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But he slipped out the tent flaps and I was alone again.
You are without friends.Rogue’s voice echoed in my head. So I was.
Chapter 18
The Promontory of Magic
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When Dragonfly wokeme an hour before dawn, I stumbled to my clothing trunks and stood there in a bleary haze.
Two things hit me.
I had not dreamed about Rogue.Oh yeah—go, Powerful Sorceress Gwynn!
I had completely forgotten to take care of my own “uniform.” Not so swift.
I didn’t like to contemplate Falcon’s reaction if I showed up without one. He’d probably order me squeezed into somemangafanatic’s idea of a battle-maiden sex-slave.
No, a magic gown I had promised—a magic-seeming gown I would deliver.
Not at my best in the mornings, especially when the supposed dawn looks pretty much the same as night—glowing pillows do not make for perky morning light—I wasted several minutes thinking about how to make one of my gowns look magical and special. Then the obvious solution hit me. I pulled out the box with my Ann Taylor dress and heels. The cold sponge bath left a great deal to be desired, but sliding on the black silk panties instead of the stupid linen long-johns things? Sheer heaven.
Zipping up the dress felt like attaching my own skin again. Another piece of my psyche settled into place. Whether Blackbird was right and the material itself held magic, or the magic was just in the confidence of wearing something I’d picked out on my own and bought with money I knew I’d earned, a sense of rightness settled over me.
I brushed my hair out and left it loose—seemed more sorceress-y that way—and “did” my makeup as I would for a normal work day. Only I was going to battle, not the university. Oh wait, not that different after all. I chuckled at myself, pleased that my mental tone sounded more firm this morning. Not filled with the uneasy dread of night.
The morning lingered chilly and misty, so I pulled on a cream velvet cloak—and quickly changed it to black. Then to deep red, so I wouldn’t look too funereal. Magic was also handy for wardrobe accessorizing.
Larch stood between the blazing torches that still flanked the entrance to my tent, holding the reins of a horse. The same horse I had ridden here, so she must be officially my horse now. She shone creamy white in the flickering light. I sighed to see that now the mare had been decorated with plumes and bells more suited to a parade than a battle.
“What’s her name?” I asked Larch.
He shrugged.
I scratched the white forehead under her silky forelock and she snuffled sweet hay-breath at me. I tried to dip into her mind for images. A feeling of running and grazing, mixed in a muscular joy. She was pleased to see me again.
“Felicity, then—how’s that?”
She arched her neck and did a little prance in place.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I mounted, a sense of purpose filling me. I was going to fight a battle. Against whom and why, I had no idea, but still.
Fortunately the skirt was full enough that it only hiked above my knees a bit. Riding in pumps wasn’t unlike riding in boots, actually, since the heels sat in the stirrups the same way. Except that my calves would probably chafe. Couldn’t be helped. A sorceress had an image to maintain and riding in jeans wasn’t it.
Darling leaped up behind me onto his traveling pad, still in full regalia, though it looked as though he might have rolled in some grass while wearing it. I pulled a few of the longer strands off and he let me scratch under the collar. It seemed to fit fine. Larch trotted beside me, leading me to the gathering of the troops.
“You’re not wearing my tribute, Lady Gwynn.” Falcon glowered. Hawklike shadows haunted his eyes in the gray pre-dawn glow.
I nudged my horse with my knees to change my angle so that Darling was behind me, him and his incriminating topazes out of Falcon’s line of sight.
“I cannot express my gratitude for such a tribute,” I answered, keeping my words as close to my sincere intentions as I could. Now for the lying: “Surely a priceless necklace like that is not appropriate for me to wear to a battle.”
I had to clamp down hard not to add “Like I’d wear your fucking dog-collar, you sadistic bastard” onto the end.
Frankly, I suspected I would never wear anything around my neck again. Just the thought made me twitch, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap, not touching my throat. Or even the pulse at my wrist, though I could have reached my wrist easily, with just a little stretch of my fingers.Don’t give in.
Falcon’s eyes gleamed dull yellow rage. But he grunted and turned away, leaving me to my own devices.
