Anjali, if that even was her name, remained dressed in the same strange black and red outfit she was first caught in. Clearly leather, there were slits to expose her shoulders and the sides. A distraction technique or perhaps to help the entire thing breathe? Maker knew Rosie would be a pile of sweat if she wore leather in this heat. The more striking detail was the red circling around the bodice. It coiled against her breasts like a snake lying in wait, then slithered down to wrap twice around her stomach. Red popped strongly against such darkness, constantly drawing the eye right to the woman's...figure.
Shaking her head, Rosamund returned to the paperwork in her lap. She set out on the assumption that she'd be free to read up on their next destination away from the stuffy whiskey stench in the meeting room. While the open air and sunshine were wonderful to refresh her soul, it was doing little to help her stay focused. Her eyes kept trailing across the meadow and always landing upon that dark spot in the middle of the flowers.
She wasn't even doing anything interesting. It sounded as if the Knights and the Bann's guards all devoted an entire night to interrogating the woman, but they could get no more than Rosie did. Micah suggested Anjali be bound at all times, but that was cruel and highly unnecessary. They settled on the compromise of their assassin informant forever being flanked by two guards. One was the squire who caught her, the boy's hand always settled upon the hilt of his sword, while the other would shift.
In truth, even Gavin would be allowed a break, but he seemed to take them less frequently. Did he consider Anjali his problem? She seemed to be Rosamund's, the one who let her stay in the first place. A bird chained around her neck.
This was getting nothing accomplished, Rosie chided herself, forcing her eyes to hone down upon the ledgers that she should have left with Cailan. There were long columns of numbers done in a neat hand that no doubt meant something important, but Rosamund didn't care. The history of the Teyrn itself, that was interesting. But a continual ranking on the price of wheat for over ten years bored her to tears. Maybe she should expand his job to include summing up this mess for her.
Her shuffling revealed a small scrap of vellum with little more than a few circles on the page. She kept starting and abandoning the page as she waited for inspiration to strike. Rosie twisted it around, her quill reaching for the ink pot perched beside her when a voice said, "Here I thought princesses never had to do paperwork."
The feather jammed hard against the rock, Rosie not expecting to hear anyone, much less that smooth and foreign accent so close to her. When she looked up, past Anjali, she spotted both of the guards standing close -- hands about to unsheathe their swords. Rosamund waved them down. Perhaps the assassin was ready to talk, properly talk without dancing around it all.
"I'm afraid it is nothing but paperwork, day in and day out."
"Well," she waved her hands, "I believe I shall never become a princess then."
Rosie snickered, "A wise choice." She allowed her eyes to travel up to the woman's face. While the shadows of the hall, the late hour, and threat of death in the air turned her sinister, by day she appeared striking. Here was a woman that could enthrall a room with a raise of her eyebrow and lift of her plush lips. The line of red that emerged against her brown lips when she spoke seemed to hypnotize Rosamund. She couldn't cease staring, curious what it... Merely wondering if it was cosmetics or natural.
"Mind if I...?" Anjali asked, appearing almost cordial as she gestured to the pile of dirt beside Rosie.
The princess shrugged, "I do not own it."
Plopping onto her ass, the assassin turned over her shoulder to snicker, "Are you sure about that? Isn't that how kings and queens work?"
"There's more to it than that. But, essentially you are correct."
The woman nodded a moment as if of course she was right, then those captivating brown eyes honed in on Rosie, "And practically?"
"I am as strong as the Banns that support me. Or, support my father. Anger enough of them and..." she knocked over a few rocks and sent them scattering off the overhang below.
"Smart and beautiful," Anjali mused as if to herself, but Rosie couldn't hide the flush rising upon her cheeks. "I can see why all of Ferelden adores you. Or is trying to get into your bed."
"That..." the blush burned hotter, Rosamund having to fan her face at the foolish notion. "That's not, um..."
"That is not proper conversation to have with the princess," a voice snapped to cover for Rosie's fumble. She caught it sputtering from squire Gavin who was glaring at Anjali's neck as if he could slice it apart with his mind. If his eyes grew any sharper they might.
