Thing of Sorrow (Stitchborne: The Sacred and the Sewn #2)

Prologue

His grip on her hand threatened to shatter her bones.

Briar gritted her teeth against the pain that shot through her wrist and pulled the revenant’s lumbering form down the stairs, using her other hand to brace herself on the wall.

The steps were abrupt and covered in ash turned slippery by the humidity of the place.

The wind hissed through cracks in the outer wall, whispering promises of broken limbs if she wasn’t careful.

Putting full weight on her left leg was torture.

The wound Seraphina had given her by the lake throbbed underneath the bandage around her thigh, and when Rune tugged a little too hard on her hand, she felt the gash on her shoulder reopen.

A groan escaped her, but instead of pulling free, she squeezed his hand.

He startled, his foot slipped, and his chest slammed into her back, making her lose her balance and stumble down a few steps at a time to prevent herself from falling face-first. He followed her clumsily, the wooden stick he carried bumping into everything – the wall, his shins, the backs of her legs.

Briar was amazed they were both in one piece when they made it to the bottom of the stairs.

She was in one piece. He was in many pieces already, crudely sewn together.

She tried not to stare, even though he couldn’t see her.

In the place of his... no, Seraphina’s eyes, two empty voids were carved into his skull.

The blood had stopped pouring, and the skin was growing back, the unnaturally fast healing proof that he wasn’t human.

Meanwhile, Briar was panting like a dog, feeling like she was about to collapse in a heap.

And would it be so bad to just give up for once in her life? No one wanted her to save them, anyway.

She’d tried with Seraphina, many times over, and Seraphina had pushed her away religiously.

Briar wondered if she was still in the castle, wandering the corridors in her madness, or if she’d fled to God knew where.

She should’ve gone after her, especially in the state she was in, but when had Sera not been in a state?

Besides, the revenant was a bigger prize.

Her mission from the Mother Superior had been to return the relic of Saint Vivia.

Briar had tracked Sera to Ingolstadt, from there to the White Stag inn, to Langenbach and to Schloss Ewigheim with that purpose in mind, but as she’d held her breath with her body folded into a crevice in the wall just minutes earlier, listening to Rune’s confession and Seraphina’s screams, her plan had shifted.

When Sera rushed past her, Briar didn’t stop her.

Briar turned left, away from the main entrance.

Rune hesitated, neck craned, head swiveling from left to right in disorientation.

Voices floated in from outside – shouting and laughter.

Briar pulled at Rune’s hand harshly, hurting herself more than moving him, but his attention snapped back to her, and he started dragging his feet in the direction she was leading them.

The ground floor was a gutted maze of service rooms and storage vaults.

Fire had eaten through the ceilings and left the walls standing bare, blackened stone that stank of smoke even in the freezing air.

Briar led him through what had once been a kitchen.

She could tell by the hearth built into the far wall, its iron hooks still hanging above a bed of ash.

The floor was slick with sleet and snow that had come in through the missing roof, and chunks of fallen masonry lay scattered across the flagstones.

She picked her way over the debris, but Rune stumbled and kicked rubble every few paces.

When he tripped and nearly yanked her to the floor with him, she cursed and tried to navigate the path better for both their sakes.

Briar crossed the kitchen and ducked through a low archway that opened into a passage running along the side of the building. She heard a muffled thud when Rune hit his head on the lintel.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning back and fisting the front of his cloak to pull him down. “Careful.”

Rune bent over, and his chin brushed Briar’s forehead. She felt his breath on her face and wondered why it smelled of wildflowers. The rest of him smelled like blood and winter.

“We’re close,” she told him. “Stay low.”

He nodded, not letting go of her hand. Briar looked at their intertwined fingers.

Her hand was purple from so little blood flow.

She winced but didn’t say anything, only turned to face the darkness ahead.

This was a service corridor, built so provisions and firewood could be brought in from the outside without cluttering the main halls.

The vaulted ceiling had survived the fire, and it was sheer luck that the door at the end wasn’t caved in.

They walked in silence, the only sounds the shuffle of their feet, Briar’s heavy breathing, and Rune’s stick tapping the floor.

After a while, Briar turned right and felt the bite of the cold air on her cheeks.

Light spilled through the opening, she picked up the pace, and they emerged into the inner courtyard on the northern side of the schloss. The postern gate was right across.

Briar had found it when she couldn’t follow Sera and Rune through the main entrance.

She’d circled the castle, keeping to the tree line, until she’d spotted the gap in the northern curtain wall where the wooden door had burned and collapsed.

She knew there was supposed to be a postern gate, as castles like Ewigheim were bound to have at least one, but she hadn’t been certain she’d be able to access it.

A postern gate was a narrow door built into the curtain wall of a castle, hidden and positioned away from the main entrance.

It existed so that people could leave or enter without being seen.

During a siege, defenders could slip out through it to launch a surprise attack on the enemy, or use it as an escape route if the castle fell.

It was only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time, which made it easy to defend but also easy to overlook.

Twenty yards separated them from their escape.

Briar looked back at Rune, but his head was turned away from her. She bit her lip and gave his hand a tug.

“We have to run now. Ready?”

“What if I trip and fall?” His first words to her since they’d left the western tower.

