“I'd like to see you try,” I tell her, voice even, measured and utterly deadly.
All day long, I deal with crank callers and people who yell a lot at the radio station. I have absolutely no budget, and—somehow—I have to cobble together one hell of a good radio program every damn day. I'm used to dealing with extremely hard situations and turning them into good ones, taking limited resources and making something wonderful out of them.
I'm used to dealing with people who think they're tough and better than me. And I'm used to talking circles around them.
There is not a single part of me that doubts that Attis is considering tying me to that saddle in that moment as she regards me with her warm amber eyes that have suddenly gone cold. She's taller than me, a hell of a lot stronger than me... She could absolutely do it if she really wants to.
But as our eyes lock, as power sizzles in the line of sight between our gazes, I watch a profound—if tiny—shift come over her.
She's amused by me, I realize, as she stands up smoothly, as she turns away, her amber eyes flashing brightly. She places one booted foot in the left stirrup, and then she vaults easily up and onto the back of the towering horse.
“Suit yourself,” she tells me, her voice almost chuckling at the end of those words. “But by the end of this day, Josie, mark me well...you'll know that you should have taken me up on my offer.”
“I highly doubt it,” I mutter, glancing at Zilla, who's snaking her head around, trying to nip at my hands with her gigantic, horsey teeth.
So, together, the four of us start out, like we're in some damn Hobbit movie, Attis on Zilla striding with very long legs quickly forward into the woods, and me, trying to walk just as quickly to keep up, holding my fat cat in front of me like I'm some pillow-stuffed Santa.
I have no idea what I'm in for, and, yeah—that fact is kind of scary (actually, utterly terrifying, if I really think about it). I have no idea where we're going other than a vague notion that it's a city. I have no idea what I'm doing here, on this world, or even really how I got here. I have no idea what's going to happen to me, to us.
But as we walk together into the woods, as I glance up at that gorgeous woman astride that massive, monstrous horse, I have to be perfectly honest:
This is kind of exciting, too.
Chapter 5: The Ex-Knight
In about an hour of trekking through really woodsy forest, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I should have taken Attis up on her offer to ride the damn horse.
But I'm a stubborn lady. And there's no way that I'm going to let her know that she was right.
Me and my stupid pride.
“So!” I say, with as much cheerfulness as I can muster. Attis glances down at me from up on Zilla, her brow raised. “What do you...uh...do? For a living.”
Attis glances forward again, tightening the reins of her horse. Zilla reacts by tossing her head, and Attis loosens her grip. “I'm a mercenary,” she says mildly, clearing her throat.
“Huh,” I say, because I fell asleep when my last girlfriend tried to show me Lord of the Rings, and “mercenary” sounds fantasy-Hobbits-boring to me. I have no idea what a mercenary really does, only what the word's sort of evolved into (i.e. “that guy is such a mercenary”). “So, what does that mean?” I ask her.
Attis raises her china and tightens her jaw. “I protect people.”
“That's awfully altruistic of you,” I tell her, frowning. “How do you make a living doing that?”
“I protect people for a price,” she tells me, one brow raised.
“Oh.” I shift the weight of my cat to my other arm. She keeps on purring. Good God, it's like she's enjoying this, and—knowing Wonder—she probably is.
“So, how did you become a mercenary?” I ask Attis, because if I don't ask her something, I'm going to keep concentrating on how much my damn feet hurt.
“It's what becomes of ex-knights,” Attis says, looking forward, clenching her jaw.
“Whoa, whoa,” I tell her quickly, almost speechless, but working through that pretty fast. “You're an ex-knight?” I ask her, bewildered. “What does that even mean?”
Attis glances sidelong at me, knocking her knuckles against the breast plate of her armor. “I was once a knight,” she says, the words sharp, “and I am one no longer.”
“That's it, really?” I ask her, tripping over a root and muttering a curse to myself under my breath. “What happened? Who were you a knight for?” Secretly thinking: God, that's so damn hot. An actual knight.
