And the breastplate … was a goddamnedbreastplate. And one made for someone with quite a lot more flesh in that particular area than Gwen could boast, to boot.
Gwen could scarcely speak for fury, and managed to sputter, ‘No one in their rightmindwould wear – I mean, one good blow to the chest, and that ridge would shatter my breastbone – what thefuck, we have to … who …’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a portrait of myself in a costume like that,’ Jane said, gazing up at the figure on the billboard, who held a most improbable pose, half turned around, chest thrust out in a way that would’ve required double-jointed hips and shoulders, and a good number of missing internal organs.
Gwen rounded on Jane, managing not to snap, but instead making an agonised sound of helpless indignation.
Hilde and Sylvie took one look at Gwen’s face and grabbed Jane’s hands to lead her firmly onward, despite the latter’s protests.
Isobelle slid her arm through Gwen’s and squeezed. ‘Ignore it. We can ask them to take it down, but they’ll just put it back up again when we leave. It doesn’t matter, they don’t know you.’
‘No one who sees this willevertake me seriously as anything other than … than … a puffed-up pastry sweet for the eyes!’
‘There are worse things than eye candy,’ Isobelle mused, sneaking another look at the portrait. Then she stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to Gwen’s flushed, angry cheek. ‘Gwen, the moment someone actually meets you, they’ll realise this caricature bears no resemblance to the real you.’
Gwen let Isobelle lead her on, but could not stop herself from adding, ‘And what the hell was that knitting needle of a sword? For fuck’s sake, are men so precious about size that a woman can’t hold a full-sized sword without threatening their manhood?’
Isobelle made soothing noises the rest of the way to the hot springs. Gwen wanted to hold on to her fury – and she certainly wasn’t letting go of her outrage – but it was hard to fully commit to blind rage with Isobelle leaning against her and chatting excitedly about having a nice soak.
The entrance to the hot springs was nestled down by the cliffs, which blocked the ever-looming tower from their line of sight, and promised a spectacular view of the sunset.
A pair of staff in matching faux-chainmail costumes greeted them with a poorly memorised speech about the power of dragonsfire, no doubt scripted by the creative, if rather trite, Lord Bingleton. They were eyeing Gwen a little oddly, one of them in particular – perhaps it was simply because she was still scowling about the board.
‘So intense was the flame of an ancient dragon that it scored this land and left these pools forever scalding hot …’ droned one of their guides, as Gwen’s attention began to wander.
She felt Isobelle’s gaze on her, and gave a little roll of the eyes to show her that this mention of dragonsfire was somewhat unlikely to trigger Gwen’s fear response. Isobelle grinned and slipped her hand into Gwen’s.
Their guides marched in somewhat ragged unison down a tunnel that would no doubt eventually look like the maw of a dragon, although currently only three of the teeth had been constructed and fixed into place. The tunnel widened into an open-air grotto marked by several different pools nestled in among greenery, flickering torches and the distant, urgent plunking of frogs. Broad stone steps led to other pools higher up the path, and scattered around the edges were lounge chairs draped with fresh fluffy towels. Steam rose from the hot water into the chill air, like smoke wafting from the coals of an ancient fire.
Luckily their guides provided them with bathing outfits, and led them to small, curtained alcoves where they could change. Gwen dimly heard Isobelle asking one of them about Gargery, the man Lord Bingleton had told them to question about the witch, but she dived into one of the changing rooms as soon as she could.
She’d never changed her clothes so quickly in her life, starting to shiver, and yet by the time she flung the curtainaside, Hilde, Jane and Sylvie were already up to their chins in the first pool, wearing matching expressions of bliss. Jane cracked open one eye, and then sat up straighter with a slosh of water, staring.
‘Whoa, Gwen,’ she said. ‘You look amazing.’
Gwen shuffled her steps, then hurried towards the water. ‘Shut up, it’s not like we got to choose our clothes. I suppose I’m lucky I’m not in the outfit from that sign.’ Her bathing costume was a ruffled pink and lavender set of shorts and a sleeveless tunic. Practically naked, by any standards. She was suddenly, brutally aware of her exposed arms, and the vicious scar from dragonsfire that twisted down her forearm. She clutched at it, self-conscious, though it was too long for her to entirely cover with her palm.
‘No, I mean … wow.’ Jane was still staring at her, particularly her arms and shoulders, gaze gone somewhat puzzled and speculative. ‘I didn’t know you were so … ripped.’
‘Back off, Jane,’ came Isobelle’s voice, prim and stern, as she emerged from a changing room. ‘Besides, you don’t like girls.’ Isobelle took Gwen’s hand and led her towards the pool.
‘Maybe I do,’ replied Jane cheerfully. ‘Maybe Gwen’s turned me.’
Hilde made a scolding noise with her tongue. ‘Knock it off, Jane. Gwen is far too modest for you to tease her so.’
At that point, Gwen stepped into the water, and altogether lost track of the conversation. She’d had no idea how much tension was in every fibre of her body until it all came undone at once – she felt as though she were simply melting into the hot water, her body buoyed by the mineral salts.
This is worth an entire fortnight of ‘Lady Dragonslayer’ publicity stunts, she decided.Though I’m still making them take that damn sign down.
When she came back to herself, Isobelle was joggling her elbow. Gwen opened her eyes. Dusk was beginning to gather, and one of the hot springs staff had brought platters of snacks and pitchers of cold drinks, chilled by the snow and ice from the nearby mountains.
Hilde and Jane had gone off to explore the other pools, and had discovered one inside a cave, where they were currently trying to sing slightly off-key harmonies with each other and their own echoes. Sylvie was reclining motionless, eyes closed and arms spread along the rim of the pool, pretending she couldn’t hear the atrocious music echoing from the cave.
And Isobelle was there before her, holding out a glass of iced punch with beads of condensation gathering at her fingertips. When Gwen blinked at her, she laughed, reached out, and pressed the cup into Gwen’s hand.
‘I think it’s safe to say the Lady Dragonslayer approves this hot spring,’ Isobelle murmured. ‘Let’s go explore.The girls will call us when Gargery comes back from his errands.’
Gwen wanted to protest at the thought of getting out of the water, but beyond Isobelle the sky had flooded with colour, crimson and copper and inky violet, and Isobelle’s face was flushed with the heat, and suddenly Gwen found her legs quite willing to cooperate.
