The Adventures of Thistle & Honey 8

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Thistle’s smile falls, confusion and hurt flooding her veins like ice. “Please don’t tell me you’ve known who I am this entire time,” she says, heartbeat quickening. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting on a pile of information about my life, just waiting for me to become what, worthy of it?! I only met you the day you sold me your cottage! How could you know anything personal about me that I didn’t share?”

Berty doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even look apologetic as he drops the emotional anvil squarely in her lap. “I know it might seem cruel,” he says, “but you weren’t ready to know before.”

Honey stirs and rises from her warm perch in Thistle’s hair. She floats gently down, landing on the arm of Berty’s chair, her expression unreadable. “I’d be very careful with how you continue this little unveiling, whatever it is you have to share” Honey says, her voice low and laced with warning. “I might be just a bee at the moment… but I’m capable of far more than a sting.” Her tone is one Thistle has never heard before, not even when she was scolding Tuffin.

Just as the thought of him flickers across her mind, Tuffin steps out of her shadow, his violet eyes glowing faintly. The comforting purr he so often emits is gone, replaced by a surprisingly fierce growl as he plants himself between Thistle and Berty.

Berty, annoyingly, chuckles. “No need to fear this old Gnome. I’ll do my best to deliver these secrets gently. And I mean Thistle no harm.”
He turns to her, the twinkle in his eye dimming just slightly.
“You’ve started collecting quite the crew of support. I’m glad,” he adds with intensity, “You’ll need them.”

Thistle sighs and slumps back in her chair, fatigue washing over her like a wave.
“Enough with the cryptic crap, Bertrum. Just tell me whatever secrets I’m now so worthy of knowing so I can be on my way.”
She briefly considers walking out altogether, but she made a promise to Tuffin. And she knows herself well enough to know, that sleep won’t come until she hears what Berty has to say.

Another chuckle from him, quieter this time, but deep and broken as if he has a heart after all. “You’re so much like her, you know.”

Her eyes narrow.
“Who, Berty? I said enough with the cryptic crap.”

He doesn’t hesitate.
“Your mother.”

Thistle scoffs, her gaze dropping to her lap. She shakes her head, rage filling her veins.
“Just like my mother,” she mutters, then lifts her eyes and locks onto his with icy clarity.
“Oh yeah, I can see the similarities. I’m cruel for no reason. I think making children feel insignificant is a requirement, not a flaw. Consent is a speedbump, not a boundary. And of course, my life’s ambition is to die bitter and alone.” She says with venom in her voice. “Fuck you, Berty.”

Thistle begins to stand as Honey flies over and lands on her shoulder, offering her support. “I told you to be gentle you brute, not upset her and cause her to use human curses!” The bee admonishes.

“That was poorly done Thistle, I’m truly sorry. Please stay. If you give me five minutes, I will tell you everything I know. Then you can be on your way and do what you like with the information.” Berty says, finally looking properly chagrined.

Thistle sits back down and sighs, “You can have your five minutes, but I’m tired. The last three days have exhausted me in ways I don’t care to explain. Coming to see you was supposed to be a bright moment in my day. So much for that.” she makes sure to meet his gaze as she adds, “I may have the time to offer you, but I am extremely low on energy and I’m about out of patience.”

Honey flutters down and lands on Thistle’s leg, resting against her thumb. Thistle takes a soft deep breath as Berty begins to share his super-secret information.

“The woman that raised you was not the woman who bore you.” Thistle looks up and opens her mouth to ask… she’s not really sure what; but Berty holds up his withered hand, “Five minutes.” Thistle closes her mouth and takes another deep breath.

“Your mother is the Witch that walked out of the woods. You, were born in a castle, over three hundred years ago.” He states, as if it’s no big deal.

Thistle glares at Berty, “That’s not possible, I’ve only been alive for thirty-four years.” She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “This doesn’t make any sense.” she says and opens her eyes to once again glare at the old gnome she thought she knew. “I swear to the stars Berty, if you tell me I’m a princess, I will have no choice but to punch you.”

Berty’s smirk slowly returns his gruff voice holding a hint of satisfaction, “You are not a princess.”

Thistle’s shoulders relax a bit as she lets out a sigh. But before she can feel the relief, Berty says the words that change everything.

“You’re a Queen.”