“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Godren said. Then, curiously, he inquired, “Do you know well how to defend yourself, your Highness?” Perhaps it was not a tactful question, and he didn’t know what she would make of it, but it was a concern he felt compelled to look into.
“How do you mean?” As was to be expected, there was a twinge of sudden caution, of wary vigilance, in her voice.
“You do well enough proving you put your own discretional limits on pursuing relationships – that is, by calling me on prematurely suggesting we might ever be seen together in public – yet do you not think it is a more intimate state to meet in secret like this? In the dark, with music weaving fantasies in the background? It does not seem to bother you that I am a stranger, my background questionable, and that the drugged guards could never hear you scream.”
For the first time, her sly eyes turned guarded when she looked at him. He regretted that he might have just taken things too far and scared her away, but he did not regret planting due caution in her mind. He felt a tension rise as the princess considered for the first time that his advice could apply condemningly to him as easily as anyone else, that the warning might be doubly significant under the surface of his words.
The princess looked him up and down, and when her eyes returned to his, there was a sly light creeping back into them from their edges. She sat there collected for another two moments, drawing out her composure. Then she flung her forearm solidly into his throat, knocking his balance backward and canceling his wind. Reactively, his hands clamped down on the wall to catch himself, and he found his unprotected face bashed in with an elbow, followed by the sound of a blade being scraped swiftly out of its sheath. Recovering his balance, Godren’s hands flew up to deflect the knife, his vision still battered by black spots. What he received was not in the form of the sharp thrust or slice he was expecting, though. Suddenly he was under assault by the weight of grappling limbs and surprising brute force, progressively burdened until he was driven mercilessly over the edge of the wall.
The next thing he knew, he was dangling on the inside of the wall with his feet a few meters from the ground, clinging to the ledge where the princess knelt over him with a knife in her hand. Playfully, she trailed the weapon at the edge of his fingertips, as if she were going to use the blade to peel his fingers from their grip on the wall.
“I don’t make a habit of needing my guards,” Catris said from above him, leaning down on her elbows so she was closer. “Depending on others can prove frightfully inconvenient.”
Godren grunted as his wind came back to him. He hadn’t realized he’d lost it a second time; there must have been quite an impact between his body and the wall on his way down. Doubtlessly he would discover the bruising all down his front tomorrow. Craning his neck to better his view of the smug princess, he peered up at her silhouette. “It was…just a question,” he managed, feeling his bruised breath rattle in his chest.
Catris shrugged. “Not my fault you didn’t realize what you were asking for.”
Godren felt like he was growing heavier by the second, and his injured hand strained with the effort of holding his weight. Inwardly, he cringed, anticipating a fresh tear.
“So what…now?” he wanted to know, trying to ease his grip on the right side, but only ending up swaying right along with the willow branches.
Removing one of the pearl pins from her hair, Catris held the decidedly wicked sharp end just above his hand. “How would you like to go adventuring across the palace grounds?” she asked. “The guards should be waking up, and you could catch up on a few thrills.”
“I’d…rather not. Thanks.” Godren swallowed as he watched the pin hover over his skin. The tip gleamed ever so slightly – poison, he thought. He was decidedly wary of poison these days.
“But it would be fun,” Catris insisted. “Nothing to worry about – the king’s men are just fellows. You’d get off the hook after I explained things to them, easier than if you were caught down those dark alleys of yours.”
Justice is what I’m afraid of, Godren thought, but couldn’t say it. “You would have to give away your secret,” he pointed out persuasively instead. “And you would lose your privilege of escaping to the walls. Trust me, your Highness, no one would like me any better after you explained.”
“Hm. Then I suppose you’ll just have to get away,” the princess shrugged. It was the obvious solution. “And call me Cat, curse you,” she growled for the last time, and dug the pin into his hand.
The numbness so recently cured from his hand spread right back into it, fogging his bloodstream. His grip on the wall faltered, then slipped, and the rough edge dug into his other strained palm until, with urgent resignation, he grimly let go and dropped to the ground, suddenly alighted on enemy territory.
“Have fun,” Catris bade, and replaced the pin in her hair.
Cursing, Godren rotated to survey the grounds through the sheltering willow branches. The music had stopped inside the palace, and he could hear voices exchanging a report somewhere nearby.
Suddenly he was not so sure if he was really very fond of the princess. Instinct kicked in when the gravity of the situation suddenly intensified to a matter of him, as a wanted criminal, thrust into the midst of his most dreaded enemy, endangered on the grounds that were the very source of his condemnation. Of course Catris could not know, but what if she had just doomed him? Godren tried to keep his composure, and tried to forgive her in advance. His eyes were grave as he watched through the branches, though, and noticed movement next to the palace for the first time. There were guards on the balcony. It was unlikely they could see him in the dark from this distance, but he was afraid to break from the cover of the trees.
Then the voices he had heard piped up again, closer this time, and he moved up against the willow trunk to let them pass. Their conversation proved they were the guards Catris had drugged, waking up and agreeing to check the grounds for trouble. And like the princess had guessed, they didn’t want to risk treading too close to the subject of sleeping on the job, sheepish about slacking, and so decided not to mention the incident to the king.
