What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?

by Cheryl Sterling

  Tavern, Muttle interjected quietly, the first she’d heard from him in hours.

  “Hanging out at the bar? Muttle, you’re the only one I can trust anymore.” She pulled on Mara’s arm. “Come on, we’re going downtown.”

  “Charlie?”

  It sounded sweet, but he knew the tone too well. He’d done something wrong in her eyes and was about to pay the price.

  “Jane?” He turned to look at her. Uh-oh. He recognized trouble in the sparks flying in all directions. “I thought you were at the cottage.”

  She came to a stop in front of him, her revolutionary attire garnering more than a few glances. “And I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can.” He took a sip of mead, fortifying himself. What had he done?

  A hand on one hip, the other pointed at him, she said, “Why are you leaving me alone with Eagar?”

  Charlie didn’t understand. The raw talk in the tavern had been about tonight’s couplings. He couldn’t imagine her and Eagar together. Truth be told, he couldn’t imagine Eagar with anyone, and Jane with no one but himself. The thought of her hands moving over his naked body—

  “I heard what you’re up to,” she continued, growing more heated by the second. “How dare you desert me? I need you here, not throwing the Unabomber in a swamp.”

  “Oh, that.” He’d not planned on telling her until the last minute, knowing they’d have this scene.

  “Yes, that. Why can’t they burn him at the stake here instead of transporting him so far?”

  “Now, Jane,” he said, taking her arm and hustling her out of the tavern. The street might have as many spectators but they’d sensibly keep their distance, unlike the louts inside. “The laws may seem complicated at times—”

  “Don’t patronize me, Charlie,” she said, pulling herself free. She blinked several times, adjusting to the bright midday sun. “When, exactly, were you going to tell me?”

  “Never” seemed the incorrect answer. Instead he fumbled, wishing for inspiration, determined to keep his temper.

  Activity at the end of the street saved him from answering. He heard shouts, and people appeared from different buildings, drawn toward the commotion. A few from the tavern stepped out, shading their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Jane asked, clearly upset that her tantrum had been interrupted.

  “I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it was timely. “I’m sure I need to find out.”

  Jane followed behind him. Charlie tried to ignore her, hoping that whatever had caused the halt in activity was trade-related, requiring his immediate attention. He pushed through the crowd that surrounded a bulky shape in the middle of the road. It took him a moment to fathom that the shape was two full-grown sheep harnessed together, with a man tied to their backs. A man with an arrow in his back.

  “ ’Tis Randolph,” Patrance, the local cartwright, said. He knelt by the man’s head, laying it back where he’d lifted it for identification.

  Randolph! A coldness pierced Charlie. The man had been due at the castle three weeks earlier with his shipment of wool. He was not three weeks dead, but he was certainly dead.

  “What type of arrow killed him?” Charlie asked. He knew the answer, recognized the design on the shaft, the length of the fletching. The type was rare in this part of Lowth, but he knew where it had been made.

  “Not Malin.”

  “Nor Goblin.”

  “Dwarvish neither.”

  The guesses from the crowd didn’t come close. None but perhaps Wesant the Hunter traveled as much as Charlie and would know it came from Malik. To make sure he was correct, Charlie leaned forward to inspect it. Shock hit him when he realized a piece of paper was wound tightly around the shaft.

  “Give me a knife,” he said, holding out his hand. He knelt by the body, trying to ignore the stench. Carefully, he cut the strings that held the paper, pulling it free. He stood and unrolled it.

  Shock hit him a third time, this one the most terrifying. Shaking, he looked over at Jane. He held the page out so she could read:

  Return the mortal to me.

  —Blacwin

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I can’t believe I’m here again,” Jane said under her breath. “I can’t believe an arrow and a freakin’ wizard are incentive enough to get the Supreme Court to reconvene.”

  She stretched her neck to see the crowd filter into Sylthia’s great hall and sit on benches. They numbered fewer than at the trial. Oh, God, had it only been three days ago? After all the talk of her “powers,” Jane expected the council to take a long time to find the correct punishment for her. Maybe fifty or sixty years. Instead, the appearance of two smelly sheep and an even smellier dead guy spurred them to action.

