Chapter 13 #2
Because Valtar is in motion now, climbing the lichen wall.
He simply scales the rock, barely using the fleshy branches.
He makes it look easy, graceful, every muscle rippling in perfect harmony with the rest. The control he wields over his own body is…
ridiculous. There’s no other word for it.
He’s ridiculous, and the way my body is reacting to this vision of his ascent is even more ridiculous by far.
But I cannot tear my gaze from him.
“Damned dracori,” someone whispers, and I become aware of the guards on either side of me, craning their necks like I am to watch Valtar’s progress.
“Quiet, he’ll hear you,” Norlan growls in response.
Silence follows, and we all watch as Valtar reaches the spiderweb strung between two outcropping lichen branches. The poor little gremler squeals and twists in the air, a tiny ball of furious terror, convinced its doom has come.
A flash of steel, and the thickest of the spider’s threads falls apart. There are more threads, however, still gripping the poor little gremler’s body. Valtar reaches out to steady the creature. We all—the guardsmen and I—gasp out loud when it sinks its tiny little teeth into his hand.
Valtar curses and pulls back, hanging by one arm.
Oh gods, did he survive the first trial just to perish now?
Brought low by a gremler bite and a woman who cannot resist a small, fluffy creature in need?
Somehow, he catches his grip and braces himself with his feet.
Using both hands, he takes hold of the little beast and cuts free the last of the threads.
I expect him to let the creature go then, allow it to whisk away up the wall and into shadows.
Instead, to my surprise, Valtar begins to descend one handed while holding the gremler firmly in the other hand.
What’s more, he makes it look just as easy as the ascent…
like he’s strolling down a flower-lined lane on a balmy spring day.
By the time he lands with both feet on the balcony once more, he’s not even broken a sweat.
“For you,” he says, offering up his ferociously squeaking burden. “One juvenile gremler.”
Hands trembling, I reach out to take it.
It doesn’t bite me; creatures rarely do, not even the most vicious chimera or contrary cockatrice.
They sense a healer’s aura and go docile in my presence.
This poor little beast sags in my hand, a small, spherical ball of fluff so dense, one almost cannot feel the tiny body down inside.
Enormous dark eyes dominate most of its face, and pricked ears emerge on the sides rather than the top of its head.
The nose is a bright, black little button, so tiny and perfect, it simply begs to be squealed over.
But my attention goes to the wound on its head. It must have dashed itself against the rocks trying to get free of the webbing. “Oh,” I croon, cradling the poor kit to my chest, “it’s hurt.”
“Yes, it is,” Valtar growls, shaking his bitten hand.
I purse my lips. Then: “Here.” I turn to Captain Norlan and push the gremler into his startled grasp. “Take him to my chambers. That wound will have to be seen to before I can set him free.”
“Set him free, Princess?” Norlan echoes. “Well now, you know you can’t do that. Gremlers are like rats. Orders are to destroy them on sight.”
“But he’s only a baby!” I protest.
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll grow soon enough.”
My gaze flashes from the captain’s resolute face to the little bug-eyed creature clasped between his big hands. “I won’t have you destroy it. I’ll…I’ll keep it. As a pet.”
“A pet gremler?”
“Yes. Why not? They say rats are quite intelligent. Perhaps gremlers are as well.” The creature squeaks and blinks at me, cross-eyed.
Captain Norlan’s lip curls, but I persist. “Either way, I won’t have it killed.
Not after our brave Prince Valtar has gone to such lengths to rescue it.
So please, take it to my chambers and give it to Philippa. I’ll be along shortly to—”
Norlan opens his mouth, ready to interrupt me with protests, when Valtar’s voice rumbles suddenly from behind me: “Did the princess make herself clear?”
The poor captain retreats a step. Then, turning to the youngest of the guards beside him, he plunks the gremler into his hands. “You heard her,” he says. “Take this to Lady Philippa at once and instruct her to hold it until the princess arrives.”
The young guard looks like he’s been given a handful of scat but utters no protest. He scurries off, the squeaking gremler held out to the full length of his arms. Then, with solemn bows, both Norlan and the other guards back away into the passage, leaving the balcony to me and my champion.
