Skirts & Swords (Female-Led Epic Fantasy Box Set for Charity)

by L. P. Dover

  By midday, I was completely spent. I’d caught my horse, but the training hadn’t let up. I was too tired to have any anger left, but I had a sneaking suspicion Chevelle was enjoying my “lessons.” He stopped by a patch of snow that had gathered in a rock basin, warming it to water for the horses. He jumped down from his horse as I melted off the side of my own and onto a rock, my limbs like molasses.

  He came to sit across from me and I flinched, expecting another attack.

  He smiled. “Well, at least you’re anticipating assault.”

  I didn’t have the energy for casual banter, but I managed to glare at him.

  He pointed northeast. “The village is a few hours’ ride from here.” After retrieving a new set of clothes from his pack, he handed half of them to me. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  I tried to pull myself together as he strode away. I stood, easing my clothes off, soiled and tattered from the days of battery. The damage on my bare skin was minimal; I had imagined much worse as I failed to block so many of the strikes. I satisfied my ego by giving the cat pee-smelling elixir more credit than was probably due. I put the new shirt on, soft black leather and fitted, corseted tight around my waist. Slim, dark wool pants and tall boots went on next, and I wondered at the village we’d be entering where black was appropriate. I could think of no one at home who had worn black; I envisioned the dainty blond elves dancing around in black leather and giggled.

  I glanced up to find Chevelle, wearing an unfathomable expression. I hurried to finish lacing my boots and threw the cloak around my shoulders as he placed my food on the rocks and went to ready the horses. When I sat to eat, he disappeared again, returning a moment later in fresh clothes. It took my breath. He had exchanged his worn traveling apparel for dark gray and black—the laces at his chest loose—a long, dark cloak around his shoulders, leather cuffs and sword belt. I struggled to gather my composure before he noticed me gaping. He despises you, I thought, working to unknot my stomach as we mounted the horses and headed north again.

  By late afternoon, our path opened up and we were looking down on a village nestled in the rocks of a small valley. Chevelle stopped on the ridge and I rode up beside him to get a better view. I would have never called what I was seeing a mere village. I couldn’t count the structures from our vantage point, but it must have been ten times the size of home. The buildings were the gray stone of the mountain, none were trees; there was really no vegetation at all, no greens, no browns. The entire layout was dark, gray stones and aged wood that seemed to melt right into the blue gray of the mountain. A cloudy mist kept the sun filtered nicely. I decided it was beautiful.

  “Where are we?” I asked. He nodded toward my hands as he started down the path. I glanced at my palms, dumbfounded; the map was gone. My skin had returned to its previous state, no indication whatsoever it had ever been burned. Was this our destination? My gaze shot automatically up to find the village once more, and I hastily clicked my heels when I realized I was being left behind.

  As we advanced, I could see movement amongst the elves. There was much activity, but it was nothing like home. No flags of quilts and rugs blowing in the breeze, no bright sunlight on a rainbow of colors, no dancing. A raucous sound traveled up to us and Chevelle turned to me and waved a hand, his magic bringing the hood of my cloak up to cover first my head, and then his own. At once, my stomach was a knot again.

  We rode into town at a walk; Chevelle was sitting straight and tall in his saddle, but his arm hung casually, hand resting on his leg. I was more comfortable watching him, looking for a reaction, than the passing elves. Their eyes were dark, their features strong.

  Two men walked by in the opposite direction, staring at us. The length of my cape blew back, exposing the shape of my leg, and they hissed indecent comments. I gasped, shocked at their brazen lewdness, and my horse picked up its pace to ride beside Chevelle. He held up the first two fingers of his left hand slightly, to silence me.

  We hadn’t ridden more than a quarter of the way into town before he turned the horses to a medium-sized structure, stopping before a water and feed trough. Dismounting effortlessly, he pulled me from my horse and into the building in a few quick steps, closing the door behind us.

  It was dark, but he waved a hand and several lanterns around the main room lit, giving it a soft glow. He indicated the right door on the rear wall. “Your room.”

  I dropped my hood and nodded.

  “I have some business to take care of before we move on.”

