Gwen felt the air go out of her lungs and blurted, ‘Now? We’ve only just returned, we need to rest, the horses—’
‘Of course not right now, that would be most foolish indeed.’ Whimsitt smiled unpleasantly at her. Lately, he had not bothered much to hide his hatred of Gwen when he looked at her. Another sign that what Gwen feared, and what Olivia said, was true: the goodwill earned by slaying the dragon was dwindling. ‘You may leave first thing in the morning.’
Gwen heard Isobelle’s breath catch before she could gasp aloud. Her own body ached at the thought of spending only one night in a bed before hitting the road again; how must Isobelle, still not fully accustomed to life outside the castle, feel?
‘The place is called Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea – it is some leagues from here, on the coast. They have sent reports of a sea monster, and specifically request the services of the Lady Dragonslayer to deal with their problem. The lord there is building a dragon-themed hot springs, and once you’ve dispatched their little sea monster, you are to stay and give your stamp of approval to the spot.She says the steam from the springs is as hot as the breath of a dragon, that sort of thing.’
‘So far away,’ Gwen said, still reeling, and scarcely digesting the words ‘sea monster’. It was probably a moss-covered log, floating past the town in bad light. ‘My lord, I must protest—’
‘They have offered a frankly staggering amount in exchange for your presence,’ Whimsitt said smoothly.‘And given thatsomeonebroke my goldmine, I can scarcely decline.’
The dragon destroyed your bloody mine, Gwen thought furiously, her right hand twitching, fingers curling around the hem of her tunic instead of the hilt of her sword, which she’d left back in Isobelle’s quarters. Probably a good thing she wasn’t armed.
Isobelle had regained her breath, and lifted her chin in a way that told Gwen to step back and let her lead the charge. ‘Lord Whimsitt, you remind us at every step that Gwen is not one of your knights. You have no right to order her anywhere, or indeed to profit off her presence!’
Whimsitt’s cold little eyes narrowed as they fixed upon his ward. Gwen felt a chill run down her spine – usually, he preserved such loathing for Gwen alone. Seeing him look at Isobelle as if he’d like to crush her under his boot made her heart quail inside.
‘You’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘I cannot order Sir Gwen, the Lady Dragonslayer, anywhere.’ His eyes flicked to meet Gwen’s. ‘But I can send my ward wherever I like. And I can send her all that way alone, if I so choose.’
Gwen’s fearful heart shrank into a tiny, glittering ball of ice.
In the months since the tournament, her imprisonment, the battle against the dragon, Whimsitt had not once directly threatened Isobelle. He didn’t dare, not with more than half the knights on Gwen’s side, and an even greatershare of the people hailing Gwen as a hero – by extension, Isobelle was sacrosanct.
Now, Isobelle was spluttering with outrage.
Gwen reached out and laid a hand on her arm, clearing her throat and speaking quickly into the silence.
‘I’ll go,’ she said quietly. When Isobelle stiffened, she shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I’ll go. We’ll both go.’
She could feel Isobelle’s eyes on her, the outrage and concern there. She knew she’d get an earful later – Isobelle would want to fight back, to argue, to demand Whimsitt treat Gwen with the deference she felt was due.
But Gwen was the one who had heard the threat in his voice. And Isobelle knew what Gwen looked like when she sensed danger, and she was letting Gwen make the call.
Whimsitt smiled now, clasping his hands across his belly and rocking once more up onto his toes and back down. ‘Excellent. I felt sure you would choose obedience. You may go now – you will want to get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you in the morning.’
Isobelle was too furious to reply, and she whirled, making one of her most spectacular exits, all flying skirts and bristling outrage.
‘Oh, and … Lady Dragonslayer?’ Whimsitt called, as Gwen turned to follow. She glanced back, hands clenched hard enough to dig her nails into her own palms. ‘Behave yourself there and be a good emissary of my generosity. I expect you to smile.’
4
I’m not fighting an otter
‘Thatbeast!’ Isobelle fumed, as she stormed into her quarters, Gwen close behind her. ‘I can’t believe him. I hope …’ Her eyes narrowed as she searched for insults vile enough to vent her fury. ‘I hope his trousers split at a moment of great importance. I hope his feet are always cold at night. I hope … I hope he gets lice!’
Gwen leaned back against the closed door, rubbing one hand across her mouth. Isobelle formed a dreadful suspicion that her beloved was hiding a smile.
‘Gwen!’ she scolded. ‘How can you be laughing?’
Gwen raised her hands to protest her innocence, but her lips quirked. ‘Those are just particularly enjoyable insults. I hear you, though. He’s vile. He’s awful. But he holds all the cards, at least for a little longer.’
Isobelle deflated. ‘And Olivia told us to keep our heads down while she’s away. I can’t imagine she’d be happy about us trekking leagues and leagues to fight a stray otter.’
‘I’m not fighting an otter,’ said Gwen firmly. ‘But no. She wouldn’t like it. It’s just that she’d be even less happy about us outright defying Whimsitt.’
‘I hope he falls in his own moat,’ Isobelle muttered. ‘Let the crocodiles have him.’
Gwen walked over to look at their bags, which still lay where they’d dropped them less than an hour before. But when she reached them she simply stood there, staring down as though she couldn’t quite think what to do next. Gwen must be so very tired. And now they didn’t even have Olivia to help them pack for tomorrow.