“I should have them reassigned to the mines,” the princess said from the wall once they were past. “They’re a risk to have on duty here.”
Ignoring her, Godren took his chance and forsook the trees, staying low as he swept along the inside of the wall. Rustling willow branches, and the princess’s light, musical laugh, sounded in his wake and saw him off as he sprinted into the foreboding, lawful dark.
17: Ravens
Halfway through slinking off to escape the royal grounds, Godren regained his composure and found a trace of his skittish sense of adventure. It was as he was stepping over the dark, pooling formation that turned out to be the princess’s abandoned skirt that he suddenly rethought his strategy of tucking his tail and escaping as quickly and as harmlessly as possible. Pausing, he hovered over the garment before stooping to gather it up. Then, overriding his wariness completely, he stepped into the cluster of the princess’s original trees and ignored the wall behind him, no longer so anxious to climb it.
He waited until the princess thought he was gone, and then watched her come back down the wall so she could use the trees to climb down. Pulling himself up into the branches, he climbed out of sight. He heard the ravaged whisper of leaves and the creak of branches, and then the light silken rustle as Catris dropped to the ground. Risking a glance, he peered through the branches to catch her reaction when she discovered her missing skirt.
Catris stood over the empty ground with something dry and knowing in her stance, and then, with a small shake of her head, she headed off across the palace grounds. Godren waited until she wouldn’t be able to pick up on his own descent, and then he followed.
Catris took a clever route through the estate to avoid detection. She cut across the dark edge of a vast lawn and then wove her way through the gardens, using hedges and twisting paths to stay out of si
ght. When she submerged into a thickly vibrant forest of rose bushes, she slowed her pace, taking time to linger in the richly flowering atmosphere. The shrubs were positively dripping with roses, the path overflowing with shed petals. Godren’s boots stirred through them, crushing their scent into the air, and they fluttered in the princess’s wake. She paused once to pick one of the over-blooming flowers, and while he waited for her to continue, struck by an idea, he gathered rose petals and stuffed them into the folds of her borrowed skirt for safekeeping. As she moved on, he plucked a few roses in passing too, taking advantage of the numb state his right hand was reduced to by paying the thorns no heed.
Avoiding the radiant ballroom, the princess rounded the palace and entered at the side, and Godren lingered outside, surveying the outer appearance of the structure and guessing at her room. A few moments later, lights flickered on beyond a balcony on the top floor, and then his suspicions were confirmed as she appeared opening the glass doors that led out to the extended stone basin without.
Grinning, Godren moved toward the palace. Scaling a towering trellis that rose past her window, he alighted on the balcony and peered into her room. Catris was disappearing into an adjoining room, and he soon heard the sloshing movement of water and caught the cleansing smell of rose-scented soap. Satisfied that she’d be out of the way, Godren slid off the balcony rail and moved stealthily into her room. Keeping an ear open for servants coming to check on her, Godren unfurled the balled-up garment he held across her canopied bed. Arranging the petals across the liquid satin folds and leaving one of the intact roses on her pillow, he retreated to the balcony and began picking the thorns off of the remaining bouquet.
After a good soak, Catris reappeared in her night gown. She was toweling her hair, but stopped short and stared blankly at the bed when she noticed the flowery arrangement. When a bouquet of roses landed at her feet, she looked up at Godren where he leaned cloaked in shadow against the balcony rail.
“Miss me?” he asked.
Drawing the towel away from her damp hair, Catris stooped to pick up the bouquet, drawing out the mystery of her reaction. Godren stayed where he was, wondering when he might be hit with the disinclination that would express he had gone too far.
Absently fingering the petals, the princess considered before replying. “This is extravagant,” she commented.
Godren’s eyes swept around the room, taking in the foreign-themed canopy, the intricate stonework arching over the door, the life-like sculpture of a sinuous wildcat in the corner, the artfully-rendered chests that held her possessions, the draping chain-work on the ceiling that fanned out from her blazing chandelier…and landed significantly back on her. “It’s all extravagant,” he said. “I just thought this was a nice touch.”
“I hope you didn’t leave any thorns in my bed.”
“I sincerely hope the same.”
Treading over to her ebony nightstand, Catris placed the bouquet on its surface. “Thank you,” she said, “for returning my skirt.”
“Well,” Godren shrugged, “I didn’t have much use for it.”
“Will there be anything else?” Catris wanted to know.
“Indeed yes,” Godren admitted.
The princess raised a waiting eyebrow, lingering by the bed.
Smiling slightly, drawing out the suspense of the seductive charade, Godren ultimately pushed himself away from the railing, but turned to leave rather than entering the room. “Goodnight, Cat,” he said, a mockery of the obvious setting, and alighted on the balcony. But, at the last moment, he turned back. “One more thing. When shall I be allowed to collect on your offer...collect on your demand...to return with an account of my adventures?”
She relaxed now, seeing that he wasn't after anything more than an honest – not to mention warranted – inquiry; and teasing along the way seemingly only for good measure.
“I'm serving at the soup kitchens a week from now. Midday,” she offered.
