"It was my lady's hazel eyes
It was her tresses long
It was her laugh that made me feel
That I was oxen strong
She bade me go into the west
She bade me seek the sea
She bade me seek out treasures gold
My lady Linna Lee…"
The name "Linna Lee" snapped Pidge back to her reality, and she sneered into her mulled wine. The one night in a thousand that the Golden Schooner bothered to hire a bard, and he was the sort of silly fop who put names in the love songs. What did Linna Lee care if a tavern full of sailors and mercenaries knew how pretty she was? All it did was make it damned hard for Pidge to imagine her own love in Linna Lee's place.
Maybe it was just as well. Trina would never have asked her to leave the safety of Tamren's walls for something as frivolous as treasure. No, that was Pidge's own bad idea, and she'd caught seven hells over it.
*~*~*
"Three years you've been gone. And now you mean to leave again?" Trina had demanded frantically. Pidge had ignored her as she shoved clothes into her travel sack.
"You know why I have to go."
"I'm sick with worry when you do. Twice your letters came to me stained with blood."
"It is the price of making my own fortune."
"But you don't have to. You could stay. Be a part of my household."
"To be sneered at for being your pet dog?"
"To be safe, Pidge!"
*~*~*
Pidge winced inwardly at the memory. Trina was perhaps the most patient person under the wide blue sky, though she was a true viper when pushed beyond her limits. Half the court had seen it, too. For poor Trina, the eyes of the nobility staring so openly, so judging, had to feel like the sun burning down on her alone. Her anger had swiftly faded into mortification.
For her part, Pidge couldn't spare a bent copper for the opinions of the nobility. It wasn't the first time they'd stared at her. She was tall, her shoulders broad and muscular, and her complexion red from a foreign parentage. She was the Lady Warrior, the Dame Mercenary. Fighter Fair. Or, at least, those were the names they called her to her face. Her true nicknames were far less suitable for polite company.
Still, she was more at home here, in a second rate tavern a stone's throw from the stinking fisherman's dock, than she'd ever been in court. In Tamren, only Trina had cared for her and for Trina's sake she had to be polite. Here, nobody cared at all. That was easier.
The buzz of conversation filled the smoky room, almost drowning out the bard's song. A band of sailors who looked as though they'd had one too many trips out to sea leapt up from their seats and started singing along drunkenly, sloshing beer out of their mugs. Scarred faces and cloaked figures packed around cramped, dirty tables. Pidge could almost taste the sour taint of drink in the air. It was a good crowd for an outsider to hide in.
She drew her cloak around her tightly and reached out, catching the skirt of harried serving girl. The girl whirled around, her eyes wide, her face flushed. Wispy strands of yellow hair clung to her bright, sweaty cheeks.
"What you need, love?" she asked urgently.
Pidge pitched her voice low enough to pass for a boy's, if not a man's.
"I hear rumor that a Kimbrar's taken up residence in the caves under the Cliffside."
No, not Cliffside. But close. Just a few outcroppings over, if the church's writings on the matter were to be believed. Close enough that the locals would hopefully want to correct her. For once, she was grateful for all those dreadful hours she and Trina had been forced to read them in their youth.
The girl started back so hard she nearly slipped on a puddle of spilled beer. Pidge reached out and caught her wrist before she could fall, but the maid wrenched her hand free, her face twisted with irritation.
"Thirty-nine men in this tavern to keep fed and drunk going on four hours now and you want to waste my time with fairy stories and buried treasure!"
Pidge sank back, hiding her grin as the girl stormed off in a huff. Nearby, the drunken sailors turned their heads, murmuring to each other and vainly trying to look as though they hadn't been listening. With the group of them serving as guides, the story would spread across the tavern like the current under the waves.
And then? Pidge closed her eyes. One way or another, Trina was going to be upset. If Pidge succeeded, she'd only be angry. But if she failed? Well, she'd never have to see the stricken look on Trina's beautiful face. And her last memory of Trina would, at least, be a good one.
*~*~*
"I thought you were angry with me."
Trina lips had twitched up in a coy smile as she stood in Pidge’s doorway. The soft, thin silk of her robe flowed over her sweeping curves like water over river stones, pooling on the floor at her feet. Too long for her. It was easy to forget how tiny Trina really was. Her towering personality made her seem as big as a mountain.
"Your betrothed would be displeased to know where you are right now."
"What, will you get me with child?" Trina teased, shrugging off the robe. It fell to the ground and settled in a heap of silk at her feet. Trina's skin, the very shade of well steeped tea, had positively glowed in the dim candlelight. Her eyes had glittered with mischief. Pidge's mouth had gone dry, her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage as gooseflesh rose on Trina's bare, bronzed skin.
"God's balls, Trina!" Pidge hissed, pulling back the covers. "Get under here before you freeze!"
Trina only laughed and jumped onto the bed, wriggling under the blankets. Her slender form had pressed against Pidge's and, all at once, Pidge felt horribly overdressed. She’d shifted, resting her callused hand on Trina's bare hip. Her skin smelled like autumn air and sweet wine.
Trina licked her lips and looked up at Pidge with the admiration every person longed to see. Heat bloomed deep in Pidge's belly, flowing like a wave through her limbs to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Of all the people in the world, Trina only ever looked at her like that.
"I'd rather you didn't call Count Cordo my betrothed," Trina had said, wrinkling her nose. "It doesn't suit him."
"Well, you're going to marry him. I'm sure that's what ‘betrothed' means."
"Pidge." Trina let out an exasperated sigh and buried her face in Pidge's shoulder. The scent of autumn air washed over her like a summer storm, sending pleasure crackling through her veins. Pidge wrapped her arms around Trina's shoulders and pressed a kiss on the top of her dark head.
"You can't marry him."
"I can't not," Trina muttered. "He has the blessing of both my uncle the king and the church."
"He bought those blessings with gold."
"And we need the gold."
Pidge tightened her hold on Trina.
"Just because Isel's gone doesn't mean the whole kingdom is your responsibility."
"So you'll be our sacrificial lamb?" Trina fixed Pidge with a stern look. "You can't do it."
"Whoever slays the Kimbrar and returns the relics it stole has the right to take the hand of any member of the royal house," Pidge quoted.
Trina arched one dark, delicate brow.
"And you think they'd let us marry?"
Pidge smiled and ran her fingers through Trina's long, dark locks. She was soft. Gentle. Like a willow branch in a breeze. Sharp, but beautiful. She always made Pidge feel big and awkward by comparison.
"Well," Pidge said. "You won't have to marry Cordo."
