Read Online Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo by Ysabeau S. Wilce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ysabeau S. Wilce
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the Zu-Zu demanded, and the Toys began to chant the command. Sieur Wraathmyr didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed me in his arms, and dipped me down, off balance, turning his back to the Zu-Zu and her cronies. If I struggled, I risked falling or looking like a fool. So I tried to neither tense up nor go limp, but to remain nonchalant, as though people swept me off my feet all the time. Sieur Wraathmyr bent his head down to mine, hair falling across my face. Goddess, even though he was a snapperhead, he did smell wonderful.
“Why do you dog me?” he whispered. I couldn’t answer, at risk of letting the Word out. I tried to swallow it, but it stuck in my throat like a piece of sticky toffee.
“Leave me—” But he didn’t complete his sentence, for I felt my feet slip, and as I let out an involuntary squeak of alarm, the Word flew out of my mouth into his.
Sieur Wraathmyr jerked back as though I’d stung him. I thought he would drop me, but he recovered quickly and in another smooth movement, stood me on my feet.
The Toys were whooping, and applause splattered around us. I didn’t recognize the taste of the Word, but it was bitter, like very dark chocolate, with a little kick of spice. Surely at any moment Sieur Wraathmyr would explode into jelly or dissolve into flames, or transmogrify into a six-headed coyote. Instead, he turned back to the Zu-Zu and sketched an insolent Courtesy. Udo, I noticed joyfully, was scowling. Standing in contrast to Sieur Wraathmyr, Udo suddenly looked raw, green, just another pretty boy Sieur Wraathmyr hadn’t even noticed him.
“Very nice, Sieur Wraathmyr,” the Zu-Zu said, fluttering her fan at him. “I like your technique. Perhaps I shall have a go at guessing your costume.”
Sieur Wraathmyr said, “I cry your pardon, Your Grace, but I fear I do not have a costume. Your Grace’s invitation came to me so late that I had not time to prepare an outfit.”
“Then you must pay me a forfeit,” the Zu-Zu answered. Before she could name the forfeit—and by the way she was now looking at him, I had a feeling I knew what it would be—Denizen Furfur manifested next to her and said mournfully, “The cake is ready to be brought in, Your Grace. The Warlord wishes to see it cut so that he may retire.”
“My cake!” Grabbing Udo’s arm, the Zu-Zu rushed away, the Toys jockeying for position behind her.
I did not rush to follow them, and neither did Sieur Wraathmyr. He brushed by me without a second glance. And I thought the Zu-Zu was arrogant! Well, he could be snobby all he wanted. I wanted my map, and I’d better get it, too, before he exploded, or worse.
I followed Sieur Wraathmyr as he skirted the dance floor, trying to catch up with him but being thwarted by the dancers, now cavorting to a very loud falandio. The dance ended with a fanfare, and the dancers scattered; I weaved in and out of the throng, gaining on him. I almost had him cornered near one of the punch bowls when I heard a voice at my heels.
Ah, fike, not now.
“Ave, Flora!” Udo said, breathlessly I pretended not to hear him, and dodged around a man done up to look like a dissected cadaver. But Udo was persistent, and reached out to grab my arm.
“Shouldn’t you be with the Zu-Zu?” I turned around to face him.
“Zu is getting ready to receive her cake; she won’t miss me.” Udo looked at me expectantly, and when I didn’t say anything, he said, “I was surprised to see you here.”
“I was invited. It was my duty to come.” I scanned the crowd, but Sieur Wraathmyr had vanished. Thanks, Udo.
“Mine, too.”
“Is being the Zu-Zu’s lap dog part of this duty?”
“It is, actually,” he said, grinning. “I’ve been promoted. I’m second gentleman in the Warlord’s bedchamber now. I get to hold his mirror while he is shaving. And I have to bark whenever Zu requires it.”
“How nice for you.” If my tone was a bit nastier than I had intended, well, too fiking bad. “And
“Why do you dog me?” he whispered. I couldn’t answer, at risk of letting the Word out. I tried to swallow it, but it stuck in my throat like a piece of sticky toffee.
“Leave me—” But he didn’t complete his sentence, for I felt my feet slip, and as I let out an involuntary squeak of alarm, the Word flew out of my mouth into his.
Sieur Wraathmyr jerked back as though I’d stung him. I thought he would drop me, but he recovered quickly and in another smooth movement, stood me on my feet.
The Toys were whooping, and applause splattered around us. I didn’t recognize the taste of the Word, but it was bitter, like very dark chocolate, with a little kick of spice. Surely at any moment Sieur Wraathmyr would explode into jelly or dissolve into flames, or transmogrify into a six-headed coyote. Instead, he turned back to the Zu-Zu and sketched an insolent Courtesy. Udo, I noticed joyfully, was scowling. Standing in contrast to Sieur Wraathmyr, Udo suddenly looked raw, green, just another pretty boy Sieur Wraathmyr hadn’t even noticed him.
“Very nice, Sieur Wraathmyr,” the Zu-Zu said, fluttering her fan at him. “I like your technique. Perhaps I shall have a go at guessing your costume.”
Sieur Wraathmyr said, “I cry your pardon, Your Grace, but I fear I do not have a costume. Your Grace’s invitation came to me so late that I had not time to prepare an outfit.”
“Then you must pay me a forfeit,” the Zu-Zu answered. Before she could name the forfeit—and by the way she was now looking at him, I had a feeling I knew what it would be—Denizen Furfur manifested next to her and said mournfully, “The cake is ready to be brought in, Your Grace. The Warlord wishes to see it cut so that he may retire.”
“My cake!” Grabbing Udo’s arm, the Zu-Zu rushed away, the Toys jockeying for position behind her.
I did not rush to follow them, and neither did Sieur Wraathmyr. He brushed by me without a second glance. And I thought the Zu-Zu was arrogant! Well, he could be snobby all he wanted. I wanted my map, and I’d better get it, too, before he exploded, or worse.
I followed Sieur Wraathmyr as he skirted the dance floor, trying to catch up with him but being thwarted by the dancers, now cavorting to a very loud falandio. The dance ended with a fanfare, and the dancers scattered; I weaved in and out of the throng, gaining on him. I almost had him cornered near one of the punch bowls when I heard a voice at my heels.
Ah, fike, not now.
“Ave, Flora!” Udo said, breathlessly I pretended not to hear him, and dodged around a man done up to look like a dissected cadaver. But Udo was persistent, and reached out to grab my arm.
“Shouldn’t you be with the Zu-Zu?” I turned around to face him.
“Zu is getting ready to receive her cake; she won’t miss me.” Udo looked at me expectantly, and when I didn’t say anything, he said, “I was surprised to see you here.”
“I was invited. It was my duty to come.” I scanned the crowd, but Sieur Wraathmyr had vanished. Thanks, Udo.
“Mine, too.”
“Is being the Zu-Zu’s lap dog part of this duty?”
“It is, actually,” he said, grinning. “I’ve been promoted. I’m second gentleman in the Warlord’s bedchamber now. I get to hold his mirror while he is shaving. And I have to bark whenever Zu requires it.”
“How nice for you.” If my tone was a bit nastier than I had intended, well, too fiking bad. “And
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