Again, I'm not the swords and sorcery type, but a woman—a woman I find unbearably attractive—just told me she was once a knight. Armor, jousting... I mean, that's all I know about knights, but regardless:
That's ridiculously hot.
Attis shrugs elegantly, sitting back in her seat in the saddle. Zilla slows down and stops on a dime, and I run into the horse's hindquarters. Thankfully, Zilla has the presence of mind to not kick my brains in, but I can tell she thought about it for a second, lifting up her back left hoof and then placing it down on the ground again firmly, with a muffled sigh.
Attis leaps down from her horse's back in one smooth motion and stretches her shoulders, massaging the back of her neck with a gloved hand. “It was a long time ago,” she tells me gruffly. “Many years. I was a knight in Arktos City, for the queen.” She shrugs and shakes her head. “And I am a knight no longer. There's really not that much more to tell.”
It's obvious that this is Attis' way of shutting down the discussion, but I can't help but be curious. There are a million questions clouding my head, the first and foremost being why did you stop being a knight?, but it's so obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it that I'm not sure how to proceed.
“Do you...miss it?” I ask her. She glances at me in surprise. My right hand is completely asleep, and I shift Wonder's bulk back over to my left arm. “I'm a disc jockey,” I tell her, then frown, because I have absolutely no idea how to explain that to her, and I'm fairly certain she's not going to know what a disc jockey is. “Um...” I bite my lip. “It's...a person who announces a radio show. A radio show is... There's this little box that plays music,” I tell her, trying to think of the simplest explanation. “And I announce on it. Anyway,” I say, breezing past that, because Attis looks perplexed, “I lost my job yesterday,” I tell her, taking a deep breath. “And I was going to fight to have it back, do anything to get it back.” I bite my lip again. “But I don't think I'm going to get that chance now. And to think that I'm not going to be able to do what I love most...I can't imagine that future.” I glance up at her. “I'm going to miss it a lot. And I just wonder if you do.”
She looks down at me in surprise, both of her brows arched. She runs a gloved hand through her hair. I'm doing my best not to stare at her, but the sun's started to come out from behind the clouds, and when she does that, runs her fingers through her hair...the redness in the strands catches the light, and they seem to shimmer.
Normally, I promise, I'm not like this. I don't fall for every gorgeous woman who walks in front of me. Who could live like that? But there's just something about this one...like the fact that I fell through into another world, and she was there to catch me.
And, you know, to rip a poisonous thorn out of my hand and heal the wound with magic. Little stuff like that is bound to turn anyone's head.
But she can also be a tremendous jerk, so I'm doing my best to reserve judgment. And trying my hardest not to stare at her too much.
“I'm sorry for your loss. But, no,” she says finally, quietly, until I almost forget what I asked her in the first place. “I don't miss it.” She turns away from me and opens up one of the packs lashed behind the saddle. “Are you thirsty?”
“Very,” I mutter, my voice cracking. She pulls a sort of leather pouch from the pack and undoes the stopper, and then she holds it out to me.
“Drink. Then we must move on. I want to make it to the Silver Pony by day's end.”
&nbs
p; “Do I want to know what the Silver Pony is?” I ask her, leaning against a tree and wincing a little. I don't want to look down at my feet, because I'm fairly certain the cheap rubber has worn away from the bottom of the right slipper, and both of my feet are soaked already. It's not going to be a pretty picture...
I think I have blisters on my blisters.
“The Silver Pony is a tavern,” says Attis, and then she takes one smooth step forward and—without any warning at all—lifts me up easily, one arm around my shoulders and one arm under the backs of my knees.
“What are you doing?” I ask her calmly, as she carries me like a naughty toddler over to her horse. I hold tightly onto Wonder, who's woken up inside of my coat and isn't pleased about how she's being jostled around.
“You must ride, Josie,” Attis says, setting me down on the ground beside the horse. She moves her hands and grips me firmly at my waist now, and I'm doing my best not to blush, but I know I'm still blushing, anyway. Then, in one fluid motion, she lifts me up and seats me sidesaddle on top of Zilla.
