Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  My stomach wrenched. Fear flowed through me, my blood turned to mercury, thin and hot. I tucked my feet up, ready to stand, to run, to do something. One shoe was gone. Magic—I needed a spell against the Dog.

  Even as I thought it, the Dog raised his head, a hound scenting prey, and looked over his glossy shoulder.

  At me.

  Blood dripping from his muzzle, the Dog’s lambent amber eyes glared at me. Daring me. He licked his glossy muzzle and delicately stepped off the corpse, padding toward me like a panther.

  “No magic, Lady Gwynn, please,” Larch whispered, still clutching the spear that impaled the other body. As the Dog stalked toward me, I glimpsed another bloodied corpse just beyond the others. “Trust me. No magic.”

  “He’ll kill me,” I said.

  “No. He’s protecting you.”

  I strangled a sob as the Dog stopped in front of me. I could smell blood and meat on his hot breath as he panted gently. My breast throbbed, each healing tooth mark a pinpoint resounding with my adrenaline-fueled heartbeat. The prey in me wanted to run, to break cover, to heart-poundingly try for some safety even while I knew I couldn’t escape him.

  “He attacked me once before.”

  “To save you from yourself.”

  Oh.

  The Black Dog’s jaws fell wider into a canine laugh. He took one more step forward and I moaned, deep in my throat, lunch acrid in my stomach. He cocked his head, touched his muzzle to my temple in a soft warm whuffing. I patted his head, feeling awkward. He licked my wrist, rubbing his head against my hand. Back to friendly Lab mode. Then he vaulted over my head and trotted into the deepening forest.

  We watched him go in silence.

  “Who is he?’

  Larch glanced at me sideways. “Guardian. Passer of boundaries. Gatekeeper, guide and reaper.”

  “Reaper?” I strangled on the word. “I’m not dead.” Am I?

  “There are many ways and worlds to cross.”

  “Why is he protecting me?”

  Larch grinned at me, unexpected and somewhat eerie on his stolid blue face. “I suspect that’s a question more than one person would like the answer to. Shall we return to camp, my lady sorceress?”

  I nodded, blowing my breath out in one long exhale.

  Riding back down the hill, navy-dark Larch following as my horse picked her way along the shadowed descent, I fingered the tender bump under my hair, where one man had struck me. They’d crept up from behind to attack. Drag me off or murder me—it mattered little which. And the Dog had likely saved my life. Again. Though the first occasion seemed considerably muddier.

  “Who were those men on the hill?” I asked Larch.

  “Barbarians,” he confirmed.

  “Sent to kill me?”

  “Or capture. We were careless.”

  Okay then.

  We caught up with the long train of men marching back to some camp along the river. They strung along the road, looking fierce and exhausted. A mutter ran through them as we came alongside, passing rapidly, my horse’s fresh canter far exceeding their battle-weary tread. Some looked askance, others openly stared.

  I wanted to say hello, ask questions. This was clearly not the time. So I just rode alongside, soaking up the comfort of being near my own kind.

  A chant sprang up from a few throats, guttural rhythm to their heavy steps. Others joined in, the song spreading up and down the column, seeping like water through the tired faces. The words made no sense—instead I received a barrage of ideas, flashes of battle scenes, the dragons, the monsters, the fireworks from below, the blinding flies. Me, a small figure in black high up on the hill, midnight hair flying.

  I tried to close off the input and concentrated on the sound instead.

  Ahm prohd…Tbhee…Mehrkan

  Ahtleest…Ahnoh…Ahmfree

  It was the soundtrack.

  They couldn’t have understood the meaning behind the words, but they’d heard the awful loop enough times that the sounds had sunk in. They went on, male voices rising and falling in the cadence of the nonsense words. If only I had thought ahead, I could have given them something better. “Scotland the Brave,” with bold hearts and nodding plumes.