For her part, the assassin winced, "Right, sorry. I've never really been around royalty before. Fancy royalty, at least. The flirting before, it's..." Anjali took in a deep breath, her nostrils fluttering as she closed her eyes tight, "It's just a tactic. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
"You didn't..." Rosamund began before stepping back fast, "you did not unnerve me. It takes much more than that to rattle a princess."
"Yeah? Like say the heart of a phoenix? Or a tail feather from a dragon? Ooh, I know, the tongue of a basilisk." Rosie chuckled a moment at the idea of someone presenting her with such inane gifts.
"Tell me something princess that cannot be rattled unless I wave the toe cheese of a giant at her," Anjali turned in her spot. She sat lower than Rosamund, her greater height bringing the two practically eye to eye. At the movement, both guards flexed their arms and shifted closer, but Rosie lifted her hand. It was all right.
The assassin seemed to not even notice, her hand dropping to the ground near Rosie's foot tucked under her skirt. "Why keep me around?"
Rosamund blinked a moment, "Do you wish me to change my stance? I'm certain upon release the Bann would catch you two steps out the door and have you hanged."
"Call me a glutton of punishment. A glutton of many things, I dare say. You have no reason to trust me, a huge pile of reasons to fear me. I could be a plant, or a double agent."
"It seems rather foolish for a double agent to raise the idea that they may be one," Rosamund mused to herself.
The wind blew through the contemplative silence, rattling Anjali's headscarf. Black curls spilled out of the back like crunchy oats. Maker's sake, what? No. Not that. It... While Rosie tried to shake away the terrible metaphor, Anjali's eyes narrowed upon her. Her question filled the air and the assassin clearly wanted an answer.
Folding her papers up, Rosie lay her hands upon the work as if she was posing for a portrait for the thirtieth time. "To tell you the truth, you intrigue me." The woman reared back in surprise, her lips falling slack to match the shock. "All my life I've been told everything about a person before I meet them. This is so and so, child of Bann such and what not. Heir to some important heirloom. The crown considers him to be good, bad, a nuisance, expendable. I've never been gifted an opportunity to form my own opinion of the unknown."
Anjali twisted her head around at that, "Can't you pull that magic of looking at my scuffed cuffs and knowing exactly who and what I am?"
At that Rosie snickered, "That would only be my sister who can do it. And even then, there are limitations. Though she could tell you what you had for breakfast."
"Maker, I hope I'd know before she would," Anjali gasped, causing Rosie to snicker. It was a moment, but it was enough to bring a similar smile to the assassin. Who was dangerous, and no doubt had killed people and would again. Focus Rosamund.
"So," Anjali shifted on her haunches, her fingers digging through the grass, "is this the part where I tell you my entire heartrending backstory? I better make it a good one, your shoulder looks very comfortable to cry upon."
Rosie's lips flipped into a frown, but the blush rampaged up to her cheeks. Clinging tighter to her work for support she sighed, "I would prefer the knowledge of your friend so we can plan to counter her attacks instead."
With a great humph, the assassin lay flat on her back, her arms stretched behind h
er head. "So much for a beautiful princess finding me intriguing. You just want me for my body of information."
She knew she was messing with her, trying to keep her unsettled with the innuendo that could barely be called it, but Rosie's cheeks refused to tone it down. Maybe she should have saved this for a cold dungeon and minimal lighting. With Anjali stretched out upon the grass the eye was drawn right to her stomach -- the crimson ribbons curving out to match her hips.
"Here's the thing, I could tell you all about her. What she looks like, her skills, if she's more of a skirt or pants kind of girl," at that Anjali tipped her head back to stare at Rosie, "but it won't matter."
"How so?"
Her question drew a small smile to the assassin's lips. "Not going to rail about how I'm wrong and should part with the information like your trained lap dog over there?" She waved her finger in a general direction but it was obviously meant to land upon Gavin. For his part, the boy only rolled his eyes as if he expected such a juvenile barb.
"We don't leave plans lying about. Be a damn stupid thing for an assassin to do, really. Here's a list of all the people I'm going to off and how I intend to do it, signed soon to be very dead assassin."
