Rogue's Pawn (25 page)

Time to get after my list.

I retrieved the Ann Taylor dress, which smelled of some kind of musty sweet patchouli. Setting the dress into the water to soak, I sat cross-legged on the floor and munched on cheese and chicken-type things. I had thought about lighting a fire under the basin. In Mary Stewart’s books, Merlin said that creating flame was the first of his gifts to come and the last to go. As much as I had admired Merlin and wanted to be like him, I hadn’t even tried the creating-flame trick. Not even during sadism boot camp—though that was because my trainers had never asked that particular thing of me.

As I still felt uneasy about fire in the tents, I promised myself I’d try some fire-starting later. Hell, if I could pull lightning—though I still wasn’t exactly sure how I’d done it—I could certainly create a little flame.

But for now I concentrated on the water gradually warming up, while I poked at the dress occasionally with my finger, to sink the puffy parts under the water. When the water was hot, but not boiling, I added a bit of swirling, while I focused on the dragon blood leaving the dress and entering the water. Which didn’t work—I could actually feel the null resistance of it. The classic immovable object.

So instead I thought about the dress pulling away, leaving the blood behind, and, yes, that sang right. The dress spun around the basin, black embroidery catching the light here and there. My own little washing machine, if I cared to do it this way. Which I didn’t. This was more about organic chemistry than housekeeping, though I’d always been struck by the similarities.

I finally lifted the dress out manually. It would have been neat to raise it magically, but I wanted to be sure not to mess this up. I did wish a hook into the tent post next to the basin and hung the dripping dress on it, so that the liquid fell back into the basin. Then I carefully poured fresh water over the dress, rinsing it clean.

Three rinses in distilled water to clean glassware for sterilization, three steps for magic in the stories—coincidence? I didn’t think so.

I wrung the dress out one last time and took it out back, draping it over the bathtub to dry in the sun. Concentrating on the basin of water again, I warmed it up enough to simmer gently but not boil. Who knew at what temperature dragon blood denatured? I’d need better equipment than this to find out. Better to treat this like a wine sauce—just enough heat to reduce, not enough to evaporate the best parts of the alcohol. Eesh, what if there were valuable volatiles I’d be losing to the air, or worse, nasty toxins swirling about to poison us all? Couldn’t have that.

I grabbed my ink bowl and dumped out the fluid. I could always make more. On a scrap piece of paper, I sketched my orgo lab distillation apparatus as best I remembered it, keeping it very simple. Fewer things to screw up. Focusing carefully on the design, I transformed the erstwhile ink bottle into a glass funnel that fitted to the top of the basin, complete with cooling chamber and output hose to another bottle.

Resisting a mad scientist cackle, I set the distillation into motion.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

The Sun, the Moon and a Man

By the time Larch came to fetch me for my self-defense lesson, I’d eaten and made several useful entries in my grimoire. I was really beginning to long for some kind of database capability so I could more easily revisit and cross-reference, but alas for that.

The camp seemed bright with activity, a bit more purposeful than usual. Excited dancing about accompanied Larch’s broadcast of my name, with various greetings thrown my way and, in one case, manic juggling of what looked to be at least nine flashing pillows. Darling trotted along with us, tail held high and proud. He regally acknowledged the shouts of good wishes. No one seemed all that surprised to find him alive again.

Of course, likely all sorts of conflated tales of the miracle circulated.

We walked for a ways, around Falcon’s grassy hill, down across the stream, and then over a ridge on the far side. I drew in a surprised breath at the vista below—a whole other camp lay before me. A camp of people like me. I wanted to wander the tent alleys below, saying “Hi! Human are you? Me too!”

Larch had started down the hill and looked back at me with a politely servile but still pointed, waiting expression. Eager to see more, I trotted after him, soaking in the familiarity of sights and sounds. To my disappointment, Larch led me around the outskirts of the camp. I found, though, that I could easily pick up the human thoughts, like the scent of cooking on the breeze.

I could smell the battle from a few days ago, the sweat and blood in their memories. The grinding pain of the gravely wounded, the triumph and resolution of the more successful. More than anything though, the air eddied with resigned boredom—the scent of active men waiting. In places the mental babble became a thick soup and I understood why Rogue had been so annoyed with my loud thoughts that first day.

Besides being an intolerant megalomaniac, anyway.

At the end of a long row of tents lay an area pounded into the soil, the grass trampled flat and worn thin in places. Racks of weapons stood to one side, canvas draping shrugged along the ground ready to be pulled over them in case of rain. A tall man with bronze curls and a weathered face waited there, looking in our direction, then squinted at the position of the sun.

“I thought we agreed on three hours past midday, Larch!” he called out as we approached.