  Within an hour after the commotion in the village, word had reached her and Charlie to report to Sylthia. Once there, they’d had to wait more. It was three o’clock on a blistering afternoon, and she hadn’t eaten yet, a fact proclaimed by her grumbling stomach.

  “Hush,” she warned at its latest protest. “You’re still entitled to your last meal.” She asked Charlie for the twentieth time, “How much longer do you think they’ll take?”

  “I do not know,” he replied for the twentieth time. He didn’t look up from the paperwork he’d grabbed from his desk on the way in. No doubt it was some important schedule that needed to be completed before his journey. The castle couldn’t function without his schedules.

  “Don’t get in a snit, Charlie,” Jane said, pulling a piece of paper from the pile and holding it close to read. It made no sense whatsoever. “I know you’re mad at me.”

  “I am not mad at you.” He snatched the document back and returned it to its proper position. “I am busy.” His tone suggested she’d never been busy.

  “Hey, I work, too, you know. At least I did.” She couldn’t count the number of boring insurance forms she’d filled out during the day for her boss, Bernie Toulouse, owner of the Toulouse Insurance Agency. What a stupid name. What a stupid job. Who named their kid Bernie when he’d have a hard enough time with Toulouse-Lautrec jokes all his life?

  Charlie glanced at her.

  “I drew a paycheck,” she protested. Two paychecks, if she included her income from Realm of Pleasures. Too bad she wouldn’t get any commissions for this morning’s party. That would have been a fun check to cash.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” she repeated, goading him. He could be so stick-in-the-muddish sometimes. “You drop your contractions when you’re upset. That’s something I’ve noticed about you.” One of the few non-wing-related things, such as that he wrote left-handed, and his eyes were the same color as the way he liked his coffee—black with cream. A nice latte brown.

  “So, what do you think Eagar is going to do with me?”

  Charlie stopped writing and stared at her. She didn’t understand how someone could make it look as if they rolled their eyes without actually doing so, but he had it down to an art.

  “Whaaat?” she asked, all innocence.

  “You talk too much.”

  “It’s nerves. You should know that about me by now. I get nervous, I talk. They’re a pair, like coffee and cream, bread and butter—”

  “Gags and mouths?” he suggested.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “Kinky, but yeah. You into that kind of thing?” Jane tried to remember if she’d kept a pair of handcuffs.

  He acted as if he hadn’t heard. Oh, well, tonight she’d find out his level of kinkiness. Tonight. Her insides warmed at the thought.

  “If they ever get this circus on the road,” she muttered. “What possible connection can an arrow and a wizard have to do with me? What did the note mean? ‘Return the mortal to me.’ I’ve never been to Malik. How can I return?”

  Charlie did the non-rolling eye roll again. “I do not know.”

  “Take a guess. What do Eagar and Company have planned for me? Are they going to chain me to a goat until I suffocate from the smell? Trade me to the wiz—” Jane st
opped, appalled by the thought that popped into her head. “That’s it!”

  “What’s what?” He looked annoyed, his usual expression when she went on a tangent.

  “They’re trading me to the wizard. They can’t kill me, so they’ll let him do it for them.”

  “Jane, what are you talking about?”

  “I figured it out. The wizard wants me bad enough to kill Randolph, the messenger. And what does Sylthia need in exchange? What do we need that he has?”

  She had his full attention now. She could see the gears working in his mind.

  “The means to stop the Dymynsh,” he said slowly.

  “Bingo. Give the man a prize. Charlie, they’re going to use me as a bargaining chip. My life for the end of the Dymynsh.”

  She watched his disbelief war with the possibility. He shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t—”

  “Give me a good reason. This is a win-win-win situation. The wizard gets what he wants, Eagar is rid of me, and he looks good by doing something about the Dymynsh. Who loses?”

  His eyes darkened. “You do, Jane.”

  She’d already thought of that. She smiled. “That’s why I have you, Charlie. To negotiate better terms with Blacwin.”

