Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  The water muddied immediately with ugly reddish-browns and Blackbird set the sparrow girls to bailing water to dump out the window, while the other brought freshly warmed water from the fireplace. I listened for how far the water fell, but couldn’t hear it actually hit the ground. Good thing I hadn’t jumped.

  “What scents do you prefer, love?” Blackbird settled herself before a tray of bottles.

  “Umm, hazelnut?” At least, that was my favorite body butter. Damn, I’d miss that stuff. “Vanilla, cinnamon, mace.”

  “The dark sweet scents,” Blackbird agreed, a wink in her voice. Like an alchemist, she combined drops from various glass bottles. Then scooted a stool behind my head and poured some warm liquid into my hair. She carefully worked her fingers through the snarls, massaging my scalp. It comforted me and I soaked it up. Except I might still be behaving badly.

  “Should you be washing my hair? Seems like a noble lady ought to, well, supervise or something.”

  “Tush.” Blackbird poured more liquid into the congealed mass at the nape of my neck. “’Tis a privilege, dear. I volunteered, or was about to when Lord Rogue asked me.”

  “He asked you to wash my hair?”

  She chuckled. “Well, not in so many words, but rather to help you dress for the reception.”

  “Reception?” I sat up too abruptly, sloshing the water, and she tsked at me.

  “Yes, reception and banquet. Your debut. Now close your eyes.”

  She called Mina over with a bucket and doused my hair, sluicing away the suds. Blackbird poured more goop into my hair and settled in for a second wash. I waited for her to resume our conversation. She changed the subject instead.

  “I’m going to add some oil and comb it through to get the tangles out. Then we’ll wash once more lightly and we should be done.” She handed me a cloth with more of the scented soap in it, so I could scrub myself while she worked. Hopefully it wouldn’t be hard on my complexion. Least of my worries, I guessed. My mind was probably grasping at inconsequentials because I couldn’t yet grapple with this vastly changed reality. Still, I needed to focus on next steps.

  “So when is this reception?”

  “Oh, in a little while,” Blackbird returned so breezily that I knew she was ducking the subject.

  “Will you be there?” I winced as she tugged a wooden comb through the snarls. The comb smelled of sandalwood.

  “Only in the background, dear. I’m not so important, thank Titania.”

  “Is Titania your queen?”

  “A ruler?” Blackbird sounded confused as she launched into another shampooing. “No, Titania watches over us. Okay, Bhrta, rinse.”

  I sat still while the water sluiced over me. “I don’t suppose you have some kind of razor?”

  “A sharp blade?”

  “To shave my legs?” I lifted one leg out of the water and laid it on the rim. The silver ring circling my ankle winked in the light, the same color as the fog. I’d forgotten about it. How quickly one becomes accustomed to shackles.

  Rubbing my fingers over the sharp stubble on my leg I could believe it was at least two days’ growth. Bhrta and Mina came over, politely curious. Blackbird bent closer, eyes wide.

  “Why do you grow hair on your legs?” she asked, completely astonished.

  “Not by choice, I assure you. That’s why I want to take it off.”

  She shook her head dubiously. “Maybe better to get Healer to fix that for you.”

  “Never mind—please tell me I’ll have something to wear to this reception? Maybe something long enough that no one will see my legs?”

  “Oh yes!” The sparrow girls nodded with her. “Now, stand up and we’ll give you a final rinse.”

  I reluctantly left the warm water and let Mina pour several buckets over me, while Bhrta bailed from the tub. Where was all the water coming from anyway? This was far more than they’d brought in originally and no one had left the room since Blackbird locked it.

  Blackbird wrapped me in warm towels—there were advantages to this being-waited-on business—and led me to the fire. The buckets warming there were all full. All except the one Bhrta was still using to empty the tub. The buckets by the fire looked different, somehow. I unfocused my eyes and they almost glowed. That same shimmer as the amber bubble in my mind. This was their “magic.” But wasn’t magic simply technology that one didn’t fully understand?

