Before the thorns taught me their sharp lessons and bled weakness from me I had but one brother, 1-Prince of Thorns - Lawrence, Mark Lawrence - [The Broken Empire 01] - Prince of Thorns (epub - dokument [*. epub] Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication. King of Thorns Ace Books by Mark Lawrence PRINCE OF THORNS KING OF THORNS King of Thorns BOOK TWO OF THE BROKEN EMPIRE.

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Fantasy Fiction. Publication Details Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group Imprint: Ace Publication Date: Broken Empire. Prince of Thorns Embed. Beyond the rescue of even these empty ladies with their needles and thread. I'm being too mean. I blame the ache in my head. Sareth tells me be nice.

Be nice.

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Maery Coddin isn't all sewing and gossip. Though she's sewing now and tutting with the rest of them. Maery's worth talking to on her own, I suppose. That's enough nice for one day. Sareth is always nice and look where that got her. Married to an old man, and not a kind one but a cold and scary one, and her belly all fat with a child that will probably run as savage as Jorg Ancrath. I'm going to have them bury Hanna in the forest graveyard.

Maery tells me she'll lie easy there. All the castle servants are buried there unless their families claim them. Maery says she'll find me a new maidservant but that seems so cold, to just replace Hanna as if she were torn lace, or a broken vase. We'll go out by cart tomorrow. There's a man making her coffin now. My head feels as if he's hammering the nails into it instead.

I should have left Jorg to die on the throne-room floor. But it didn't feel right.

Damn him. We'll bury Hanna tomorrow. She was old and always complaining of her aches but that doesn't mean she was ready to go. I will miss her. She was a hard woman, cruel maybe, but never to me.

I don't know if I'll cry when we put her in the ground. I should. But I don't know if I will. That's for tomorrow. Today we have a visitor. The Prince of Arrow is calling, with his brother Prince Egan and his retinue. I think Sareth would like to match me there. Or maybe it's the old man, King Olidan. Not many of Sareth's ideas are her own these days. We will see. I think I'll try to sleep now.

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Maybe my headache will be gone in the morning. And the strange dreams too. Maybe Mother's vase knocked those dreams right out of me.

I watched it. A copper box, thorn patterned, no lock or latch.

Open the box, Jorg. A copper box.


Not big enough to hold a head. A child's fist would fit. A goblet, the box, a knife. I watched the box and the dull reflections from the fire in the hearth.

The warmth did not reach me. I let it burn down. The sun fell, and shadows stole the room. The embers held my gaze. Midnight filled the hall and still I didn't move, as if I were carved from stone, as if motion were a sin. Tension knotted me. It tingled along my cheekbones, clenched in my jaw.

I felt the table's grain beneath my fingertips. The moon rose and painted ghost-light across the stone-flagged floor. The moonlight found my goblet, wine untouched, and made the silver glow. Clouds swallowed the sky and in the darkness rain fell, soft with old memories.

In the small hours, abandoned by fire, moon, and stars, I reached for my blade. I laid the keen edge cold against my wrist. The child still lay in the corner, limbs at corpse angles, too broken for all the king's horses and all the king's men. Sometimes I feel I've seen more ghosts than people, but this boy, this child of four, haunts me.

Open the box.

The answer lay in the box. I knew that much. The boy wanted me to open it. More than half of me wanted it open too, wanted to let those memories flood out, however dark, however dangerous. It had a pull on it, like the cliff's edge, stronger by the moment, promising release.

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I carried the box out of a desert that could burn you without needing the sun. Four years I've kept it.

I've no recollection of first laying hands upon it, no image of its owner, few facts save only that it holds a hell which nearly broke my mind. Campfires twinkled distant through the sleet.

So many they revealed the shape of the land beneath them, the rise and fall of mountains. The Prince of Arrow's men took up three valleys. One alone wouldn't contain his army.

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Three valleys choked with knights and archers, foot-soldiers, pikemen, men-at-axe and men-at-sword, carts and wagons, engines for siege, ladders, rope, and pitch for burning.We found the patrol waiting, stamping in the cold. Do I keep secrets from you, my brothers?

Strange, it's killing that gives me a thirst. Today we have a visitor.

There's no fountain, just a font that dribbles rather than sprays. This would go hard. In the small hours, abandoned by fire, moon, and stars, I reached for my blade.