  “Negotiate? With a wiz—,” he blustered.

  Jane patted his hand. “I trust you. I have from the start. Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t argued so well in court? Did you ever find out who voted in my favor?” Her money was on Tellise, the Dwarf, with his double chins and blue eyes. Wesant the Hunter had a hardened look to him, and Eagar had expressed his opinion on more than one occasion.

  “No,” Charlie answered. “They’re not required to tell. We may never—”

  A murmur rose from the crowd. Jane swung toward the room where the judges had retreated. They came through the door and walked to a raised platform.

  Charlie slipped his arm through hers as they stood.

  “Jane Drysdale of Earth,” Eagar spoke. She wished he’d drop the Earth part. She’d never see it again, and his use of the term rubbed salt in that wound.

  “Sir.” Her backbone couldn’t be any straighter. Ha. Take that, you old goat. I know your plan. I’m going to win.

  “Your imprisonment and trial have cost the Kingdom of Malin considerable expense.” He paused, as if expecting an apology.

  Expenses? What, some wall spackle for the storeroom and a few hundred chicken salad sandwiches during the trial? Hang the expense. She knew his words were for the audience. The witch Earthwoman takes precious gold from the royal treasure, gold that can save us from starvation. Ergo, send her somewhere else so she can use their gold.

  “Your presence in Malin continues to drain our resources.” Again, then came a pause to let the words sink in with the crowd.

  Jane stood rigid. Damned if she’d let him see his effect. She ate no more than he did. The hypocrite.

  “Considerable time has been spent devising your punishment.”

  Spent, drain, cost . . . did she sense a theme here?

  “Unfortunately, we have been unable to find an appropriate penalty for your crime. Until today.”

  Drum roll, please.

  “In a unanimous vote, we have decided to comply with the wishes of Blacwin, guardian of Malik. Negotiations will be made to turn you over to his custody.”

  Reaction swept over the crowd, building in intensity as they mulled over Eagar’s words. A communal light bulb went off in the hall. Comments started again; stares focused her way.

  Eagar spoke again. “We depart tomorrow. This case is closed.”

  Wait! We? We, as in Eagar and Co.?

  “I object!”

  Oh, God, had that come from her?

  Charlie’s hand tightened on hers with such force she almost cried out, which would have defeated his purpose.

  “Sirs? If I may?” He waited for a nod from Eagar before continuing. “If there is a plan regarding my client, I would like knowledge of it.”

  Eagar stared at him, his eyes sharp, black stones. Charlie, who had worked with him for ten years, wondered for the first time if he really knew the steward.

  “There is always a plan,” he answered. “A party of twelve leaves tomorrow, including the prisoners Capp’ear and Jane Drysdale. Capp’ear will be escorted east to the Magwrosin Swamp. From there we will proceed to Gaelen, home of the Dwarves. Then north and west to Malik, to begin negotiations with the wizard Blacwin.”

  A party of twelve. Twice the number six, supposedly a lucky symbol in Malin. But tomorrow? And Jane’s entourage tacked onto Capp’ear’s, the man who had tried to kill her?

  “You are to join us?” Charlie asked.

  Eagar nodded. “Wesant remains at Sylthia. Tellise will join us until we enter Gaelen.”

  Wesant was sound, solid, a good defender of the castle, a friend of King Garmade. A wise choice.

  Charlie directed his attention to Jane. Under her calm exterior he saw the grip she had on her fear. She held tight control on her shock at making the voyage in Eagar’s company. He needed to get her out of here before she said or did something to jeopardize her trip.

  He turned back to the elders, who waited for him to say more. Instead, he nodded to them, took Jane’s arm and hustled her from the hall.

  He led her up a flight of stairs to a small room with tapestries on the walls and an informal arrangement of chairs. She sat in one of them, and he knelt in front of her. She hunched over, her hands covering her face, shoulders shaking.

