Rogue's Pawn

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Felicity, then—how’s that?”

  She arched her neck and did a little prance in place.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I mounted, a sense of purpose filling me. I was going to fight a battle. Against whom and why, I had no idea, but still.

  Fortunately the skirt was full enough that it only hiked above my knees a bit. Riding in pumps wasn’t unlike riding in boots, actually, since the heels sat in the stirrups the same way. Except that my calves would probably chafe. Couldn’t be helped. A sorceress had an image to maintain and riding in jeans wasn’t it.

  Darling leaped up behind me onto his traveling pad, still in full regalia, though it looked as though he might have rolled in some grass while wearing it. I pulled a few of the longer strands off and he let me scratch under the collar. It seemed to fit fine. Larch trotted beside me, leading me to the gathering of the troops.

  “You’re not wearing my tribute, Lady Gwynn.” Falcon glowered. Hawklike shadows haunted his eyes in the gray pre-dawn glow.

  I nudged my horse with my knees to change my angle so that Darling was behind me, him and his incriminating topazes out of Falcon’s line of sight.

  “I cannot express my gratitude for such a tribute,” I answered, keeping my words as close to my sincere intentions as I could. Now for the lying: “Surely a priceless necklace like that is not appropriate for me to wear to a battle.”

  I had to clamp down hard not to add “Like I’d wear your fucking dog-collar, you sadistic bastard” onto the end.

  Frankly, I suspected I would never wear anything around my neck again. Just the thought made me twitch, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap, not touching my throat. Or even the pulse at my wrist, though I could have reached my wrist easily, with just a little stretch of my fingers. Don’t give in.

  Falcon’s eyes gleamed dull yellow rage. But he grunted and turned away, leaving me to my own devices.

  I lingered on the outskirts of the group. A few of my dinner companions, now with full entourages, milled about. They were predictably jolly, busily congratulating one another on the upcoming conflict and their fine uniforms. Their pages’ and horses’ outfits expanded upon the uniform themes, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. You haven’t seen fashion risk until you’ve seen a horse dressed in navy blue with little silver sailing ships.

  “We should have dressed you and my horse in basic black,” I muttered to Larch.

  “It shall be done, my lady.”

  “I was kidding,” I said. “I’m not sure embroidered cotton and spaghetti straps are your thing, anyway. Plus, Ann Taylor would probably find a horse-plume too fussy.” Larch gave me his politely confused look. “Besides, wouldn’t too much black align me with Lord Rogue?” Shit—careless of me.

  “Why would you mind that, lady?” Larch seemed taken aback.

  “Um, because I’m not his ally, and consider him a mortal enemy, in fact?”

  “You will want to rethink that position, Lady Sorceress,” Larch advised, not looking at me. “You are only on loan to Lord Falcon and Lord Puck. You fundamentally belong to Lord Rogue, no matter what color or collar you wear.”

  I clenched my teeth. “I do not belong to Rogue.”

  “When he claims you six years and some days from now, willing, enthralled, bespelled or enchained, to bear his child, you might find yourself disabused of that notion.”

  I studied Larch, somewhat startled by his frank response after all the servile posturing. One of these days I’d stop being surprised that everyone seemed to know everything about me. Never underestimate a hive mind and how information is shared.

  “What if he can’t find me?”

  “Are we speaking of the same Lord Rogue, my lady?” Larch returned.

  Good point.

  “What if I refuse? I can fight him. I’ve learned a great deal.”

  He looked vaguely shocked but pursed his lips in due consideration. Finally he said, “Surely, my lady sorceress, even in your land there are penalties for those who fail to meet the terms of their bargains.”

  “Well, not so much,” I said, thinking of bankruptcy court.

  “A strange land, indeed. Here a debt must be honored. You’ll find you have no choice. Learn to wield your abilities—there lies your power. And remember that all must keep their promises to you, as well.”

  I considered him. Felicity stamped and blew at the bit, anxious to get going, but Larch, a sixteenth of her size, held her easily.

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Since I serve both you and Lord Rogue, I need not take sides.”

  Ha to that.

  “You said six years and some days from now—does that mean you know exactly when my seven years are up?”

  Larch nodded, grave as always.

  “Is there some way for me to track it?”

  “I believe Lord Rogue will inform my lady sorceress of the appropriate day.”

  I unclenched my teeth. “Before that. So I know how much time I have left?”

  To plan accordingly.

  An image slid into my mind of six large topazes, four smaller topazes and fifteen small stones, more pale than bronze. I looked in surprise over my shoulder at Darling. “How do you know?”

  “He is your Familiar, my lady.”

  Darling blinked fondly at me, again showing me the young man with an armload of roses.

  “Unfamiliar, you mean,” I said, but I scratched Darling’s neck under his collar by way of thanks, obediently moving over a bit when he showed me an itchier spot. “Told you not to sleep in it. You’ll be all over itchy by the end of the day.”

  He swatted my hand, nailing me with a claw and drawing blood.

  “Ow! You varmint! See?” I said pointedly to Larch, who looked steadfastly ahead but might have been smirking.

