Rogue's Pawn (8 page)

“I thought you were going to stop asking questions.”

“I
never
said that,” I hissed, but had to desist in the face of another interrogation by a man with Richard Gere silver hair.

A ripple ran through the room. People melted out the doorways, water receding from high tide.

“Banquet time,” Rogue said. But we didn’t move. We stood in the spot he’d staked out, side by side, my hand still on his arm, as the room emptied.

Chapter
Nine

In Which I Sell My Soul to the Highest Bidder

Apparently Rogue was going for the late dramatic entrance, because by the time we entered the hall, everyone was seated. Staring at me, of course. I felt like the glazed pig at the banquet. Two empty chairs waited at a raised table.

“Is mine the one with the Sword of Damocles hanging over it?” I whispered as we sedately walked up to the dais.

Rogue didn’t deign to answer. Shocking.

The peculiar lads with the bowed heads stood by the heavy wooden chairs. They seemed to be the same ones. Either that or they were part of some servant class that all looked identical. After I sat, my servant guy slid the chair up to the table so that the massive arms sealed to the edge. That, with the low table over my lap, effectively caged me. I might be able to squirm out on my own, but it wouldn’t be easy. Coincidence? Oh no, no, no.

I tried to calm myself, to still the feeling that everything had spiraled hopelessly out of control. Here I was, at what appeared to be a faerie banquet out of the old stories. Everything had moved so fast, keeping me off balance.
Concentrate on finding a way out of here
. That was key. Whatever negotiations would occur tonight, I needed to wrangle a way back to my own world. Regardless of the price.

Rogue ensconced himself at my right, while Lord Puck sat to my left, his back turned while he talked effusively, with much hand-waving, to his companion. Blackbird’s voice drifted by and I spotted her next to an archway, directing a stream of servers with bowed heads carrying platters and bowls of food, unified in their sameness. They made my skin crawl and the hair rise on the back of my neck. I slid a glance at Rogue out of the corner of my eye. He was engaged in conversation with a woman on his right I hadn’t met, but who seemed to be all shades of pink, from nymphet outfit to eye color. Since he was occupied, I took a good look at the server near me. Healer had referred to them as “Rogue’s people.” I wondered if he’d created them somehow or manipulated them magically. They seemed…off.

If this were so, he might have manipulated me in the same way, were it not for the silver I wore. I ran my fingertips over the smooth collar, flush with warmth from my skin. Not just restraint but protection. Something to keep in mind. Clearly Rogue was a politician. In my experience, politicians liked people to underestimate them. Or worship them. Flip a coin.

Rogue turned then and looked at me, full blaze-on blue. “You’re thinking something, but I didn’t quite get it.”

I smiled sweetly. Innocently, I hoped. “Following instructions. Being quiet. Waiting to eat my supper like a good girl.”

His gaze dropped to my lips, and my breath caught at the visual caress. Damn, I really hoped I wouldn’t regret the not-kissing him when I had a chance.

“No need for regrets, gorgeous Gwynn,” Rogue murmured. “You may yet have my lips on you.”

Warmth pooled between my legs. Rogue smiled into my eyes again, the blue a hotter shade now and I caught a fleeting edge of his thought. Lips trailing down my throat. And farther. Kissing, hell, this guy could be the best sex I ever had, not that there was a lot of competition there, but still.

Eyes on the prize—don’t get distracted by the pretty boy.

“True. Mind your thoughts—you’re getting…loud, again.”

I wrenched my gaze away as Rogue breathed out a laugh. He set his hand on mine, squeezed lightly and turned back to Pinkie. Platters were set before us, and Rogue waved the lads back, though they dished servings to others. He served himself, then slid the platter to me, so I could choose my own portion. It was so smooth, I could believe this was normal etiquette, but I knew he did it for me.

I gave Rogue a brilliant smile and he winked at me, the left side of his face away from the room. I hadn’t noticed before that his marking extended onto his eyelid, with a thorn tipped in amber. I fought the desire to run a fingertip over it.

No silverware of any type. Oh, and no one was eating. All eyes were turned our way, including Puck’s avid gaze. He had one brown eye and one of sea-green, a disconcerting imbalance.

“They’re waiting for you to eat first,” Rogue said
sotto voce.

“Do I eat with my fingers?” I said through my smile.

“Yes.”