Larch titled his head to the side and shrugged. I caught the man’s irritation layering over a desire to kick the Brownie. Oh yes, it felt good to be around my own kind.

“I understand time,” I said. “From now on you and I can agree on a meeting and I can make sure to get here at the right time.”

He measured me up and down, his expression carefully polite and formal, but I caught the warm buzz of masculine appreciation. Darling pranced over to circle him.

“Can you now, Lady Sorceress? Not many of our kind end up working the magic with the fae folk.”

“None,” Larch said.

“Call me Gwynn.” Funny how I didn’t even hesitate over the name anymore. Maybe it helped keep the scientist and the sorceress separate in my mind. “I appreciate you agreeing to teach me something about keeping my head attached.”

“Officer Liam.” He bowed to me. “I don’t know anything about magic, but I can show you a thing or two to keep you on your feet long enough to shoot off some fireworks.” He grinned at me.

I blushed at the thought that passed through his mind and wondered if I should warn him that I could quite clearly get what he was thinking he’d like to do to me. The sensual electricity fed into me though, refilling that well. More study on the connection between sex and magic would be a good thing, so I said nothing. Besides, I had questions for Officer Liam.

“Larch.” I turned to him. “Thank you for bringing me.” I tried to think of a polite way to get him to leave. “Larch, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He frowned at me.

I glanced at Liam. “I’m going to be here, what, an hour?”

Liam squinted at the sun again. “Aye, an hour. Get here an hour earlier tomorrow and we can make it about two. You look pretty soft, in a most attractive way—but I doubt you can take much more than that, to begin with. But we’ll whip you into shape.” That sunny grin again.

Be still, my heart.

“The Lady Sorceress…” Larch began, his voice sinking into the stentorian tones that cleaved through crowds.”

“Larch, it’s fine. Go do something and come back…later.”

Larch bowed, nearly breaking in half with it, then stalked off.

“He’s not going far,” I speculated.

“They never do, Lady Sorceress,” Liam agreed. Darling wound between his feet and he looked bemused. “You brought your kitty with you?”

I opened my mouth, paused, shrugged. “What can I say? He follows me everywhere.”

Darling flashed me an irritated swat and I crouched down to scratch his ears. “Who’s a good puddy tat—hmm? Who’s my precious kitty?”

He narrowed his eyes, puffed up his tail and stalked away, picturing me running myself through with my own sword. Not unlikely.

“Let’s pick you out a weapon.”

I followed him over to the weapons rack. “Have you been in the military all your life? Were you born here?”

Liam paused and glanced at me over his shoulder. “The village I was born in lies about twenty days’ ride to the north, and I became a soldier as a young man, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I come from—farther away. I don’t know much about the people here.”

He shrugged, turning back to survey the weapons. “There’s not much to know. We’re people like any other, I suppose.”

“Not like mine.”

Liam smiled at me. “I’d love to hear all about your people, but this isn’t teaching you to keep your head attached.”

He pulled out a pair of glittering metal wheels as big as—no, including the spikes, bigger than—my head. I stepped back. He held them up thoughtfully, measuring against me with one eye squinched, and nodded in satisfaction. He set those down and grabbed a staff longer than my arm.

“Why not just a simple little knife?” I squeaked.

“Simple question, easy answer.” He pulled out a wooden practice dagger and handed it to me. “Okay, stick me with it. Anywhere that looks like a good spot.”

I took a step forward, careful not to step on my skirt, and sliced at his throat. Before I got the knife there, his hand was clamped on my wrist, stopping me cold, which was no surprise. “Now look down, Lady Gwynn.”

I looked to see that he had another wooden dagger pressed just below my sternum, poised to strike upward.

“See?” he said. “You have to get too close to a man to do any damage. Most everyone is going to have a longer reach than you do—any man would have you stalemated at best and gutted at worst before you got your blade near him. You want something that gives you an advantage.” He tapped the wrist he held meaningfully.

“I could learn to throw it.”

“Yes, but then you’ve thrown away your weapon.”

“Oh.”

“Keep that practice dagger, though. Knives can be good for desperation maneuvers—when you’re already in close and got nothing left. We’ll teach you a few. Keep one under your skirt.” Liam’s tone was all respect but, oh, the ideas in his head. I screened them out so I could concentrate.

“Now these beauties…” He seized the metal disks. “These make it real damn hard for even a much larger man to get near you.”

I took the wheels by the leather-wrapped handles, taken aback by their dense weight that pulled on my shoulder sockets. The polished metal shone blindingly. A sharpened crescent inside protected the back of my hand, while the outer curve of the disk sported blades radiating outward at regular intervals. Liam showed me how every surface was sharp—no matter how I poked or sliced, these would keep an attacker far away, and could I cast spells while I was moving? I should work on that, he told me sternly.

