Chapter 27 #2
The polite knight’s mouth snaps shut before he can finish, and out of the corner of my eye I see why. His twin is mouthing the word no whilst making a cutting motion across his neck.
Looks like I have a volunteer.
I turn to him, my arms crossed.
“I was just…” Merrek stammers.
“We,” Myrrdin chimes in. “Must be getting back to our job, Princess.”
“Your job, you say?” An idea pops into my head—one that has the knights exchanging uneasy glances. “Is it not also part of your job to see to my comfort?”
“Well, yes.” Myrrdin draws out the word, as if it might turn around and bite him.
“Hmm.” I nod, bringing a cold blue finger to my chin. “And if I were to say that I didn’t feel comfortable here in this carriage on my own, would it then be your job to rectify the situation?”
Merrek’s eyes narrow. “I suppose, but—”
“It’s settled then!” I plop onto the bench, patting the spot next to me. “You’ll stay.”
The knight’s face falls.
“Me?” Merrek gasps at the same time his twin exhales in relief.
“Mm-hmm.” I nod.
Buttons isn’t thrilled about being shooed from his throne, but with a little hiss he’s up and off, following an all-too-giddy Myrrdin out of the carriage.
“Best of luck, brother!” he calls as he slams the door shut behind him.
I watch to see which way he goes before his shadow disappears into the fog, but I suspect I’m not the only one with suspicions.
Merrek’s propped himself against the carriage wall, his arms and ankles crossed as his gaze burns a hole into the side of my head.
“I see what you’re doing,” he surmises.
I turn to him then, batting my eyes innocently. “Looking for a bit of comfort from a companion who just so happens to be extraordinary with a sword?”
“No, that’s not it. Though the flattery is appreciated and appropriately placed.” He grins, shaking his head. “But you are looking for something. Might as well name what it is.”
Beneath my playful facade, I weigh the words I want to say carefully. On the one hand, asking him plainly about what the Redhoods were after would save us some time. On the other, he could shut the conversation down before it even has a chance to begin.
No. This is a question that will have to be eased in. Hidden so far beneath the surface of discussion that it slips right past the detection of a male-wired mind.
“Alrighty then,” I concede, surrendering the subject for now in favor of the long-term plan. “What I should really like to know is more about my men.” I shrug, and it’s not entirely a lie.
There is plenty I wish to know.
Merrek leans back, pressing his lips into a thin line, clearly uncertain about entertaining the subject. But much like myself, the man can’t pass up a good conversation.
“What exactly is it you should like to know?” he questions.
And shoot if I haven’t forgotten every single question I had. There’s truly one person whose presence is a cause for curiosity. And that’s—
“Frog,” I start, ignoring the knowing grin working its way up to Merrek’s eyes. “He mentioned that his nickname was given to him by his friends. May I ask why?”
Merrek’s guard snaps back into place, though his shoulders have relaxed. Almost as if he’s hiding something about the painfully shy knight, a secret within a secret.
How curious indeed.
“When Frog was found he couldn’t pronounce his name. When he tried, it sounded like Ribbit.” Merrek croaks, mimicking the sound a frog would make and I can’t help but smile at his puffed up cheeks. “Anyway, Ribbit was hardly a name they’d deign to call him. So instead, they called him Frog.”
I slump in my seat, having thought for certain there was more to his nickname than a cute backstory. But I suppose that does make sense. A frog-like sound isn’t a lot to go off—Wait.
I replay the sound over and over in my head, when finally, I find it. The secret he’s trying to hide within the story.
“Merrek…what’s Frog’s real name?”
“Briar snare down!” Wolfe warns from somewhere in the distance.
“Briar snare down,” the twins call back, slowing their horses.
‘Twould appear our visitors from earlier left quite the mess, the fallen briars the least of the men’s worries. But I wouldn’t be privy to any of those.
I don’t know what stings more, not being trusted with the truth of something as small as a name, or being pacified with an even bigger lie. And an outrageous one to boot.
“A silver tongued swan stole his name, and once she has, it’s gone. Poof. Bye bye memory.”
Please. I roll my eyes.
“Still pouting, are we?” Rhidland asks, not bothering to look up from where he’s just shined his boot.
“A princess does not pout,” I huff.
“True,” he nods. “So what does that make you?”
“Oh, you little…” I bite my tongue to hide my smile, and return my focus to smoothing out the creases in my old nightgown.
There’s nothing I can do about the blood stains lining the arm and the collar, but the dress will be wrinkle free by the time I’m done with it.
God willing. Especially if it’s all I have to wear.
After Myrrdin came by to collect his small friend, he was adamant my new gown be washed. But I’m not convinced it wasn’t in part to keep me in the carriage for the rest of the day. Though I suppose both could be true…
Even still.
“If I can’t have answers, could I at least have a bath?” I plead, pulling my dark greasy locks out in front of me. “Even my ribbon is starting to feel a bit stale.”
The old man wrinkles his nose, pretending to smell something foul and I nearly keel over from embarrassment.
“Hurtful!” I laugh.
“Truthful.” He smiles.
“Fair.”
We both agree.
“Let me see what I can do about acquiring a bucket and some rags,” he sighs. “We should have plenty of water to get us to Castle Riches by the end of the week.”
My smile fades as I close my eyes, pulled down by the weight of what’s ahead.
In all the wonder of our travels, and the quiet moments shared between, I had all but forgotten this chapter of my life is nearing its final page.
How I wish this were all a dream.
Knock. Knock.
The rap of knuckles on the door stirs me from my sleep.
“That’d be the bath you requested,” Rhidland says, fetching the door with an oddly placed smile.
“Wait, the bath?” How long have I been asleep?
I lean out of the carriage window opposite the door and my jaw all but falls from its hinges.
The fog-choked forest and its endless growl of thunder have fallen far behind us. And in its place, we perch upon the edge of an impossibly high cliff, where the sea below hurls herself against the rocks with such fury that it swallows the crackle of fire whole.
Yet it isn’t the undeniable beauty of the ocean that’s stolen my breath.
It’s the sky.
The sun-lit sky.
Above the dark waters, delicate ribbons of pink and orange are woven through white clouds. After a lifetime in the dark, the colors feel almost enchanted, as though I’ve stepped into the first page of a fairytale instead of the last.
“I think I should like to sleep outside tonight, with you and the rest of the men. Do you think the commander would mind?” I ask, before spotting the old guard up ahead.
He’s laying out his armor and making up his bed—everything except casting the unnaturally large shadow over where I sit.
Slowly I turn, but before I even see him, my heart knows who I’ll find.
“Frog.”
“Yes, Miss Sunday.” He lowers his voice until it’s barely more than a whisper, his autumn green gaze never leaving mine as he pushes the door closed. “I would mind.”