  The sun blazed over the horizon, the trumpets blared and the group started to move. Larch slid us into the column of nobles, over a dozen riders back from Falcon’s lead group, which suited me just fine. Puck’s antifreeze-green plume towered over the rest. We picked up the pace and Larch released the reins, jogging alongside at my stirrup. Other pages did the same.

  “Are you coming along?” I asked.

  “I am my lady’s page, am I not?”

  We trotted down the hill and around a bend, into the next valley. I caught my breath at the sight of men marching, four abreast. They wore hard leather and steel. Wild hair streamed, sometimes covered by helmets, sometimes not. Weapons bristled. The scene looked like Highlander meets Spartacus.

  But what truly caught me, so much so that I could not tear my eyes away, was that these were men—humans, to all appearances.

  “Where did they come from?” I gasped.

  Larch looked up, face a deeper violet from jogging along. “My lady?” he questioned politely, not quite implying that I might have lost my mind.

  “Darling, where did these men come from?”

  The cat replied with an image of various villages and people working in them and me sitting on the floor with an addled look on my face.

  “Why, Virginia,” I muttered to myself, “the stork brought them. Now leave mummy alone.” Darling added some drool to the addled-me picture, so I reached back and yanked his tail, which made him have to dig in his claws to hang on. The image vanished.

  I watched the men, starved for the sight of someone whose limbs looked in the right proportion. I fancied I could smell them, their honest human sweat—no fruits or exotic spices. Just the sight of them soothed my deep loneliness. The men marched along, not looking back at our colorful party as we passed up to the front.

  Now I could see other battalions—if that was the word—converging. Some were composed of men. Others of various types of fae, some I’d seen already, some I hadn’t.

  “Lady Gwynn!”
Puck came galloping down the line to me, towering ostrich feather streaming with drama. He did look pretty spectacular. “I see you’ve acquired a page—most charming.” He frowned at Larch. “No uniforms for your retinue though?”

  “At the cleaner’s.” Apparently the universal sense of “not accessible to anyone without major difficulties” came through my wisecrack loud and clear because Puck looked irritated but resigned. I could see him as a Wall Street exec, in a celadon Armani suit.

  “The Great Lord Falcon will be angry if he sees this.” Puck glanced around, as if expecting Falcon to pounce on him at any moment.

  “Do you all jump to his every whim?”

  Puck tilted his head, the plume listing dangerously to the side. “His punishments can be most…unpleasant. I don’t care to repeat them. I’m surprised you do.”

  I looked away, swallowing back my gorge at the thought of Falcon sinking his teeth into my vulnerable breast. Maybe I was lucky he hadn’t torn a chunk off and eaten it in front of me.

  “We’re moving out to the Promontory of Magic,” Puck declared, forever resilient and careful to pronounce the capitals. “Follow me!” He angled off to the left, toward a rise of hills, virulent plume waving.

  I kicked my horse into a canter—such a relief, as cantering was infinitely more comfortable than endless trotting—and looked to see how Larch kept up. He ran alongside easily, though his blue sheen had deepened to a decided deep purple.

  Darling clung like a cocklebur to the saddle behind me, beneath the fluttering canopy of my cloak, and I leaned lower over Felicity’s neck, her white mane lashing my face and flying past to mingle with my dark hair. The sun spilled over the horizon, blazing unnatural gold.

  My heart pounded with exhilaration at the ride, the morning, the warming damp air, the smooth cadence of hooves on grass. Perhaps I picked up on the battle ambience, because I felt fierce and excited. Maybe this would be a Lord of the Rings/Narnia-type war, full of heroics and flags—we certainly had the costumes for it—rather than a muddy, grueling Private Ryan/Platoon kind of thing. I’d definitely take glorious over gritty. I laughed at myself. Laughed at the wind in my hair and the blood pumping hot in me.

  The conversation with Larch had Rogue circling my thoughts again. Fortunately I didn’t have the dream-dregs to contend with, too.

  …when he drags you off enthralled, bespelled or enchained…

  I fought down the uneasy arousal that image stirred in me. But I could feel my body’s interest, my awakened tissues vibrating with the ride, rubbing deliciously against the hard press of the saddle. Some part of me craved it, even as I knew in my head that I had been in chains and it was no sex party. Had Marquise and Scourge programmed this response, or had I always carried it, deep inside, far from the light of day and equal rights?

  I thought back to that sense that Rogue felt responsible for my being here. His determination to possess me. Had he somehow known this about me, even from the other side of the veil? Had he somehow sniffed out that in this land I could be a sorceress, that I had this dark sexual thing inside?

  Not pleasant to contemplate, but that might contain the key to getting myself home.

  Felicity slowed as we closed on Puck, now picking his way up a rocky trail on a wooded hillside that seemed made of some kind of chalk or white sedimentary stone. My cloak settled back into a deep red drape that I adjusted to spill over one side of the horse at Darling’s indignant squawk. I let Felicity find her own way through the white stones, Larch falling behind to trail her. Ferns covered the shaded ground under thick trees reminiscent of an Alaskan forest landscape. I thought I could smell the hot prick of needle litter, but that was likely my imagination constructing something of home.