  “Jane,” he said. “Jane, calm down. It isn’t that bad. It’s but a few days’ journey to the swamp, and two weeks at the most from there to Malik. You won’t be in Eagar’s company long. I’ll keep him from you.” In truth, he’d never been to Malik, but he knew a good guide. They could travel swiftly, but to what end? He did not want her death. As much as he hated to admit it, her vibrancy and courage brightened his days. She twisted his life upside down, and he couldn’t imagine it without a new daily calamity.

  “Jane, don’t cry.” The light fragrance of flowers drifted from her hair. He lifted a curl between his fingers and let its softness slip through them.

  “I’m not crying,” she said, tilting her head. Tears glistened in her bright green eyes. “I’m laughing.”

  “Laughing?” He couldn’t keep up with her mood changes. “Why?”

  “I’ve beaten the bastard,” she crowed. “He doesn’t know what to do with me, so he’s turned me loose on a wizard. A wizard! As if that would stop me.”

  “A wizard is a serious thing—”

  “You’re a serious thing.” She poked him hard in the chest. “Have you ever known me to be beaten? I’m going to win at this. Watch me.”

  There had been the time when she’d cried in King Garmade’s arms, but Charlie thought it best not to mention it. “Never,” he lied.

  “Oh, Charlie.” She launched herself at him, knocking him off balance. They fell in a heap on the floor, Jane laughing.

  His body reacted immediately to her nearness. Desire drove into him with a startling intensity. He wanted no entanglements, and he would have none with her. Soon, she’d be gone, either destroyed by Blacwin or, if she won, sent back through the portal to Earth. He couldn’t imagine her fate but knew he was tied to it in some cataclysmic, almost horrific way. He had been from the start and would be, it seemed, to the end. He might as well get some enjoyment from it. Why struggle with himself? They both wanted a physical relationship. Why deny it?

  “Jane,” he whispered, touching her cheek gently.

  “Isn’t this the best?” she asked, her face alight. “To win? I can stand Eagar’s presence because I know I’ve bested him.”

  Charlie cleared his throat. “Let’s not talk of Eagar.”

  “No, let’s not.” To his amazement, she scooted off him and sat up, crossing her legs under her sheared-off dress. “Let’s talk about tonight.”

  Tonight? He had plans with her for tonight. But he had plans for right now. Couldn’t she see
his desire?

  Apparently not. She reached over and, with a tug and him scrambling to hide his erection, she got him into a seated position opposite her.

  “Is it romantic?” she asked. “The full moons and the dancing and the summer heat?”

  He wanted to show her romance. Now, not hours away. But Jane had an agenda of her own, and with Jane it was wise to stick with her wishes. To do otherwise opened up only possibilities for disaster.

  “Yes,” he said, pushing away thoughts of her naked body beneath his, and concentrating instead on the intricacies of pagan fertility rites. It was a shift that brought the same results. “It’s romantic. It will rock your world.”

  He’d bet on it.

  Eight hours later, Charlie’s desire nearly overcame him. He stood with Jane in a meadow above Malin Village, on the banks of the river that rushed from the heights of the forest to join the Tarradine Sea. The young and elderly had been taken home. As midnight loomed, those remaining hastened to lose their inhibitions. Mead and wine overflowed all cups. Music pulsated, wild and frenzied, the crowd thinning as couples paired off.

  Charlie fought his throbbing need. His palms sweated and his heart banged in his chest. The memory of Jane’s perfect, creamy breasts engulfed him. The intricate cross-weaving of her silk dress covered them. He could only think of the fastest way to rip the garment from her body.

  A bonfire burned in the center of the meadow, the flames scratching the black sky. Kindled with ferns and pine needles, it crackled from the fuel of nine different woods. Dancers gyrated around it in an urgent rhythm, spinning faster as the night grew. From experience, he knew that many of the women tonight wore nothing under their gowns, bringing them closer to the earth and sky. He wondered if Jane followed the tradition. Waiting to find out nearly killed him.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jane whispered. She craned her neck to look at the twin full moons. Rest, larger and closer, hung like an apricot-and-coral engorged globe. Slumber came after, a marbled lavender. They’d cleared the trees and cast a glow on lust-filled features and guided lovers to hidden trysts and wild couplings.