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Ienjoyed theride more than I had any others up to this point. I noted everything with an eye for sorting out this strange land, wishing up a little notepad to write on. Starling shook her head at me when she saw it, but remarked that at least it kept me from asking her questions about everything, which was likely true. Instead she wisely used her time to flirt with some of the human soldiers, who seemed to find her quite attractive. Not Liam—he remained stoic, with an alert eye on the countryside. He might avoid being in my company, but he never failed in his duty.
Darling, at least, provided interesting commentary, sending me images of what could be stalked, chased or eaten—usually all three, in that order—in the various meadows and copses we passed. Some of the creatures he pictured looked exactly like familiar rodents, others like something out of anime, badly drawn with complete disregard for the laws of bilateral symmetry.
Never any birds though.
We rode along at a fairly good clip, Larch and the other Brownies jogging alongside and the dragonfly girls doing this kind of skipping/dancing movement that moved them inexplicably along at the same speed.
In the dazzling sunshine, Faerie appeared to be a landscape of such improbable beauty and iridescent colors that it seemed to be something created in a Disney film—and then brutally twisted sideways. I half expected elephants in pink tutus to pirouette past, though I fortunately possessed enough control now that they didn’t pop into sight from my visualizing.
Some of the hills and fields looked as civilized as the English countryside, which made no sense, since there were no farms. No settlements of any kind, as far as the eye could see, though Liam had mentioned there were human villages somewhere. I’d ask him about it, but I felt sure he wouldn’t be wanting to chat.
I was no ecologist, but I’d had to study the basics. Nothing about the landscape we traveled through followed the ecological laws. Apparently wild forests dripped with bright, heavy fruit or panicles of iridescent blossoms suited to tropical climes then gave way to groomed lawns with no border succession areas between. Lakes were crystal clear or bright blue, never swampy or remotely oligotrophic. Simply put, the ecology should not be sustainable. So why was it?
Once I was even certain I spotted a stream flowing uphill, but when I wanted to ride closer to see it, everyone protested about being late to meet Rogue.
We moved at a pretty good clip, away from the flatter coastal lands and into rockier foothills. When we stopped at midday, Larch gave me some traveling biscuits—like having cookies for lunch—and we remounted without much delay. Toward late afternoon we reached a glen nestled at the foot of some craggy hills and the group, as one, began to set up camp just as a gentle rain started to fall.
Of course, I didn’t get a job. Lady of leisure and all that. One thing I’d learned was not to get in the way. So, since there was no sign of Rogue yet, I grabbed my grimoire from the bags and found a relatively dry spot under a tree. Starling hastened up, handed me my cloak to keep me warm and dry, along with a little velvety pouch. Then, seeming terribly busy, she dashed off again.
I tucked my cloak and skirts around me and pulled a dragon’s egg out of the pouch. Larch never missed a beat. It filled my palm, glittering with intricate facets and colors, a fae Fabergé egg. But, now that I examined it closely, it became clear that this was not something created by human—or inhuman—hands. The spirals and hash marks marched across the surface with the internal precision of a nautilus shell. If I measured them, I’d bet they’d follow the proportions of the Golden Rectangle. Which meant, more like the natural world whose laws I understood than the sideways tangents of Faerie.
Unlike the eggs I knew of, however, this one did have a distinct pear shape, bulging more at one end than the other. As far as I recalled, eggs were always spherical or ovoid, never uneven. Likely that came from them being soft and watery when laid, so the rules of surface tension applied. Perhaps this egg was already hardened when produced?
I focused on the metallic shell, then dipped into it, feeling for life. The odd deadness of it to my mind reminded me of the dragon’s blood. Not surprising. Still, it neither repelled nor drew the magic energy in me—aside from that cool, endothermic quality. In some ways, it was almost as if it didn’t exist to my magical senses. If I set it on the grass next to me and closed my eyes, I couldn’t detect it at all. When I held it cupped in my palm, my mind registered the weight and feel, but with my eyes closed, I could no longer remember exactly what it looked like. Interesting.
When a long-fingered hand dropped on my shoulder, I started almost out of my skin and very nearly dropped the egg.
Rogue knelt on one knee next to me, sleek as a cobra, shining with raindrops. He slid the sphere from my unresisting fingers. The eyebrow on the clear side of his face arched, Rogue held it up to the misty light, turning it to see the raised lines shimmer with prismatic color.
“Where did you get this?” His dark blue eyes glittered like mica as they ran over my face and I felt uneasy.
“I don’t know—it was in my tribute stuff.”
“A grand tribute indeed. Be careful who you accept gifts from.”
“How can I when this stuff just appears? I don’t mind giving it back, if I knew who to return it to. It’s not as if these things come with gift tags.”
Rogue inclined his head, black hair gleaming with cobalt and silver highlights in the rain, and moved to hand it back to me. I raised my hand and he laid it in my palm, wrapping my fingers around it. “Just…be careful.”
“Thanks for that ominously vague warning.”
The egg felt curiously much warmer now, more than simple contact with Rogue’s skin should have made it. I tucked it back in the velvet carrying pouch and pushed it into my pocket with the vial of dragon’s blood, wondering if I should mention I had that too. For some reason, I didn’t want to. It remained one of my few secret weapons. A girl needed to keep something in reserve. Just in case.
Besides, the blood hadn’t been a gift. I’d extracted it myself and so I should carry no obligations for it.
“Are you ready?” He stood, offering me a hand up.
“For what—new lesson?”
“Yes. Something you’ll enjoy. Walk with me.”
I left the grimoire sitting under the tree, knowing someone would pick it up and put it with my things. How did I ever live without an army of servants? One wondered.
We climbed the muddy trail up the hill, the trees dripping in counterpoint to the greeting rain, the air filled with pine resin, moss and petrichor. The misty weather colored all the world in sage greens and sliding grays of liquid mercury, so the raven silhouette of Rogue’s long back cloak stood in sharp relief. He moved easily, striding up the hill on long legs. I straggled ungracefully behind on the narrow path. What I wouldn’t have given for my Levi’s and Keens at that moment. The cute little riding boots were definitely NOT for hiking.
Fix it, dummy. Taking a moment, I paused, concentrating, and wished the riding gown and boots into a neat pile beside my grimoire under the tree—Starling would be pleased I’d thought to save them—and replaced them with my favorite pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt and my lime-green Keens. That kind of swap-out is a little tricky, requiring attention to detail and a deliberate disregard for the conservation of mass, but I pulled it off. I wiggled my toes in the comfortable shoes. The sight of my old-world clothes in this landscape made me giggle. Find the joy, indeed.
I caught up to Rogue, who stood on a bit of level moss in front of a cave. He looked me over, eyes alight with interest, focusing on my hips and thighs.
