Rogue's Pawn (17 page)

“Oh yeah—that’s me. Like I would ever wear anything from Falcon, much less something that implies I’m his tame pet.”

Never again
.

“No, I don’t want to keep it for myself, but I’m worried there’s some kind of trap in it. We should use something else.”

Darling patted it with his paw and meowed demandingly.

“You don’t get to insist. You’re the Unfamiliar and I’m the Ever-So-Powerful Lady Sorceress. Remember who you’re talking to.”

Darling rumbled a purr and bent down to delicately lick the collar. Then pictured the collar and helmet with shining topazes on them.

“You don’t think there could be a hidden trap?”

Darling chirruped, adding more topazes to the image.

“Well, I guess this is your culture and you know it better than I do.”

Darling purred agreement.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Now this last image—is that your final answer?”

He sent the same picture again, which I took as a yes.

“You don’t think the amber of the topazes is a little much with the purple short-plume? No? Fine.”

It only took a moment for the breast plate, spiked collar and little helmet to appear, studded with smaller versions of the topaz stones. I’d used the collar as it sat in the wooden box and allowed Darling’s armor to manifest in its place, along with a wish for protection and a wash of the cleaning ideas I’d been using on the food and water. It would have been easier to manifest it
on
him, the way he so clearly pictured it, but I wanted to be sure I didn’t fuse it to his fur or something else horrible. Fortunately I seemed to be fine with expansion and contraction of mass, conveniently bending that aspect of thermodynamics. And here my advisor had despaired of my tendency to cherry-pick the neurophysiology theories I liked best.
Shows him.

“Hold still,” I had to remind Darling as I buckled the straps. “Stop preening around. There—got it!”

Immediately Darling dropped from the workbench and trotted across the room to leap onto my vanity. He pranced in delight in front of the mirror, examining himself from all angles, the golden topazes gleaming, the purple ruff spiked with a matching golden zebra mottling. He cocked a gimlet eye at me and sent me a picture of himself ten times taller, grabbing little soldier figures in his sharp teeth and claws, flinging them about like dolls.

I hummed the tune of “Scotland the Brave,” and Darling danced in place to the war beat of the song. Snatches of the lyrics ran through my mind, with all the bold hearts, nodding plumes, death and gore.

I shivered at Darling’s enthusiasm. Hopefully he understood he was only a small cat in reality. He was truly my only friend here. I reached out to pet him, but he huffed at me and sprang down, heading out to show off his outfit.

“Don’t you want me to take it off, so you can sleep?” I called after him.

But he slipped out the tent flaps and I was alone again.

You are without friends.
Rogue’s voice echoed in my head. So I was.

Chapter
Eighteen

The Promontory of Magic

When Dragonfly woke me an hour before dawn, I stumbled to my clothing trunks and stood there in a bleary haze.

Two things hit me.

I had not dreamed about Rogue.
Oh yeah—go, Powerful Sorceress Gwynn!

I had completely forgotten to take care of my own “uniform.” Not so swift.

I didn’t like to contemplate Falcon’s reaction if I showed up without one. He’d probably order me squeezed into some
manga
fanatic’s idea of a battle-maiden sex-slave.

No, a magic gown I had promised—a magic-seeming gown I would deliver.

Not at my best in the mornings, especially when the supposed dawn looks pretty much the same as night—glowing pillows do not make for perky morning light—I wasted several minutes thinking about how to make one of my gowns look magical and special. Then the obvious solution hit me. I pulled out the box with my Ann Taylor dress and heels. The cold sponge bath left a great deal to be desired, but sliding on the black silk panties instead of the stupid linen long-johns things? Sheer heaven.

Zipping up the dress felt like attaching my own skin again. Another piece of my psyche settled into place. Whether Blackbird was right and the material itself held magic, or the magic was just in the confidence of wearing something I’d picked out on my own and bought with money I knew I’d earned, a sense of rightness settled over me.

I brushed my hair out and left it loose—seemed more sorceress-y that way—and “did” my makeup as I would for a normal work day. Only I was going to battle, not the university. Oh wait, not that different after all. I chuckled at myself, pleased that my mental tone sounded more firm this morning. Not filled with the uneasy dread of night.

The morning lingered chilly and misty, so I pulled on a cream velvet cloak—and quickly changed it to black. Then to deep red, so I wouldn’t look too funereal. Magic was also handy for wardrobe accessorizing.

Larch stood between the blazing torches that still flanked the entrance to my tent, holding the reins of a horse. The same horse I had ridden here, so she must be officially my horse now. She shone creamy white in the flickering light. I sighed to see that now the mare had been decorated with plumes and bells more suited to a parade than a battle.

“What’s her name?” I asked Larch.

He shrugged.

I scratched the white forehead under her silky forelock and she snuffled sweet hay-breath at me. I tried to dip into her mind for images. A feeling of running and grazing, mixed in a muscular joy. She was pleased to see me again.

“Felicity, then—how’s that?”

