Chapter 14
Lem
We tear into the bread as soon as we leave the market behind us, too busy for several moments to do anything besides devour like a pair of pillaging vultures.
I sneak a glance at Agatha, bread crumbs clinging to my face. Actually, she’s nothing like a vulture. She must be as hungry as I am, but she still exudes an easy grace that makes even her bread-eating look refined.
My stomach twists. She really would make the perfect princess—
—as long as she didn’t say anything.
“You have crumbs all over your face,” she says when she notices my staring.
I flush, swiping at my chin and regretting the wasted crumbs.
“And what on earth were you thinking?” she continues. “Don’t you know anything about godmother gifts? Are you trying to bring the wrath of the whole Council down on us? I knew you were foolish, but I didn’t expect—”
I turn to face her fully, brows drawing together. “Listen,” I huff. “I don’t care if we haven’t gotten this annulled yet. You’re free to go, as far as I’m concerned, and take your blasted sassiness with you.”
“You’d be lost without me.”
“I’m lost with you. At least without you, I’d have some quiet.” I tear off another hunk of bread and chew moodily, eyeing her teapot. We should have refilled it at the village. “What’s wrong with the guitar?” I finally grunt.
Agatha looks at me as if I’m a very stupid child. “Nothing, as long as it’s yours.”
This is not enlightening, but her expression makes me bristle, so I refuse to ask anything further.
After a few moments of crumby silence, she sighs and offers, “The Council gets very snippy if their gifts change hands. They make sure they only work for the person they’re given to. Like the teapot.”
I recall the way I hadn’t been able to do anything with it. “So … you can’t play this guitar?”
Her face pulls into a disgusted sniff, although I can’t tell if she’s disgusted with me or the guitar—or, more likely, the world in general. “No.” She scuffs a toe along the gravel road as we walk. “More’s the pity. I actually know how.”
I take another bite of bread and chew thoughtfully. “Is it enchanted?”
“The guitar?”
“Yes.”
Agatha gives me that withering look. I flush. “How would I know?” she says.
I eat the rest of my bread in grumpy silence. It’s gone too soon, and my stomach churns sadly when I realize I have nothing left. The last of the breadcrumbs stick in my throat, and my eyes flick to Agatha’s teapot again. I wonder how much water she has left, and if she’d share any with me.
Not likely.
She finishes her bread, then unhooks her teapot from her waist and tips the spout to her mouth. I wrench my gaze away, staring glumly at the road before us. There must be another brook somewhere, or another village with a well, or another traveling farmer with a cart full of water—
My glum thoughts are interrupted by something hard bumping my arm. “Stand still,” Agatha says crossly.
I halt, surprised to realize she’s brandishing her teapot at me. “Oh—you don’t have to—”
“Be quiet, and open your dumb mouth!”
I do as bid. The water is refreshing, still as cold as it was in the brook, and has a faint flavor of something crisp and fruity. Agatha doesn’t give me much, but it’s enough to quench the worst of my dryness.
“Thank you.” I can’t figure this woman out—one moment insulting me in every possible way, the next sharing the last of her water.
“You’ll do me no good if you collapse.” She turns away.
Ah, there it is. Selfishness. Naturally.
Still, selfishness that benefits me, so I won’t complain.
Agatha
Stupid man.
He was completely useless in Thickwood—first bungling it with the corn merchant, then nearly ruining our chance at bread.
Still, I can’t quite forget the way he loomed over me protectively when the corn merchant was leering, just like I can’t forget the adorably surprised look in his eyes when I shared the last of the water.
I shouldn’t be flustered by either, but I am.
I wasn’t lying when I told him I gave him water because I don’t want him to collapse. What would happen to me if he wasn’t here, bungling and grouchy as he is? Most of the day has fled, and we’re still miles from anywhere.
And then, tomorrow, or the next day, we’ll find his friend and a magistrate, and I’ll be abandoned. I can’t confess to Lem how terrified I am at the prospect.
I don’t like him in any meaningful way, obviously, but I like the idea of being alone even less.
What am I going to do? I’ve seen the way men look at me, and know I could find someone who’d let me take shelter with him—but I fear that, too.
Lem, for all his faults—and I could list them!
—has never laid a hand on me, except in protection.
And I liked the way it felt.
And I hate that I liked it.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s slowing, weary from our long day of walking. And limping, I notice. His feet must be as blistered as my own.
We passed the time since Thickwood in the silence of reluctant allies, but as the daylight fades into the pinks and grays of dusk, I clear my throat.
He looks at me like someone who’s desperate for speech. That annoys me, for no reason. It’s not like I haven’t been wishing that he would begin a conversation for hours now.
“We should make a plan,” I say stiffly. “For tonight.”