"But you know she came here..." Rosie prompted.
"Yes," at that Anjali nodded her head fast.
"And that she intends to harm me."
"That..." the woman's sharp eyes watered a moment, the always honed stare drifting downward. "That's what I fear."
"Fear?"
"Trust me, don't trust me," Anjali staggered up to her feet, both guards pressing in closer, "it's not important. What she's doing is...it's stupid, and dangerous. And I'd really prefer to stop her before she starts something none of us can, uh, stop. That sounded a lot more poetic in my head."
Rosie prodded at the papers in her lap. It was foolish, she had no basis in facts, but in her heart she believed the woman. She believed her in the middle of the night as well, but there was no reason to tell her that.
"Earn our trust," the princess said, causing the woman to snort as if it was easy, "by giving my company the information they request."
She looked about to argue, no doubt to remake the same points she did, but Rosie stared right at her. While her life was often bogged down in the minute problems of policy, she wasn't exactly an idiot about battle tactics either. There were things the assassin group would want to keep secret, things the woman could spill if she so chose. Bobbing her head, Anjali sighed, "All right. I'll see what I can do, Sapheela."
"Saphel...?" Rosie tried to ask for clarification but the assassin already turned to walk away, both of her guards hot on her trail. Smoothing her hands over the pages, Rosamund closed her eyes tight. She tried to remember the line of Teyrns out of Highever, and their convoluted ancient law system that involved stacking rocks, but her mind couldn't stop drawing forth the tight smile of a woman in black and crimson.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hot Head
By the time they got back onto the road everyone was happy to be moving again, Myra included, which lasted for all of a day at most. The grumping and groaning traveled through the wagons loaded down with fancy furniture, skittered around the ears of those on horseback, and was loudest for those forced upon this death march on foot. Summer. Ha. Summer was a brash blast of sun that lifted sweat off your brow. This heat was like shoving your head inside a fire. By mid-afternoon, the fire might actually be a refreshing cool down.
When the caravan swung up beside the famous mountain clear lakes of the north, everyone was begging for a relief. The wagons practically exploded, cargo and tents flopping out as all the servants hustled to get set up so everyone could plunge into the crystal waters. Myra wasn't being a lot of help, tugging on Bryn's hands to get her to sneak out of her duties. She was pretty sure sweat found its way into places she didn't even know existed. But Bryn kept laughing and insisting she had to do this, and had to do that.
Myra was about to grab her hand, flop onto the ground, and refuse to move or let go until Bryn agreed to come with her, when who should stomp over but the prince and princess. The elf servant was all bowed head and polite murmurs for Rosie, who...Maker, even she looked a mess. Rosamund always kept her hair shortish, but brushed so straight that the locks looked like a black river. However, today there was a twist to it, a wave undulating below the surface to create dangerous eddies.
Wisely, Myra held her tongue about the state of her makeup, most of which dripped down towards Rosie's chin in the musty carriage. Ooh, she should go take a look at the handmaidens. They had to be in even worse shape and would care ten times more!
"Milord," Bryn murmured, her eyes darting over to Cailan.
He didn't skip over the girl, but paused and smiled, "Our lady Andraste, how can you stand this heat in such thick skirts?"
"It's..." Bryn picked at the hips of her dress as if noticing it for the first time. "It's not so bad."
"You're a braver soul than I," he sighed, waving a hand against his face. "Rossie," Cailan called to their sister, "when can we find some blighted relief from this heat?"
Rosamund chuckled, "Since when do I dictate what you do?"
"You've got the bigger crown," Cailan gestured a hand to her, which caused Myra to snigger.
When both Rosie and Cailan turned to her in question, she tried to wave it away, "Sorry, just...I was thinking 'her head's not that big.' But, it's not true, about you having a big head I mean."
"You say that because you've never overheard the royal jewelers all in a tizzy," Cailan laughed, "Oh, how are we going to stretch the official crown to sit upon our princess' head? It's easier to adorn a pumpkin."