  “Wrap up your lovely hair in this towel, dear, and we’ll get you oiled down.”

  I bent over and shook my hair out, then wrapped it up tightly. The towels weren’t made of the familiar terry but of a silky-feeling fabric. Blackbird bustled back with her tray, slid off the towel I was wrapped in and began rubbing oil into me. Which seemed a bit odd at first, but then no different than a masseuse working on me. She smoothed the oil over my throat particularly, warning me that though it was healed, the skin had been rushed through the process and needed special care. Good to know. The fire warmed my skin, heated the oil so the fragrance of cloves, nuts and cinnamon swam together. Blackbird carefully oiled under the collar and other silver bands as well, then buffed them with a cloth—might as well treat them like jewelry, she observed with characteristic cheer.

  Then she sat me on a stool, once again draped in a towel, with my back to the fire. She combed my hair, spreading it to the flames, while Bhrta and Mina finished cleaning up the tub. Mina brought over a tray with food of the fruit and cheese variety, maybe some kind of pastry things. I ignored them, though my stomach felt hollow. Not that it would hurt me to burn a little fat.

  “Best have something, dear. Lady Healer said you were to eat.”

  “No, thank you—not at the moment.” I tried to think of an excuse. Failed. “Are the water buckets magic?”

  “Oh yes—Lord Rogue fixed them up for us, so we wouldn’t have to haul water so far. They just stay full all the time, no matter how often we empty them.”

  “Like the pot of gold that never dwindles.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing as that, pet. It doesn’t sound nearly so useful.”

  “Tell me more about how magic works. Can you perform magic things or do spells?”

  “Me?” She fluttered. “Oh, Titania, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lady Gwynn—you should know. Some have the gifts, some do not. It’s unkind for someone as powerful as yourself to be so cavalier of your special status.”

  I turned and caught her hand. “Lady Blackbird—that’s the thing. I don’t know. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”

  “Don’t you?” Her black eyes glinted, just like her namesake’s. “It seems to me you’re the person who was there every step of the way.”

  “I was in my own world and then I was here.”

  “That’s often how it works.” She looked sympathetic and tried to pull her hand away.

  I sighed at her. “Won’t you give me any information?”

  “It’s really not my place, Lady Gwynn. Lord Rogue would—oh dear.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I tried to be careful, but I seem to have broken off some of your hair underneath in unsnarling it. I’m so, so sorry for it.” Blackbird sounded apprehensive. Of course, with prima donnas of the Nasty Tinker Bell and Lady Healer of Everything Under the Sun ilk running around, I wasn’t surprised. I reached back and felt the bristly stub at the right side of my nape.

  “Oh, no worries. I did that.”

  “I see, dear, of course you did. I believe I can braid it in.” Blackbird began tugging and weaving, apparently braiding my hair into some kind of up-do. She leaned in close to my ear, whispered, “Did you by chance cut your hair and add blood to it?”

  “Yes.” My heart thumped, remembering the bizarre impulse—and the vision I’d seen in Rogue’s mind ab
out it.

  “And were you near a gate?”

  “A gate?” I kept my voice and thoughts very quiet.

  “A place where, perhaps, in your world odd things occur?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s it then, Lady Gwynn. You spelled yourself here. There’s no two ways about it.”

  “So I could spell myself back?”

  “A powerful sorceress such as yourself could do most anything she set her mind to, I would think.” A thump sounded behind me and Darling padded over to rub against my legs. I stroked his arched back while he purred.

  “He’s taken to you, that one,” Lady Blackbird chirped out in her normal bright tone, briskly finishing the braids. Confidences were over, I supposed.

  Darling left my hand to butt against her legs. “Of course, we are all his servants where ear scratching is involved,” she added, leaning over to perform the service. “Now! Let’s get you dressed.”