She arched her neck and did a little prance in place.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I mounted, a sense of purpose filling me. I was going to fight a battle. Against whom and why, I had no idea, but still.

Fortunately the skirt was full enough that it only hiked above my knees a bit. Riding in pumps wasn’t unlike riding in boots, actually, since the heels sat in the stirrups the same way. Except that my calves would probably chafe. Couldn’t be helped. A sorceress had an image to maintain and riding in jeans wasn’t it.

Darling leaped up behind me onto his traveling pad, still in full regalia, though it looked as though he might have rolled in some grass while wearing it. I pulled a few of the longer strands off and he let me scratch under the collar. It seemed to fit fine. Larch trotted beside me, leading me to the gathering of the troops.

“You’re not wearing my tribute, Lady Gwynn.” Falcon glowered. Hawklike shadows haunted his eyes in the gray pre-dawn glow.

I nudged my horse with my knees to change my angle so that Darling was behind me, him and his incriminating topazes out of Falcon’s line of sight.

“I cannot express my gratitude for such a tribute,” I answered, keeping my words as close to my sincere intentions as I could. Now for the lying: “Surely a priceless necklace like that is not appropriate for me to wear to a battle.”

I had to clamp down hard not to add “Like I’d wear your fucking dog-collar, you sadistic bastard” onto the end.

Frankly, I suspected I would never wear anything around my neck again. Just the thought made me twitch, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap, not touching my throat. Or even the pulse at my wrist, though I could have reached my wrist easily, with just a little stretch of my fingers.
Don’t give in
.

Falcon’s eyes gleamed dull yellow rage. But he grunted and turned away, leaving me to my own devices.

I lingered on the outskirts of the group. A few of my dinner companions, now with full entourages, milled about. They were predictably jolly, busily congratulating one another on the upcoming conflict and their fine uniforms. Their pages’ and horses’ outfits expanded upon the uniform themes,
ad infinitum
,
ad nauseum
. You haven’t seen fashion risk until you’ve seen a horse dressed in navy blue with little silver sailing ships.

“We should have dressed you and my horse in basic black,” I muttered to Larch.

“It shall be done, my lady.”

“I was kidding,” I said. “I’m not sure embroidered cotton and spaghetti straps are your thing, anyway. Plus, Ann Taylor would probably find a horse-plume too fussy.” Larch gave me his politely confused look. “Besides, wouldn’t too much black align me with Lord Rogue?” Shit—careless of me.

“Why would you mind that, lady?” Larch seemed taken aback.

“Um, because I’m not his ally, and consider him a mortal enemy, in fact?”

“You will want to rethink that position, Lady Sorceress,” Larch advised, not looking at me. “You are only on loan to Lord Falcon and Lord Puck. You fundamentally belong to Lord Rogue, no matter what color or collar you wear.”

I clenched my teeth. “I do not
belong
to Rogue.”

“When he claims you six years and some days from now, willing, enthralled, bespelled or enchained, to bear his child, you might find yourself disabused of that notion.”

I studied Larch, somewhat startled by his frank response after all the servile posturing. One of these days I’d stop being surprised that everyone seemed to know everything about me.
Never underestimate a hive mind and how information is shared.

“What if he can’t find me?”

“Are we speaking of the same Lord Rogue, my lady?” Larch returned.

Good point.

“What if I refuse? I can fight him. I’ve learned a great deal.”

He looked vaguely shocked but pursed his lips in due consideration. Finally he said, “Surely, my lady sorceress, even in your land there are penalties for those who fail to meet the terms of their bargains.”

“Well, not so much,” I said, thinking of bankruptcy court.

“A strange land, indeed. Here a debt must be honored. You’ll find you have no choice. Learn to wield your abilities—there lies your power. And remember that all must keep their promises to you, as well.”

I considered him. Felicity stamped and blew at the bit, anxious to get going, but Larch, a sixteenth of her size, held her easily.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Since I serve both you and Lord Rogue, I need not take sides.”

Ha to that.

“You said six years and some days from now—does that mean you know exactly when my seven years are up?”

Larch nodded, grave as always.

“Is there some way for me to track it?”

“I believe Lord Rogue will inform my lady sorceress of the appropriate day.”

I unclenched my teeth. “Before that. So I know how much time I have left?”

To plan accordingly.

An image slid into my mind of six large topazes, four smaller topazes and fifteen small stones, more pale than bronze. I looked in surprise over my shoulder at Darling. “How do you know?”

“He
is
your Familiar, my lady.”

Darling blinked fondly at me, again showing me the young man with an armload of roses.

“Unfamiliar, you mean,” I said, but I scratched Darling’s neck under his collar by way of thanks, obediently moving over a bit when he showed me an itchier spot. “Told you not to sleep in it. You’ll be all over itchy by the end of the day.”

He swatted my hand, nailing me with a claw and drawing blood.

“Ow! You varmint! See?” I said pointedly to Larch, who looked steadfastly ahead but might have been smirking.