He smiled. “Well If I find that my adventuring sparks a particularly ravenous appetite, I will see if I cannot stop for lunch.”
*
It was dawn as Godren mounted the walls of the Ruins and headed back toward the lurking prison he was bound to. He had lost all track of time while with the princess, and he could only hope Mastodon wouldn’t view his extended absence as an issue.
He was distracted with recounting the night’s events when a cawing, flurrying racket caught his attention on the wall ahead of him. Looking up, he was met by an odd sight. Cages lined the ledge, and trapped inside were multiple, frenzied ravens. Also trapped inside were rigged dead things – bait, no doubt, and Godren grimaced in distaste while wondering what the ravens had been captured for. Taking care as he stepped over each cage, Godren’s legs were battered by frantic, angry feathers. He stole himself against the smell, curiously eyeing the birds once more before leaving them behind.
Kane was playing with a cat at the upper entrance to the Underworld, and Godren shook his head at him as he went by. Sometimes Kane showed the most uncharacteristic, incompetent traits for the position he occupied.
Godren found Seth with Mastodon, and noted the raven that the mistress of the Underworld held on her desk. “…thoroughly brain-washed and addicted to our clever treats, now all that’s left to be done is enspelling its eyes – hello, Godren.”
“Greetings. What’s with the new development with the birds?”
“The incident with the wolf got me thinking we needed an additional secret weapon, one that compared in likeness to the edge of using animals. These fellows,” Mastodon indicated, stroking the raven, “are going to be our spies. I’m enspelling their eyes with a mirror effect – which basically makes their eyes hold the reflections of the things they see, so I can view them when the birds return from their scouting. We’ve ensured they will return by sustaining them on a rather addicting substance I concocted for the purpose.”
Godren made an agreeable face. “Can they do anything else?”
“I’m going to experiment a bit with influencing their aggressive instincts, but I require some more birds first. Sethos was kind enough to rig some more cages for me; they should bring me what I need.”
“I passed them on my way in,” Godren mentioned. “They were full.”
“Good. Get Ossen to help you bring them in. Seth, you too.”
Nodding, Seth rose to accompany Godren on his new task. Together they sought out Ossen. He was in the dungeon with Bastin, cleaning dart guns and measuring fresh poison into empty darts.
“It’s about time,” Bastin commented when he saw Godren. “We were beginning to wonder if those posters got the better of you, or if you lost them to the water and had to chase the current clear out of the city before you got them back.”
“It went something like that,” Godren replied, warming to the excuse.
Ossen ignored their arrival, keeping his focus on the gun in his hands.
“We’re bringing in the cages,” Seth said to him. “You’re helping.”
Remaining unresponsive, Ossen continued stroking the gun with one methodical swipe of his rag after another. It was only for no apparent reason that his eyes suddenly snapped to attention and fastened on Godren. The rag in his hand hovered in one spot, idle as the intensity in his eyes occupied his focus.
Finding himself a little disgruntled by the unwarranted suspicion and hostility in Ossen’s eyes, Godren wondered what he had done. Frowning a little, he passed behind Seth to intercept Ossen’s intense gaze, but Ossen’s eyes remained riveted to him.
“Are they full already?” Bastin asked, unaware of the abrupt tension.
“To the brim,” Godren replied, turning with Seth to leave. Ossen’s eyes followed him the entire time, oblivious to the look Seth gave him.
When they were outside, Seth mentioned his peculiar behavior. “What’s with Ossen staring at you like that?”
Godren frowned. “I wouldn’t know. How was he while I was gone?”
“Into
lerably, dreadfully normal.”
“Then I really have no idea.”
Ossen showed up to help with the cages, but never said a word and eyed Godren through the entirety of the task. Godren made an effort to ignore him, but couldn’t stop wondering what, in the gods’ names, he could have done to warrant the blazing suspicion in his rival’s eyes. After all, he hadn’t even been here.
Delivering the ravens to Mastodon, they left a few with her and took the rest to the dungeon where they designated one of the cells as the official aviary. Rather than disposing of the dead things, they reused the bait and set the traps again, and then Godren sought a place to sleep where no one could find him. It was just as much to escape Ossen as to catch up on sleep, though. For, while Ossen had always been openly keen on tossing Godren off the edge of the world and being done with him, Godren had never seen that particular look in his eyes before. It had been uncharacteristically startled, then almost wary – or had that been dread? But underneath it all had smoldered a murderous suspicion, something that, when Godren pictured Ossen standing victoriously over his climactic corpse in the end, took the smile that was always going to be there right off his rival’s twisted face.
18: Wages, Wishes, and Soup
“Your wages, Godren,” Mastodon issued, setting a sizable pouch on the far side of her desk. It didn't jangle – she was artful about it – but it looked heavy enough. He moved forward languidly to accept it, staying moot about it. But it was still an unnatural motion for him. He was grossly unaccustomed to getting paid – and getting paid for this...
He stowed it with what he hoped was indifference, rather than disorientation.
“Spend it wisely,” Mastodon bade, un-moved by the transfer. It was regular business for her.
Bounty Page 14