Lem’s brows draw together. “I’m no good at planning.”
“So, what, you just want to figure it out as we go?”
“I guess?”
I let my expression convey my disdain for this idea. He understands the look I cast at him, his scruffy face flushing.
I pinch my lips together tightly. I can’t afford to say anything right now—my head is full of the thought that the combination of day-old beard and blushing cheeks is unaccountably attractive.
Godmothers help me, I do not need to be attracted to my husband!
“So … what then?” he finally says. “How far do you figure we are from … anywhere?”
I wait before answering, focusing my thoughts on maps and villages and practical matters. Things I don’t have to be afraid of slipping out. “Too far,” I say carefully. “I don’t think we’ll find another village before it’s dark.”
Lem frowns. “We can’t stop. Henry will be looking for me.”
“I know.” I’m glad that he’s being annoying again so I can shove those other pesky thoughts from my mind.
“But we can’t find him tonight. If he’s traveling toward Rhylorria, it’s over that.
” I point ahead at a looming mountain. “Which I will not be climbing in the dark. You can, if you want.” I offer him a mocking smile.
“I’ll be sure to eulogize you properly when you fall to your death. ”
He glowers.
Good. Very good. This version of Lem—the belligerent, spoiled, self-centered prince—is much easier to make sense of than the bumbling, protective pauper with the cute blush.
“Fine,” he finally says. “We’ll stop for the night.”
“Not here, you buffoon,” I say when Lem plants his feet in the middle of the road. “We can find something a little more sheltered.”
“Oh.” He takes two long strides to catch up with me. “Er, like what?”
“You really are helpless, aren’t you?” It’s a low blow, and I wish I could take it back as soon as I’ve said it. He told me that in confidence, an offering of vulnerability and the bridge to friendship, and I used it to hurt him. I shouldn’t have said it.
Lem retreats into himself, brows low over his eyes.
I bite my lip. “Do you want to know what Melusine did to me?” I blurt.
He looks at me with confusion. “Who?”
“Melusine. My fairy godmother.”
“Besides making you so—”
“So what?” I narrow my eyes, my repentance evaporating.
He sets his chin and doesn’t answer.
I match his silence. Fine. We don’t need a plan, anyhow.
We don’t need each other.
I certainly don’t need him.
I find a little clearing a ways from the road, and another handful of ramps for us to split. The pungent taste clings to my tongue and makes me long to refill the teapot, but the light is fading too quickly to go looking for water. We’ll have to do it in the morning.
I’m sure Lem will love that idea. Being tethered to me for a few extra hours will delight him.
We eat our ramps in sullen silence, then reluctantly lay down to sleep. Not too close, although I admit—to myself—that I’m chilly. I almost wish he’d roll over and share a bit of warmth.
I’d die before admitting this to Lem, so I keep my mouth clamped tight, and we pass a mutually uncomfortable night in the forest. From the rustling of his squirms and wriggles, I judge that he gets no more sleep than I, and it’s a relief when the first streaks of pale orange lighten the tree-laced sky.
I sit stiffly and work out a cramp in my left elbow, glancing over to see if Lem’s awake.
He is, and he’s looking at me with his face crumpled in its usual scowl.
I roll my eyes and open my mouth to say something sarcastic, but change my mind just in time.
I’d almost forgotten about my curse, and even though I could think of many sarcastic things to say, the foremost feeling in my heart is relief that he didn’t leave me in the night. I’m not alone yet.
Pathetic.
“I’m glad you got some rest,” Lem grumbles in a way that sounds as if he’s anything but glad.
My forehead wrinkles. “What?”
Lem, groaning, stands and winces. “You still look as fresh as the first time I saw you. It’s not fair.”
I stare for a moment. Can he really not see how tired and disgruntled I am?
The Poise is more effective than I thought.
I stand, but though my aching muscles protest, I don’t betray the discomfort with my expression.
Not fair, he says. As if he understood how much I hide behind my Gifts. As if he knew anything.
Not bothering to reply, I comb my fingers through my golden locks.
Even though I spent the night—two nights, now!
—sleeping among the ferns, it’s still silky soft and free of tangles.
That would be the Gift of Good Hair, a cornerstone of the Standard Progression.
I’m glad Melusine didn’t deviate from that one.
I catch Lem watching. He blushes and opens his mouth, but I don’t want to hear it.
“We need to find water,” I say quickly. “Shh.”
I listen, desperately, for the burble of a creek, but hear nothing but the twittering of the first birds. Another idea for the Council of Godmothers: the Gift of Knowing Where Water Is. That would be useful right now.
Since Melusine lacked the foresight to bless me that way, I scrunch up my nose and choose a direction, trusting that I’m Clever enough to find a stream … somewhere.