"What are you afraid of, that you'll suddenly stop seeing me?" Trina smirked impishly and reached forward, pressing the tips of her soft fingers to Pidge's weather-beaten cheek. "I will be queen. And he will be king consort. He'll have no power over me."
"Save in your bedroom."
Trina leaned forward, her full lips tickling Pidge's nose.
"There's time enough to sort that out. Please. Leave the Kimbrar to fools and glory seekers and stay with me. This is where you belong."
Pidge smiled and tangled her fingers in Trina's hair, pulling her down for a long, slow kiss. The sweet wine from dinner lingered on her lips, and Pidge hummed in approval, slipping her tongue between the princess's perfectly straight teeth.
*~*~*
The memory of wine made the cider taste wrong in her mouth. She wanted sweet wine but, even if she ordered it now, it wouldn't taste right. Nothing could live up to the brilliance of memory. That could very well be her last memory of Trina. And Trina's of her. It wasn't the worst she could have.
Pidge was so caught up in her thoughts of Trina that she almost missed the shift in the chatter of the room.
"The Kimbrar has three heads," an old man insisted. "One of a snake, one of a lion, one of a fish."
"No, it has the head of a snake, the legs of a lion, and the tail of a fish."
"That's absurd," snorted a woman with so much rouge, her cheeks looked like shining red apples. She chewed on a long cheroot, her brows furrowed. "If it's part fish how can it live out of the water?"
"Well, it doesn't, does it?" One of the sailors rose, wavering back and forth. "That's why it lives out in the cave. Catches the tides. Guards the sacred treasure from all the holy ships it sank. "
"It didn’t sink those ships for the treasure, it sank them to feed on the sailors. The treasure was an accident. "
"No animal steals treasure on accident," the woman snapped but the sailor guffawed in disdain.
"Well, I say it was after us poor souls of the sea. And it don’t live in no caves. People would have seen it."
"No," came a soft reply. The youngest sailor stared down into his mug, his face ashen. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, seeing something that wasn't there. Pidge leaned forward in her seat, gripping the edge of the table. The sailor swallowed and took a drink. "I was a boy. Me and my da were out fishing—"
"Oh, Will," one of his companions said, but Will made a sharp gesture with his hand.
"I did," he insisted. "And it's there. We were almost in, I could see ma on the docks waving to us. Then something moved against the current. It's a big beast, see. But it's the color of the water itself. Fast as lightning. She came after our catch. We barely made it out alive."
"So why doesn't it go after every fisherman that takes a jaunt?" the rouged woman snorted. Will shook his head and, with no answer to give, took a long pull from his mug. Pidge pursed her lips. It lived in the caves. But it collected holy treasures and relics. So, it couldn't live down at the water's edge. The tide would wash out the treasures. No magpie would be so willing to sacrifice its horde. It might attack a boat, but it took only the fish, unless Will and his father had anything valuable to attract it. Most importantly, it kept to itself, such that even an eyewitness couldn't convince a town of hotheaded, money-starved dockworkers to go after it.
To her disappointment, the Kimbrar soon faded from the conversation. The musician, now sufficiently lubricated by one or five drinks from his enthusiastic patrons, began to play another unendurable folk song. Pidge dropped a coin onto the wooden tabletop and knocked back what remained of her cider as the bard started playing "A Tinker Came to Town." The crowd, more intoxicated by the minute, let out a cheer and started singing along, drowning out the minstrel's voice.
She crept through the crowd, keeping her head down until she could push through the door and onto the cobbled street. The air stank of brine and mildew, old fish and oil. After the sour stench of the tavern, however, it was positively refreshing. She breathed in deeply, willing her head to clear. She had everything she needed. She just needed to put it all together.
"Don't move," came a growl from behind her. Pidge froze, her eyes flicking down. A knife glinted in the light of the street lamps, clutched in a filthy fist, belonging to a filthier man. His lips stretched in an obscene sneer, and the reek of cheap beer hit her nose. Just her luck.
"I'm sure we can resolve this peacefully," she said, her sliding to her purse. "If you want coin—"
"Oh I'll have a lot more than that, no mistake," he huffed, jabbing the knife forward until it pricked her side. With a sigh, Pidge held her hands up, showing him her empty palms. The man's brows, like a pair of thick, unruly caterpillars, crept toward each other. "I seen you in there. Heard you. Talkin' about that man-eatin' beast. Getting' everyone all riled up. But I know what it is you're really after."
"Eternal glory?"
"Shut it!" he snarled. "You're gonna lead me there. Take all the glory you like, but the treasure's mine."
"Yes. Unfortunately, that might be a bit of a problem." Pidge shrugged. "You see, I need the treasure myself. Holy relics are pretty important to some people, and I know some people who need it."
"Don't think you're in a position to say no."
Pidge resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How many two bit wannabe thugs in the world were going to try that on her? She wondered if he was trying to take advantage of her because she was a woman, he was drunk, or he was just a moron. Usually, his sort were some combination of the three.
"Aren't you afraid of the Kimbrar?" she asked, pitching her voice up like a frightened damsel in a morality play. The man scoffed.
"Ain't no Kimbrar," he snarled. "Just a horrible story meant to keep you away from the caves. Keep people from looking for the treasure."
"Of course. Perfectly sound theory. Which is why a woman with no skill for fighting at all is going to go after it."
"Huh?"
Pidge whirled around, knocking the knife out of his hand with her fist. His wrist joint let out a sickening pop! The man let out a loud cry as his bloodshot eyes widened, the knife clattering harmlessly to the filthy cobblestones. Pidge gave him a shove back and held up her hands.
"Why don't you go back on inside? Get yourself another drink before you hurt yourself, okay?"
His face, covered with dirt and stubble, twisted in drunken fury.
"You bleeding whore!" He snarled, lunging forward with his fist raised. His footing was wrong, and his thumb was tucked under his fingers. Pidge sidestepped him. The man pitched forward. With a helpful nudge from Pidge, he fell to the ground in a heap. His grimy hands scrabbled against the cobblestones for the fallen knife, but Pidge pressed her boot to his wrist, forcing his hand to open before he could even get a good grip.
A torrent of obscenities spewed from the man's lips, thick enough to make the drunken sailors inside the Golden Schooner blush like simpering maids.
"You could have at least made a real effort," Pidge snorted, kicking the knife out of his reach and stepping away. "You should thank me. I'm as good as saving your life. You wouldn't last a minute with a Kimbrar."
