Read Online Ash & Bramble by Sarah Prineas - Free Book Online

knapsack for the rope and hook. He steps back, settling the rope so it will fly free, taking the measure of the wall, and whirls the hook, faster and faster, and then releases it. The hook, trailing the rope, flies in a perfect arc, up and up, and lodges at the very top of the wall.
    My hope flares again. Escape is possible. We’re going to do it.
    Shoe cocks his head, listening. “Pin, they’re coming. Hurry.”
    I can hear it, too: barked orders and the sound of running footsteps on cobblestones. The smoke behind us swirls, thins. Shoe tries to take the knapsack, but I saw how he winced when he put it on before, so I shrug away from him and grip my lumpy silken rope, step onto a loop of bramble, and pull myself up. The knapsack heavy on my shoulders, I climb higher, and then feel Shoe’s weight on the rope below me. I glance down and narrow my eyes. “You’re not looking up my dress, are you, Shoe?” I say.
    â€œShhh,” he says, and to my surprise, he flushes.
    I hoist myself higher, holding tightly to the rope, my feet braced against the thick brambles. And higher still. Fog swirls above my head, obscuring the top of the wall. It can’t be too much farther. My hands cramp as they grip the rope; themuscles in my arms ache. The knapsack feels like it’s full of rocks. I pull myself higher. Tilting my head back, I peer up through the fog. Surely I should have reached the top by now.
    I glance over my shoulder. Shoe is right below me. Beneath him, I can’t see the ground, only fog. A chill, damp tendril brushes the back of my neck, and I shiver. “Onward,” I tell myself, and pull myself higher. The muscles in my arms and shoulders are burning now. “Just a little farther.”
    From below, I hear a gasp. The rope jerks. I lose my footing and, clinging desperately to the rope, I slam against the wall. “Pin,” Shoe whispers urgently. “Be careful. Thorns.”
    As he speaks, a thorn as long as my hand and as sharp as a dagger bursts from the bramble vine, stabbing past my face. I jerk away, and my hands slip on the rope. As I sway toward the wall again, another thorn slashes at my arm; the cloth of my dress rips, and a line of fire burns across my wrist, leaving a bleeding gash behind it. I pull away. A thorn jabs at my foot, and my sturdy boot deflects it. All around me, knifelike thorns erupt from the brambles, seeking my blood.
    This is how Marya’s escape ended.
    But mine will not. Ignoring the pain in my wrist and gripping the rope, I look over my shoulder to be sure Shoe is all right, but the fog has crept between us. “Keep going,” I say, hoping he can hear me. I pull myself higher and higher, my muscles burning, flinching when a thorn stabs at me. As the thorns fail, the brambles start to writhe under my feet; thick tendrils reach for me, and I duck under them, and climb on.
    I pause, panting, and look up. The fog swirls aside. The wall stretches above me, endless, gray, and crawling with thorny, tangled brambles.
    The Godmother’s magic.
    As I realize this, the clouds overhead blacken, and a few drops of icy rain fall. Thunder grumbles, the clouds lower, and rain pounds down, trying to wash us from the wall. In a moment I am drenched, my dress a heavy, wet weight on my arms and legs. Cold radiates from the wall, and the rainwater freezes, coating every surface with a thin, slippery layer of ice. My hands go numb. Blood drips from my throbbing wrist, rivulets of pink washing away with the rain.
    I close my eyes for a moment, a hairbreadth from despair. The Godmother won’t let us escape. We’ll be another lesson for the workers in her fortress. After this, nobody will ever try to get away again.
    A hand closes around my ankle. I look down and see Shoe’s determined, rain-wet face, looking up. His coat is torn in two places from the thorns, but I don’t see any blood. “Keep going,” he gasps.
    I take a