The sun blazed over the horizon, the trumpets blared and the group started to move. Larch slid us into the column of nobles, over a dozen riders back from Falcon’s lead group, which suited me just fine. Puck’s antifreeze-green plume towered over the rest. We picked up the pace and Larch released the reins, jogging alongside at my stirrup. Other pages did the same.

“Are you coming along?” I asked.

“I am my lady’s page, am I not?”

We trotted down the hill and around a bend, into the next valley. I caught my breath at the sight of men marching, four abreast. They wore hard leather and steel. Wild hair streamed, sometimes covered by helmets, sometimes not. Weapons bristled. The scene looked like
Highlander
meets
Spartacus
.

But what truly caught me, so much so that I could not tear my eyes away, was that these were
men
—humans, to all appearances.

“Where did they come from?” I gasped.

Larch looked up, face a deeper violet from jogging along. “My lady?” he questioned politely, not quite implying that I might have lost my mind.

“Darling, where did these men come from?”

The cat replied with an image of various villages and people working in them and me sitting on the floor with an addled look on my face.

“Why, Virginia,” I muttered to myself, “the stork brought them. Now leave mummy alone.” Darling added some drool to the addled-me picture, so I reached back and yanked his tail, which made him have to dig in his claws to hang on. The image vanished.

I watched the men, starved for the sight of someone whose limbs looked in the right proportion. I fancied I could smell them, their honest human sweat—no fruits or exotic spices. Just the sight of them soothed my deep loneliness. The men marched along, not looking back at our colorful party as we passed up to the front.

Now I could see other battalions—if that was the word—converging. Some were composed of men. Others of various types of fae, some I’d seen already, some I hadn’t.

“Lady Gwynn!” Puck came galloping down the line to me, towering ostrich feather streaming with drama. He did look pretty spectacular. “I see you’ve acquired a page—most charming.” He frowned at Larch. “No uniforms for your retinue though?”

“At the cleaner’s.” Apparently the universal sense of “not accessible to anyone without major difficulties” came through my wisecrack loud and clear because Puck looked irritated but resigned. I could see him as a Wall Street exec, in a celadon Armani suit.

“The Great Lord Falcon will be angry if he sees this.” Puck glanced around, as if expecting Falcon to pounce on him at any moment.

“Do you all jump to his every whim?”

Puck tilted his head, the plume listing dangerously to the side. “His punishments can be most…unpleasant. I don’t care to repeat them. I’m surprised you do.”

I looked away, swallowing back my gorge at the thought of Falcon sinking his teeth into my vulnerable breast. Maybe I was lucky he hadn’t torn a chunk off and eaten it in front of me.

“We’re moving out to the Promontory of Magic,” Puck declared, forever resilient and careful to pronounce the capitals. “Follow me!” He angled off to the left, toward a rise of hills, virulent plume waving.

I kicked my horse into a canter—such a relief, as cantering was infinitely more comfortable than endless trotting—and looked to see how Larch kept up. He ran alongside easily, though his blue sheen had deepened to a decided deep purple.

Darling clung like a cocklebur to the saddle behind me, beneath the fluttering canopy of my cloak, and I leaned lower over Felicity’s neck, her white mane lashing my face and flying past to mingle with my dark hair. The sun spilled over the horizon, blazing unnatural gold.

My heart pounded with exhilaration at the ride, the morning, the warming damp air, the smooth cadence of hooves on grass. Perhaps I picked up on the battle ambience, because I felt fierce and excited. Maybe this would be a
Lord of the Rings/
Narnia
-
type war, full of heroics and flags—we certainly had the costumes for it—rather than a muddy, grueling
Private Ryan/Platoon
kind of thing. I’d definitely take glorious over gritty. I laughed at myself. Laughed at the wind in my hair and the blood pumping hot in me.

The conversation with Larch had Rogue circling my thoughts again. Fortunately I didn’t have the dream-dregs to contend with, too.

…when he drags you off enthralled, bespelled or enchained…

I fought down the uneasy arousal that image stirred in me. But I could feel my body’s interest, my awakened tissues vibrating with the ride, rubbing deliciously against the hard press of the saddle. Some part of me craved it, even as I knew in my head that I had been in chains and it was no sex party. Had Marquise and Scourge programmed this response, or had I always carried it, deep inside, far from the light of day and equal rights?

I thought back to that sense that Rogue felt responsible for my being here. His determination to possess me. Had he somehow known this about me, even from the other side of the veil? Had he somehow sniffed out that in this land I could be a sorceress, that I had this dark sexual thing inside?

Not pleasant to contemplate, but that might contain the key to getting myself home.

Felicity slowed as we closed on Puck, now picking his way up a rocky trail on a wooded hillside that seemed made of some kind of chalk or white sedimentary stone. My cloak settled back into a deep red drape that I adjusted to spill over one side of the horse at Darling’s indignant squawk. I let Felicity find her own way through the white stones, Larch falling behind to trail her. Ferns covered the shaded ground under thick trees reminiscent of an Alaskan forest landscape. I thought I could smell the hot prick of needle litter, but that was likely my imagination constructing something of home.