I turn to Valtar just in time to catch his eyes traveling swiftly up and down my figure.
His gaze lands on mine, and I hold it hard.
He somehow has managed to don his wine-colored shirt once more, though it remains open, that horrible scar of his fully displayed.
I refuse to look at it. And I refuse as well to bolt for my discarded gown, leaving it in its pile of silk and trimming. Instead I hold out my hand.
He looks at it. Then at me.
“I might make for a poor princess,” I say, my voice cool and reserved, “but I was, until recently, a perfectly adequate apothecary’s apprentice.
Even Mistress Iliyani admitted I have some skill when I bother to pay attention to what I’m doing.
” I wriggle my fingers. “Come, show me your injuries, valiant hero.”
He hesitates for a few heartbeats, then extends his hand, revealing the perfect crescent of bite marks in the soft place between thumb and index finger. “Oh no,” I murmur, taking his hand and drawing it near to a scintil for closer inspection. “Does it hurt very much?”
“I am crippled for life.”
I flash him a look, which he meets with a solemn nonexpression.
I snort softly then tug his arm. “I’ll clean you up.
Don’t want it getting infected.” There are both water and spirits to be had from the table.
In short order, I’ve washed out the little punctures, and then, for lack of anything better to bind them with, I carefully wrap the rose-silk scarf around his hand. “That was very brave of you,” I say.
“I’ve faced worser foes.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Maybe. But that was nonetheless an impressive climb. Perhaps not as impressive as swinging across a vat of roiling lava but thrilling enough in its way.”
“It is my honor to thrill you, Princess.”
Damn the man. He’s going to keep me in a constant state of flushing if I’m not careful.
I look down at his hand, and find myself gently stroking the silk, smoothing out little creases.
Realizing what I’m doing, I let go abruptly and step back, crossing my arms. A chill prickles my flesh, and I wish now that I’d not stripped quite so many layers in such a rush.
“Please, Valtar,” I say softly, rubbing my upper arms, “tell me the truth. What do you really expect to get out of this whole sorry business?” I flick a glance up at him and find him studying his wounded hand.
“You cannot truly want to fight other men for the right to claim a stranger for your wife,” I persist. “Unless you somehow believe in this absurd quest to kill the Dragon Queen.”
“No,” he admits. “I do not think the Dragon Queen will be so easily destroyed. Certainly not by you.”
“There! We agree on something at least.” I tilt my head to one side. “So why are you here then? Be honest with me.”
“I was sent.”
“Sent by whom?”
“My superiors.”
“And have these same superiors also obligated you to be as mysteriously obscure as you can possibly manage? Is all this”—I wave a hand vaguely, taking in his tall, foreboding frame—“enigma part of a contracted arrangement?”
For a moment, there’s a flicker of unease in his eye, but it’s gone so quickly, I may have imagined it. “I wish I could be wholly honest with you,” he says slowly, choosing his words, “but there are some things which I simply cannot say.”
“Why not?”
He swallows. Then: “My brother’s life is at risk.”
I blink at him. His words seem to rattle in my head for some moments before finally slotting into grooves of understanding.
“Oh,” I breathe. Suddenly, I remember what he’d said during our first meeting—about the two princes of Inithana, one of whom chose to serve Mhoryga.
“And…and who exactly is threatening your brother?”
His gaze sidles away from mine. “There are factions of the old noble families of Inithana who still resist the Dragon Queen’s rule.”
I nod slowly, filling in the blanks of what he does not say. “So you are here against your will. Forced to compete for my hand and the dubious honor of accompanying me on a hopeless quest, all for the sake of your captive brother.”
“Something like that.”
“I’m…so sorry.”
“Why?”
I look down at my hands, my fingers twisting together nervously. I’d not intended to tell him. Even now, I must wonder at the wisdom of the impulse rising in my heart. But knowing what I do, how can I let him continue? He’s been honest with me; surely I owe him honesty in return.
“I hope you will be able to save your brother without…without winning the trial.”
“I will win the trial.”
The emphasis he places on the word is subtle and yet unmistakable. I wince, almost losing courage to continue. “No,” I say. “You won’t. Because just as soon as I can figure out how, I’m getting out of here.”