"You're such an ass," Rosie snarled, swiping a hand at her brother who dodged out of the way and nearly trod upon poor Bryn.
The elf tried to scamper away, apologizing for existing, but Cailan caught her fingers and smiled, "No, please. You are owed the apology. No one with as intoxicating of eyes as you should ever have your boots scuffed by my ilk."
Well aware of her brother's never ending lust, Myra snagged onto her friend to yank her away. Poor Bryn was already blushing, her lips muttering something incoherent. "Can we just get to the lake part?" Myra honed in on Rossie who shrugged.
"Yes, fine. It's right over..." Rosie moved to wave a hand in the direction of the crystal glass glistening through a stand of trees when Avery the dream killer stomped into view.
Take a portly man aged to that vinegar stage, then pickle his features a bit until you're not certain if it's a person you're talking to or a moldy potato. That's Avery, the eternal killjoy their father no doubt saddled them with to keep them out of trouble. He was huffing, his hand waving a fan back and forth over his face while he tried to call for the princess.
"Your Majesty!" he waved again as if Rossie couldn't see him.
"Yes, Chancellor," she muttered, turning her full focus upon him.
"Ma'am, the lake, it's..."
"Don't tell me, too wet. Too cool. Too much fun, so we should all tie stones to our waists to make certain to not enjoy ourselves?" Myra interrupted, earning a low growl from Avery. He despised her and her mother. They didn't fit into the very specific mold of the royal family, and rather than bend the mold a bit, Avery chose hate. Not that Myra much cared, because she was happy to give back.
"Your Highness," he turned only to Rosamund, which Myra expected, "the entire caravan is heading towards the lake to swim." Rosie nodded as if she'd anticipated as such. "Your mother would not approve of both men and women together at the same time."
Ah shit. Did that mean one of them would have to wait? Myra and Cailan both shot a glance at each other and at the same time mouthed 'Not it!' Rosie seemed to be weighing the thought a moment, no doubt about to flip a coin to see who got to splash around and who had to wait in the insect filled forest for a go after the water was purified.
"And what would my father say?"
Avery grumbled, "That any babies produced should be named after
him."
Rosamund laughed from their dad's flippant response. Laying an arm overtop of Avery's she said, "I think we can find a middle ground. Cailan, Myra, you're both free to head up. In fact, I dare say everyone deserves a break. Spread the word!"
"My lady..." Avery grumbled, always mad when he didn't get his way.
"Yes, I shall remain on shore. Do not concern yourself..." Whatever Rosie was finishing with Myra didn't hear as she was already streaking through the forest. Her brother was close on her heels, challenging her to be the first to break the water.
Not on her watch. Digging her feet into the ground, Myra pumped her legs as fast as she could, dodging downed logs, slipping below higher branches, and trying to trip up Cailan every chance she could. He wasn't built for the active life, the man preferring everything indoors when he could, but he wasn't weak either. That always seemed to surprise people. They expected their bookish prince to be soft spoken, sickly, and of course terrible with women.
"I am on your tail," Cailan called.
"Tail means you're about to lose." Ignoring the burn rising in her legs, Myra gave it her all -- the glorious prize waited just beyond their reach. Bluer than a blue crystal thing, the water sat as still as a mirror, reflecting the reach of white mountain cliffs hugging the far edge. The shore sopped right up against grass, barely rippling courtesy of no wind.
Slamming on the breaks, Myra paused just before the leap to yank off her shoes. Behind her she could hear Cailan coming to a stop, his breath straining out of his little nose. He was doing the same, undressing as fast as possible. They were neck in neck losing their boots and socks, but Myra had him easily beat when it came to the first layer. All she had to do was yank the tunic over her head and undo the trousers, leaving her in a tiny pair of shorts and a tighter bandage top. She called it that because half of the stomach area was donated to creating bandages, the hems tattered and torn.
Poor Cailan had to deal with lines of fancy buttons and ties, which his usually nimble fingers were stumbling with. Spinning in place, Myra stuck her tongue out at him, shouted, "See ya!" and dived right in. Water erupted around her body and then tried to smother her.
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