"Go choke on it you ugly bint," he ground out. Pidge's face burned. It wasn't the first time in her life someone had called her ugly. A woman mercenary, usually on her own, was hardly going to be known anywhere as a great beauty. That had always been Trina's place. Even so, sometimes the pettiest insults could be the sharpest when hurled at the right time.
Pidge clenched her jaw and, with an angry cry, brought the heel of her boot right down on the man's forearm. His bone cracked with a satisfying snap and he let out a bloodcurdling scream that faded into a useless whimper. He wouldn't try to threaten women in the street anymore.
In Pidge's opinion, she'd done a good thing. But, in the back of her mind, she could almost hear Trina's disapproval.
"He was just an old drunk, Pidge! Really, he wasn't a threat to you. Now he won't even be able to work, not with a busted arm like that. And I bet he's got nobody to look after him while it heals. He could starve."
It was just the sort of naïve, oversensitive attitude that drove Trina to adopt strays, including a pale street urchin with no family, who tended to run off and kill people for money whenever she pleased. With a weighty sigh, Pidge fished a coin out of her purse and dropped it on the cobblestones. It clanged brightly, settling just in front of the man's snot filled nose.
"Take that to a physician," she instructed firmly. "It better not go to buy more beer. Do you understand?"
The man groaned lowly, burying his face in the cobblestones.
"You’re a bleeding demon," he whined. Pidge rolled her eyes and nudged his arm ever so gently with the toe of her boot. The man screamed as though she'd stabbed him with a red hot poker.
"Do you understand?" she asked again.
"Yes, yes!" He cried, his words thick with tears.
"Where are you going?"
"A physician!"
"Good." Pidge closed her purse and stepped back. "Might want to sober up, too."
He sputtered, and looked ready to spit a fresh insult at her, but Pidge flicked her cloak aside, revealing the wide, heavy sword that hung from her hip. She didn't use it often. In fact, she preferred not to. Most fights could easily be avoided or won with her hands alone, at least in a place like this. But it was useful against bandits, beasts, and the snarls of back alley thugs. What color remained in the man's face drained, and his mouth shut so suddenly, she heard the click of his teeth. Perhaps he wasn't completely hopeless after all.
She let her cloak flutter over her hanging sword and turned, heels thudding against the cobblestones. Trina would be disappointed if she found out about this. But what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Pidge followed a winding dirt road up to the cliffs. The buildings grew sparser and squatter, buffeted by the high coastal winds. With each step, Pidge felt herself shrugging away the Golden Schooner and the man in the street like old scraps before she changed into a good, new gown. The stink of the docks fell behind, replaced by sweet grass and salt. It was easier to think up here. Strange, though, to think that a Kimbrar could be hiding beneath her very feet, stowed away in some cave atop a hoard of relics that belonged to Tamren and the church. Yet nobody knew for sure it was even there.
Atop the cliffs sat a windswept cluster of buildings too small to be considered a village. It was home to stubborn folk whose ancestors had been too eager to own their own land or too mulish to abide by the church's laws. Or, rather, to accept that the church treated their ancient gods as minor deities. People who denied the church tended to end up in desolate places like this.
Pidge was glad she'd cut her hair. The wind whipped her short, pale locks about, stinging her cheeks like needles and threatened to tear her cloak from her shoulders. Perhaps this was why nobody had seen the Kimbrar. The damned monster was terrified of coming out to endure the unforgiving wind.
Pidge pulled her hood up, and almost instantly the pervasive flapping of the cloth in her ears drowned out all other noise. Gritting her teeth, she staggered up to a small building with warm light spilling from the windows. An hour of walking through these winds had left her feeling worn and ragged. Besides, it was the middle of the night. There would be no more daring adventures before dawn, that much she could count on. Pidge rapped loudly against the wooden door, praying whoever was inside could hear her.
The door swung open to reveal a red cheeked woman, her face pinched with concern. She looked Pidge over then sniffed loudly.
"You smell like you just came off the docks." Her voice sounded a thousand miles away under the roar of the wind.
"I did." Pidge had to resist the urge to yell her answer. "I've come for lodging."
"Well, you'd have been better off staying down there. We've got a bad wind blowing tonight. The windows'll rattle."
"That's fine."
The woman's brows almost touched as she narrowed her eyes in blatant suspicion.
"You ain't here to try and convert us, are ya? To Coros or Malou or whatever the hell fold are calling their frippery church god these days."
"No," Pidge assured her. "Truth be told, I get a little queasy when I see a priest myself." More than once she'd had to endure the lecture about behavior unbecoming of a lady. That she should have stayed to serve as Trina's maid or sought out a good marriage, using the royal house as her connection. It wasn't fitting for a woman with her good fortune to set out on her own like a vagabond.
The woman scowled for another second, but something in Pidge's face must have convinced her because, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, her expression brightened and she stepped aside.
"Well, in you come, then," she said. "My name's Madge and this is my place. Tisn't much, just a way station for locals and tinkers, mostly, but it'll get you in out of the wind."
Pidge stepped inside, instantly relieved as the wind stopped pounding against her. Her ears rang for a moment in the comparative quiet of Madge's unnamed inn. A small, poorly stocked bar took up most of the far wall, and only a couple of patrons sat at one of the rough, mismatched tables in the corner. Migrant workers, most likely, returned home to their families after a long harvesting season. Pidge couldn't imagine any sort of work on this windy patch of land that could bring in real money.
"Would you like a drink, then?" Madge asked eagerly. Pidge felt a slight squirm of guilt as she shook her head.
"Just a room."
"Of course." Madge waved her to a rickety staircase just behind the bar, tilting left and right as they made their way up to the second floor. Pidge climbed slowly, her heart skipping as each plank creaked loudly underneath her boots. Madge followed behind her, as sure as a bird on a branch.
"You look like you travel," the innkeeper remarked. "Any news of the outside?"
"Depends on which ‘outside' you're referring to."
"Not those reeking docks, that's for sure."
They reached the top of the stairs, and Pidge sent up a private prayer of thanks to whatever god, lesser or greater, might be listening for her safe delivery up the stairs as Madge fished a set of keys from her pocket.
"I hear Lila Lark's got herself married," Madge went on. "Pity that. You know she came here and sang once. Loveliest thing I ever did hear."
"You don't say," Pidge said dryly. "I couldn't tell you much. I don't follow singers."
"Well, just a thing I heard." Madge sniffed and stuffed a key into the lock on one of the doors. "Heard Prince Isel went and died, too. Heard he caught a pox."
