The Curse of Thorns

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Briar slowly opened her eyes, the world around her a blur of pain and confusion. Every inch of her body ached as if she had been crushed beneath a mountain, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through her. She tried to sit up but found her wrists and ankles bound tightly with coarse rope. The fibers dug into her skin, leaving angry red marks.

She struggled for a few seconds and then pushed herself into a sitting position. Her muscles protested, and her head throbbed with a dull ache, but she forced herself to survey her surroundings. Briar winced at the sight of the room, remembering the chaos they had caused during their desperate struggle to escape. Broken jars and scattered herbs lay in disarray, their pungent smells mingling to create a nauseating scent that hung heavily in the air. The dim light from a flickering candle cast eerie shadows that danced around the room, making it difficult to distinguish between objects and their ghostly silhouettes.

The events of the night hit Briar like a lightning bolt. Baba Yaga had captured them, and they were now inside the hut. Panic surged through her veins as she remembered the monstrous sight of the hut lumbering through the forest, chasing them down. They had been so close to escaping, but now they were at the mercy of the witch.

Briar glanced around desperately, searching for Leon. Her heart sank when she saw him slumped against a wall near a pile of skulls, his face pale and eyes closed. He looked lifeless, and for a terrifying moment, Briar feared the worst. But then she noticed the faint rise and fall of his chest, a small but significant sign that he was still breathing.

Next to him lay another figure—a boy with bronze-colored skin and striking silver hair. He was also bound with thick ropes, his arms and legs tied in an awkward position. Beside the boy was a magnificent white horse, tangled in the net. The horse's coat shone with an ethereal light.

Briar's heart raced as she took in the scene. The boy and the horse seemed just as trapped as she and Leon were. Who were they, and what had brought them into this dreadful mess? Her thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of a voice—a harsh, guttural murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. It was the witch, speaking in an arcane language that Briar couldn't understand.

The candle flickered, and shadows danced around the walls. Now they would face the consequences she had feared. The witch's angry face loomed in front of her. The anticipation of what the witch would do to her and Leon was killing her slowly. It was more painful than the actual death.

She turned her attention back to Leon. "Leon," she whispered urgently. "Leon, wake up."

When the prince didn't answer, she crawled towards him, her movements hindered by the ropes biting into her wrists and ankles. The room around them seemed to close in, the shadows cast by the flickering candle growing longer and more ominous.

As Briar reached the prince, she nudged him gently with her knee, her eyes searching his face for any sign of life. He remained still, his face pale and expressionless. A knot of worry tightened in her chest. She poked him again, more insistently this time. When he still didn't respond, she kicked him hard on the bottom.

Leon's eyes flew open, and he sat up with a start, his mouth gaping as if ready to scream. His eyes darted around wildly, taking in the dim, cluttered room.

"Don't shout," Briar hissed. The last thing they needed was to alert the witch.

Leon turned to her. "Briar," he stammered, his voice hoarse. "The witch..."

"Got us," Briar finished.

Leon's shoulders slumped, and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes in defeat. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I know this is all my fault."