Part 8 (1/2)
”I see,” the lady replied in throaty tones that slipped into Gossamyr's ear so smoothly, she settled, and stepped back from the threatening sword. But not too far. A half circle of weapons were to her back. Kohl-lined eyes peered carefully at her. ”She is dressed oddly.”
Now Gossamyr gripped her pourpoint, trying to clasp the broken agraffe. It was too dark to make out details, so long as she stood out of the lantern's glow.
”My family indulges her whims,” Ulrich explained. ”Fancies herself a forest warrior, at times. Others, we must chase her cross the meadow to place a st.i.tch of clothes to her naked back.”
Blight that!
”How troubling,” the lady said. Her eyes sought Gossamyr's secrets. So dark, and moving up and down, and along every portion of her being. ”Yet you allow her a weapon? Might she not injure herself?”
”Oh, she does! The occasional hit to her head knocks her out for but a time. Blessed relief, I tell you, from tending her idiotic antics.”
”I am standing right here!” Enough. Gossamyr would not allow them to make jest of her with such falsities. She knew what Ulrich attempted; but his suggestion she was a lackwit only drew more attention to her than masking it. She nodded toward what looked now to be a cage all covered over with a tapestry tied at each of the four corners. ”What is in the attached carriage?”
”Allow her to approach me. Guards,” the woman commanded lazily. ”Step back. I see no harm so long as her brother stands beside her. I want to look upon madness.”
b.l.o.o.d.y elves. So now she was mad?
Yet, the woman announced her desire with such pa.s.sion it shot a prinkle up Gossamyr's neck. And not a favorable prinkle.
Eyeing the covered cage, Gossamyr stepped cautiously past the men who smelt of horseflesh and sweat, and who clinked with every c.u.mbersome step. Stealth avoided them, but, it mattered little; they could take her down with fight. She was no match to four men on their feet and wielding weapons. But if need be, she would give them a challenge. Oh, indeed.
Ulrich slid close as Gossamyr approached the carriage. His cheek brushed hers as he whispered, ”Caution, Gossamyr. We want to walk away. I do not favor a sword to my gullet.”
He did not leave her side, remaining just behind her shoulder. A presence that somehow stilled Gossamyr's apprehensions, almost as if grounding that part of her that wished to fly. With a glance to the well-armored men who stood but a leap to either side of her, Gossamyr then stepped up to the carriage. She did not get so close this time. Her enthusiasm must be restrained. This woman was not the Red Lady.
A movement from inside the cage alerted Gossamyr. Her sudden jerk to look to the side was met with a s.h.i.+ng of steel as two swords were released from their sheaths and placed to threaten.
”Relax,” the woman said to her men. ”She is but a troubled girl.”
Wincing at the bright light that beamed across her face, Gossamyr ducked her head to better view the woman. A small ruby had been pressed to the corner of each eye, distracting with each glint of lamplight. Her lips were glossed with an unnatural substance that also s.h.i.+mmered in the light. When she opened her mouth in a wondering observation, it revealed a row of small, thin teeth, almost as a fox's foreteeth. Sharp and made for exact cutting.
”Your costume is most creative,” the lady commented. The sound of her voice reminded Gossamyr of the ungraspable past. A piece of mortal, whole and deep, very similar to Veridienne's voice.
Forgetting her interest in the cage, Gossamyr merely stood there, betaken by the woman's unnatural allure.
”It grows cold for her.” Ulrich made a move behind her. Gossamyr turned to ask of his concern only to see the swing of his dark cape billow toward and around her shoulders. He fastened the embroidered peac.o.c.k agraffe at her neck and pulled the hood up over her plaited hair. ”I shouldn't wish my sister to take a chill.”
He'd covered her blazon.
He had not-he was... touching her. Mortal touched. A fearsome condition whispered by those who would never dare to visit the Otherside. The touch of a mortal makes you s.h.i.+ver, and the s.h.i.+ver never leaves, eventually it eats away a faery's wings.
But Ulrich's hands were not cold, rather warm. Instead of a s.h.i.+ver, Gossamyr smiled as a relaxing loosen of her shoulders chased back her fears.
”Where do you journey?” the lady asked.
”The next village,” Gossamyr replied.
”It is dangerous.”
”I crave danger.”
”Do you?” A chuckle again revealed those vicious little teeth. ”But there are Armagnacs.”
”You saw them?” Ulrich asked.
Sensing his sudden tension by a squeeze of his hand to her shoulder, Gossamyr peered cautiously out of the corner of her eye toward the direction they traveled.
”Indeed,” the leader said from his mount. ”We exited the city as a score of mounted Armagnacs, wearied and hungry, crept in.”
”Mayhap we shall pa.s.s around the village,” Ulrich said.
”It would be wise.”
”Do you journey for a convent?” the lady asked.
”Oh, indeed,” Ulrich spoke in Gossamyr's stead. ”The best place for my sister, you understand. She is marveled too easily. 'Tis why she became so excited to see you, my lady. If I may be so bold, your beauty rivals quite any woman my sister has yet to lay eyes upon. Mine, as well.”
Oh, but he was laying it on thick. It took all her strength not to swing about and knock him silent with a club of her staff.
”You like marvels, do you?” the woman asked Gossamyr. ”Mayhap you wish to see what I've in my cage?”
Gossamyr followed the slender finger that pointed out from the carriage and behind. Lace threaded through with glinting strands of silver fell over her narrow wrist. Gorgeous, the mortal vestments.
”Yes, please,” Gossamyr cooed. And then she found herself shaking her head. Snapping out from a strange fog. Almost as if a faery erie. Blight, what was this? 'Twas as if she was mesmerized by the woman. The mortal pa.s.sion?
No! Concentrate. She was merely tired and hungry.
”What is behind the tapestries?”
”Look at me,” the lady beckoned.
Spots of brilliant gold dotted her deep brown eyes. Gossamyr found herself leaning forward, to better scent. An indefinable odor, not like any flower or even the must of mortal earth, surrounded her. Almost cold, like the depths of a dark cave oozing with dribbles of ice water.
”Your eyes are brown,” the woman commented. As if it were uncommon. ”Have you ever...” She leaned forward, clasping the rim of the carriage door with long fingers painted with rust-colored designs that swirled across her entire hand.
Gossamyr swayed closer.
”...looked into violet eyes?”
Struck by an unseen force, Gossamyr pressed a hand over the agraffe at her neck.
”Do you believe in faeries?”
”Wh-what?” A step back found her tumbling into Ulrich's arms.
”We should leave you to your travels,” Ulrich said as he righted Gossamyr. ”My sister tires. We need seek shelter.”
Ignoring Ulrich entirely, the woman announced in spectacular breaths, ”I've a faery in my cage. Do you wish to see it?”
”A f-faery?” Finding herself quite unable to stand upright, Gossamyr clung to her staff. They keep them caged to display in market squares. This woman had captured a fee?