  With the help of the sparrow twins, Blackbird wrapped me in layers of silk-and linen-ish fabrics, cut into wide strips so they encircled me like a sari or a mummy’s wrappings. Strips went between my legs, around my thighs, my belly and waist, secured over my shoulders, then wrapped tightly around my rib cage to bring my breasts together. Good thing they’d offered me the chamber pot behind the screen first, because this underwear was not the do-it-yourself kind.

  The chamber pot did the reverse of the water buckets. It magically emptied. Blackbird warned me to be careful not to drop anything in there I liked—several ladies had carelessly lost jewelry that way. When I asked her where the stuff went, couldn’t Rogue conjure it back again, she blinked at me and supposed the things went to the same place the water came from.

  Silly question.

  When they finished, I felt as corseted and stiff as the first Queen Elizabeth looked in her portraits, but I did have impressive cleavage. Now I knew where all the ladies got their figures. And why they’d found my own underwear so titillating. My poor little panties comprised about two percent of the fabric I had on now.

  “This isn’t for all the time, dear—just formal events, and Lord Rogue wanted you formal tonight.”

  Blackbird dropped a sheer robe over my head. It draped over me from neck to wrist to toe. She added several more, all light, all in various shades of beige, until I wore seven robes in a straight column of cloth. Mina offered me a pair of ballet-type flats, beige, of course.

  I glimpsed myself in the mirror. I looked like a Carmelite Novice. The braided hair was too severe for my face, emphasizing my square jaw. The cinched waist and impressive cleavage were completely obscured. The off-whites did nothing to complement my pale complexion and dishwater hair.

  “I am a symphony in neutral,” I declared.

  “Thank you!” Blackbird beamed.

  I tried to think of a way to tell her that wasn’t a compliment without hurting her feelings.

  “Usually I prefer brighter colors,” I tendered.

  “Oh no!” Blackbird looked horrified. Turning me away from the mirror, she took my hands. “No colors, no affiliations tonight. You must be neutral, nonthreatening—I thought you knew that. Didn’t Lord Rogue explain?”

  “When?” I scoffed. I jerked my hands out of hers and paced the room. “After he lambasted me for thinking too loud, but before he held the knife to my throat? I have fifty-three million questions and no answers! I notice he’s been markedly absent since I regained my voice, in fact.”

  “And who would blame me, really?” Rogue drawled from the doorway.

  I whirled around to see him lounging against the doorframe, keen blue gaze sparkling. He was resplendent in black. A velvety outfit that outlined his lean body so that he appeared as sleek as I was puffy. The blade of a knife to my undercooked bratwurst. I contemplated several come-backs, but he waggled a long finger at me.

  “Tsk, tsk, temper, darling.”

  He shrugged away from the doorway as the two tub-lads reappeared and, heads down, tromped back in, seized the tub and took it away without a word. I was sorry to see it go. Mina and Bhrta hustled after them, padding on silent feet. Darling slipped out, also. Ah, well.

  Lady Blackbird swept Rogue a deep curtsey. “Best of the evening to you, sir.”

  He kissed her hand and she blushed charmingly. “Thank you for your labors, Lady Blackbird. Once again you have exceeded my expectations.” He glanced at me. “She could hardly be any less attractive.”

  “Gosh, thanks.”

  “Best of luck tonight, Lady Gwynn.” She patted my cheek and tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear, whispering, “You’ll do just fine, dear—just do whatever Lord Rogue tells you to do.”

  Oh yeah, great idea. Rogue snorted. I smiled at Blackbird. Then impulsively kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for your extraordinary kindness to me.”

  She looked startled, round eyes sharp and bright. “I’ll remember this, lady!” She scooted out the door, closing it behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  In Which I Make My First Bargain

  “I had hoped that your irascible nature was due to the pain and that the healing would have improved your personality,” Rogue said as the door shut.