  We emerged from the tunnel of shade, white stones and green ferns, up over a last lip of rock, into a vast dome of startling blue. Puck sat his horse, grinning at me, sweeping his arms out as if he’d created the spot just for me.

  “The Promontory of Magic!” he declared.

  No trees stood on the windswept top, as big around as a basketball court, the white rock showing through in many places, with the mossy grass only clinging to dips and hollows. The deep-green fringe of the forest canopy stopped short of the plateau, making for a spectacular 360-degree view. In a Victorian novel, the cast of characters would have taken carriages up here to have a picnic.

  Darling leaped down to explore, armor clinking. Larch followed, picking his way across like a mountain goat.

  On the plain below, I could see our army. Armies. Rivers of people from several directions, all heading around the bend of the ridge line. The next watershed over was filled with another army, an angry, seething sea.

  “The enemy,” Puck pointed out to me.

  “Who are they?” I asked, studying the shifting mass. From this distance I could make out little detail.

  “Barbarians,” Puck intoned.

  “Aren’t they always?” I returned, but Puck only nodded agreement.

  “Isn’t this perfect? Lord Falcon agreed to have the first battle here, so we could use this spot as the Promontory of Magic. We plan to have the first clash of infantry in that charming meadow there.” Puck pointed to a spot roughly between the leading edges of the two armies.

  “And so I shall leave you.” Puck wheeled his horse around back toward the path. With great bounds, Darling ran after him and leaped up onto the back of Puck’s saddle.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped, looking impatient. “What, Lady Gwynn? I must away—the battle commences!”

  “You’re leaving me here alone? What do I do?”

  Puck sighed. “We’ve been over this. What you’re told, remember?”

  I blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes, yes, yes, I know—” yada yada yada, “—but how do I know what that is? Remember that I don’t just know along with you!”

  “We’ll send messages,” Puck said, speaking clearly so the dummy could understand. “Victory to you!” he called over his shoulder.

  Darling didn’t even say goodbye.

  “And also with you,” I grumbled. I looked around. “I thought there’d be more flags.”

  Under that acid blue sky I amused only myself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In Which I Am Covered in Glory and Other Obnoxious Fluids

  Pages were handy creatures to have around, especially because they were the ones who remembered to bring refreshments to war.

  Larch had stowed a picnic worthy of a Victorian novel in Felicity’s saddlebags, unbeknownst to me. My new lifestyle as a pampered lady. I’d have giddily ridden up here and spent the day with nothing to eat and nothing to do except chase my horse to keep her from taking off to be with the other horses in the valley below.

  Instead, Larch had efficiently hobbled her and set her to grazing so I could wander around the promontory, trying to look officially occupied. I picked out an observation spot where I could watch the slow progress of the two forces as they wound their way to the charming meadow.

  I was a character in The Thin Red Line after all, bored and running a dull internal monologue. I’d had to watch the damn movie three times, Clive liked it so much. He thought it a great movie because it showed how monotonous much of war was. Anyone who could make Christian Slater boring had certainly accomplished something, but I was thinking it wasn’t a great thing.

  To occupy myself with something besides mentally reviewing every war movie I’d ever seen, and the fewer war books I’d read—most of which were sword and sorcery and not nonfiction, anyway—I mulled over what magics I’d perform, given the leeway. If I wasn’t to do anything until the battle was nearly lost, this was going to be a long day. How long did battles take anyway? Long, grueling hours, by all accounts.

  Left to me, I’d rather have tried to divert the enemy forces before they r
eached the charming meadow and prevent the battle altogether.

  But Falcon and the others seemed to be scripting their war for last-minute, tide-turning action. They wanted spectacular, so I should do something fireworks-y, something loud and colorful. Except I wasn’t excited about killing anyone. Yes, yes—I knew it was freaking war, but I was a girly-girl. There was a reason I left the room during the brutal stuff.

  Good thing I had lots of time to think about this. But then, there was restfulness—and an absolution of guilt, maybe—in simply doing what one was told. I could just follow instructions for once and not have to think up my own strategy. That would be playing it safe. The cowed and obedient part of me loved this idea.

  That alone was reason not to do it.

  I’d also learned better. Most of the fae did not seem possessed of noble intentions. Playful at best, cruel at worst—they operated on a totally different ethical system. What they could take by hook or crook, they would. If you believed their lies, too bad for you.

  Simply doing as I was told could make me an accomplice—or the instigator—of something I would never support. And it wouldn’t help me heal.

  When Larch called me to eat an early lunch, I sat gratefully on the little circle of mossy grass he’d picked out. The armies should close on each other within the hour, though they seemed to have slowed to nearly a standstill. I slipped off my shoes and laid them to the side, resting my arches. We made odd picnicking partners, while a war assembled below us.

  “Tell me something, Larch.” I laid cheese on apple slices—at least that was how they tasted. “What is the goal of this war?”

  “To defeat the barbarians of course.”

  “To accomplish what? Gain land? Property? Prove a religious point?”

  Larch looked up at the sky. “You’re asking me for a real reason?”

  “Yes.”

  His blueberry eyes met mine. “They grow bored from time to time, Lady Gwynn. This is the latest diversion.”

  “And our enemy—the barbarians?”