“How come only you can penetrate animal and people’s minds without their consent?”
That will be a story for another day.
“Why keep it for another day? We’ve still a long walk ahead, haven’t we? May as well keep chatting. It’ll make the time pass faster.”
It will also alert any lurkers as to your whereabouts.
I press my mouth shut and scan the land and trees. Only the chant of nocturnal creatures blunts the silence, which seems to thicken like the humidity the closer to the ocean we get.
As the adrenaline drains, every sore spot on my body makes itself known, the sorest being my chest. I lift a hand to my breasts, and the mere graze of my palm against my peaked nipples makes me whimper.
Morrgot swoops low.What? What is it?
“You know how women have something called breasts?”
The gold rimming his pupils becomes no thicker than the wiry wedding bands Sybille’s parents wear. He stares fixedly at my face. No lower. Either he’s unfamiliar with the female anatomy, or he’s very genteel.
What about your . . . breasts?He must’ve inhaled an insect or a grain of sand, because his voice sounds raspy all of a sudden.
Wait. He mind-speaks, or walks, or whatever it is he calls his ability. His words aren’t produced by his vocal folds, are they? Maybe he’s just flummoxed about discussing female body parts.
I press my forearm beneath said body part to keep it from bouncing. Now that I’ve noticed the burn, it’s all I can focus on. “Those hoodlums took my bag. My brassiere was inside.” I wished it gone, but now that it is . . . I sigh, hearing superstitious Giana remind me not to make wishes I do not want granted.
I’m struck by an idea. It isn’t great, but it could bring me some relief.
When I release the reins and untuck my shirt, Morrgot dips lower, having seemingly forgotten to use his wings. He morphs to smoke right before colliding into Furia’s peaked ears and shoots upward. Once in the clear, he solidifies again.
What are you doing? He sounds peeved, as though his flight lapse was somehow my fault.
I pull the rumpled hem taunt around my ribs and knot it. “Trying to lessen the friction.” My solution isn’t ideal but it helps. “Shoot,” I murmur as I take hold of the reins again.
Now what?
Signore Moody seems moodier than usual. It’s been a long night, one that is finally coming to an end. Although the shift is slight, the jungle has quieted, and the blacks are melting, graying, reviving the contrasts that the night had flattened.
“I don’t think I can pass as a boy without a brassiere.”
Morrgot’s eyes flick to my bare midriff before fixing on my knotted shirt. His nose cannot wrinkle and yet his distaste for my niftiness comes through loud and clear.
“Relax. When we reach town, I’ll untie my shirt.” I skim the burnt-orange petal of a dangling orchid that reminds me of Mamma’s hair. “You think everyone knows about the bounty?”
I believe that if a mountain tribe has heard of it, then yes.
“We should push on, then. Head straight to my family’s estate.”
No. Not in broad daylight, and not before you rest.
I lift my gaze. “In spite of the reward, you trust your Selvatin contact not to take me hostage and deliver me to the king?”
Yes.
“Why?”
Because this person knows he has more to gain from my return than a hundred pieces of gold.
Ah.Of course. Bronwen must’ve ensured him a bucket of coins for aiding the future queen in ridding Luce of its current ruler.
“Does this person know about”—I gesture in his vicinity—“you?”
