Protagonist Bound (42 page)

With resolve, I elected to pick myself off the tower floor then and shake off the morose confliction. That had been more than enough time devoted to thinking about such illogical and unnerving things. And I flat out refused to acknowledge or accept them any further for the time being.

I dusted off my dress and leggings and made my way over to the window to breathe in some fresh air.

While my holding cell couldn’t have been any grimmer, the view from it was tranquil and full of the gingered, autumn warmth. The sun was starting to set and it cast the land in a blanket of orange. Shadows stretched from trees, the river reflected streaks of gold, and the sunflowers by the practice fields practically yawned as they bid adieu to the day and retreated within themselves—so much like I often felt like doing.

I could see for miles from up in this tower, even all the way to Lord Channing’s. It was quite a distance away and was mostly blocked from view by the forest separating our schools, which spread out over several acres of large hills. Even so, I managed to make out the blue roofing on top of the main buildings. Beyond that, I also spotted traces of stables, an archery field, a regulation-sized Twenty-Three Skidd arena, and a large obstacle course.

I craned my neck to try and see them better, but found it did me no good. As usual, knowledge of Lord Channing’s’ specifics were out of my reach.

Since our monthly balls were always held at Lady Agnue’s, the boys had a much stronger familiarity with our campus than we did of theirs. In truth, the only times we got to go over there were in the spring when they had their Twenty-Three Skidd finals matches. However, even then our exposure to the campus was limited. Whenever one of those matches occurred and the In and Out Spell was lowered, we were taken via carriage to the back entrance of the campus that led to a parking area beside the arena. As such, we were not given the opportunity to see much of anything else.

Staring at the shrouded school from up here made me wonder more than usual what a hero’s curriculum looked like in comparison to a princess’s. I bet they got to learn all kinds of cool, valiant things like mace fighting and crossbow making. Meanwhile I was stuck here, learning to sing and sew and be complacent with my lot in life.

As I continued to look at the bits of the campus I could see, my thoughts drifted to the boys who lived there. Consequently, I wondered about Chance and how many things at that school he’d turned to gold in order to show off his powers to the other princes. I wondered where Jason was. Maybe in woodshop, or working on his fighting skills in one of the many combat arenas the school was supposed to have? And then . . . Then I wondered what Daniel was doing.

So much for a moment of peace.

Even in my tower’s isolation I felt strangely embarrassed by the way just thinking his name made me lose my calm. I couldn’t even utter it to myself without filling up with waves of anger over the way he caused me to feel so exposed.

He just got under my skin more than anyone I’d ever met. So much of him was a mystery. Practically the only thing that wasn’t was the knowledge that he took an interest in irritating me, and happened to be unusually skilled at it too.

It was true that most boys our age, except for Jason and Mark, had a tendency to annoy me a bit. They couldn’t seem to hold intelligent conversations for more than a few minutes, almost always had huge egos, and the majority tended to think of girls as weaker.

But I digress. They’re just teenage boys after all. And I’ve been told that most of them become less obnoxious and far more tolerable as they grow older.

Here’s hoping anyways.

Daniel though, did not simply annoy me like normal guys did. I dreaded being around him like cats dreaded water. Every time we had a conversation he unavoidably said something that rattled my confidence and faith in myself in a way that few people could.

It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I could get at him in the same way. But that was a difficult task considering I barely knew anything about him. The boy kept to himself. And no one I asked, not even Jason, could provide me with information that shed light on the enigma of who he was and why he didn’t care enough to let anyone see it.

Added to my Daniel dilemma, no one else seemed to have a problem with him. According to my friends, to other people he was a perfectly nice guy and it was simply me that he enjoyed irking.

Given that, it was needless to say that I really wished he wasn’t involved in our mission to find the Author. Like
, really
.

But, alas, he was.

As a result, I decided to suck in my pride and preference and—rather than go on complaining about the situation—from hereon out, commit myself to finding some way to put up with him. Or at the very least, finding a way to get past all his mysteriousness so I could bug him in retaliation. This would be quite the task though, considering his level of aloofness (like his obnoxiousness) was thicker than a triple-coated caramel apple.

My stomach growled again.

Dang, I gotta stop making all these food analogies; they’re killing me.

I drifted away from the window and back toward my knapsack to see what else I could gnaw on for the remainder of my prison sentence.

The Art of Going AWOL

he next few days drifted by in a blur.

SJ was busy working on our escape potion. Blue sharpened her assorted knives and sent messages via SJ’s bird friends to Jason and Daniel to coordinate our plans. And I rotted away in my ivory tower every day after school—practicing defense maneuvers with my spear, and eating non-perishable leftovers I’d saved from earlier meals.

Eventually Saturday night came around and we were at last ready for our escape.