  Move on? So this wasn’t our destination. Or did he mean back to the village?

  He continued, apparently not noticing my perplexed expression as my mind ran through a list of possible scenarios. “The pouch from the vault, there was a stone in it?”

  He wasn’t asking whether there was a stone, but rather asking me to give it to him. I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter, given that I was a criminal, but could come up with no real reason to fight it. Everything felt as if it was in a fog; I was being tracked by Grand Council, I was completely ignorant of where I was, and I had apparently lost part of my memories and magic because I had been bound, was still bound. I realized he was watching me, waiting for the stone, so I removed the pouch from my pack and untied the lacing.

  As I reached inside, I felt the scroll and wondered what else was written in the ancient language. When I handed the dark red stone to him, he nodded, not examining it before slipping it into a pocket. There was a sound at the door and he placed a hand at my lower back, spinning me and urging me into my room. My door closed just as I entered, but caught a glimpse of deep red coming through the main door.

  I tried not to huff at being closed in a room. I could barely hear Chevelle speaking to his visitor in a formal tone. “Ruby.”

  Ruby? Before I could stop myself, I was at the door and then the wall, searching for a way to see in the main room. I found a tiny crack that allowed me enough of a view to see most of Chevelle’s back, and all of his guest. Ruby. She looked to be a little shorter than me, a little smaller, but seemed larger somehow. I thought I knew why. Around her petite face, somehow wicked and shameless while still sweet and adorable, was a mane of deep crimson hair flowing in curls.

  I considered her name, given that mass of dark red hair, but stopped feeling sorry for her the moment she reached out a hand toward Chevelle. There was something sinful about it, the way her hand turned seductively in the simple task of retrieving the stone from him. My stone.

  I couldn’t fathom why he would be giving my family heirloom to this woman, but it made me angry beyond reason.

  She pulled a package from her cape and handed it to Chevelle, smiling a temptress’ smile. It was about two hands in size, wrapped in a light brown cloth. He slid it under his cloak and it disappeared from my view. I could only imagine this was a trade for my stone. I peered fiercely through the gap in the wall, and her eyes flicked to me. I was sure she’d somehow seen me, and I held my breath as I jerked away from the hole. When she didn’t expose my spying to Chevelle, my pulse began to slow.

  I wasn’t brave enough to risk eavesdropping again, so I started to examine my surroundings. The room was relatively large and ornate compared to my old bedroom. The bed was wide enough for two, stone framed with dark olive bedding. A side table held a few trinkets and a decanter set. There was a small wardrobe in the corner and the east wall held a full-length mirror.

  I took a few steps forward and stared in disbelief at the image in the mirror. I had seen the reflection in the water, had known my hair was dark, but as I gazed at the woman in the reflection—clear and undeniable—I could barely believe my own eyes. The dark black silhouette, her figure emphasized by fitted clothes, dark cape draped behind her, this woman, she was breathtaking. I examined her closer, stepping forward. Her hair was gloss black, slightly windblown. Her eyes, my eyes, were dark. Still green, but gone was the muddy mix. Under my now black lashes were deep emerald jewels, flecked with the darkest brown.<
br />
  Chevelle had been right, this did suit me.

  It felt odd to marvel over my own reflection, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t like it. The changes were still unnerving, though, and I tried to remember what I looked like in my oldest memories, to see before, to see my mother's face.

  The door opened behind me.

  “Ah, yes,” Ruby purred as she looked me over. “Lovely.”

  Her inflection left no doubt that the word was not a compliment, but instead some recognition that she found it lovely that I was here, or maybe even something else entirely. I could see Chevelle from the open door behind her, standing in the main room with that annoyed expression on his face.

  “I, of course, am Ruby,” she said, introducing herself. “I’m pleased you’ll be staying with me during your visit."

  Staying with her? I had a pretty good idea I was wearing the same irritated look as Chevelle now. I was also certain, by the way she watched me, that she had seen me spying. Her mouth twisted in a smile, loaded with false honey. I noticed her eyes then, looking past the heavy paint they wore, to dark green jewels … emeralds. They were so like those I had just examined in the mirror and I had to look away.