I reached for a slice of bread, looked at Puck and pulled off a piece, toasted him with it, and ate. It was really good, honey and sunshine combined. A susurrus ran through the room and everyone began eating and talking. I wolfed the rest of the bread. Puck sighed and tossed a something brightly jeweled at Falcon, who caught it, looking grimly satisfied.

It seemed we ate for hours, course after course of meats in various sauces—which were excellent, fortunately, since I had to lick my fingers clean—fruits, breads, cheeses. No salad course, sadly. I tried a little wine, but it was terribly sweet, like a frothy version of Thunderbird. I needed to keep my wits anyway.

Though I ate ravenously—always from a dish Rogue first served himself—I never felt full. I forgot my circumstances after a bit, heady with the food and merriment. And Rogue’s intense regard.
After this we dance all night, I wake up at Devils Tower and a hundred years has gone by.
I should be so lucky.

The room abruptly hushed.

Falcon stood. “I vote for death.” And sat again.

Several voices murmured agreement.

And, so much for the merriment.

Wait,
I thought to Rogue,
don’t I get some discussion first? Bargaining points?

“Whisper, don’t project,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “‘Spoken’ thoughts carry farther.”

“That
is
my bargain,” Falcon declared, confirming the point.

“Why should I agree to die then?” I asked.
If we’re going to deal, let’s deal.

“Why should we agree to let you live?” He looked interested at least.

“Lady Healer still needs to be paid—how can I do that if I’m dead?”

Healer stood from half a dozen places down the table, Darling stretched beside her plate, fishing something off it with a delicate paw. “It’s true, I have a debt to reclaim. Her corpse would not be worth as much as she owes.”

I would have stood for my answer, but no, I was trapped by the table. A toddler wedged into a highchair amidst the grownups. “I would pay Lady Healer back for her great services to me.”

“Services that would have been unnecessary if we’d just let her die and not healed her in the first place.” Nasty Tinker Bell popped up like a little gold cork. I thought about throwing a piece of fruit at her, then remembered something.

“But your judgments are not considered,” I said, seizing on her remark from before.

“It’s true, Lady Incandescence, you know you may not speak.” Falcon frowned at her. “Lord Rogue, as host, do you wish to censure her?”

“The lady may leave my table,” Rogue answered easily.

Nasty Tinker Bell threw her trademark look my way, with a generous slice for Rogue. Then she poofed, leaving a shower of golden glitter tinkling down on the table. A smattering of polite admiration ruffled through the room, as if that had been a particularly good trick. I raised my eyebrows at Rogue, who returned my gaze with bland indifference.

“Why doesn’t she get to vote?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth to Rogue.

Amused interest glittered in his unearthly eyes. “She is in my service—until I release her, she may only do as I say.”

Nice system.

The pink gal next to Rogue stood. “Lady Healer, what do you claim as recompense? Lord Rogue has claims of hospitality as well.”

“Traditional payment is acceptable—a life in return for her life.”

And here I’d been thinking a pot of gold.

“Lord Rogue?”

“Return service is acceptable.”

“Lady Gwynn, do you agree to the terms?”

I could see now that Pinkie had rosy wavelike patterns on the right side of her face, reminiscent of the fluted petals of a carnation. I chose my words carefully.

“As you are aware, lady, I am a stranger to your people and naive in the world—I apologize, but I do not understand the specifics of the terms. Can someone elucidate for me?”

Someone in the room laughed and Puck shifted restlessly next to me, but I thought I felt Rogue’s approval, though he appeared to be toying with the remains on his plate.

“Enough of this,” a voice called out. “She is too powerful. No terms. Death!”

“By dancing!” shouted someone else, which was greeted with general enthusiasm.

“Harnessed to our yoke,” Puck said, “she could be a considerable weapon in our glorious battles against the outlander barbarians.”

“Harness a lion to your cart, Puck, and see who it scratches!”

This brought on general hilarity, with suggestions shouted out for bedding wildcats, various paraphernalia to be used in the harnessing, and the likely state of Puck’s genitalia following certain efforts.

Puck joined in, leering at me. “Perhaps I’ll rent her service from Rogue!”

“Can you afford that?” Rogue returned, sweeping a hand at the room, finishing at Healer. “Consider the price of my hospitality.”

I was uneasy about what services I might render and suddenly felt much less enthusiastic about the concept of bedding Rogue. The difference between rape and rapture—all in the marketing.

