Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  I knew it wasn’t from Blackbird.

  From the way she blushed under my gaze, looking carefully down, I knew my stare had grown as hard as my heart felt.

  “Lord Rogue sends his regards,” Blackbird said.

  I seized her by the wrist and leaned down close to her face, the flower heady with scent between us.

  “Why does he want a baby with me?” I hissed. The question escaped me unexpectedly, filled with the cold hate that had grown in the recesses of my heart. So many things I could have asked or said—this was what sprang forth.

  Blackbird shook her head and tugged a bit. “I can’t say, lady.” She looked at me then, her bright eyes alien. Her wrist felt spidery under my fingers. I could see Starling over her shoulder, owl-eyed and pale. I loosened my grip so Blackbird could slip her hand out of mine. And I knew by the regret in her face that she meant she was not allowed to say, not that she didn’t know.

  I nearly threw the blossom to the dirt for my horse to trample, but I hesitated. And she who hesitated was lost. I couldn’t destroy that beautiful flower. It had already seduced me with its spiced honey fragrance and outrageous blues.

  The lily gave me pleasure, too, as we rode along, Darling behind me on his traveling pad. I already knew it radiated magic, Rogue’s magic, as distinct as the flavor of cinnamon, so it was no surprise to find the petals remained dewy fresh, even as the sun climbed overhead.

  It occurred to me that having a piece of his magic could turn out useful. At the very least, I could study it.

  My hatred for Rogue and what he’d done to me, what he planned to do, sat cold and solid in my gut. If he thought this would soften me, he was sorely mistaken. Perhaps a bit of my feminine heart was charmed by the gift. I liked flowers, particularly this one. I’d known women who took all that a man offered them—dinners and gifts and admiration—then left without a backward glance when they had exhausted him.

  I could be that. To punish him.

  We rode through more of Disney Ireland. Once we cleared the hill beyond Castle Brightness, I never saw another building. No farms, no towns. Just emerald meadows and chocolate forests. Some of the groves boasted birds. Other sections were conspicuously silent, like the place I’d “landed,” and I wondered what it meant. I made a mental note to check those places out sometime.

  Puck cheerfully informed me that they marked the frontier. When I responded, “And after the frontier, there be dragons?” he frowned and said, “No, barbarians.”

  Sometimes we passed a field of flowers that could be on a gardening catalog cover. The blossoms bobbed in exotic beauty, their fragrances tantalizing the air around me.

  None, of course, could match my indigo Stargazer. I was sure Rogue would allow nothing less.

  Our caravan passed the night in one of the velvety meadows. I perched on a boulder, Stargazer lily draped across my lap, at a bit of a loss, as everyone but me seemed to have a job to do. Even Darling had trotted off somewhere, and a short, stone-faced guy led my mare off as soon as I dismounted, after setting my saddlebags next to me. Puck sent servants to make me a pallet in the grass from a pile of blankets and to give me a platter of these kind of travel biscuits we’d been eating. They tasted of honey and sunshine.

  I munched my biscuits and found myself missing Starling’s company as the gloaming deepened. I would have liked to stay in that great bed at Castle Brightness, pretend I was a princess and not a prisoner.

  But then, I’ve never been much of a camper.

  For lack of anything better to do, I crawled into my blankets. I set the flower next to me, where it would be safe. The others had gathered into various groups, sitting around campfires, singing and dancing in one cluster. Another group laughed so manically my skin crawled. I didn’t think I was really invited to join any of them. Not that I wanted to.

  No guards seemed to be posted. We were far from any of the groves of silent trees, which gave me some comfort. Would there be anything I could do, should the Dog show up? Probably not. Definitely I shouldn’t think about him.

  So I lay there and watched the stars brighten.

  They spun overhead in stunning glory. As with everything here, the firmament was sharper, more radiant—and they were the same constellations I’d seen all my life. And no Southern Cross, either. This sky shone pure northern hemisphere, Earth perspective. Orion strode boldly high with Sirius trotting at his heels. Leo’s question mark exclaimed that this was, indeed, the late summer season. At the sight, my heart first leaped in grateful familiarity. Then the implications hit me. It didn’t help that Sirius shone with a green more emerald than any star I’d ever seen. Betelgeuse’s usual silver shone almost cobalt.