Pidge's heart stuttered in her chest. She remembered Trina's face after the funeral, her eyes red rimmed, but she didn't dare to let herself cry. She was the heir. She needed to be strong for her people.
"It was a pneumonia," Pidge explained. "He was out hunting. Got caught in a storm. His health always was poor."
"What's to become of that princess, then?"
Pidge smiled tightly. "She's got people on her side."
"Well, good on that, then." Madge waved her into the room and returned the keys to her pocket. The room itself was little more than a closet. There was a bed, a nightstand with a washbasin, a window that did, indeed, rattle, and just enough room to walk in a tight circle but not enough room for her to properly stretch her legs.
"No bag?" Madge asked. Pidge shook her head.
"Better to travel without, if you can." A bag was just a dead weight of belongings that would attract bandits and disaster. What possessions she had sat in a trunk at the bottom of Trina's wardrobe. Madge sniffed and rubbed her hands together.
"All right, then. It's ten penny for the night, extra two for breakfast in the morning."
"Got any other help around here?"
"My brother's boy, Tim. He's already sleeping, though."
Pidge nodded and patted the bed with one hand.
"I'll give you a silver talent for the room, the breakfast, and as much fish as Tim can get from the docks at the crack of dawn tomorrow."
Madge's brows flew up.
"You must be a fan of fish, then. He'll be on it first thing."
That night, as Pidge tucked herself into the cramped bed, the windows rattling in their panes, she thought back to Trina in her own finer bed. Alone. She thought of that last night they'd had, and the morning after. Trina's dark hair spread like a fan over her pillows, her supple body curled under the blankets. It was a sight she might not get to see again.
"I must be out of my mind," she hissed, her eyes sliding shut. But then she thought of Trina curled up just like that in Cordo's bed. His pretty wife. The thought of him forcing himself on her when Pidge knew Trina would be dreaming every night of a different partner…
This was the only way to avoid that.
*~*~*
Pidge had first entered the castle Tamren at eight years old, with dirt under her fingernails and a belly so empty it was almost concave. It had been a cold winter's night, the sort that crawled under a person's skin and settled deep into their bones, deep enough to freeze an unfortunate street rat from the inside out. For weeks, Pidge had hid in an empty basement, damp and moldy but safe from the snow. At least, until the first real storm of the season hit. If she’d stayed there, she'd be frozen through by morning.
The lights of the castle twinkled in the frigid air, warm and welcoming as a candle in the window. Perhaps it was dizziness from the hunger, or desperation from the cold, but in that moment Pidge could think of no better place to seek refuge for the night than with those warm lights. Barefoot and dressed only in rags, she made the slow, painful walk from Tamren low, with its filthy beggars and shady moneylenders, to Tamren high.
By a pure stroke of kind fortune, some bumbling stable hand had left the latch to the barn unlocked, allowing Pidge to sneak in. The stables were dry and sweet with the smell of hay, but most importantly they were warm. With a cry of relief, she’d staggered forward, easily finding the stall of the fattest, sweetest pony she'd ever seen in her life. There, she’d found oats, hard on her teeth but thick and filling, and water, which she drank until she felt her stomach might pop.
When all that was said and done the pony, apparently not minding her interloper, had even allowed Pidge to curl up next to her for warmth. It had been the best night she'd had in months, until a dark haired girl with a gap between her front teeth and messy braids stumbled upon her.
"What are you doing with my Mimby?"
Pidge had jumped to her feet, her bare toes scrabbling against the dirty stable floor as she prepared to jump out the window, but it seemed Mimby's stall didn't have one, and the girl blocked the way out. Pidge swallowed, her heart in her throat.
"Please don't rat me out," she’d begged. "It's only I got nowhere else to go."
The dark haired girl furrowed her brows, then stepped forward, her arms crossed.
"Only if you don't rat me out for being in the stables after bed," she’d said. "Strictly speaking I'm not allowed to be down here by myself. But I'm not by myself, I'm with you."
Pidge narrowed her eyes.
"You're… gonna let me stay the night, then?"
"I suppose. You don't have parents to go to?"
Pidge shook her head. The dark haired girl nodded and crossed her arms.
"Me, neither. I live here with my aunt and uncle. You look foreign. You ever been up north?"
"I dunno. I don't think so."
"Me neither." The dark haired girl's lip quirked mischievously and she held out her hand. "Come on. I know how to get in the kitchens even when they're locked up. We'll get some food then you can sleep in my room. It's a lot cozier."
"No," Pidge bit back. The dark haired girl frowned and folded her hands over her middle.
"Oh. Okay, then. Well, can I bring some food here?"
Pidge bit the inside of her lip. Offers like that always came with catches, always came with a price too high for a penniless orphan to pay. But her mouth watered at the sort of food they must stock in a castle kitchen.
"What do you want for it?" she asked, low and hesitant. The dark haired girl brightened.
"I'll be right back."
She darted off, all dark hair and energy. Pidge stood frozen for a long moment, still pressed against Mimby's side. She ought to run. The girl could come back with guards at any moment. But the thought of returning to the snow froze her limbs. Before she could bring herself to move, the girl was back, grinning from ear to ear, her arms stuffed with food and—Pidge's knees began to go weak—a fine, thick blanket.
"We can have a picnic right here!" the girl declared. "I've even brought an apple for Mimby."
The pony perked up at that. As the girl set out the blanket, Pidge felt herself beginning to relax.
"I'm Trina, by the way," the girl said, feeding the apple to her pony. "What's your name?"
"Pidgin," Pidge said, eyeing the food uncertainly. It wouldn't be the first time she'd seen a feast right in front of her and not been allowed to take a bite. Trina smiled.
"Go on," she urged. "I can't eat it all myself."
Hesitantly, she took a bit of cheese from the hoard of food. Then a bit more. Trina joined her, smiling and urging Pidge to try everything until, at last, Pidge curled up on the edge of the blanket and slept.
The moment the morning light streamed into the stables, Trina shook her awake.
"Come on," she hissed. "We ought to get out of the stables. I can't get caught here."
"But I—"
"We'll make something up," she insisted, already bunching up her blanket and the paltry remnants of the previous night's meal. Overwhelmed and, if she was honest, a little bit enchanted by this magical girl who had been so kind to her, all Pidge could do was follow her out of the stall.
At the dark hall leading back into the castle, though, Pidge halted, her gut squirming. There would be guards. There would be nobles. Any one of them could see her, grab her, hurt her for daring to set foot in their fine castle. Trina frowned, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Come on," she repeated, then shifted her load into one arm so she could hold out the other to Pidge. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."
