The Secret World of Briar Rose(33)
When Harlow spoke, her tone had been flat and even.
“I was wondering where you were at the last meeting, but now I understand. You were too busy stealing from friends who fed you instead of the people who took those things away from you.”
Anger had flared in the pit of Corin’s stomach, burning through her initial guilt. She’d stayed far away from the shops where Harlow and the others met to discuss protest efforts against the war. On nights the artisans gathered in hushed whispers, Corin would usher Elly back to the river, where they struggled to fall asleep on the hard ground of their tents. As her bones ached from rocks digging into her back, Corin would stare into the darkness with quiet fury, resenting Harlow for inviting danger to the group. There were no walls to hide behind, no space that was truly their own. Sooner or later, a soldier would catch on to their plan and follow a trail leading to where Corin and Elly slept, killing them both simply by association.
“We’re a gang of vagrants, not a resistance group,” Corin had replied. “Sorry for not wanting to risk my life for a pointless mission. You realize your plan won’t work, don’t you? People will call you violent extremists, and nothing will change. At best, a few soldiers die, while the rest will execute you. It won’t matter in the end.”
Harlow had shaken her head, dismissing Corin like she would a petulant child. To Corin, the reaction was worse than anger. It was pity.
“Keep choosing survival over all else,” Harlow had sneered, “and one day you’ll look around to find loneliness surrounding you like a moat.”
Countless vicious things had tugged at Corin’s tongue in response. She’d swallowed the words down and picked up her empty satchel to leave the tent. Only the guilt she’d tucked in the deep depths of her conscience had pulled her to stop beside Harlow. She hadn’t met the woman’s eyes, couldn’t bear to see what sort of expression Harlow wore as Corin spoke her final words to someone she once considered her friend.
“Don’t go to the tunnels tomorrow.” She’d tried to make it sound like a threat, not a desperate plea. “They’ll kill everyone.”
It had been their last exchange before the insurrection, one that Corin never took part in, yet she never felt the relief of evading death. Instead, she remembered leaving Harlow behind, her boots pounding against cobblestone, her breaths coming out as ragged gasps in the night air. Humiliation had made her heart hammer against her rib cage, as if the organ itself couldn’t handle being in her own wretched body.
That night, she’d run away and reached the other side of the river that took her father. Her knees had fallen on the grass. Tears had welled in her eyes at what she’d lost, another home she could never go back to.
A bee buzzed past her ear and broke her from her reverie. Corin blinked at the grass at her feet, where wildflowers sprouted from soil. The cold night of Gyldan melted into daylight from a dream. The raging river she once remembered had shrunk into a babbling brook, where crystal-clear waters only met sunlight and not death.
That’s right, she reminded herself. It doesn’t matter in the end.
The only thing that mattered was how Corin got to the end, whether her friends were there or not. She took a deep breath, letting new purpose take priority over distant regrets.
“Where’s the princess already?” she demanded. “I thought we were supposed to find her in Springland.”
Corin and Elly had been following Malicine’s path down the stream, and Corin was growing tired of wading through peonies and swatting away dragonflies. Malicine tossed a backward glance. “Hasty to see her, aren’t you?”
Corin grunted as she ducked past a bee. “I didn’t come here to smell flowers.”
“Maybe you should,” the demon replied dryly, “because your attitude stinks.”
Elly snickered. “Corin wouldn’t know whimsy if it hit her. She’s so grouchy that, I’ve seen her with more wrinkles on her forehead than without.”
“And if I mess up your face, you’ll look worse.” Corin lunged for Elly, who screamed and sprinted across the meadow.
The chase didn’t last long as Corin tackled her sister over a dense carpet of short grass. Elly’s body rumbled with laughter, a pleasant sound to Corin’s ears. She liked that conversation flowed easily between them again. Butterflies fluttered over the spikes of Elly’s hair, their wings like glowing clips on her scalp. Corin brushed them away and placed a gentle hand on her sister’s head. If she could make more good memories like these, perhaps she could forget the bad ones too.
Their attention shifted to a cherry blossom tree stretching over their bodies. Malicine had pulled one of the branches to an impossibly long length, pressing the wood on the ground like a set of stairs. “A better vantage point,” they said.
Corin gawked at the tiny width of the branch with uncertainty. As she followed Elly’s footsteps onto the branch, the tree’s arm grew as wide as its own trunk and lifted them up. Pink blossoms swarmed her vision as they ascended, the smells of lilac and magnolia wafting under her nose. Malicine caught a petal in their hand and blew it into the wind. The petal drifted forward and parted the sea of blossoms, allowing them to survey the rest of the land, its rolling hills and lush meadows filled with red poppies.
Malicine’s raven took flight and descended the hill to scout the area. He swooped near a massive willow tree, its draping branches nearly obscuring the garden path that wrapped behind the trunk. Corin squinted at rows of sunflowers that peeked behind a wide thatched roof. The flowers were abnormally large, swaying in the breeze as if they were waving at her.