  Was and not was. Neither here nor there, but somewhere else entirely.

  I tightened the soft blankets around me and closed my eyes. Sleep now.

  But I couldn’t.

  Last night I had slept deep and dreamlessly. Still recovering from all that sleep deprivation. By all rights I should be tired still. I tried to sink down, but my eyes only popped open again. Speared by starlight.

  Maybe I slept. It felt as though I hadn’t, my dreams filled with hallucinatory night skies. I definitely needed to pee, however. Groggy, I peeled off the blankets and stumbled a few feet away. Some fires were still burning, long-limbed silhouettes gyrating around them.

  Where to go in this open meadow?

  I trudged off a ways, the lush dew-damp grass brushed my bare feet and pulled at the hem of my white gown. It clung to my calves as I walked, the diaphanous material now sticking to my flesh, now billowing away. My hair hung heavy down my back, a silk cape.

  The grass beneath my feet gave way to cool, damp leaf litter when I entered the forest. Trunks of trees stood sentinel around me, starlight sprinkling down though the whispering leaves above. The night glittered with it. My blood sparkled, too.

  I lifted the Stargazer lily to my face and breathed in the heavy sweet scent of it. Thick as opium, it made my head swirl. I smiled, my breasts tightening with anticipation.

  And there he was.

  Black on black, Rogue leaned against a tree. His hair hung loose, like so much satin Spanish moss, blending into the ancient wood behind him. Shadows fingered over him, sliding through the lines on the one side of his face. On the clear side, his dark lips curved into a smile.

  “Beautiful Gwynn,” he whispered.

  The sheer gown shifted over my tight nipples as I walked to him, the blossom clasped in front of me, a bridal bouquet. When I neared, I held it out to him. He wrapped his elegant fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand down to his side, so that I came up against him, stretched against the length of his thighs. I braced myself on his chest, my hand over his heart. I could feel the alien rhythm of it through the black velvet he wore. Almost a waltz beat.

  One…two, three.

  One…two, three.

  He cupped my face with his other hand, holding me as he bent his head. I could see the deep blue of his eyes now. If lava were indigo, it would be like this. Rogue’s ebony hair fell around us in a glassy curtain and I swayed at the first touch of his lips. The kiss pulled me under and I drowned eagerly. His lips moved hot and sparking over mine. I fed off of his mouth eagerly, dry dirt soaking up spring rain. Mace filled my head. My bones melted away.

  I moaned and he pulled me tight against him.

  “My lovely Gwynn,” he murmured against my mouth, “I have missed you.”

  I heard a hissing sound and the gauzy gown I wore fell away, pooling at my feet.

  “See?” Rogue said. “Already you are mine.”

  I looked down and saw the thorns piercing me. Black thorns, glass-sharp, wove into my skin, white in the starlight. My blood trickled from them, dark and glossy.

  The flower fell from my hand, tumbling to the ground in slow-motion spirals.
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br />   I sat bolt upright, choking on a scream.

  Darling blinked at me in disapproval and yawned widely. The sky arched overhead, the stars fading, the horizon brightening with iridescent sunrise. My pulse throbbed through me and I tasted cinnamon in my mouth. I still wore the traveling gown I’d lain down in.

  The Stargazer lily rested on top of my bags, luminescent, violently blue in the breaking dawn. A gauntlet thrown down in challenge. The rage rose up through me. A cold and terrible anger. And now he thought to play games with me.

  Fine, then. Let’s play. Rogue wouldn’t know what hit him.

  I packed the lily away, not caring how I crushed it into the bottom of my bags.

  Even so, I dreamed again the next two nights. Every time I went to him and let him strip me, as helpless as I’d been with my trainers. Every night he showed me that I was already his.

  And every morning the lily greeted me, perfect in its sinister beauty.