  “Frey,” I replied softly. “Thank you for the room.”

  She seemed disappointed I had no further comment. She flitted her hand in the air in dismissal as she swirled out of the room and back to Chevelle, the metal bracelets around her wrists clinking lightly.

  “I’m off to town then,” she announced. “You know, a handsome hunk of horsemeat was asking about you this morning,” she told Chevelle.

  My ears perked up. Someone was asking about him? That must have been why we were here. And then I realized she had called someone a hunk of horsemeat and I had to stifle a giggle.

  Chevelle nodded, but made no remark on the inquirer. She winked at him on her way out and the gesture lit a burn in my chest, so I climbed into the bed and tossed the cloak over my head.

  When I woke, I had no idea how long I’d slept. The house was quiet, so I slipped from the bed, trying not to make a sound. I peeked into the main room from my door and found Chevelle sitting against the front wall by a small window. He was leaned over, working on something with both hands, making a light scratching noise. I started forward and my boot scuffed the floor, alerting him to my presence. As he turned, he slid whatever he’d been working into a pocket at his hip.

  It dawned on me then that this room only had the entrance and two other doors. If we were staying with Ruby, then the other door must lead to her room. I was ready to offer him my room to sleep, but the look on his face was so devastating that I could not stop myself from offering something else. “You don’t … you don’t have to protect me.” I hoped it was true. “I can turn myself in, take myself to the village, or …” I was trying to say Grand Council, but the words were stuck in my throat. No part of me wanted to surrender to my mother’s killers, but I could not make him suffer more than he had. My hands trembled. He was my watcher; he must have felt he needed to fulfill his duties, to keep his honor. He would finish our journey and return me to the village.

  “Freya.” He said my name as if it were tearing at him and my chest ached. “You don’t understand.” He was searching for words again. “You can’t submit to Grand Council. You can never submit.”

  He was right, I didn’t understand. Did he intend to return me to the village, to High Council?

  “You remembered … what they did to your mother?”

  I felt my face pale. Did he mean to submit was to accept her fate? The image of flames and a circle of cloaks surrounding her was there again, and I had to force it away before it turned to an image of me. Protection, he’d kept saying as we worked on magic. They were going to burn me.

  “They would … kill me … because of the pendant … the library?”

  “No, Frey. You have broken some of your bonds. They will not risk trying to bind you again.”

  I struggled with an intake of breath. He stood and started toward me, about to speak again, just as the door swung open, and then his face flushed with anger.

  “Elfreda!” Steed was through the door and to me in two long strides. He grabbed me at the waist, picking me up and spinning me like a child, my cloak swirling behind me. The shock and exuberance of his greeting was too much, and I couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh. He put me down but kept me close, his hands still at my waist.

  “Steed,” I said, winded. “What are you doing here?”

  He glanced at Chevelle then, who still plainly wore irritation, and his carefree smile dissolved. “I was heading to Bray and ran across some trackers.” Chevelle’s eyes flicked to my face, and back to Steed, who dropped his hands from my waist as he looked back at me. “I saw the horses out front and couldn’t resist. Knew you’d be missing me.”

  I tried to smile, but the thought of trackers had taken the thrill of the unexpected visitor. The vision of flames was threatening again.

  Chevelle threw on his cloak and hooded his head. “Stay here,” he ordered me, quite directly, as he gestured toward Steed, who turned and followed him outside.

  I wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone. Moving to one of the small windows on the front wall, I cautiously peered out. They were nowhere to be seen, but the sights of the village distracted me in just a few short moments. It was so unlike home.

  Night gave the dark stones an even darker appearance, and the light of the fires hit the moisture from the snow, making them look glossy. In the mist, it reminded me of polished onyx. Fires lit each walkway and building I could see. I wasn’t sure how late it was, but several villagers outside were loud and boisterous. They seemed to all be dressed in black. A few of the men had large silver breastplates and wrist cuffs. Most wore leather, laced tight against their muscular bodies. Few of them were thin or petite as the elves I was used to seeing. These were strong, like Chevelle and Steed. All had dark hair as well. And then I saw red hair. Ruby.