I tried an initial swipe with the disk. And immediately caught it in my clothes, slicing a big rip in my skirt and just missing my own thigh. Liam, who had jumped back, stepped nimbly in and removed the weapons from my hands.

“That, Lady Sorceress, is why we start you out with a stick. We’ll work with the sun-and-moon wheels down the road.”

Liam taught me how to swing the short staff in simple figure-eight patterns that created a shield across the front of my body. He showed me how to place my feet for the best strength and balance. And laughed when I managed to clonk myself in the head with the stick.

Liam looked bemused. “It’s probably a good thing you can do magic—you’re not much of a fighter.”

“I’ve always been a klutz,” I muttered. “And this is my first time.”

“Your people don’t learn to fight?”

“Some do. Most don’t.”

“You mean, all of the men, but just some of the women?” He nodded to himself. “I’ve heard of villages like that.”

“No, some of our men don’t either. Are there women soldiers? I haven’t seen any.” I cast my mind over the camp, but it felt solidly male.

Liam studied me. “No, our women stay home to defend the villages, since all the men must go to war.”

“Why do you do it? Fight in these fae wars? There’s no purpose to them except to entertain the nobles.”

A look of infinite sorrow crossed his face, like cloud swooping over the sun. “Your people must indeed be far away, for you to ask a question like that.”

“Yes.” I almost said more, thought better of it. “So, why?”

“Surely you understand that they have all the advantages over us—physical strength, magic, numbers.” He ticked the points off on his calloused fingers. “Besides, we have many vows constraining us.”

“What’s the deal with oath-keeping anyway? What happens to someone who breaks a bargain?”

“I hope you never find out, Lady Sorceress.” A horrific image dashed across his thoughts, but he suppressed it. Not so I couldn’t see, but because he couldn’t bear it. “Now let’s focus on what’s at hand. Try the figure-eight again.”

“I’ll probably just klonk myself.”

“Aren’t you glad that wasn’t a sharp-edged blade then?” He grinned, back to his sunny self. “Run it again.”

Larch found me tired, sweaty and bruised in several places by the time he returned. The stick was lighter than the sun-and-moon wheels, but not by much, and my shoulder cried with relief when I set it down. Liam slid my wheels into a leather carrier and handed them to me, along with my stick.

“I thought I’d just leave them here? Rather than dragging everything back and forth?”

“No, Lady Gwynn.” Liam winked at me. “Keep your weapons with you. Get used to having them around, at your fingertips like your magic wand. Beside your bed, under your pillow.”

I didn’t tell him I didn’t have a magic wand. Though it would be cool.

He turned back to straightening the weapons rack after telling me to meet the next day, if there wasn’t a battle. I felt his eyes, and thoughts, on me as I walked away. His desire fed and filled me.

Uneasily, I wondered what I was becoming.

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

In Which I Receive an Unexpected Guest

Larch and I walked in companionable silence back to the tent. I felt pleasantly tired out. Maybe some healthy exercise was what I really needed. Wash that man out of my hair and all that. Nothing like being around a healthy, red-blooded human man to make a girl feel better in her skin. And to fill up her well of magic.

“I shall return later, to escort you to dinner, my lady sorceress,” Larch told me on parting.

“What? What dinner?”

“With General Falcon. He requests your presence at dinner.”

Great, another mad war tea party.

“Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll get ready.”

I dragged the tub back into the tent, happily filling it with steaming water with a thought. At least the magic had come back. Who I would be here without it didn’t bear considering.

Pulling off the dress, I examined the now raggedly torn and dirty hem. I’d stepped on it more than once.

Cocktail length for war then.

Grimacing at my rapidly stiffening muscles, I climbed into the tub, sighing as the heat penetrated the soreness. I let my head rest against the high back of the tub.

“We’re living in a
tent?
”

I started out of my skin, water sloshing onto the floor. “Jesus, Starling! What the hell are you doing here?”

Starling twirled in place, skirts spinning out, blond locks shining. “I’ve arrived!”

“So I see.”

“They diverted me here just as soon as we heard, and here I am! No, no, don’t get out of the tub. Gracious, where are your servants? The page out front told me to come in, but not that you’d been abandoned without serving girls. Are you being punished?” Starling’s hands flew to her mouth in dismay. “You didn’t accidentally turn them into butterflies or something, did you?”

“What? No! There was Dragonfly, but she’s gone and I’m fine without servants. Now what are you doing?”

Starling had carelessly tossed her cape onto my workbench, tapped the rubber ducky on the head with a cooed “How cute!” and swooped down behind me.

“Washing your hair for you. And super-neat pillows! Now dunk to wet your hair.”

“I’m still soaking.”

“No, you’re not. Your page said you have dinner with the general. You have to get ready.”