  Though the dreams fell into tatters in the bright light of day, they drained me. As if I had spent every night walking the forest. He thought to take me from one imprisonment to another. Perhaps he, too, thought I had been permanently broken.

  He was in for one hell of a surprise.

  * * *

  When we rode into Lord Falcon’s camp three days after leaving Castle Brightness, the scene hit my bruised senses like a surreal carnival. I had expected something more of a war zone, to which Lord Puck responded that we were well back from the battle lines and so could afford the basic comforts. I didn’t know much about war, except for books and movies. This scene was definitely not what I’d pictured.

  Tents in an eye-jarring array of colors were jumbled around a green valley, with a bright brook flowing from a waterfall down the cliffside beyond. Banners with fanciful creatures fluttered gaily, music played and a group of long-limbed figures danced in the meadow. I half-expected to see unicorns dancing around rainbows.

  “See?” Puck said beside me. “Didn’t I tell you this would be grand fun?”

  Puck led me to a tent that could have belonged to a Saudi king. Cream silk swept up and gathered in a ribboned knot at the peak. Bright pillows tumbled over the floor, glowing in the slashes of sunshine falling through open skylights where the material had been rolled back above. The only spot not heaped with pillows was one corner where a girl with dragonfly wings knelt on a velvety rug by a table with platters of food.

  Darling picked his way to a canary-yellow cushion lying in a sunbeam—bypassing iris-blue and grass-green ones—and began kneading it. His purr filled the room. I sent him a picture of a goofy-looking cat drooling like an undignified kitten, but he only agreed happily.

  We’d meet for a War Strategy Feast later, Puck promised me, and promptly disappeared, leaving me alone with the faerie girl.

  “Would my lady sorceress like some plum wine or nectar?” she asked without looking up.

  “Is some water a possibility? And don’t kneel. You don’t have to kneel.”

  “I’ll fetch some from the stream!” She scampered up, grabbed a pitcher and slipped out the silk tent flaps, catching her stiff horizontal wings on both sides. I investigated the food, finding the same spread of sugared fruits, cheeses and pastries as the snack tray at chez Rogue. I wished that the food all be nourishing, good for me and not drugged, then plucked out a piece of cheese and surveyed my new home.

  Not much to survey.

  I tripped on a pillow trying to walk over to the other side of the tent to see if I got a bed. None in sight. Apparently I was intended to loll about like a harem girl draped over pillows.

  Dragonfly Girl breezed back in, one silk flap snagged on her right wing. “Shall I pour my lady sorceress some water?” she asked in her tiny voice.

  Red-gold curls rumpled around her face, a spring-green pixie outfit barely draped her tiny girlish body. I picked my way across the pillows—this was going to have to change—pulled the silk off her wing so it settled back to flutter in the breeze, then took the cold pitcher from her. Cold enough to be snowmelt. Interesting.

  “I need to make sure it’s clean first,” I told her.

  “Oh, it’s clean.” She nodded earnestly, curls bouncing. “I made sure no dirt went in it.”

  “A different kind of clean.” I really didn’t want to try to explain microorganisms and giardia to her, if they even existed here, but better safe than sorry. “A sorceress needs magically clean water.”

  What a blatant lie, but her eyes grew round and solemn. She nodded gravely. I almost felt bad for misleading her, especially just for my convenience. But not bad enough to explain about germs and disease and why I never wanted another healer near me. Easier to milk the eccentric sorceress gig than reveal my bleeding psyche.

  I wished the water pure and poured a glass, studying her over the rim as I sipped. She shifted restlessly, looking uncomfortable. I probably should have let her pour it, so she’d have something to do.

  “Are the wings new?”

  “Do you like them, Lady Sorceress?”

  “Call me Gwynn.” As the name left my mouth, I realized what I’d said. Just as well. Let the old me be truly dead. Easier to move on.

  “Oh no, Lady Sorceress, I couldn’t do that. It would be most improper. Please don’t ask that of me.” Her gray eyes welled with tears.