“Straddle her,” says Attis, gesturing for me to lift my one leg up over the horse's neck. I sigh, far too tired to argue, and do exactly that.
Attis picks up my left foot and gently removes the slipper with a slowness that almost seems (just a little) sexy...until I gasp from the cold air that rushes onto my foot and the pain that blossoms so immediately there: it feels like my foot is on fire.
I was wrong about the blisters. The bottom of my foot, as Attis turns it gently up, is one single bloody mass.
Me and my damn pride.
I wince as Attis turns my ankle slowly in her hand, and then she sighs for a long moment. “Close your eyes,” she tells me tiredly, and, again, I do as she says, because I'm still far too tired (and now too much in pain) to argue.
I'm not certain what she's about to do, but just as before, there's a golden pulse of light behind my eyelids, and when I open my eyes...Attis is still holding onto my foot tenderly, with long, gloved fingers, but the bloody mass that my foot had become?
The blood and wound are gone.
My foot is healed.
Attis lets go of my foot, flexing her fingers as she moves around Zilla's side, to my right foot, but I shake my head before she can touch it. “Attis, don't—didn't you say that healing me would make you exhausted?” I ask her, but she shakes her head, lifting up my foot in her hand, cupping my heel with her palm.
“If your wounds aren't healed, you draw attention to us with the blood. There are many predators out here that can scent the blood and come after us. You must not be so foolish,” she says, but it's not in a chiding way. She speaks so gently, and when she glances up at me, her brows are knit together, and her warm, amber eyes are glittering. She looks down to my foot, drawing off the slipper as slowly as she can. I hiss and bite my lip, and then she's lifting my foot in her hands, curling her fingers around my ankle with a tenderness that cuts me to my core.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers, and I do...but I also leave my right eye open just a tiny crack.
And when Attis bends her head toward my foot, I can see strange, pulsing lines of white light begin to curve up from the muddy ground where she stands. The lines spiral around her body, feeding down her arms, over the armor and her gloves, and into my foot.
The lines, like living, glowing rope, pulse and then shine brightly. And disappear immediately, along with the burning pain in the bottom of my foot. Attis lets me go gently, leaning against Zilla now.
“Is the cat all right?” she growls in a low voice. In shock, I pat Wonder's rump through the coat.
“She's fine,” I tell her. “Are you all right?” I ask Attis, but she nods, not looking up at me, only staring straight ahead, into the woods.
“Never better,” she huffs, pushing off from Zilla gently. She looks a lot paler than she did a moment ago, but she stands steadily, wetting her lips with her pink tongue. I know I'm blushing, so I stare fixedly at Zilla's neck in front of me.
“All right, then,” says Attis, in a weary tone. “Forward. Zilla will simply follow me, but take care that the reins stay over her neck and don't fall to the ground. If she gets her hoof caught in the reins, she could hurt herself.”
I gather the reins in my hand that isn't holding Wonder, and glance down at the ground. And swallow.
The ground is really, really far away.
“So, you protect people?” I squeak, trying (and failing) to maintain a normal speaking voice. I can ride a horse, surely... I've ridden the bus, and that's just as high up as riding this horse. Though, admittedly, with much more stable footing. And plush seats.
“I do a lot of things,” says Attis, pushing aside a low pine branch so that Zilla can move between two trees. “Yes, I protect people, but I also do all sorts of odd jobs that you'd need muscle and a sword for.”
“Do you like what you do?” I ask her, just for something to occupy my mind, so I can stop imagining this horse bucking and sending me flying into the air.
Attis doesn't respond for a long moment, and I wonder if she heard me, or if this is a touchy subject, but she clears her throat and says, “Sometimes. Sometimes I do.” She glances up at me again. “What about you? Will you be able to return to being a...what was it?”
“Radio show host,” I tell her, wrinkling my nose. “I don't know if I'll be able to get my old job back. And there are only so many radio stations in Boston...and I kind of burned a bridge at one of them...” I realize I'm rattling on, so I shake my head. “So, no, I don't know if I'll be able to get my job back. But I hope I can. It's all I've ever really wanted to do. And I love doing it.”