*~*~*
Following Trina down that hall had taken more courage than anything in Pidge's entire life. Until now. She stood in front of the Kimbrar's cave with a sack of fish, the gusts of sea wind pressing her hard into the rock face. The narrow switchback leading down to the rocky beach below ended abruptly, presumably because the builders had thought better of it. Jagged chunks of stone had been wrenched free of the cliff face. The Kimbrar's path into the cave.
The things I do for that girl.
She gripped the hilt of her sword with one hand the bag of fish in the other. This was a horrible gamble. A horrible, stupid gamble, but Pidge hadn't made her career off a reputation for caution.
Sucking in a deep breath, Pidge hurled the bag of fish into the cave, waiting for the tell-tale squelch of the fish flying across the cave floor. Then, she waited. One breath, two, then three, her heart hammering loud enough to drown out the constant rumble of the wind. Surely it had risen to the bait by now.
Slowly, she pulled her sword free of its scabbard, and had to grab on with both hands before the wind could yank it free. The steel clanged loudly against the rock face, and Pidge froze. One breath. Two… but no serpent-headed beast appeared at the mouth of the cave.
She gripped the hilt of her sword until her fingers ached and charged into the mouth of the cave. For one horrible moment, the dark fell over her eyes like a veil. It took only a second for her vision to adjust to reveal…
Absolutely nothing. There was no hideous beast picking its way through the mountain of gold, no massive claws tearing at the stone floor, preparing to tear at her. Just a dark, shallow cave filled with heavy boulders instead of treasure. Pidge was so startled she staggered forward, stepping on one of the slimy fish before she could stop herself.
As she crashed to the ground, her sword skidding out of her reach, she reflected dimly that this was not her finest moment; sprawled out on some filthy cave floor to hunt an imaginary monster that clearly didn't live here, surrounded by dead fish. Oh, the courtiers in Tamren would have a field day if they ever found out.
Grumbling, Pidge pushed herself to her feet, her cheeks burning as she dusted off her trousers. Nothing for it, then, if there was no beast to slay. Without those recovered relics, she couldn't claim Trina's hand. Couldn't spare her the marriage to Cordo. All she could do was slink back to Tamren to face a red-faced princess ready to give her hell for taking off in the night on a fool's errand. Of course, Trina would probably forgive her. But she would still have to marry Count Cordo.
"Seven hells," she hissed, crouching down to retrieve her sword. And that was when she saw it: a glimmer behind one of the boulders. Frowning, Pidge sheathed her sword and leaned over the boulder, and what she saw took her breath away.
The way the church talked about these missing relics, one would have thought the gods themselves shit them out. Most beautiful, they always said, most precious, most awe-inspiring. Pidge had always thought the priests were blowing hot air. But, for the first time in her life, she began to suspect they were onto something.
Treasures were heaped atop each other, glittering in the gloom of the cave, untarnished by the damp or the bite of the salt in the air. Effigies to Neia, the goddess of fertility and Tor, god of the sun. Golden circlets said to have been worn by Coros during the nine days he'd lived among humanity and founded the church. A necklace all of diamonds and pearls, shining boxes and even the fine silver candelabra used on the high holy days. Each one shone as though it had been freshly polished. Whether or not these relics belonged to the gods, clearly there was more to them than the worth of their metal.
Pidge sucked in a deep breath, pulling one of Coros's diadems out of the hoard. It shone like a mirror in the dim light, casting gleaming reflections over the cave walls. For one flickering moment, Pidge wanted to put it on, just to feel what it must be like to be a god for a day. Then she thought of how peculiar it would look on a short haired mercenary in road worn clothes, with callused hands and muscled arms. She had no business wearing something so delicate.
No. This would better suit the likes of Trina. Not that the church would let even her keep it. Well, after this victory, Pidge could buy her a new one, twice as big, studded with diamonds and rubies. After today, she could give Trina the world. Pidge nearly tipped over as the full implication of her find slammed into her. What had been a flight of either fancy or foolishness, was suddenly a beautiful reality. She was going to save Trina from a marriage she didn't want. She could even marry Trina, the judgments of the court be damned. She'd found the relics stolen generations ago. Generations ago, the church had promised the house of Tamren, the family deemed the protectors of the church, to whoever could find them.
She could be the queen consort. What a bizarre notion. But, all the same. The title was hers if she reached out to take it.
Half delirious with giddiness, Pidge rushed to her bag of fish, dumping the rest of them out and returning to stuff the relics in one by one. Certainly they would stink of fish, but a good washing and they'd be right as rain. A mad smile stretched across her face, laughter bubbling deep in her throat as the relics clanged against one another.
A soft mewl echoed through the cave. Pidge froze halfway to stuffing in one of the shining effigies. God's balls, was that a child? Was someone living in this cave now? Who in all hells would live near such treasure and not touch it?
"Hello?" Pidge called, setting down the bag and gripping her sword. She expected another whine.
She did not expect the deep, rumbling growl that reverberated off the cave walls. Her blood turned to ice.
Oh. The Kimbrar.
Pidge turned slowly, her knuckles white where they gripped the hilt, to face the beast whose cave she now found herself trapped in. As it turned out, it did not have lion paws. The storytellers got that bit wrong. Nor did it have a fish's tail or three heads. Because, of course, Kimbrars really were just fairy stories.
What stood at the mouth of the cave was nothing less than a slick, black skinned, yellow eyed, massive sea dragon. Not a Kimbrar.
"Easy there," Pidge said, sliding away from the bag of relics. "These don't belong to you, and I'd say I have more use for them than you. So what say you eat your fish and I'll be on my merry way?"
The dragon rumbled again, exposing two rows of jagged teeth like spearheads. Pidge swallowed and, slowly, pulled her sword from its sheath with a sharp shing!
"All right, then."
The dragon surged forward, its low rumble building into a roar as it opened its mouth wide, wide enough to clamp around her head. But Pidge was already moving, ducking aside, her sword swinging through the air to connect with the dragon's slick skin. The blade slid harmlessly off as though she'd stuck it with a butter knife.
Quick as the shifting wind, the dragon whipped around, snarling as it swiped at her with one of its powerful paws. Pidge dropped to the ground in time to see the dragon belch out a torrent of boiling water, which hissed as it flew through the air, splashing harmlessly against the far wall.
Right. All the lore said sea dragons didn't breathe fire. But they'd never said anything about that.
Pidge scrambled away as the dragon reared, its tail whipping into the cave wall, sending bits of rock raining down from the ceiling. That was when she saw the thin red scratches just above the beast's dark breast, still pink and fresh from some other battle out in the raging ocean. Just like any other animal, its underside was vulnerable.
