20. Have the Honour
20
HAVE THE HONOUR
A bathtub of bright coppery metal crouched in a small tiled room, and though Ari would have never believed it, the house seemed to have enough plumbing to bring hot, faintly floral-scented water from a curved pipe set in the wall when Hannixe pulled a chain.
The other woman even turned politely away while Ari struggled out of every stitch—jeans, T-shirt, flannel, underthings, socks—to clamber into the tub. At least she hadn’t had to put up with an underwire during all this, and the chained man’s magic laundry-and-shower service meant her socks weren’t overly ripe. Her hiking boots looked sadly battered; even though high-quality they were also old, and had seen service she was certain they hadn’t been designed for.
The Grey Lady settled on a small three-legged stool beside the tub; Ari sat in silken-hot water, hugging her bare knees. How long had it been since she’d taken an actual bath? The copper container was luxuriously deep, but she still felt… vulnerable.
“’Tis good he did not see these.” Hannixe peered at the healing bruises on Ari’s arm—some from being yanked around during the fight against the clockworks, the dim shadows of older ones layered underneath. There were more up and down her ribcage and on her thighs; apparently the magical pondwater eased pain and sped healing, but couldn’t completely erase damage. The back of her head wasn’t tender anymore, though, and no scabs met her questing fingertips when Ari poked under her hair. “And on your throat, I did not notice those before either. The mortal realm is cruel.”
This one seems pretty violent too . “It was an accident.” The lie was reflexive, even in their strange language. “Did you… Are you mortal too?”
“I was awakened in the Whispering; some of your companions are thus. Others were found in the mortal realm long ago.” Hannixe’s large dark eyes, thickly lashed, widened a bit. She searched Ari’s face, and her expression was like an emergency room nurse who knew very well what had happened but was constrained from comment.
Okay. So some are native, and others are… well, at least we’re all bipeds . Ari quickly shifted her gaze to her wet knees, bearing their own ghostly healing bruises and scrapes from God alone knew what. Making her own face a mask to fend off interest or sympathy was an old habit as well. Water lapped the tub’s sides as she shifted. The heat was delicious, soothing faint aches and threatening to turn her into a puddle.
It was the nicest thing about this place so far. But the question of just precisely where she was—another planet, an alternate dimension, Tir nan Og—wouldn’t go away, a nagging pebble worked into a sandal’s sole. And the term found in the mortal world was thought-provoking as well.
If the wormhole or fairy door was two-way, that was certainly a new piece of information. She couldn’t decide if it was comforting or terrifying.
“Well,” the Grey Lady said, finally. Her stutter, like the hoarseness, continued to ebb. “You are here now, and our lord prince will n-not allow further misfortune. He is your first companion and eldest servant.”
He what, now? “Ah.” Ari wished she could press a rewind button on the invisible translator. “Maybe he should find a different job?” The final word was more like occupation since there didn’t seem to be a term approximate to career .
Hannixe’s laugh was bell-like, beautiful as the rest of her, echoing against the tiles. Why didn’t they nominate her for the position of whatever-the-hell? She was certainly more equipped than one tired, battered runaway murderess.
It was self-defense , Ari told herself. The enormity of what she had done hung over her, a wave ready to crash at any moment. Of course, guys who carried bows and rapiers were probably a little more forgiving of her desperate act than, say, a county judge.
Hannixe’s merriment faded; she tilted her head slightly. “Do you think that would please him?” A few small beads of steam-moisture clung to her glossy grey hair. “But let us speak of other things. How has the mortal realm changed? It has been long indeed since we rode to find new companions, or even simply for our queen’s amusement. I wonder at their dreams—have they gone sour?”
Sweetie, you have no idea . “It’s really different than here.” Ari tried to imagine any of these people seeing a car for the first time, or a high-definition flatscreen. A smartphone.
Now she really wished she hadn’t lost the revolver. Jazarl and his guys would probably be all-in on gunpowder, assuming it would put a dent in the big robot-things.
“Well, no matter, there is plenty of time to find out. The Underdark is renewing, and when you visit the Mere…” Hannixe’s broad, happy smile was a wonder, even if her cheeks were still damp and eyelids swollen. “But before that, we must make you comfortable. I have a gown that will suit, brought from the Keep. I have also kept something for you, and will return it anon.”
“That’s really kind of you.” If they started giving Ari heirlooms, it was going to get super awkward. This wasn’t the first mention of the ‘Mere’, either, and apparently something was supposed to happen in that vicinity. Maybe some sort of guerrilla gathering? “But all I need is…”
What? What exactly did she want? Well, staying in this bathtub forever would be a good start, though hardly rational or achievable.
“I can barely believe it.” Hannixe’s fingers were cool and dry, brushing a wet curl resting on Ari’s shoulder as if touching something precious. “So long, waiting and never speaking. How could I, with my queen gone? And in such t-terrible circumstances; there is not a sword sharp enough to p-punish the faithless accursed for what he has done. But I suspect our lord prince will find one to suit, and you need only stay with us. S-say you will, my lady Ari.” Her eyes shone, and her accent on the name was slightly different than Jazarl’s. “Do not leave us again.”
They kept using the word queen , and Ari was good old-fashioned melting-pot American, not a drop of blue blood in the entire family tree.
When these people found out, what would happen? Could she afford to let that be a problem for Future Ariadne, who was already looking at a whole tsunami’s worth of trouble?
“I’ll try,” she mumbled, and also tried not to see Hannixe’s brightening, like a child promised early Christmas.
The dress was far paler than Hannixe’s though sewn on the same lines, and both too loose in the bust and too long in the skirt until the other woman bent, her fingers flicking. A burst of strange musky non-perfume, a humming sound, and suddenly the hem was at Ari’s ankles. Another soft thrum, and the bodice became closer but not overly snug.
