I raise my eyes, meeting her gaze firmly. “I am a healer. Not a killer.”
Mutely, Philippa drops a curtsy then moves to gather up the remains of the ruined gown. I’m aware of her movements in the room behind me but remain looking at my new pet in its glass home. They’re so very adorable at this age! Granted, a grown gremler tends to be a bit more fangy and vicious, but that’s a worry for another day.
“Did you give your scarf to Prince Valtar, Princess? I see you do not have it on you.”
I’m so caught up trying to follow the swirling pattern of color in the gremler’s tortoiseshell fur, the abrupt question takes me aback. “Oh!” I look down at my own empty hands. “I…yes, I did, but…”
Philippa perks up. “So, your interaction went well, then? You liked him?”
“No!” Heat rushes up my cheeks, and I quickly drop my face back to the globe. “That is, I did like him, I do. But…”
“I’m glad.” Philippa folds up the stained bodice of the gold gown and stuffs it into a laundry sack. “Though I won’t deny, I am surprised. He strikes one as so cold and dark and forbidding.”
A frown tightens my forehead. It’s not as though I can’t see how this perspective might arise, but…somehow, I simply don’t see Valtar that way. Maybe that’s what comes from beginning our acquaintance with a passionate kiss; it’s rather difficult to view him as cold and forbidding following a moment like that! Still, I can’t let Philippa get the wrong idea. “I don’tlikehim. And I didn’treallygive him my colors either.”
Philippa suddenly looks so tired, I have to pity her. “And what is that supposed to mean, Princess?”
“I did give him the scarf. But it was only to bind his hand.”
“And why”—Philippa winces as though she doesn’t want to finish the question—“did you need to bind his hand?”
“Because he got bitten.”
“By what?”
“By…” I point into thescintilglobe.
Philippa blanches. There’s a beat for five breaths. Then: “And how in the names of all the gods and goddesses didthathappen?”
There’s nothing for it but to admit the whole story then: about the spider, the climb, my graceless fall, Valtar’s own daring and distinctly shirtless ascent. All of it. Philippa presses her hands to her cheeks partway through the telling and begins whispering prayers to some goddess for strength. When I come to the end of my tale, she shakes her head despairingly. “You cannot make the champions fetch and carry for you like that, Princess. They are your champions, not your page boys!”
“It was Valtar’s idea,” I answer morosely. “I was going to climb up and get it myself, but—”
“Please.” Philippa holds up one hand. “Tell me no more. I simply cannot stand it.”
I bite my tongue. While Philippa goes back to her tasks, readying the room for the night, I reach into thescintilglobe and allow my fingertips to stroke that ball of indescribably soft fur. As I do, my mind turns to Valtar. To the way he sprang into action, saving the gremler for me with scarcely a word of protest. Objectively speaking, I know it was an absurd thing to ask of anyone. But I didn’t ask, did I? I was perfectly willing to manage the whole situation on my own…which was equally absurd, truth be told. Hadn’t the guardsmen looked at me like I’d lost my mind? Perhaps I had. Perhaps I never had much of a mind to begin with. That’s what Mistress Iliyani would have said. She certainly would not have shown Philippa’s restraint and skimped on chastisements. She would have cut me down to size with a good tongue-lashing in a matter of moments.
But Valtar hadn’t seemed to mind. Sure, he’d thought the whole thing a little odd. But he hadn’t protested or argued. He didn’t even seem to particularly care about getting bitten. Throughout that whole outrageous little adventure, he never once made me feel foolish for wanting to save the creature. Perhaps he’d not fully comprehended my desire, but he had respected it. Respected me.
And I’m not sure how to feel about that.
“It’s nice though, isn’t it?” I whisper softly so that Philippa won’t hear me. My breath fogs the glass of thescintilglobe, and I use the edge of my sleeve to clear it and peer into the gremler’s nest once more. “It’s nice to beunderstood. Even just a little.”
15
Valtar
I will never in a million lifetimes understand that woman.
The scarf feels too tight wrapped around my hand. It’s neatly done work, however—I can’t fault her expertise. Nothing bulky or awkward about it, and she’s tucked the ends so carefully, it won’t come undone without effort on my part. I turn my wrist, watching the play of light from the fire across the silk folds. Little roses picked out in delicate threads decorate the edges. It’s a fine piece of stitchery, fit for a princess.
But it doesn’t truly belong toher. Not the real her. It is just another prop given to her by Alderin. Another piece of this spectacle, devoid of real thought or feeling.
But the way she tended my hand…Against my will, my mind lingers on that memory. On the moments when her gentle fingers brushed my skin as she washed the wound. Such a minuscule wound, hardly worth the attention she gave it. It was as though she wanted to fuss, as though tending me gave her pleasure. I shouldn’t have allowed it, shouldn’t have indulged her.And yet, somehow, I could not resist her determination to care for me.
This is dangerous.
I lie back on the bed, resting the scarf-wrapped hand over my forehead, and stare up at the stone ceiling. The rocky chamber has been smoothed by dwarfish craftsmen, and the ceiling is festooned with images from dwarfish lore, all depicted in the ancient, blockyjowarstyle, faded over many centuries. It is a princely chamber indeed, filled with princely belongings. Joro’s belongings, though I rather doubt he came by them honestly. They did not bother to clear the room before giving it to me as replacement Sixth Champion, and I’ve felt no compunction in helping myself to whatever I liked. Even the shirt I wore this evening belonged to the Pirate Prince, one of the few garments in his collection not grossly festooned with jewels and lace. It had seemed more in keeping with the spirit of the occasion to wear a touch of color rather than my habitual black. The shoulders were a bit tight for comfort, allowing little range of movement, but I’d not expected this to be a problem. It was just meant to be dinner, after all.