Blackbird approached the table, to my surprise. “Lord Rogue, your guests grow restless. Perhaps those uninvolved in the setting of terms could be excused to begin the dancing? The musicians stand ready.”

Rogue gestured with an elegant hand. Noblesse oblige. The room swelled and exhaled, abruptly empty except for about ten people. To my dismay, dark Scourge was one who remained, though he’d yet to say anything.

“Lady Blackbird,” Rogue called as she turned away, “please stay.”

“Me? I have no voice.” She sounded nervous.

“Not that you elect to use. Nevertheless, you were sent to me by your family for a reason, no? Otherwise you’d still be picking apples in your country home while your husband roams the land on foolish quests?”

Blackbird looked sad and lost for a moment. Easy to forget what a jerk Rogue was capable of being at times. She reluctantly took an emptied chair and folded her white hands like birds settling for the night.

“A life for a life, Lady Gwynn,” Pinkie took up, as if there had been no interruption, “is just that. Lady Healer gave you your life back—”

“Plus extended years,” Healer inserted, “with removal of existing disease states and poisonous intrusions.”

“You always do such excellent work, Lady Healer.” Falcon bowed to her, his yellow eyes glittering.

“Including extended years,” Pinkie allowed. “But Lady Healer has stated she is willing to accept one life in return. That can be your life, Lady Gwynn, or another’s.”

“I don’t have any lives but my own,” I tendered.

“Your children, dear,” Blackbird explained gently.

Ah. Firstborn child—right.

“So, since I have no children and probably won’t have any, do I give her my life by dying?”

Rogue shifted beside me. I probably should have pretended to know that answer.

“Servitude, Lady Gwynn.” Lord Falcon glowered at me. “Don’t play dumb. You owe Healer a life of service. You owe Rogue for food, lodging and protection, at such price as he values it. Though we can guess at what he truly wants you for.” Darling sidled up the table to me, picking delicately through the dishes and goblets, and trailed under my chin, then sat and looked pointedly at Falcon. “Yes, Lord Darling has a claim of service as well.”

I took a deep breath.
There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.
Didn’t work. Where were the magic slippers when you needed them?

“So, how can I serve more than one person at once?”
And how does one serve a cat?

“Oh my, what a thought!” Puck laughed with gay abandon.

“I am willing to cede my owed service to Lord Falcon, in payment to him for previous debts, if he finds that acceptable.” Healer looked smug.

Though Rogue didn’t move, I felt his tension in the back of my mind.

Falcon nodded slowly at her, once, grinned at Rogue, then slid his eyes to me with a rapacious stare that made me shrink away inside the lumpy clothes. Suddenly I was glad for them.

“Puck may see to training her for the war—perhaps she’ll be more useful than not,” Falcon said, with a dismissive wave of his hand that belied his fixed and predatory gaze.

“I accept.” Puck snapped up that ball. “I propose to put Lady Gwynn into immediate training, to quickly bring her into the war effort.”

“I would argue,” Rogue drawled, trailing a hand down Darling’s back, who curved into him, purring, “that Lady Gwynn also owes me a life, beyond hospitality. Without my intervention, she would have died.”

“Agreed,” Pinkie said.

What? I was stunned.

He raised an impassive ebony eyebrow. He had told me not to mistake him for a friend. “Lady Blackbird was also owed for services, but has been offered a boon, which was accepted.”

Jesus, was nothing free around here? Blackbird beamed happily at me. I’d have to find out from her what the boon was.

“Okay.” I put up a hand. “Let me get this straight. So far, for Lady Healer’s healing, I get to serve in the military performing magic for Lords Falcon and Puck—is that right?”

“Is that your proposal?” Lord Falcon pounced, his face clenched

Okay then.
Be careful of the wording.
Why didn’t I go to law school?

“Let me rephrase. To cancel all liens created by Lady Healer’s service to me, I will attend magical training under Lord Puck’s direction, perform magical military service for Lord Falcon, and no other services.”

“Agreed,” Falcon said, while Puck nodded enthusiastically.

I didn’t look at Rogue, but I could feel his displeasure. Hey, he was the one who wouldn’t explain what I was up against.

“Now, how do we decide how long a lifetime is?” I asked.

“Until death,” Falcon offered.

“But Lady Healer says she extended my life—shouldn’t I only owe until when I would have reasonably died before her intervention? Wasn’t my life worth fewer years then than it is now? And, if I learn magic, what if I learn to extend my life even more—wouldn’t those years be mine, not owed?”