Chapter 13
Rosie
Spreading lichen obscures my view of whatever is making the racket.
I leap back to the balcony rail, wiping dust from my eyes, and turn to peer up the wall, searching for the source of that ceaseless, earsplitting scream.
“Light!” I command, and the scintils illuminate once more, momentarily dazzling my eyes.
But when the initial flare fades, and my blinking vision clarifies, I see it: a small gremler caught by its tail in the sticky web of a cave spider high overhead.
“Oh!” I cry. “How horrible!”
Valtar joins me at the rail and looks where I point. “It’s a gremler,” he says.
“I know! And it’s going to be killed if I don’t get to it before the spider does!”
He glances sideways at me. “That’s…a good thing. Gremlers are pests. They’re destructive to magic stores. A brood of gremlers can wipe out an entire winter’s supply of magic in a few weeks.”
“This isn’t a brood of gremlers.” I snap.
“It’s one gremler. And a baby at that!” Tipping my head, I stare up at the struggling creature again, trying to gauge the height from the balcony to where it swings helplessly, caught in those sticky cords.
“I’m going to get it,” I declare firmly, even as my fingers move to unfasten the ties securing my skirts in place.
I’ve just pulled the ties free and dropped the heavy outer skirt to the ground, when there’s a sudden eruption of movement.
Three guards spill out onto the balcony, led by Captain Norlan.
Only then do I stop to consider what an odd sight it must seem to them: me standing there in my petticoats, having ripped my clothes off in broad view of all and sundry, while Valtar pointedly backs away, his eyebrows raised, hands up and palms out in silent protest. I look at the guards and blink, stumped for an explanation. “Um…”
Captain Norlan clears his throat, taking care not to look at my lacy undergarments. “May I be of any assistance, Princess?”
“Um,” I try again, then point. “It’s a gremler.”
The captain takes a step or two and looks up through the lichen. “Aye,” he says at length. “It is that.”
I set my jaw and force my next words to come out with more conviction. “I mean to climb up there and get it. But I cannot do so in these damnably heavy skirts. So, if you gentlemen would kindly just…?” I make a little twirling motion with one finger.
The guards exchange nervous glances. The gremler’s screams have reduced to sad little squeaks for the moment, punctuating the uneasy silence. Captain Norlan’s mustache twitches to one side. “Regretfully,” he says, “I cannot allow you to make such a climb. It wouldn’t be…prudent.”
No sooner have the words left his mouth than the gremler begins shrieking again, louder than ever, swinging and scrabbling.
I look up and gasp in horror to see the spider emerge from its hole and descend swiftly toward its prey.
A huge creature, as big as my head and pale as dust, it moves with that creeping multi-jointedness that is both so singularly graceful and so indisputably loathsome in its kind.
“Oh gods, there’s no time!” I cry, and rip off another layer of petticoats before anyone can stop me. My lower half clad now only in a shift and lacy drawers, I leap for the wall, intending to scramble right up the lichen.
Before I can begin my ascent, however, there’s a whistling sound, a twang, and a thick, oozing sort of crunch. A fork appears as though by magic, skewering the spider to the stone wall. Its legs move in sad, ineffective protest of the death which claims it. Then its hideous body goes still.
I whirl on heel, glaring furiously at Valtar, whose hand lowers from having just hurled his missile. He meets my fury with cool regard. “How could you?” I cry. “I could have saved it without killing the spider!”
“Really?” Valtar tips his head, brow puckering slightly. “The spider?”
Captain Norlan clears his throat. When I turn, bristling his way, he takes a deferential step back, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond my left shoulder. “It would seem the matter has been dealt with. If the princess would kindly…reclaim her garments?”
“What?” I growl, crossing my arms. “Never seen a lady’s knickers before, Captain?
” His cheeks flush behind bushes of facial hair.
I sniff. “I’m perfectly decent, thank you very much.
If it bothers you, you may turn around as I requested!
” With that, I rip at the laces of the tight and constricting bodice, pull it open over my chemise, and drop it to the balcony along with the rest of my finery.
With two short kicks, I send my slippers to top the pile.
The captain signals to his men, and they all hastily turn their backs. “Please, Princess,” Norlan begs, “if the king were to find out about this—”
“And why should he find out? Which one of your men is a telltale?”
