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TitlePrince of Thorns
Author
LanguageEnglish
File Size1.2 MB
Total Pages216
Table of Contents
                            Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - Four years earlier
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9 - Four years earlier
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 - Four years earlier
Chapter 12 - Four years earlier
Chapter 13 - Four years earlier
Chapter 14
Chapter 15 - Four years earlier
Chapter 16 - Four years earlier
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36 - Four years earlier
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
                        
Document Text Contents
Page 108

speech as well as any in the Broken Empire, but I couldn’t make sense of more
than half the words in the little book I’d stolen.
I could read the “Top Secret” at the head and foot of every page, but

“Neurotoxicology,” “Carcinogen,” “Mutogen”? Maybe they were old styles of
hat. To this day I don’t know. The words I did recognize were interesting enough
though. “Weapons,” “Stockpile,” “Mass Destruction.” The last but one page
even had a shiny map, all contours and elevations. Tutor Lundist taught me a
little geography as well. Enough to match that small map to the “Views from
Castle Red” painstakingly executed in the large but dull
whose leather-bound spine nestled in the cleft of dear Sally’s oh-so-biteable
backside.
Even when I understood the Builder words, the sentences didn’t make sense.

“Binary weapon leakage is now endemic. The lighter than air unary compounds
show little toxic effect, though rosiosis is a common topological exposure
symptom.”
Or, from the same page: “Mutagenic effects are common downstream of

binary spills.” I could stretch my Greek to guess the meaning, but it hardly
seemed reasonable. Perhaps I’d stolen an old storybook?
“Jorg!” Makin hollered through the door. “The escort’s here to take you to the

Forest Watch.”
Sally started up at that, but I pressed her down.
“Tell them to wait,” I called.
The Forest Watch weren’t going to be much use to me. Not unless they had

ten thousand friends that wanted to come along.
“Sweet Jesu I’m sore.” Sally tried to get up again. “Oh! It’s morning already.

Sammeth will kill me.”
“I said still, damn it.” I found a coin from my purse on the table and tossed it

up to her. “That for your damn Sammeth.”
She slumped back with a comfortable protest.
“Binary weapon leakage . . .” As if speaking the words would add meaning.
“You’re going to the Castle Red then?” Sally said. She stifled a yawn.
I raised a hand to slap her into silence. Of course she didn’t see it and

blocked the best target.
“Say hello to all those little red people for me,” she said.

I lowered my hand to her hip. “Little red people?”
“Uh huh.”
I felt her wiggle under my palm. I gripped harder. “Little red people?”
“Yes.” A whine of irritation tinged her voice. “Why do you think they call it

Page 109

the Castle Red?”
I pulled myself to a sitting position. “Makin! Get in here!” I shouted it loud

enough for the whole inn to hear. He came in sharp enough, one hand on his
sword. A smile found its way to his lips when he saw Sally sprawled out naked,
but he kept his hand where it was.
“My prince?”
Sally really did try to get up at that. She almost made it to all fours and

went flying.
“Prince? Nobody said nothing about a prince! He ain’t no bleedin’ prince!”
I pushed her down again.
“That conversation we had yesterday, Makin,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Anything you’d like to add to the description? Anything about those nine

hundred veterans?” I asked.
For a moment he looked as blank as idiot Maical.
“Something about the colour scheme?” I gave him a prompt.
“Oh.” He grinned. “The Blushers? Yes. They’re red as a cooked lobster, every

one of them. Something in the water they say. I thought everyone knew that.”

“I never knew it,” I said.
“Sounds like your father should have hanged Tutor Lundist then,” Makin said.

“Everyone knows that.”

“He’s never a prince!” Sally sounded outraged.
“You’ve been royally fucked.” Makin gave her a little bow.

I got off the bed.

“So,” Makin said. “Are we ready to go?”
I reached for my trews. Sally rolled over as I laced them up, which didn’t help

at all. I watched her nakedness, highlights courtesy of the morning sun. I
wondered—should I gamble the Forest Watch and the brothers both on some
wild conjectures and blind guesses at what obscure words meant . . .
“Tell them an hour.” My fingers flipped from lacing to unlacing. “I’ll be ready

in an hour.”
Sally lay back on the pillows and smiled. “Prince, eh?”
Lying in seemed like a good idea all of a sudden.

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