If it wasn’t magic, it was so close as to make no difference. Or maybe it was an incomprehensible technology, like steam engines or silicon chips might be for these people? Except if there was an entrance-or-exit and companions were ‘found’, had anyone fled into her world to escape the Bright King and the Golden?
Were there old stories about the hills near town? The Hardisons would never have talked about such things except to scoff and Ari hadn’t had time or inclination to research local folklore. Imagining Jazarl or Alzarien strolling down Main Street might’ve been amusing if not for the likely reaction of cops to rapier-bearing strangers with Kool-Aid hair.
Even the underlayer and shift Hannixe bundled her into were comfortable, and Ari wished she’d taken a few history-of-fashion classes. It would be nice to know if this was from a particular era; the V-waist looked medieval and the square neck was lower than she liked. Still, it was pretty, tiny pearls sewn in patterns along the neck, hem, and the long belling oversleeve cuffs. A few more bursts of that shower-and-laundry magic, Hannixe’s brow furrowed with concentration, and the gown fit as if it had been tailored.
Actually, the dress was flat-out lovely. The only problem was Ari couldn’t believe it looked even close to reasonable on someone like her . The urge to spin like a little girl in a princess costume, just to hear multiple heavy skirts move with that soft sweet sound, was overwhelming.
She quashed it, ruthlessly.
“There,” the Grey Lady said, nodding sharply. The two thin braids framing her face swayed with the motion, and this close Ari could see they were tied with grey ribbon matching her dress. “Slippers for my lady queen, too. First, though…”
A small table—it looked very much like polished rosewood—next to a pair of scarecrow-armed clothing racks held a dark wooden coffer, opening under Hannixe’s slim fingers. A bright silver gleam burst free, casting sharp shadows on the heavily timbered ceiling.
It was a necklace—or more properly, a torc. A restrained silver curve held a single large clear gem full of white light; Ari’s jaw felt suspiciously loose for the umpteenth time since landing in this dimension. The piece looked heavy, plainness of design barely saving it from overdone barbarism. Yet only that weight could possibly balance the jewel’s glow, not merely throwing back available light with magnificent prodigality but luminous in its own right, like a star caught in crystalline glass.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed, accents finally falling in the right places.
“The Carcanet.” Hannixe’s smile was nearly as bright. “Let me have the honour, my queen?”
Of what? The question was answered as soon as thought, for Hannixe turned to her, hands raising, and Ari couldn’t restrain a flinch.
The other woman paused, a shadow crossing her heart-shaped face, and waited.
Every girl was supposed to like jewelry, diamonds being a woman’s best friend and all that. But something this pretty, so heavy, so… so expensive-looking? No. Ari didn’t even wear her own engagement or wedding rings; they were kept in a box on Wanda Lee’s dresser.
All the same, she stared at the necklace, almost longing to touch. What would it be like, to settle something so beautiful against her skin? They kept saying queen ; this was probably some version of crown jewels.
“’Tis yours, I cannot keep it.” Hannixe’s eyebrows rose, and her mouth turned down slightly. “Please?”
Oh, God . Ari had to shut her eyes as metal, strangely warm, touched her throat. Fortunately, the reminder of Mike’s strangling grasp was brief, and the torc was oddly light—the weight was even, she thought, vaguely enjoyable. A spot of heat dilated under the gem, resting lightly against her breastbone, and the only thing more frightening than the sweet silk-sound of fabric moving as the shakes returned was how natural and strangely right a single piece of jewelry could feel.
Like Mom’s silver crucifix, no doubt now irretrievably lost. Getting dressed up was probably necessary at this point—you couldn’t have a pretender to the throne in Levis—but now Ari wondered if they’d give her regular clothes back at some point, or if she’d be returned wearing a ballgown.
“There.” The Grey Lady stepped away, tilted her head, and viewed her work with visible satisfaction. “Now for your slippers, and would it please you to descend? The knights will be waiting to partake.”
Partake of what? The bath’s heat lingered but tension returned anyway, stiffening Ari’s shoulders. “They’re waiting?”
“As is their honour and privilege. So few remain, though. Once we filled the Keep, your companions fair and fell, all merry and wild.” It sounded like a song, or poetry; a faint trace of huskiness remained in Hannixe’s voice. “Many were lost the night you suffered misfortune. The shock was too great.”
There it was again, talking about Ari like some kind of reincarnation. Was it just lip service? Either way, it was dangerous as Wanda Lee’s pointed little trap questions or Mike’s louder, fake-cheerful ones when he’d already decided to hurt her and was just looking for an excuse.
The torc warmed even more, a subtle pulse spreading from its contact with her skin.
“Forgive me.” Hannixe paused, the backs of her fingers briefly touching her mouth, a pretty little mannerism. “It must distress you to think upon. Come, your slippers.”
Slip-on shoes of creamy velvet with heavily embroidered silver uppers and very thin leathery soles, no match for Ari’s hiking boots but at least now she maybe sort of halfway looked like she belonged in this weird place despite her hair turning into a cloud of curls, no makeup, and the rapidly fading yellow ghosts of bruises hidden by long sleeves. There was no mirror to check if the marks on her throat were still visible, or to see how ridiculous she appeared next to Hannixe’s easy, unstudied beauty.
“There.” The Grey Lady straightened, clasping her hands. “Oh, I have longed for this; I should keep you to myself, but that would be s-selfish indeed. Shall we?”
Clearly, there was no way of escaping whatever came next. Ari nodded, and hoped nobody would bust a gut laughing at the sight of an interloper wrapped in borrowed finery.