Pidge had lingered too long. The dragon reared back, its throat working as though trying to swallow a horse whole. It took Pidge one second too many to realize what was happening before she dove out of the way. With a deep bellow, the dragon spewed another geyser of boiling water, this time washing over the left side of Pidge's body.
For one long moment, she didn't feel anything. Just the warm rush of water, more like a bath than anything.
Then it burned.
Pidge was on the ground before she fully knew what was happening, her throat raw from screams she scarcely realized she was letting loose. The dragon snarled, stalking forward until it loomed over her. She could count every spearhead tooth in its long mouth.
The dragon's throat rumbled again and, not for the first time in her life, Pidge stared into the face of death and regretted leaving Tamren.
Well, if she was going to die here, she wasn't going to die alone.
Pushing the pain to the back of her mind, Pidge shoved herself up off the cave floor and lunged her sword through the air, slicing against the dragon's exposed throat. It let out a howl like a wounded steer, staggering back as the wash of deadly water meant for Pidge flooded across the stone at its feet.
Gasping, Pidge dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the unnatural pull of cloth against her skin as she rushed forward, burying the sword in the beast's belly. Blood spewed from the wound, flooding over Pidge's fine blade as the creature blinked its wide, yellow eyes. Then, with one last mournful moan, it collapsed against the cave floor. Pidge stared, waiting for it to rise at any moment and finish her off, but it didn't so much as twitch again. The sea dragon, the would be Kimbrar, was dead.
"Mercy of the gods," Pidge breathed, and she had to brace herself against the cave wall. It was dead, then, but she couldn't bring herself to smile. Now that it was no longer trying to kill her, she could appreciate that it had been a beautiful animal.
"Rest well," she murmured. Pidge took a halting step forward, intent on retrieving her sword, but stopped herself. The dragon was dead for the church's treasure and the hand of the princess. The least she could do was leave it a trophy of its own.
With a grunt, Pidge turned and staggered back to the dragon's small hoard. Her bag of treasures lay right where she'd left them, with circlets and fine necklaces spilling out of its lip. She bent down stiffly, grimacing against the sensation of her skin pulling uncomfortably as she hefted the bag up. Metal clanged on metal, and she prayed that the relics didn't scuff each other up before she reached Tamren. Then, she heard it again. A soft mewling sound, like a baby or a kitten begging for milk in the moment before a tantrum.
"Hello?" Pidge shifted the bag over her good shoulder and inched forward, peeking behind stones and under craggy outcroppings. She was so intent in her search that she almost missed it, but there it was. Crouched in a little hole in the wall, its yellow eyes wide and shining, was an infant sea dragon little bigger than a cat. Its dark tail wrapped protectively around its tender belly as it pawed anxiously at the stone floor.
Pidge felt ice drop into the pit of her belly. The damned dragon hadn't been protecting its hoard. It had been protecting its pup.
The bag of treasure dropped to the floor with an almighty clang and she swore, loudly and colorfully. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't even supposed to be a dragon, and she wasn't supposed to orphan some wretched beast.
The dragon mewled again, its eyes wide and pitiful as it clawed at the cave floor, its tiny claws scraping like nails against the solid stone. The dragon had probably been out hunting.
"Three damns!" Pidge shouted.
She couldn't go back now. Trina would know. Somehow, she always knew. And her gentle heard would never rest if she knew some creature had suffered like this for her sake. But what was Pidge supposed to do with it?
"You aren't my responsibility," she snapped. "I didn't… I don't owe you a damned thing!"
*~*~*
"You don't owe me a thing."
Trina turned, her lips quirking in that smile of hers as she threw her hair up in the most complicated plait Pidge had ever seen and without the aid of a maid.
"I know you think that," Trina said, sticking a bronze comb amidst her dark locks. "But I feel like I do. I found you. You're my responsibility."
"You already fed me."
"And I could feed you for years if you stay. Do you not want to stay in the castle?"
Pidge flushed and dropped her head, feeling altogether too clumsy and unrefined in the chambers of a princess.
"You don't have to."
"But I want to." Trina rose, shaking out her skirts and beaming. "And I do get horribly lonely. Maybe I was the will of the gods that we find each other.
*~*~*
Trina would never abandon a defenseless beast like this. And Pidge was acting in Trina's name.
"She's softening me from the inside out," Pidge grumbled, snatching the bag up and shoving the church relics back in. "It won't be a comfortable trip for you, but you'll not die because of me. Not when you've only started to live."
She crouched down, feeling momentarily dizzy. A trip to a physician was in order, and maybe a salve for her burns. The dragonling backed tightly against the wall, whining loudly. Of course.
Swearing, Pidge staggered over to the mess of dead fish and gathered up an armful.
"It's fine. I'm feeding you. See?" She held out one fish, dropping the rest in the bag. The priests would faint when they saw how she'd treated their precious trinkets.
The dragon perked up at the sight of the dead fish hanging limply from Pidge's hand. Hesitantly, it padded forward, sniffing eagerly. Then, delighted, it snapped the food right out of her fingers and bounced happily as it gulped it down. In spite of herself, Pidge let out a chuckle.
"Oh, Trina is going to adore you."
*~*~*
The shirt was a total loss. The cloth stuck to boiled bits of skin, and Pidge had to bite into the leather as the physician peeled it away. He didn't say a word, though. He simply rubbed a poultice on her burns, wrapped them up, and instructed her to keep them clean. If he noticed the occasional wriggle and whimper from her bag, he said nothing, which was just as well. Pidge had chosen him for his reputation for discretion.
She returned that night to Madge's inn and, this time, ordered enough food for three people. Madge was stunned at first, but jumped to accommodate her, positively alight with joy. Still elated by her victory, Pidge rifled through the bag, sifting through her treasures until she found a necklace that looked like it probably wasn't a holy relic and stashed it in the small chest of drawers. This inn probably didn't see much money, and Pidge felt grotesquely generous.
The dragonling perched atop the bed, mewling until Pidge tossed it a plate of mutton. To her credit, Madge had earned the money she was bound to discover in the morning. She'd need it to replace the pillow the creature had already destroyed.
It was a two day journey back to Tamren high. That meant two days of keeping off the roads, her treasure kept close, and her new companion kept closer. It also meant two days of trying to feed and tend to an increasingly irritable baby dragon. As soon as they entered Tamren and it went back in the bag, it started fussing. And it didn't stop, not even when Pidge knocked at the servants' entrance.