  I cursed. She was approaching the house and I was alone. Part of me wondered if I was fast enough to get to my room and close myself in before she came in.

  I hadn’t made up my mind before the door opened beside me.

  She purred, “Well, well. Alone are we?” Smiling wickedly, she came closer, so close I backed away. “Let’s talk,” she said. She leaned in and I thought I saw something glisten in the air between us, but I was frozen there, watching her.

  “Stop!” Chevelle’s voice shot from the door, infuriated. Ruby was whisked away from me, laughing, her red curls brushing my face in the process.

  “Just having a little fun, Vattier.” Her voice was calm, full of humor.

  It sounded as if she were far away. Or as if I were in a tunnel. Chevelle was still talking to her, an angry rumble, and then at once they were gone. My head swirled and I felt off balance. I started to stumble, and a strong hand was on my arm.

  “Easy there, Honeysuckle.” Steed’s voice beside me cleared my head a bit.

  “What happened?” I asked. My mouth tingled.

  “A little fairy dust. Breath of the siren.”

  “Wha—” My tongue was thick.

  Steed chuckled. “Intoxicating, isn’t it?” I could hear the smile in his voice. My nose tingled and I scrunched it up a little, giggling at the feeling.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Fairy breath?”

  He laughed again. “Red. She’s a half breed.” I was confused, but wasn’t sure that was what my expression showed. “How do you feel?”

  “Weird,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s normal.”

  “And hot.” I unclasped my cloak and tossed it off behind me, swaying as I did so.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” he warned.

  That seemed like a good idea. “Half breed?” I asked, apparently unable to form full sentences.

  “Half fairy, half elf.” He sat in a chair as he started to answer, and I kept moving past the bench—where I intended to land—
and crawled on his lap, curling my feet up, knees to my chest. His voice was mesmerizing as he continued, “Her mother was a fairy from the West. Fiery one, her.”

  I wrapped my arms around my legs, holding my knees tight, and placed my chin there to make a headrest. “Tell me more.” It was all I could do to pay attention to his words, but I was fascinated by the sound of them.

  “Her father was a dark elf. When her mother died during childbirth, he left her here in the village. I suppose it was for the best, really, since she can’t fly. The fairies would have tormented her. She’s still a bit of an outcast, though—” He was still talking as I struggled to catch up in my head.

  I interrupted him, unable to stop myself. “My mother died.” I had no idea why I was speaking. I batted my eyes and tried to shake it off, concentrating on him again.

  He seemed to notice I was back and continued his story. I leaned my head on his chest, snuggling into his warmth. My face felt numb. I heard the sound of the door opening and the vibration in Steed’s chest quieted as he stopped talking. I turned my head toward the door, keeping it steady against Steed. Chevelle was furious. I noticed his glance flick to my cloak piled on the floor and return to us. Us. I was curled in Steed’s lap. Chevelle was storming toward us and I felt the arm Steed had around my back loosen, but his body didn’t seem to tense. His body. I giggled a little for no apparent reason, and quickly tried to straighten myself so I wasn’t cuddling with him. Chevelle held his arm out and I wondered foggily if he intended to strike one of us, which made me laugh again. He shook his head and wore a plainly disapproving expression. A flagon landed in his open palm and he knelt slightly in front of us. “Drink.” Yes, I was thirsty. So thirsty. I took a long pull, and then another. I couldn’t seem to quench the thirst. He took the container from my hand. “Enough.”

  My stomach roiled and I realized what I had drank. “Ugh, cat pee.” I thought I might hurl. How much of that healing crap had I drunk? I heaved once and Steed shook beneath me with laughter. I glanced at him and he was looking at Chevelle. For some reason it angered me, even though I knew Steed wasn’t laughing at him. I was talking again. “His mother died, too. We killed her.” It sounded so matter of fact, my head bobbed with the words, as if in agreement. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. My mouth opened to speak again, but I was suddenly swept up, off Steed’s lap and into Chevelle’s arms. I managed fear for half a second, but then lost the feeling to dizziness, followed swiftly by dull numbness.