Earlier in the week SJ had actually suggested that perhaps we should wait until the following Saturday to make our move because that was when our next monthly ball was scheduled for. Her logic being that on the night of the ball, the boys would’ve already been with us so a group escape would’ve theoretically been simpler.

This was a decent point, but in the end the idea was vetoed because, first, with so many people around for the ball, school security was usually tighter. And second, I really did not want to suffer through one more week of tower time if avoiding it was a feasible option.

SJ, Blue, and I were in our room making sure that we had everything we needed for the mission. Blue was taking inventory of the various weapons she was packing while SJ was filling a small sack with her portable potions. She had certainly been productive in the last week; that was for sure. She was putting dozens of the tiny glass spheres into the pouch hanging from the belt at her hip.

I didn’t know what kind of potions were in those spheres, nor what SJ expected to use them for. When Blue had asked, she’d simply shrugged and said that they were contingencies she hoped we would not need.

Part of me wanted to delve deeper into this response, but in the end I respected SJ’s genius enough to figure she knew what she was doing. And anyways, I was currently far more fascinated with the other product of her innovation that she’d gifted to us this morning. Around my wrist currently hung the latest fruit of SJ’s potion-based inventiveness. She called it: “Soap on a Rope-like Bracelet,” or an SRB for short.

Of course, to give credit where credit was due, the enchanted accessory was actually born of both SJ
and
Blue’s brilliance.

A couple of days ago, Blue came bursting into our room with a revelation. If we were going on this great journey, which would no doubt take weeks of travel, sweat, and unorthodox adventure, how exactly were we going to remain, you know, clean?

It’s kind of a stupid detail, I know. But then again, think about it.

Like Blue explained, it’s the sort of thing that is never really addressed in any of our ancestors’ fairytales. Which leads me to believe that the illustrations in those books I’ve grown up reading are totally bogus, since people can’t just go on these epically long quests—never showering or changing clothes—and still look fresh as daisies and decent enough to mingle in mixed company.

I mean, it’s not like these protagonists carried with them trunks of clean clothes or could freshen up periodically at cozy bed & breakfasts when they were chasing bad guys, or being chased by bad guys. That’s just ridiculous.

After Blue’s two-minute pitch on the subject, SJ had been completely sold. Our room’s resident princess was in no way about to go all grease and grunge for several weeks. Thus, the idea for the SRB was born.

I had to say, I rather liked the premise. The thing looked like a simple rope bracelet. But SJ had laced it with a powerful potion of her own design that made the wearer of the bracelet unable to get dirty. Like,
at all
. You would stay fresh as newly washed laundry 24/7 no matter how much time passed.

Furthermore, if any outside filth got on you—from mud to dragon vomit—after the fact all you had to do was wait a minute and you and your clothes would revert back to normal. You’d be clean as a whistle as if nothing had ever tainted you in the slightest.

SJ had ended up making an SRB for each of us, the boys included.

Thank goodness for that. Boy sweat smells considerably worse than girl sweat. That’s just a fact.

As I continued to watch my dainty friend fill her sack with portable potions, I seriously considered suggesting that, should the whole “fairytale princess” thing not work out, she should think about going the small business ownership/ entrepreneurship route with her potions skills. The girl was absolutely brilliant.

When SJ had stored the last of her tiny concoctions, she made sure the pouch was securely fastened to her belt, then slipped the slingshot Jason had made for her inside of her dress pocket. Once done, she gestured for us to follow. I slung my satchel over my shoulder and Blue slid her hunting knife into its holster.

SJ led the two of us into the bathroom and proceeded to open the cabinet beneath our sink. Inside there was a small, iron cauldron filled with bubbling, green liquid. She pulled it out and lifted it onto the counter.

“How did that not set off some sort of fire alarm?” Blue wondered aloud.

SJ ignored the comment and placed the cauldron in the sink. She took out three cups from the cubby behind the mirror and filled each one with the lively concoction. I eyed the stuff and realized I wasn’t quite sure how it managed to keep bubbling without any kind of heat source.

Hmm.

Probably best not to think about it.

We each held our respective cups, but hesitated before drinking. We knew this was it. Once we drank, there would be no turning back.

“Well . . . cheers,” I said, trying to ease the tension. I chugged down the liquid. SJ and Blue followed my lead. And then we waited.

The formula tasted like mint juleps with extra lime and a hint of rustiness. As it made its way down my throat, it felt like thick, acid-like honey coating my vocal chords. My gut immediately started to feel a disturbance—and not the kind of disturbance it felt after all-you-can-eat-oatmeal day in the banquet hall. This felt like I was eroding from the inside out.

I clutched my stomach in agony while the potion started to take its effect. A vague green mist began to pour out of each of our mouths and encircle our forms. My skin cringed, the veins in my arms flickered silver, and I struggled to breathe as the walls of the room grew higher and higher around me.