"Stop that," Pidge hissed as the dragon wriggled in its bag, scrabbling loudly at the treasures in. "Stop. They'll never let me in if they see—"
The door cracked open with a loud creak as one of the kitchen maids poked her head out with a tight frown.
"Oh no," she huffed. "Not you. Not on a day like this."
"What? Why?" Pidge's stomach churned. No. Not the wedding, not yet. She should have had time.
"Count Cordo's over, he and the king are in talks. And I bet you want to distract the princess, do you?"
"And what makes you say that?"
The bag rattled at her side, the dragon mewling softly as it scrabbled, no doubt confused as to why it could smell fish when there were none to be seen. The maid's eyes flicked down to the bag and she pulled a face.
"Don't tell me you brought her a cat," she moaned. "The last thing we need is another creature to bring chaos at a time like this. Do you have any idea what it's been like—"
"I'm sure the princess will want to see me."
"So you can whisk her away to who knows where exactly when she needs to be here? Fat chance."
"I won't take her anywhere, I promise," Pidge insisted. "I have a… a gift for her. Because of her upcoming wedding. Please." She tightened her grip on the bag and chewed the inside of her cheek. "You know how close we are."
The maid sighed heavily.
"You haven't met Count Cordo yet. You don't know the hell we'll catch if he finds out I let you in today."
"He doesn't need to know how I got in. Besides. Do you really want to let Trina know you kept me out?"
The maid grimaced but stepped aside, gesturing irritably down the hall. "Just hurry along. Trina's in the hall with the king. Wait in her chambers."
"Of course."
Pidge pushed through into the kitchen, where more than a few of the kitchen staff froze to look at her with varying levels of relief, concern, and alarm. More so the latter as a whining protest rose up from her bag. Pidge ignored all of them, though, as she walked straight into the corridor beyond, her heavy boots echoing off the dark stone. Her heart thudded in her chest like a hammer. Trina was in the hall with her father, being bartered like a piece of livestock. She swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Trina, what in the name of… what is this in your bed?"
"Her name is Pidge, Uncle. I found her. She has no home."
"That doesn't mean she belongs in yours."
She took a shuddering breath and almost skidded to a halt. In all this time, she'd been so concerned with Trina it hadn't even occurred to her what the king would say. Would Pidge drive a wedge between them by doing this?
She froze as she came to a fork in the corridor. If she continued on, she could stop the marriage arrangements. Make a big show of presenting the relics, sweep Trina away, become the consort of the future queen… but she would also earn the wrath of the king and Count Cordo. Whereas on her left was Trina's room. It was safety above all else. Where they'd always found refuge together. She bit her lip, remembering the first time Trina had kissed her. In that room, on that bed, bright and eager, her eyes shining, her lips tasting of sweet wine and honey cakes.
"You know what, Pidge? I don't think I love anything in the world as much as you." Her hand fell to Pidge's knee. Pidge, stunned, stared back at her, her cheeks burning.
"Trina, you know we can't…" Pidge threw a glance over her shoulder, just in case someone approached.
"Oh, bugger them all, Pidge. It's time I heard an answer from you." She arched one dark brow. "Well?"
Pidge's mouth went dry but, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.
"I… I feel the same."
Trina's face broke into a wide smile as she leaned forward, nuzzling her nose against Pidge's.
"Good. Then we'll always be together."
Pidge sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to move, one step at a time, into the great hall. A large, lacquered table had been set up before the king's throne, and it was littered with documents. The king read over one, his face pinched as he stroked his dark beard. Trina sat beside him, her eyes downcast, hands folded listlessly in her lap. Pidge's stomach squirmed. Where was that beautiful spark?
Cordo sat beside her, and Pidge could see immediately where Trina's spark must have gone. The count did not have a kind face. Cordo's eyes were like flecks of ice, his mouth a sharp, thin line in his face, as though a sculptor had clumsily slashed into clay with a knife and called it done. He didn't glance at Trina once as he jabbed a finger at the legal documents like a knife.
"No, consort is not going to be enough," he insisted. "If I'm going to marry her I'm going to need to know that my wife will not have power over me. I will be king and nothing less. It is tradition."
"Tradition cannot always be set in stone. Marriage is a complex union, particularly for royals," one of the three priests present began, worrying the frayed sleeves of his habit. Cordo turned to snap at him but froze as his eyes fell on Pidge. Pidge struggled to stop herself from squirming under his scrutiny. All the glances, all the half hidden sneers directed at her over the years were there in his eyes, with more malice than any one person should have been able to muster. It made her sick to know that the king intended to hand his niece off to such a man.
"What's this?" Cordo demanded. "Get out, woman. Can't you see we're busy?"
Pidge opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't quite push the words out. For one agonizing moment, she was a child, awkward and tall, an unfortunate tagalong to the princess. The king, Trina, and the three priests glanced up as one. Trina's eyes widened, one hand flying to her mouth. The priests gaped, and one made a small gesture of supplication, begging some god or other for the patience to deal with such a nuisance. The king let out a weary huff.
"Pidge, this isn't the time," he said evenly. "Go wait in your room, Trina will be in to see you later."
"I'm afraid I can't, Your Grace."
The king glanced up sharply. He'd always tolerated her in the past. Once he accepted that Trina's little vagrant would not be going away, he grudgingly accepted her as something of a family oddity. At times, if he was in a fine mood and had had too much wine, he even found it in him to be affectionate toward her. On this day, he'd clearly had no wine. Before the king could say another word, however, Cordo's face burned red and he slammed his fist on the table, sending a couple of papers flying.
"You dare to defy your king?" Cordo snapped.
"I dare to offer him something he needs," Pidge insisted, turning pleading eyes on Trina's uncle. "Something that might help him to reconsider."
"And what is that?" the king sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. In the bag, the dragonling squirmed and mewled, clattering against the treasure. All three priests jumped to their feet.
"What manner of… what have you got in there?" one demanded, the color draining from his face. Pidge strode forward, dropping the bag on the table, her lip twitching up as it flew open and the dragonling leapt out, papers flying from underneath its paws. Trina's other hand flew to her mouth, but Pidge caught sight of the smile that lit up her face, reigniting that old spark.
The king and Cordo both leapt from their seats, eyes wide.
"What is this?" the king demanded.
"Think of it as a wedding present," Pidge said.
Cordo's face twisted, as though she had just told him they'd be serving up the creature for supper.
"Well we do not accept," he snarled.
"It's not for you. Just for Trina."
"Pidge," Trina laughed, covering her face. Her shoulders shook with poorly contained mirth. "You utter lunatic."