“Try not to.”

“If I do, leave me behind.”

“If you do, get back on your feet and keep running.”

It was the middle of the day, but the northern side was of little interest, so they had a chance.

Briar started running and Rune followed, surprisingly nimble.

She’d warned him, but the warning should’ve been for herself.

Pain stabbed through her leg, and it felt like Sera was plunging her dagger into her flesh all over again.

Briar faltered, fought for balance, her left hand pressing over the wound while her right one was still in Rune’s desperate clutch.

“Are you all right?” he whispered unexpectedly close to her nape.

“Keep... running...” she hissed.

Her limping slowed them down. They made it halfway before a voice shouted from somewhere along the wall to their right.

“Halt! Halt, or we shoot!”

Soldiers on patrol.

Briar stopped, turned, and showed the soldiers her hands. She raised Rune’s with hers.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’s better this way. Let them approach.”

He cocked his head, listening.

“Where are they?”

He was too new at this. He couldn’t orient himself by sound.

Briar untangled her hand from his and flexed her fingers, sighing at the release of tension.

“I’ll take care of them,” she said. “Stay out of my way.”

The soldiers approached, two men younger than her. She was twenty-four, and they looked like boys, barely old enough to shave. They wore iron gray and black uniforms, their tall shakos stuffed low on their foreheads. She gave them a smile, and the one on the left lowered his musket an inch.

“Who are you? Where do you think you’re going?” the one on the right asked.

“Is that–” the other one uttered, staring at Rune, slack-jawed.

Briar didn’t hesitate. She pulled her daggers from under her cloak and went for the most distracted of the two.

Between the shock of coming face to face with a revenant and being attacked by a woman, she had the advantage.

She drove her shoulder into his chest and knocked his musket aside with her forearm.

He grabbed for her cloak, but she was already inside his reach, and she buried her dagger into his side, just below the ribs.

The other soldier swung his musket toward her, but his partner was between them, and he hesitated with his finger on the trigger.

Briar ripped her dagger free and shoved the wounded soldier hard into the one still standing.

He jerked his musket to the side so the bayonet wouldn’t skewer his own man, and the momentum carried his partner past him, staggering, arms flailing, straight into Rune.

Rune caught him.

Before either Briar or her opponent could make another move, Rune wrapped one arm around the man’s torso, the other around his hips, and pulled.

He started to scream, but it was cut short by Rune’s biceps forcing the air out of his lungs as he pressed and twisted.

The spine snapped cleanly, then there was the wet, fibrous ripping of muscle and cartilage.

Blood and guts spilled onto the frozen ground, steaming in the winter air.

The lower part landed on the left, and the torso landed on the right when Rune let go.

For a moment, it seemed like the man might try to crawl away, his dying brain still clinging to hope, but his arms only twitched a few times before going still.

The smell of partially digested food, bile, and fecal matter slammed into Briar, making her stumble backward and drop one of her daggers to cover her mouth and nose with her hand.

The other soldier could’ve easily taken her down, but instead, he let out a howl, clutched his musket to his chest, and started running in the opposite direction.

His continuous howling, punctuated by shrieks and breathless gasps, bounced off the walls, bringing Briar back to her senses.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered. “Why did you–” She found her fallen dagger, sheathed both weapons, and gave Rune a wide berth. “You didn’t have to...”

“I... I...” He ran his hands through his dark hair, smearing himself with sticky blood. “You were... I couldn’t let you...”

He was a demon with two hell pits for eyes, hands drenched in blood, fresh guts on his boots.

What was she doing? She knew what he was. What he could do. What he’d just done.

The soldier who’d escaped would soon bring the whole company. There was no time.

“Leave me behind,” he said.

There was despair in his voice. He was begging her, reaching out and showing her his hands, proof that he was irredeemable, a wretch, a creature made from death. Who could only bring more death.

“N-No.” Briar spotted the walking stick and picked it up. “We have to go. Now.”

He shook his head, but she ignored him and carefully navigated the massacre in the snow to reach and grab him by the sleeve.

No more handholding. She pulled him toward the postern gate.

He didn’t fight her, trudging behind her with his head held low.

Briar slipped through the gap, but he didn’t fit.

“Sideways,” she whispered. “You’re too broad.”

They were separated by the curtain wall, ten feet of tunnel between them. Briar had the forest at her back, Rune was still in the courtyard. If he wanted to turn away and disappear before she could fling herself into the narrow space and catch him, he could’ve done so easily.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

In the tone of his voice, she heard what he wasn’t saying. He knew she wasn’t doing this to help him, because he was blind and she pitied him. The question was, “What do you need me for?”, “What will you do with me?”.

“Home.” She gulped. “I’m taking you home, to Saint Vivia’s Convent.”

“Seraphina’s home.”

She wiped her hand on her cloak and reached inside the tunnel.

“Come. Follow my voice.”

She thought he wasn’t going to, but he bent low, entered the tunnel sideways, and shuffled toward her. When his arm came into contact with her outstretched hand, he stopped. She fisted his cloak and pulled him gently. He complied.

Once outside the castle walls, she pushed the walking stick into his hand and hoped he’d find his way without holding onto her.

Because she didn’t want him touching her. Or her touching him.