  By the time we reached camp, full night had descended and the tents were brilliantly lit with the disco patterns of the glowing pillows. Larch’s contingent of non-page workers and Dragonfly’s idle maids had clearly been busy. Not a corner of the camp wasn’t glowing. Already music was playing, different tunes from various tent groupings, reminding me of the fraternity stereo wars in college, with each house blasting a different song from speakers propped in the windows.

  “Lady Sorceress!” A brownish page I didn’t recognize bowed in front of me.

  “Yes?”

  “Brilliantly fought battle, Lady Sorceress.”

  “Thank you.” I said it drily, but he seemed not to notice. I nudged my horse onward.

  “Lady Sorceress!”

  I sighed. “How can I help you?”

  “I am sent to ask for Lord Darling’s services in the dancing tonight.”

  “I haven’t seen Lord Darling, yet—did you look at the tent?”

  “I believe he has returned from glorious battle. Just as your victorious self has done.”

  Victorious? I hadn’t thought yet about whether we’d won.

  “As Lord Darling’s liege, you must give your permission for him to provide services to the camp,” Larch told me.

  “Oh, well, Darling is his own cat. Whatever services he wishes to provide are fine by me. Will he be helping to treat the wounded?”

  “No, Lady Sorceress.” The page twitched from foot to foot with overweening impatience. “The dancing.”

  Of course.

  “Fine. Whatever. Permission granted. Knock yourselves out.”

  The page dashed off happily and we resumed our trek to the tent.

  Dragonfly greeted me with the delirious news that a large brass bathtub had appeared in the tribute tent, to her great amazement. I sent a silent thank you to the magic that seemed to ensure that the things I wanted managed to find their way to me, even without my direct intervention.

  I was just about to strip down and sink into the enticingly steamy water of the bath Dragonfly had prepared, when a commotion out front caught my attention. I heard Larch informing someone that the lady sorceress was engaged in private study and could not be interrupted. He was still on guard duty apparently—did the guy never sleep? Actually maybe he didn’t need to. What did I know of Brownie physiology?

  I pushed through the silken flaps to find Larch holding the brown page by the scruff of the neck so his toes dangled above the ground—quite the feat since they matched in height. The brown page, though, didn’t struggle, simply dangled like a recalcitrant kitten caught in its mother’s teeth. He saw me and moaned.

  “If it please you, Lady Sorceress…”

  “What? I said Darling could go play with you.”

  “Yes, and many thanks, Great and Powerful Lady Sorceress.”

  “But?”

  “But, if it please you, Lady Sorceress…” Larch gave him a shake, making his eyes goggle a bit.

  “Larch, set the poor thing down so he can give me his message and let me get back to my arcane magical studies.” I cocked an eyebrow at Larch, who simply sighed and set the brown guy down.

  “Many thanks, many, many thanks, Gracious and Great…”

  “You’re welcome. Message please?”

  “Lord Darling, he—well, he’s dead, Lady Sorceress. Magically choked to death.”

  Part IV

  Hypothesis Testing

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In Which We Pick Up Where We Left Off

  The necklace from Falcon.


  Even as I ran barefooted through the camp, dodging dancers and merrymakers who juggled flashing pillows, I knew what had happened. I should never have used it. It had been a trap, with the trigger somehow pulled on Darling.

  I had been tragically negligent.

  The brown page halted our mad dash, pointing the way to a knot of nobles and pages—some still spattered with dried blood and gore. At Larch’s booming proclamation that I had arrived, they opened up, forming an aisle for me. In the center of the group, Darling lay stretched out on a high table, on top of a glowing dark blue pillow, silent musicians standing around him in a doleful huddle. A page was diligently festooning Darling’s body with ivory flowers. He still wore his armor, an unnaturally stiff structure standing out around his lax furry limbs.

  I pushed the page aside and swept the flowers off, running my hands over Darling, ignoring the indignant cries around me. He was still warm, but oh so limp. I felt for the femoral pulse in his leg, difficult to find in cats anyway, impossible with my own heart thundering in my ears and my hands shaking. I turned him over so I could lay my ear against his little chest, his limbs still so pliant. Maybe I could hear something. Maybe I only wanted to too badly. Around me discussions flared over Darling’s death, his brave deeds on the battlefield, what sort of funeral would be most glorious.