Resigned, I dunked. Starling immediately started in on my hair with Blackbird’s nutty shampoos. The scent made me smile, remembering that day she’d washed my hair in my tower room at Rogue’s. “Who diverted you from where, once you heard what?”

“Lord Rogue. He’d already sent for me to meet you at his castle, to help you settle in, when he sent word that you were staying here and needed me.”

“So you were on your way to Castle Mistiness to meet me? I thought you had to reach your majority before you could…come serve me.”

“Dispensation,” she sang out. “Oh, and you didn’t notice!” Starling pranced into view, tossing her hair like a young starlet.

I wiped the soap out of my eyes. “I did so notice. Blond and beautiful.”

“I know!” She nearly squealed it. “It’s
so
sticking. Your advice was
perfect.
”

“Well, it’s only been, what, a week now?” So much had happened. I dunked again, rinsing my hair, and climbed out. Starling met me with a drying cloth and started to rub me down. “Starling, you don’t need to do this.”

She stopped. Stared with glistening dark eyes. “You won’t let me serve you?”

This again.

“No. I mean, yes. Stay. Love having you here.” I wrapped myself in the cloth and sat at the vanity, taking up my comb.

She sagged in exaggerated relief. “Oh good. We’ll have the best time.”

“You talked to Rogue then?” I tried to sound casual as I combed out the tangles in my hair. Starling slipped the comb from my fingers and took over the task. I sat back and enjoyed the sensation. There was something wonderful about being tended to.

“Mmm,” Starling hummed a noncommittal answer, her thoughts very blank.

“What does that mean?”

“My lady sorceress,” Larch intoned from the doorway, “Lord Falcon awaits you.”

“I’m hurrying.”

Starling selected a gown for me—a lovely gold one with a soft Marilyn Monroe bodice. Even though I protested that it was too much, she insisted that I needed to look my best and just to put it on already.

“Why are all your dresses in the trunk still?” Starling complained. “Why haven’t your servant girls gotten you a wardrobe and hung these up?”

“I can just wish the wrinkles out—don’t fret.”

A quick look in the mirror showed that the gently gathered bodice flattered me. I wished it to the right length along with a bit of wrinkle-removal. But now the black pumps were just too low-heeled for the dress. I looked clunky, dammit. And the outfit needed jewelry. Mine had been in the purse I left behind at Devils Tower. Left behind with the other relics of who I used to be.

I had too many weird feelings about jewelry now, to think about wishing up any, but with a judicious thought, I grew my heels, picturing the sleek, stiletto look I wanted. Maybe I didn’t have gazelle-like legs, but I could hold my head up high.

“You shortened your dress? It’s really not appropriate for a lady…”

“Starling—I am just so not a lady, you can’t even imagine.”

“Yes, but the others…”

“Call me eccentric, whatever, I don’t care. Tell them it’s not proper in my land for dresses to be long.”

“Like your sorceress’s robes.” Starling was peering at my now-dry dress that I’d tossed on the workbench. “What did you do to it? And what
is
that stuff?”

I peered with her at the dragon blood distillate. The liquid was clear, with a silver sheen that reminded me of mercury. I took a moment to disconnect my distillate flask and seal over the top with a wish—better than any stopper, that. I set the flask on my workbench, carefully back in a corner where it couldn’t be knocked off.

“Dragon’s blood. Or a refined version of it. Kind of cool, huh?”

Starling looked at me dubiously.

“I’ll ask Larch to get the guys to drag the dragon blood equipment outside.” We probably didn’t need it in the tent overnight. I’d clean up the bowls, etc., tomorrow morning.

“I can do that.”

“Aren’t you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, no, Lady Sorceress. That is not my place. I wouldn’t be welcome. Besides, there’s lots to do here.” She wrinkled up her nose.

“Gwynn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You call me Gwynn or I won’t let you stay.”

Starling opened her mouth to protest but I jumped in.

“I mean it. I can only take so much in one day. Don’t you do it to me, too.”

“Yes…Gwynn. I’ll see that this is all picked up.”

“Thanks, Starling—but don’t let anyone touch the vial or the residue in the basin. I need to make sure they’re not poisonous or anything.”

Maybe I needed a workshop tent of my own, too, if I planned on messing with anything else that would prove an unpleasant sleeping companion. And Starling would probably be living here, too, now.

I sighed for my short-lived privacy.

“My lady sorceress,” Larch said, yet again.

“What? Will he expire from hunger?”

“Lord Falcon…”

“Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

But I paused at the doorway, while Larch huffed with impatience.

“Starling?”

She smiled questioningly at me.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” I waved a hand loftily at Larch. “Proceed, James,” I declared with a posh accent, and grinned when Starling rolled her eyes behind his back.