“That's good,” says Attis companionably. She reaches out and unthinkingly pats my thigh. I freeze under that friendly and almost intimate gesture, but that's all it was: friendly. Hell, she might have been aiming for Zilla's neck, to pat her horse.
Attis strides on ahead, pushing a fallen branch out of the way so that Zilla can move through this part of the woods, and I reach down, placing my hand over the spot on my thigh that Attis just touched.
She's really unlike any woman I've ever met.
We travel for hours, and by the time the trees are beginning to thin out and the light is beginning to dim in the sky, my legs are on fire, they're so cramped, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to walk like a normal person again. Now I know why people in old western movies walked with their feet so wide apart: they rode horses.
“I don't think I'm ever going to be able to dismount,” I tell Attis, when we exit the thick trees and actually reach something that looks like a dirt road. The long, curving expanse of earth is worn smooth from hoof prints that I can make out in its dust. Attis turns right onto the road, between the dense trees, and Zilla follows obediently, her head down.
“You're just tender because you're not used to riding,” says Attis, glancing up at me with warm, twinkling amber eyes. “I remember when I went into knighthood. I didn't own my own horse before that, so I'd never spent much time in the saddle. I had blisters on the insides of my thighs for a moon! But those were good times,” she says fondly, reaching up and patting Zilla's shoulder. “It was long before you, old girl,” she says, her voice soft.
“That sounds wonderful,” I tell her sarcastically, but then I'm chuckling, too. “Will I be able to walk normally ever again, you think?”
Attis winks at me, and then I realize that I'm warm again—and probably blushing. Again. Damn.
“Perhaps,” she tells me. “You'll be able to test your legs in only a short while. We're almost at the Silver Pony.”
We're in the middle of nowhere, so I have no idea if a “short while” is going to be, truly, a short while. But it is. In a matter of moments, we round a corner in the road, and then there it is.
The tavern.
I've seen Harry Potter. I may not be a fantasy nerd, but at least I know what a tavern-type-place should look like from the outside, and this is it. It's a two-story building, surprisi
ngly (I'm not sure why that surprises me, but for some reason, I thought people here might live in one-story hovels), and it looks like something you might see on a British period movie, all stucco and cross-beams, with a thatched roof and a hitching post out front and a big, sprawling stable in the back. There's an old, tired-looking gray horse tied to the hitching post with a piece of rope, and there are lights on in the bottom part of the building, visible through the diamond-paned glass. But other than that (and the murmur of voices coming from within the building), there doesn't seem to be any life around.
Swinging above the door is a peeling, aged sign that shows a rearing white horse. “The Silver Pony” is written in blocky letters beneath.
The words are written in English, I realize, startled.
“Hey, how is it that I can understand you? Why do we speak the same language?” I ask Attis then, surprised. I honestly hadn't thought about it before (there'd been too much else on my mind, but still...). “And how can I read that sign?”
Attis shrugs, holding up her hands to me as we pause in front of the tavern. “That's what concerns you?” she chides gently, her mouth turning up at the corners. “Not that you've embarked on a quest to a city on a world different from your own with a perfect stranger? But that you can understand her when she speaks?”
“I just think it's weird,” I tell her, feeling my blush intensify as her hands go around my waist. Then, again, as if I weigh nothing more than a feather, she lifts me down from the saddle and sets me easily on the ground. Wonder grumbles unhappily from beneath my coat (she was so deeply asleep that she was actually snoring), but as I glance up at Attis, as my heart skips a beat, I don't feel any concern for the fact that I'm on this “quest” with a “stranger.”
Okay, admittedly, this isn't exactly how I thought today would go. I hoped that I'd be able to knock some sense into those board members' heads and save the radio station (cue the triumphant music in my head) and get my job and everyone else's jobs back. Instead, I'm on another world with a woman wearing armor, and we're on a quest.
Forever and a Knight Page 8