Tower of Thorns by Juliet Marillier Page A

of the wind in the trees. But there was the tower, standing at the highest point, and Lily set her steps toward it, not letting herself linger. Who knew how soon her small ferryman might grow tired of waiting and head off on his own business?
    The base of the tower was broad; it took some time to walk right around it. Mosses clothed the pale stones in a soft garment; flowers grew everywhere, a bright carpet. The voices of birds made a high music. And ah! here was the door at last, and it stood open. Within, all was shadow.
    Lily drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She was not afraid; not really. But her heart was beating like a drum, and her palms were suddenly clammy. It was so dark in there. She took a step inside, and another step. There was a spiral stair against the tower wall, stretching up, ladder-steep, into the shadows.
    Very well. She tucked her hem into her belt and up she went, treading with care. Spiders had colonized the tower’s interior; their webs were everywhere, catching at her hair, tickling her fingers, covering her skirt with filmy white strands. Things scuttled and scurried and whisked out of sight. The darkness was not complete; had it been so, she would indeed have been risking her life on this stair. From somewhere above, a faint light filtered down. There must be a window, an opening up there, Lily thought. She might be able to stand at the top looking out, as she had dreamed.
    The stair came to an end, and she stepped forward into a round chamber. There was indeed a window, but its shutters were drawn together; between them a narrow gap admitted a thin bar of light, which fell across the wooden floor. It was cold in the chamber; the chill sent a shiver through Lily, and she hugged her shawl around her. The empty room seemed somehow a disappointment, though she was not sure what else she had expected. Still, there were those shutters, and the view outside. But she hesitated; she did not rush across tothrow them open. Something felt wrong here; what was it that set her on edge? Lily stood quiet a moment or two, and in the quiet she heard something. A sound so faint that it would have been easy to miss. A sound softer than the creak of the floor under her feet, softer than the rustling of mice in the wall, softer than the distant murmur of the river, down below the shuttered window. The sound of breathing.
    Almost, she turned and fled back down the precipitous stair. But no; this was an adventure, like something from an old tale. She must be brave.
    She walked steadily to the window, lifted her hands to the shutters and flung them open. In the chamber behind her, nothing stirred. It seemed, now, that the breathing had ceased. She turned.
    There was a man in the tower room. He lay sprawled on the floor, clad in little more than a torn linen shirt and leggings. His face was ghost white in the light from the window; his hair was as dark and glossy as a crow’s wing. His eyes were closed. He might have been dead, or merely asleep. He was the most beautiful young man Lily had seen in her whole life. All sixteen years of it.
    Her heart hammered. What should she do? Slip away without a sound? Touch him, try to move him? Scream for the ferryman? Run back home, admit that she had broken the rules, fetch help?
    Be calm, she told herself. What was it that drew you here, but this? She went over to the young man, crouched down and bent close, so close that surely, if he breathed, she would feel it against her cheek. Let him not be dead, she prayed. Please, let him live.
    And there it was, slow and steady; the soft whisper of his breath against her skin. Her heart leaped. In that moment, her whole world changed.
    Darkness had fallen; it was night.
    â€œTomorrow,” Geiléis whispered. “I will tell more tomorrow.” Oh,if only the story could end there, in that moment of wonder. If only it could end with youth and innocence and hope. “Sleep now, until the