“My men are honorable and upright—”
“In that case, you may ask them to hold their honorable tongues behind their upright teeth. What doesn’t concern King Alderin needn’t reach his ears. I hardly think he’s going to care overmuch for the fate of one gremler.”
“Maybe not the gremler, no,” Norlan mutters, “but you, Princess—”
With a huff, I brush past him and approach the lichen wall once more.
I am, after all, displaying no more flesh than is ordinarily visible in the elaborate costumes in which Philippa dresses me.
And I can’t very well go scaling a wall while carrying twenty pounds of extra silk and long trailing sleeves.
Besides, if I were to snag those delicate threads, Philippa would have my hide.
I put my hands on my hips, studying the best route up the lichen.
The various folds of fleshy, leaflike structures look stout enough to bear my weight.
I stretch up my arm, but though I can reach the lowest of the, for want of a better word, branches, I haven’t enough leverage.
I turn and catch Valtar’s eye. “Give me a leg up, will you?”
The prince blinks once. Then, like a man moving through fog, he approaches me slowly. Without a word, he crouches and interlaces his fingers, as though to assist me in mounting a horse.
I put my stockinged foot in his hands and place my own hands on his shoulders, suddenly rather more aware than I like to admit of how my prominently displayed bosom is now exactly on a level with his eyes.
He deliberately turns his head to one side.
The next moment, with a heave of muscle, he boosts me up so that I can grab hold of the lowest lichen branch.
I kick, struggling to climb, and my foot connects with something solid.
Valtar grunts, staggers, removing his support from below, but I manage to pull myself onto the lichen outcropping.
I peer back over my shoulder. “All right down there?”
Valtar looks up. His jaw is red. “You barely grazed me.”
I open my mouth to respond, when suddenly there’s a terrific crack. The next thing I know, I’m falling in a shower of broken lichen pieces. Apparently, the branch wasn’t as solid as it seemed. My body tenses as I prepare to hit the ground hard.
Instead I find myself caught in a pair of strong arms. It’s a bit of an awkward embrace—he holds me under the bust, my legs dangling, my back pressed against his chest. For a moment, we simply stand like so, neither of us fully cognizant of what has just taken place.
“You can…put me down now,” I say at last.
Very carefully, very gingerly, Valtar sets me on my feet. Shaking lichen bits from my hair and eyes, I turn to look up at his granite-hard face. He meets my gaze, unblinking. “Um.” I lick my lips, then slowly reach up and touch his jaw. “I’m afraid it’ll bruise.”
His hand comes up, presses against mine. Just for an instant, a breath. Then he grips my fingers and pulls my hand away. By the scintil light, I can see quite clearly the red blush staining his cheeks. “Your gremler is still in dire straits.”
Vaguely aware of Captain Norlan’s voice blustering somewhere behind me, I look up the lichen wall again. The poor little gremler kit continues to swing from the spiderweb, squeaking despairingly. It will never get free on its own.
“You’ll have to hoist me again,” I say, studying the wall. “That branch looks a little sturdier there, and if I don’t put my full weight on it—”
“I have a better idea.”
Before I have a chance to either question or protest, Valtar sets to work removing his own vest and tunic. He does it so quickly, so nimbly, it makes my head spin. Or perhaps the spinning is due more to the sudden display of manly back and shoulders presented to my wide-eyed view.
Something in my brain bursts into flame.
Not the hellfire flame everyone keeps expecting from me…
oh, no. This is a much redder, much hotter, much more delightfully delicious flame that flares straight up through the top of my head before plunging through my chest and settling somewhere low and roiling in the pit of my abdomen.
Oh, great gods and goddesses.
I’ve helped Mistress Iliyani treat innumerable ailing farmers and woodcutters in my day, which is to say, I’ve seen my fair share of masculine frames.
Nevertheless, I didn’t realize backs could be quite so muscular.
So chiseled and defined. Nor did I think it possible for shoulders to be so broad.
Technically speaking, the ill-fated Prince Bryon was bigger and broader, but nothing about him stimulated such a flood of heat across my senses.
Never before in my life have I felt such a visceral hunger at the sight of mere flesh. But here I am, practically drooling.
Why on earth did he take off his shirt? some small, reasonable part of me whispers naggingly. Such a gratuitous display is entirely unseemly. He could perfectly well climb that wall without—
Shut up! a more dominant, much less reasonable part of my subconscious hisses in reply: Shut up, shut up!