"This is absurd," Cordo roared, turning on the king. "I came here to negotiate my ability to fill your coffers. Now if you aren't serious about this—"
"Pidge, you need to go," the king said evenly. "We will speak later.
"No," Pidge insisted, reaching for the bag. "There's more—"
"Not from you," Cordo snarled.
"Oh, she means well by it," Trina said. "Let her—"
"We have discussed your speaking out of turn." Cordo turned on her, his hand twitching just a hair, enough that Pidge could see the blow he was holding back. The blow he might not hold back after a wedding.
She was moving before she even knew what she was doing, her hand going to the hilt of her sword… but no. It was gone. Buried in the breast of the sea dragon. That didn't stop her, though. As she leapt up onto the table, she ripped at her scabbard hard enough to snap the straps one by one. The dragon let out a startled cry and scrambled out of the way, spilling the rest of the papers off the table.
Cordo's jaw let out a satisfying crunch under the slam of her scabbard, and Cordo dropped like a tree.
Pidge had only a moment to enjoy the sight of him on the floor, his smug face twisted in shock and pain. Then she heard the yells. The king screamed for his guards, the priests condemning such violence in a woman. The youngest one, a mousy boy who looked fresh from the seminary, rushed to Cordo's side, but looked too frightened to actually help him up.
Then strong hands closed around her shoulders, yanking her down from the table. The sparkle disappeared from Trina's eyes.
"No, wait—" she called as the guards began to drag Pidge away, but the king grabbed her shoulders.
"Throw her in the dungeon, we'll deal with her later," he snapped. The dragonling paced nervously, whining as it looked from person to person to person. Then, in a fit of rage, it began howling and scratching at the heavily lacquered table.
Nobody even looked at the bag.
*~*~*
Pidge stared dully at the dingy stone wall. Night had fallen, and only the flickering light of the distant torches lit her cell. It was odd, finally finding herself down here. Sure, the threat of imprisonment was common. Don't touch that cake, don't make faces at the duchess, don't kidnap the princess to go riding an hour before the state dinner, or you'll end up in the dungeon where you belong. The threat was so common she'd almost forgotten that it could be true.
What a mess she'd made. Why couldn't she rein in her temper? Maybe she'd wanted to show off, letting the dragon out first. She knew Trina would like it, and that was all that mattered at the time. If she'd pulled out a relic first, she could have staked her claim, rescued Trina from that marriage.
Smashing her scabbard into Cordo's face was probably the worst way to do that.
She ground her teeth together and squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid. Stupid! Everything was going to well. She had the damned church treasure, she had everything she needed to free Trina. Now she'd be lucky if the king didn't exile her. Oh, he'd threatened to do it plenty of times. But now of all times she couldn't bear the thought. How long would she be sent away? Six months? A year? Certainly he wouldn't permit her to return until after the wedding and then it would all be too late. Pidge knocked her head against the grimy wall and lifted her chin, staring at the stark, stone ceiling.
"If anyone's listening," she muttered. "Any gods or… or whatever you like, please. Don't let Trina suffer for my mistakes."
"I never took you for the praying sort."
Pidge's head whipped around and she leapt to her feet as she saw Trina just in front of the cell, the dragonling in her arms, curled up like a cat. Trina's coy smile was back in place, albeit smaller than it had been when Pidge released her new pet.
"Trina," Pidge gasped, grabbing for the bars of her cell. "I'm so sorry. I got stupid."
Trina shrugged. "You were fighting for my honor. Though we do now see that it wasn't even necessary." She shifted her grip on the dragon and, in the poor light of the dungeons, Pidge saw the gleam of a new, silver necklace. One of the non-holy trinkets from the sea dragon's hoard. Trina's eyes crinkled with amusement. "I hope you know that your treasure stank of fish."
"I'll explain that some time." Pidge licked her lips, her mouth going dry as it began to sink in. Of course. She'd left the bag on the table. Someone was bound to go through it. "The relics?"
"The priests were more than happy to take them. And what was leftover… well, it was almost what Cordo was offering for my hand."
"Thank every god in the stars," Pidge breathed, her eyes sliding shut as she leaned forward, pressing her head to the cool, rough bars of her cell. Trina laughed and reached forward, running her slim fingers through Pidge's hair.
"Yes, well, it's certainly complicated things," she said. "How am I supposed to tell you you're wrong when you were right about this? Next thing you know I'll have to approve of you running off in search of adventure. There'll be nothing left for me to fuss over!"
"You'll think of something," Pidge laughed, and for just that moment, she felt as light as air. Whatever happened next, Trina was not going to marry that brute. He couldn't buy her hand if the king didn't need the gold anymore. "At least if your uncle doesn't exile me for this. I am well and truly dreading whatever punishment he's planning to cook up for me."
Trina laughed, setting the dragonling down on the ground before she reached through the bars and wrapped her arms around Pidge's shoulders.
"I don't think he can do that," she said. "Not when you have my hand."
Pidge's eyes bugged wide open.
"I… I what?" she gaped. "But I just attacked a member of the court. In front of the king. After setting a baby dragon loose in the hall with three priests."
Said dragon let out an affectionate mewl and curled up around Trina's ankles, clearly smitten. Trina beamed.
"Yes, but the church oversees him in this. Their relics, their rules. Even they don't like to break their own rules. Fear of the gods and all that."
Pidge shook her head. "But I'm a woman. It's all well and good to dream it but that fact remains."
Trina threw back her head and laughed. "Yes, well, I'm sure they now regret not being more specific."
Pidge licked her lips, her heart hammering. She could have Trina every night, as long as she wanted her. No more sneaking into each other's rooms at night. Finally, finally, she would belong there. And there wasn't a soul in the court who could tell her to leave. Which was why it took everything Pidge had to pull Trina's hands down and shake her head.
"No. Your hand is yours. I want you more than the sun, but I don't want a captive queen. Not when I did this to rescue you from that."
"Then lucky you I'm no captive." Trina smiled. "Pidge, are you going to make me ask you?"
Pidge laughed and nodded.
"It would help."
"Well then." Trina smirked and scooped the dragon up off the ground. "You'll have to come by my room in the morning and hear what I have to ask you."
"Oh, so you're going to leave me here while you and your precious new pet sleep in your nice, soft bed?"
"King's orders. You're to stay the night. You did attack a very, very rich nobleman." Trina winked at her. "It's all right. Once you're out, I'm going to work hard to tame you."
"I'd like to see you try." And that was the gods' honest truth.