I turn to the huge bramble bush. And floating above it, held aloft by thorned vines, is Caspian.
His arms are crossed, a smirk on his face.
He looks horrible. His skin is ghastly pale. A black goo oozes out from his nose and mouth. And though his eyes are bruised and lined with dark circles, there’s a defiant look there that I’ve never seen him without.
Caspian. The Prince of Thorns. My enemy.
Saved my life.
The thorned vines float Caspian to the ground. He walks over to me, hips swaying side to side as if he were attending the fanciest dinner party. “Why, Ezryn, I adore the new look. You’re certainly not hideous. What a treat.”
I look from him to my brother, lying in a pile of rubble, to Kel and Rose still fending off the knights.
Then a gurgled cry emits from the throne. My father falls, tumbling down the steps.
I turn my back to Caspian without a second thought, racing to my father as fast as my injured body will carry me. He lies face down at the base of the stairs, convulsing.
I fall to my knees beside him and look back at Caspian. “I don’t understand why you did what you did, but … Thank you. Can you get us out of here?”
Caspian isn’t looking at me, or even Kel or Rosalina. He’s looking at my father.
“Caspian!” I cry.
“Ezryn,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “You need to step away—”
I shake my head, turning back to my father. His whole body seizes. He needs help. He needs a healer. He needs—
A thorned vine shoots out from Caspian’s hand.
And stabs straight into my father’s heart.
105
Rosalina
Everything is happening too fast: the spray of Keldarion’s ice shield as he barely holds the sword and lance at bay, the thorns carving through the ground, Caspian appearing—Caspian! Caspian! Caspian!—and Ezryn’s cry, something born of both rage and sorrow, as the Prince of Thorns drives a sharpened vine through Thalionor’s heart.
Ezryn clutches his father’s lifeless body, mouth agape. Strangled cries escape him as he shakes the old fae. He places his hand over the gaping wound, spewing heart’s blood, but even I can see Thalionor is already gone.
Across the throne room, I notice Kairyn staggering up.
How could you?I gasp in my mind, eyes on Caspian. He wavers. I’ve never seen him like this. So weak. So sick.
Caspian begins to cough. They’re so strong, his whole body wracks. A trail of sludge ejects from his mouth on to the floor. The purple thorns start to wither and die.
I retreat behind Keldarion, heart pounding. The knights haven’t stopped their relentless attack, and Kel is barely holding them off. Caspian is so weak. He just killed Prince Thalionor. And Ez…
Ez drops his father’s body. Stands. Walks a few steps, back stiff, to where his sword lies. Picks it up. Turns to face Caspian.
“You killed my father,” he says lowly. “Now, your death belongs to me.”
Caspian sighs. “I thought that might be the case.”
Stop!I scream in my mind, but neither of them turn to me.
A great shadow engulfs us, bringing the smell of swamp and mulch. Plants slither from the pillars, the ground, the ceiling, and rally to Kairyn. They wrap around his limbs and chest; he grows five feet, then ten as more and more plants form giant legs, lifting him into the air. Moss and vines cover his arms, creating two long whips.
Kairyn lurches his massive, botanical body back and bellows, a sound like felling trees.