  That was me, tormenter of little faerie girls.

  “All right, no worries. ‘Lady Gwynn’ is fine.” Her tears vanished in a sunrise smile, making me wonder if I’d been had. “And you are?”

  “Whatever my lady sorceress wishes to call me.”

  “If your mother were to walk into this tent right now, what would she call you?”

  “But she’s not here—she’s at home.” Dragonfly looked profoundly confused.

  I tried another tack. “You’ve been here in camp for a little while now?”

  She nodded.

  “Presumably you haven’t stayed in this tent the entire time—if you encountered someone you knew on the way to the stream to fetch water, what would they call you?”

  “Servant of the Lady Sorceress,” she answered.

  Oh yes, of course. I could call her whatever I wanted and she would answer, as long as I meant her.

  I decided to sit down, not a graceful endeavor on the slick pillows. Dragonfly Girl scurried over, trying to plump up pillows around me. I felt like swatting at her. Especially when one of the iridescent wings nearly poked my eye out.

  “Sit,” I said, pointing an imperious finger at her, a la Starling. Amazing how quickly the lady-of-the-manor behavior came to you when you were surrounded by the obsequious. She obediently knelt in front of me, then remembered and changed it to a sitting position. Darling drifted over, sniffed at her, then eyed the wing hovering over his head. He batted at it and I tsked at him. Dragonfly looked frightened, though I wasn’t sure if it was of me, him or both.

  “Darling, leave the girl be,” I said to his disdainful look. He settled down into meatloaf position, eyes bright on the wing. I decided to let it go.

  “Were you born with the wings?”

  “Oh no, Lady Sorceress. Our family magician made them for me so I could be a good servant for you.”

  “Why do dragonfly wings make you a good servant?”

  “Because the Lady Sorceress can’t have an ordinary girl!”

  “I think I can.”

  “You don’t like me? I’ve failed already?” Her eyes silvered with tears again. “I haven’t even heard your requirements and you’re sending me home?”

  “Stop with the tears. That’s requirement number one.”

  She sniffled a bit, but dried the tears.

  “Can you use the wings—can you fly with them?”

  Dragonfly looked astonished, with a nose-wrinkle for my ignorance.
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  “Never mind. Do you want to keep them? They seem…inconvenient.”

  “Oh yes, Lady Sorceress. They’re way cool.”

  The faerie version of Valley Girl patter—just what I needed. I blinked against the grittiness of my eyes. If I could just sleep, this would seem less like an acid trip.

  If I could sleep without dreaming, I amended to myself. That meant dealing with that diabolical flower. And maybe an afternoon nap would keep me in slow-wave sleep rather than REM sleep, when dreams occurred. My own brain chemistry shouldn’t be any different than in the regular world. Hopefully.

  And if it had changed, now would be a really good time to find out.

  I set Dragonfly to clearing some of the pillows, creating a workspace and finding me something else to sleep on. A futon of sorts. I described the rolled cotton layers of a futon, watching Dragonfly’s terror of being unable to please me increase, and realized I could just transform some of the pillows into the kind of bed I wanted.

  Note to self—magic can be a shortcut. Remember to use it.

  On the other hand, sending Dragonfly on a scavenger hunt for various obscure items for the eccentric foreign sorceress kept her out of my hair. Not unlike sending a bored lab tech off for Erlenmeyer flasks of a certain color in my previous life. Though apparently napping, Darling pictured a few things he’d like to have as well, including a revised version of the spiked collar/breastplate combination. I let him know I’d make that, too. That way I could modify it whenever his whims changed. Which I expected to be often.

  Once Dragonfly left, I smoothed some pillows and lay down for a nap in my own sunbeam. I didn’t want to tackle the flower while I was muzzy-headed. My trunks had arrived before me, so I packed the lily away in the bottom of one.

  Darling curled up next to me in the curve of my body, a habit developed on the road. His purring warmth reminded me of Isabel.

  With a last wish that the lily would stay put, I crashed into sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Armies and Navies and Dogs, Oh My