  Snarling at them all, I gathered Darling up in my arms. “Clear the way, Larch.”

  They all stared at me, shocked, but also delighted with the unexpected turn of events.

  “Make way for the Great and Powerful Lady Sorceress carrying the burden of her dead Familiar!” Larch thundered.

  I clenched my teeth on a sob and plowed through the titillated sea. Falcon waited for me at the end of the aisle. He still wore his blinding armor, flame-gold now in the reflected light of the torches borne by the pages who flanked him.

  “Lord Darling is dead, Lady Gwynn. Won’t you let him rest in peace?”

  “Murderer,” I whispered. As if this said anything pertinent.

  “Oh no, lady. It was not I who placed the collar around his neck. So pretty, such lovely stones.” He brushed his finger over one and raised the eyebrow on the patterned side of his face, his blazing eye the same color as the jewels.

  I hugged Darling to my breast, feeling where Falcon’s teeth had sunk in, pinned beneath his sharp gaze. Anger and despair, two sides of the same coin, burned through the mental and emotional barriers instilled in me.

  Marquise may have been right to question the tightness of my bonds.

  “So sorry you took out the wrong target, but I have things to do.” I slipped around Falcon and he let me.

  “Don’t fret, lady,” he called after me. “I can have the stones reset into a necklace for you. You won’t be without it long.”

  I buried my face in Darling’s fur, blindly following Larch. Noticing his fur was wet, I realized I was crying. Crying silently and effortlessly, like I had when my old cat had died of cancer. All that winter afternoon and into the night I’d held her, thinking each ratcheting breath would be the last. Waiting for her to slip away. Until she began convulsing, crying in pain, and I called the emergency vet in the middle of the night, going to that cold sterile room to buy that final shot for her. I hadn’t been sure which of us was being put out of her misery.

  There was no one for me to call now.

  When I reached the tent, Larch held the flap open for me, while Dragonfly anxiously bounced up, a solicitous pillow in each hand. My bath still stood, waiting for me. Cold.

  “Night off, Dragonfly,” I said.

  I strode past her to my workbench, tenderly laying Darling on the surface. I ran my hands through his fur. Think. Think. Something rustled, distracting me.

  “Everybody out,” I ordered. “I swear, if anyone disturbs me, I’ll strike them dead where they stand.”

  “Good threat,” said a silky voice behind me, “but can you back it up?”

  I spun around, my body coiling.

  “Rogue.”

  He sprawled across the pillows in the otherwise empty tent. Languid, even indolent, he poured like ink over the gaily covered cushions, blue-black against their soft glow.

  “I like your pillows. Cute idea.” He smacked one, making it glow brighter. “Aren’t you going to strike me dead? I’m agog to see your technique.”

  “I don’t have time for you and your games,” I snapped. “Go torment someone else.”

  I turned my back on him and ran my hands over Darling again, feeling his muscle tone, feeling for life. Cooler than he had been, but still limp. No rigor mortis. How long did that take in a cat? I laid my ear on his chest again. Maybe I could hear for a heartbeat better without the armor. I reached for the buckles.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Rogue breathed in my ear.

  Proud of myself for not startling, I refused to look at him, knowing his face was right over my shoulder. The scent of cinnamon and sandalwood teased along my cheek.

  “Why not?”

  “His life is linked to it now. Without it, he’ll die in truth.”

  A dry sob suddenly escaped me. I clamped down, digging my fingers into Darling’s fur.

  “He’s not dead then?”

  “Death wears many faces.”

  I spun around to face him. Then stepped back, he loomed so closely over me. “Can you heal him?”

  “What are you willing to give me?”

  Nothing without a price. I stared at him, the green ribbon from my dreams flashing through my mind. From the sapphire flare in Rogue’s eyes, I knew he caught it.

  Rogue cocked his head at me in acknowledgement, the long tail of his inky hair sliding over one shoulder.

