at the collar, cuffs, and hem. It was, by far, the fanciest thing I’d ever worn. The lace at the neckline was itchy.

I needed to find out where Griff was, and Timothy, and be sure Quirk was being properly looked after. I hoped he was warm and sound asleep in a bed even more comfortable than this one. Moving stiffly—I was still tired from our long hike—I pushed back the coverlet and crawled to the edge of the bed. It was very high off the floor; I started to climb down, then slipped on the shiny cloth coverlet and slithered to the rug, landing with a thump on my bottom.

At the noise, the door opened and two odd faces peeked into the room.

I stared back at them.

Both women wore crisp white aprons over matching light-blue woolen dresses; uniforms, maybe. One had a frilled cap tied over her perfectly bald head; she had no eyebrows or lashes, either, and a straight, lipless mouth, and strangely round, golden eyes with a long narrow slit for a pupil. The other, plumper and shorter, had mouse-brown hair, a sharp nose, and furred, paw-like hands that were folded neatly at her waist.

“Hello . . . ,” I said hesitantly. They didn’t seem dangerous.

At the sound of my voice, the two

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