The Thorn

Chapter Ten

"Lord Cedric."

"Rebel leader."

By some terrible coincidence, the two of them have run into each other right in the town square. The villagers look on nervously, anticipating a battle. Caleb curses them, wondering why no one bothered warning him that Lord Cedric was here at the same time.

Cedric is alone, though, no soldiers accompanying him. Perhaps he'd decided that this was an errand where speed and discretion were better than armed might.

"Funnily enough," Caleb says conversationally, "I think we're here for the same thing."

"Is that so?" Cedric asks, eyes narrowed.

"A rebel named Trill who's worked in the palace since Queen Weira's reign," Caleb starts, listing off facts. "Is apparently from this village, even though no one here has heard of her. Recently tried to assassinate the royal family. Ringing a bell?"

"She's one of yours."

Caleb snorts in disgust. "I wouldn't waste resources on something as hopeless as poisoning Phobos, and I would never," he pauses and takes a breath, his knuckles cracking under the force of his clenched fist, "authorise any attempt on him if there was even the slightest chance of harming Princess Elyon in the process. You know that."

"Do I?" But of course Cedric does- the rebellion's devotion to the rightful heir to the throne had been a constant threat to Phobos' plans four years ago. The question is, what's changed now?

"By the way, I heard Wilhelm made it to Cavigor safely. He still alive?"

Cedric looks at him in surprise. "Indeed. There was no pesky rescue attempt this time."

"There wouldn't be. If I'd got to him first I would've just executed him. I do seem to be short on prison space, after all." Where would he lock people up, the Infinite City? Somehow he doubts the mage would approve of that use of her underground domain.

"How about this once we go our separate ways without a fight," Caleb says, going out on a limb. "No need to make a mess of this poor village, is there?"

While Cedric doesn't exactly give his assent, he does nod slightly, letting Caleb make his way out of the square unmolested. But not before one more parting shot:

"The sorceress who disguised herself as this woman has used other disguises," Cedric's voice hisses out, reaching him from across the square. "You may want to look into your old friend...the mage."

Caleb freezes. "What?"

But Cedric has already taken his leave.

Growling in frustration, Phobos waves a hand and clears his scrying surface yet again. Nothing.

While they have one advantage against the sorceress now, with his new wards using her own hairs to prevent her from gaining access to the palace again, they're just as far away from any opportunity to regain the Heart of Meridian.

He glances over at his sister, who has been wandering among the plants in the throne room aimlessly. Her expression is distant, and she hasn't even bothered to glance at his scrying. Ever since the poisoning attempt she has been strange. At times morose and distant, and at others skittish and nervous of everything around her.

It's growing tiresome. Surely it didn't take him this long to acclimate himself to the threat of death when he became regent and it seemed all of Meridian came to the consensus that he was a usurper and needed to be disposed of.

At the time, he hadn't even done anything wrong (well, much). Mother died of natural causes, and while he had planned to steal his sister's powers, she had been stolen away to Earth before he was able to do so. In many ways, those assassination attempts had made him the ruler he is. He had learnt to never compromise, to treat all who approached him with suspicion and to never give a second chance to a traitor.

Elyon takes a rose in her hand gently, heedless of the thorn that pricks against her finger, and of the trail of red, red blood that rolls down her hand.

"You should be more careful of where you spill your blood," he chides.

"Oh." She takes her hand away slowly, looking at the blood as if she'd never noticed the cut. After four years as a rose, perhaps she hadn't. He still remembers the way she'd ripped her own roots out, walking with bloody footprints all the way down to his spring.

The enchantment is broken and she is no longer a rose, but she still looks perfectly in place here, the deep green of her gown blending in with the gardens, almost as if nothing has changed.

"I can't stop thinking about it," his sister says, still staring down at the blood on her hand.

"You'll get used to it," he says again, because what else is there to say? She's at least stopped starving herself, which had been rather maudlin.

But she ignores him. "It was so close. If I hadn't fallen asleep I would have had that tea and probably been dead in my room for hours before anyone found me. If I'd shown up even a few minutes later for dinner, you might have eaten something..."

"And that wouldn't have pleased you?" he mocks.

Again, she ignores him. "And I don't know anything about poisons or antidotes, just how to use detection spells which were useless... God, I would have been totally useless!" She scrubs angrily at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Phobos makes a sound of disgust. "Really, there's no need for such dramatics, sister. Nor is there any need to pretend, not now that you've already revealed your hand."

"What?" She stares up at him, seemingly confused.

"It was impressive, yes. You played your part well all those years. Congratulations, even I had come to believe it. Perhaps you should have been a mummer instead of a princess. But why waste your time with this act when you've already obtained your objective- even if you did manage to hand it over to our enemy not five minutes later."