  “No.” But it came out a whisper.

  “Then what?”

  “This isn’t some kind of game of sex and power! We can flirt all you want after you deal with Darling.”

  “I accept your bargain.”

  Damn, damn and damn.

  “And, lovely Gwynn—” Rogue trailed an elegant finger down my cheek, “—everything is a game of sex and power.”

  I tried to compose myself. It didn’t pay to lose my temper. I slowly and pointedly removed his finger.

  “I believe we just agreed to after we deal with Darling?” I was pleased with my arch tone. “Wouldn’t want to violate the bargain, would you?”

  Rogue sighed elaborately. “Falcon gave you a pre-set trap. As soon as you invoke magic, it…grabs you. Not death, but not life either.”

  “Some kind of stasis.”

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  “But Darling wasn’t with the wounded, what magic would he have invoked?”

  “I thought you gave permission for him to facilitate the dancing?”

  “What does dancing have to do with it?”

  Rogue rolled his eyes dramatically and reached up to flick a long finger against the drying lily over the bench. We both watched it spin, its dusky indigos undiminished, a sweet crumbling scent wafting out with its movement. I tore my gaze away from it to find Rogue eyeing me, eyes glinting darkly.

  “Despite your innovative little tricks, there is much you don’t understand.”

  “No argument there.”

  “Lord Darling’s gift is to offer freedom from pain, you do remember that?”

  “Yes.” I was being patient.

  “How do you imagine anyone can dance all night long without a little assistance that way?”

  “Oh.” I glanced at Darling. “I hadn’t thought.”

  “You never do.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  He was watching the lily again, its inverted dance dying out. He looked almost sorrowful. I felt the urge to apologize but clamped down on it ruthlessly.

  “Why are you here, Rogue? How
do you know what’s been going on—the necklace from Falcon and me saying Darling could help with the dancing?” I asked it softly. How could you let them do all that to me? I tucked that last question away where he couldn’t hear it.

  Not something I wanted to hear the answer to.

  “I pay attention to my investments.”

  “Thanks for that illuminating response.”

  He grinned at me, a bright flash of teeth twisting the sharp lines around his mouth. “Maybe I’ve missed you, Lovely Gwynn.” He stepped toward me, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “The black is ravishing, but you didn’t have to do it for me.”

  “I didn’t. And we’re not flirting—we haven’t dealt with Darling.”

  “He’s not going anywhere. And you failed to define ‘deal’—he’s been dealt with.”

  I looked at the cat’s body on the table, inert, lifeless. Tears pricked my eyes and I stuffed them back. “But now what? What was Falcon’s plan if it had been me? Why not just kill me?”

  “Falcon doesn’t forget what I am owed, even if you do.”

  My eyes flew to Rogue’s—which were too damn close. I walked away, pacing. He leaned against the workbench, booted ankles crossed, an amused look on his face.

  “That’s a little under six and a half years away.”

  “Ah, my lady has been counting the days.”

  I glared at him. “So I know how much time I have to figure a way out of it.”

  He was at my side in a movement so fast I didn’t see it. I must have thrown up a hand to ward him off, because he seized my wrist and pulled the hand up over my head, while his other arm crushed me against his chest. Had I thought Falcon’s gaze was sharp? Rogue’s predatory eyes bored into me, midnight space, the sable lines stark against his skin.

  “Don’t even imagine the possibility,” he whispered.

  “Let me go.”

  “That’s the point—my answer is no.”

  “I won’t be your brood mare.”

  “No, you’ll be infinitely more than that.”

  He almost crooned the words. I closed my eyes against his proximity and I felt his lips, blazing hot against my cheek. I tried to yank my hand away but failed to move it even slightly. My whole body arched against him, thrumming with tension. Emotion rocked through me. The rollercoaster of the day had left me unbalanced. More so than usual, anyway. Rogue’s lips trailed to my throat, the light brushing singing through my nerves, burning through me. But I managed to hold myself still, as if uninterested.