  He stood by the fire, arms crossed over his chest. Leather boots came up just over his knees and thick heels for riding added to his height. As if he needed it. He wore the silver knife at his left hip in a sheath glinting with jewels. A black leather belt threaded through the sheath swung low on his narrow hips. I pretended to be only noticing the knife and not the rest. And, oh yes, I was working on keeping my thoughts deep and quiet.

  I folded my arms over my own chest—not easy with this many layers. My breasts were beginning to ache with the confinement. The rest of my body pulsed against the tight cloths.

  “I’m not going to this party dressed like this.” I drew my line in the sand. He did the one-eyebrow raise, but didn’t move otherwise.

  “Stay here then,” he returned, “and we’ll decide your restitution and future without you.”

  He didn’t move to the door though. Just stood there, acute eyes framed by the thorns on his face and that glass-black hair, watching me.

  “Why can’t I go but wear something else?”

  “Why are you worried about—of all things—what you’re wearing? Titania save me from a woman’s foolish vanity.”

  “Look, I don’t know much about this world. Where it is, who you are—and I notice no one is eager to answer these questions—but I am not accustomed to being dressed up and trotted about. Contrary to what everyone here seems to think, I am not a pet. I might be a prisoner, but I don’t have to be a cheerfully obedient one. Why does it matter what I wear?”

  “There are things you don’t understand.”

  “Well, hallelujah, at last we agree on something,” I snapped. “Clearly there’s some kind of charged socio-political thing going on here—do you really think it’s a bright idea for me to walk into something like that totally blind?”

  “No.”

  I waited.

  The fire crackled.

  I returned his stare, refusing to flinch. As far as I was concerned, a monosyllable doesn’t count as a valid conversational response so the ball was still in his court.

  “We don’t have enough time,” he finally said.

  Ha! Won that round. I pressed my advantage. “How much time do we have? When does this party start?”

  “It’s not a party. It’s a reception and banquet. At which you will eat,” he added. “And it’s starting right now.”

  I glanced out the windows, where the fog remained the exact same shade of grayness. “How do you know it’s time? What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s time for the reception to start.”

  “Okay, now that’s just circular reasoning. I
f I were inviting you to a party—” he opened his mouth, so I held up a hand, “—a reception and banquet, then. I would say, ‘Hey, Rogue, the dinner starts at seven o’clock and it’s six fifty-six right now, so we need to be on our way.’ Now it’s your turn to try it.”

  He just looked at me.

  “Go ahead,” I prompted. Never let it be said that I can’t be stubborn.

  “We don’t measure time like that. Things start when they start. Time, however, can be wasted. Just like this. They’re waiting. We have to go.”

  “I want to know at least some basics. We can be five minutes late, or five parsecs or half an inch of melted wax or whatever the hell. I’m calling your bluff—I think you want me there for some reason, so unless you intend to carry me in kicking and screaming, answer a few questions and I’ll go.”

  Rogue started to run one hand through his hair, then apparently remembered it was tied back, so laid his hand against the left side of his face, elbow propped on his fist.

  Trust me.

  “Why should I? I have no idea what your agenda is. You yourself told me you aren’t my friend—right there I’d say that was a fine reason not to.”

  “Not to what?” He cocked his head to the side as if trying to hear a faint sound.

  “Trust you.”

  “You heard that.”

  “I’m working at being quieter—you said I’d hear you if I did.”

  He looked uneasy, glancing away from me for the first time, ostensibly observing the fire. It occurred to me that he hadn’t meant me to hear that, which meant what? It was some kind of suggestion, maybe. While he pondered his next move, I lined up my questions, keeping a close eye on him. Rogue really was rather staggeringly gorgeous. His hair was more loosely tied back, caught at the back of his neck in a jeweled band that matched the knife sheath. Something about that lean body made me want to curl up in his arms, let him take care of me…

  What had I been thinking about?

  I frowned, swirling my thoughts and feelings around, like stirring a pan of milk to bring up the little burned bits. A couple of bits that didn’t seem to be mine floated up—I dissolved them as I popped that amber thought bubble. I was kind of getting the knack of this.