The words seep out like poison. She really had balanced her act perfectly, insulting and needling him and only slowly showing more affection, as if she had reluctantly come to care for her treacherous brother. They really are perfectly matched.

Elyon steps away from him, her momentum broken by the rose-covered column at her back. "You think that..."

"How did it feel, when you realised you'd been dancing to her tune all along?" Phobos asks acidly. "You always were so obedient a student, though I never would have thought your eagerness to follow directions would extend quite so far as seduction. I thought you had some pride-"

"Shut up!" The room echoes with her shout. "That isn't what happened at all," she says, more quietly but just as intense. "I saw the mage once," she says, biting down on the word. "Shortly after I first figured out how to get out of that flower, she visited me. She told me that because I was the rightful heir to the throne, it was possible for me to still take my powers back from you...and she gave me that stupid fucking necklace. That's it."

The room is silent for a long moment, his sister seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from his gaze.

"The rest was all me," she admits brokenly. "And I had no idea how I was ever going to get you to let your guard down long enough for me to take my powers back, so I just...forgot about it. For a long time."

Phobos steps closer, towering over her. "You really expect me to believe that? That all by herself, my innocent baby sister hatched a plot to seduce her own brother..."

He trails off, noting her flushed cheeks and averted gaze. Ever since that day, he'd thought her shame had been at her own actions, lowering herself so for the sake of power.

"Unless..." Experimentally, he reaches out, clasping his hand about her throat. Despite the threatening gesture, his grip is loose, not at all a threat at the moment.

The catch in her breath and slight glaze to her eyes are all quite clear. "I was right all along, wasn't I?" he crows.

For years, he'd managed to interpret her reaction to him as fear and distaste. But now it's all very clear. All those years of pink cheeks and almost frightened looks...her hand tugging at his insistently like a child's, demanding his attention... They were her feeble, desperate attempts to signal her interest, hoping that he would notice so that she would never have to face the shame of admitting to it.

It was such a maidenly little game, but even a man as twisted as Phobos would never have expected his own sister to turn it on him.

Elyon can barely breathe, and the staccato of her own heartbeat seems to fill her ears.

Ever since that day in the throne room, her brother has carefully avoided any physical contact between them, as if her touch could infect him. But now he stands terribly close to her, bodies only inches apart and his hand on her neck feeling more like a caress than a threat...

It makes it impossible for Elyon to fool herself any longer.

She's tried so hard to ignore it, to pretend that she'd only seduced him in order to get her powers back and save Meridian, but...what sort of sister would ever even think to do it that way?

His hand trails down her neck, slowly, slowly, and her nerves sing.

"You really did desire me," he says, and there's genuine surprise in his voice.

She swallows. "It's not really something a girl can fake."

"How long?" he asks, as his hand slowly creeps lower. His other hand rests against the rose-covered pillar, just barely brushing her shoulder, closing her in and leaving her with nowhere to run.

"Since I first came out of the rose," she breathes out. He'd touched her then, too, hand at her throat in what was meant to be a threatening gesture, but her body hadn't seen it that way at all.

At first she'd blamed the curse that turned her into a rose, but that made no sense. It was pretty obvious that the fault lay in her, and eventually she'd decided that maybe...just maybe...she could at least put these sick feelings of hers to some good use.

It took him long enough to get the hint, though.

His wandering fingers finish their journey downwards, and he cups her breast through her gown. Elyon gasps, leaning into that touch against her will. Her hands tangle in his robes, at once wanting to pull him closer and push him as far away as possible. All she does is cling to him, unable to do either.

Phobos leans in, smiling gently at her in terrible mockery. "My poor baby sister," he says, and the words reverberate down to her spine, "you are depraved, aren't you?"

Something in Elyon snaps. She pulls him closer, leans up, and kisses him desperately.

For a moment he's completely still, like a statue, as if in shock. Well, fuck him. He was perfectly willing to take her virginity in the throne room before. He may not have started this, but he can't pretend he's any less sick than her.

She presses for more, lips soft against his, and finally he lets her in.

Their kiss deepens, and he lets her pull him closer, their bodies flush against each other. He takes her hips in a bruising grip, pressing her against him even closer...

And then he's gone, ending their kiss gently and pulling away from her slightly.

Elyon gasps for breath.

Phobos looks down at her coolly, none of his physical response to her suggested by his expression. He steps away, lets out a single dismissive sound, and turns to leave the throne room.

"Brother..."

"While I can't say this isn't tempting," he says smoothly, brushing his hand against one of the roses idly, "I find myself disinclined to repeat the experience, given how things ended last time."

The heavy doors slam shut behind him.

Left bereft, Elyon sinks down to the base of the column. She buries her head against her knees, the silk of her gown muffling her helpless sob.

God, what's wrong with her?