the skull. Gossamyr tugged out her staff
and tamped it on the ground to clean it off. The ooze clung.
"Nasty bit of business that," Ulrich commented.
Heavy breaths panted over her lips, but a smile stole Gossamyr's
disgust. She had done it. Her first challenge—alone, without
Shinn looking over her shoulder—and she had been successful.
The thought to retreat hadn't even occurred. Danger had approached
and she had stood at the ready.
"Yes!" Gossamyr said in an elated whisper.
Crossbow tilted against his shoulder, Ulrich stomped over and
studied the oozing carnage. "Now that shall leave a
mark."
Spinning on the insolent, Gossamyr landed her staff with a click aside the crossbow. "I am going to leave a mark on you
should you persist in interfering."
"My lady." He pressed out a placating hand. "There
was a challenge to be met!"
"Expertly mastered by me!"
"You? Ha!"
"You laugh? I—"
"It was my quarrel brought down the thing."
"I killed the beast!"
"Yes, and with great savor, I note. The thing is dead as a
doornail." Ulrich strode to the mule and, flipping open a
tattered saddlebag, poked about inside. Drawing out a small horn, he
uncapped what Gossamyr guessed to be cleaning oil for the weapon.
The fetch fluttered down from the sky. She offered it a smart bow.
Danger annihilated. Shinn would be pleased. Circling the beast to
take in the carnage, the fetch then alighted into the crystal sky to twinclian in a shimmer of dust.
Unaware of the exchange, Ulrich tucked the oil horn inside the
saddlebag and strapped the crossbow across Fancy's back. So he had
assisted. Next time she would not allow him such opportunity.
"I cannot promise to stand idly by should such need again
arise." Ulrich strode by Gossamyr, finger to lips in thought.
"It is my manner, fair lady, to help when a damsel requires
saving."
Damsel? Gossamyr slid a look to the left then the right. Where be
this damsel? She was the only— Ah. So he thought...?
She spread her shoulders back, lifting her chest. Fisting her
fingers before her, she hissed, "Do I look like I need saving?"
Dancing blue eyes took in her obstinate pose in a quick cap-a-pie flight. "Actually...no."
"Just so. In the future keep your mortal weapons to
yourself."
"Indeed? Mortal weapons. Ahum." He assumed a
haughty pose, thumbs hooked at the waist of his striped hose, one
foot stretched forward and his body cocked at an angle. "So says
the damsel with the sparkly throat."
"I—" Gossamyr slapped a palm to her throat.
"I suppose I must thank you," he added.
"For saving thee?"
He chuckled. "No, for reminding me of which I forget. There
is a damsel in need of rescue. And she will not argue my help. I must
be off."
"Saving damsels? What sort of pitiful, unoriginal quest—"
She stabbed a proud thumb into her pourpoint. "I've a mission to
save the—"
"The what?" Mirth tickled Ulrich's lips into a slippery
smile and now his tone danced teasingly. "The world? Is not such
a quest reserved for armored knights and champions wearing their
lady's favor on their sleeves?"
"I am not here to save your world. It is my world
I...must save." Bogies and blight! Very sly, Gossamyr. Really
blending well. Why did she not simply reveal her fée origins
and hold out her wrists for the chains?
"Ah! I see. There is a separation between our worlds. But
since you claim not to be a faery, I can only then assume you
speak of the minuscule world that populates the inside of your
skull."
Ulrich approached and made show of tilting his head this way and
that as he looked into her eyes. A vicious preening. The look was so
familiar, like that of a fellow fée who deemed Gossamyr lesser
because of her half blood, and yet, the rank of her father elevated
her above all. Fluttering beringed fingers near her head, he insulted
with silent menace. "My master once treated a victim of
psychomachia."
"Psycho-what?"
"It is one who lives within their own mind. Entire worlds are
invented. An extraordinary life is led
and tamped it on the ground to clean it off. The ooze clung.
"Nasty bit of business that," Ulrich commented.
Heavy breaths panted over her lips, but a smile stole Gossamyr's
disgust. She had done it. Her first challenge—alone, without
Shinn looking over her shoulder—and she had been successful.
The thought to retreat hadn't even occurred. Danger had approached
and she had stood at the ready.
"Yes!" Gossamyr said in an elated whisper.
Crossbow tilted against his shoulder, Ulrich stomped over and
studied the oozing carnage. "Now that shall leave a
mark."
Spinning on the insolent, Gossamyr landed her staff with a click aside the crossbow. "I am going to leave a mark on you
should you persist in interfering."
"My lady." He pressed out a placating hand. "There
was a challenge to be met!"
"Expertly mastered by me!"
"You? Ha!"
"You laugh? I—"
"It was my quarrel brought down the thing."
"I killed the beast!"
"Yes, and with great savor, I note. The thing is dead as a
doornail." Ulrich strode to the mule and, flipping open a
tattered saddlebag, poked about inside. Drawing out a small horn, he
uncapped what Gossamyr guessed to be cleaning oil for the weapon.
The fetch fluttered down from the sky. She offered it a smart bow.
Danger annihilated. Shinn would be pleased. Circling the beast to
take in the carnage, the fetch then alighted into the crystal sky to twinclian in a shimmer of dust.
Unaware of the exchange, Ulrich tucked the oil horn inside the
saddlebag and strapped the crossbow across Fancy's back. So he had
assisted. Next time she would not allow him such opportunity.
"I cannot promise to stand idly by should such need again
arise." Ulrich strode by Gossamyr, finger to lips in thought.
"It is my manner, fair lady, to help when a damsel requires
saving."
Damsel? Gossamyr slid a look to the left then the right. Where be
this damsel? She was the only— Ah. So he thought...?
She spread her shoulders back, lifting her chest. Fisting her
fingers before her, she hissed, "Do I look like I need saving?"
Dancing blue eyes took in her obstinate pose in a quick cap-a-pie flight. "Actually...no."
"Just so. In the future keep your mortal weapons to
yourself."
"Indeed? Mortal weapons. Ahum." He assumed a
haughty pose, thumbs hooked at the waist of his striped hose, one
foot stretched forward and his body cocked at an angle. "So says
the damsel with the sparkly throat."
"I—" Gossamyr slapped a palm to her throat.
"I suppose I must thank you," he added.
"For saving thee?"
He chuckled. "No, for reminding me of which I forget. There
is a damsel in need of rescue. And she will not argue my help. I must
be off."
"Saving damsels? What sort of pitiful, unoriginal quest—"
She stabbed a proud thumb into her pourpoint. "I've a mission to
save the—"
"The what?" Mirth tickled Ulrich's lips into a slippery
smile and now his tone danced teasingly. "The world? Is not such
a quest reserved for armored knights and champions wearing their
lady's favor on their sleeves?"
"I am not here to save your world. It is my world
I...must save." Bogies and blight! Very sly, Gossamyr. Really
blending well. Why did she not simply reveal her fée origins
and hold out her wrists for the chains?
"Ah! I see. There is a separation between our worlds. But
since you claim not to be a faery, I can only then assume you
speak of the minuscule world that populates the inside of your
skull."
Ulrich approached and made show of tilting his head this way and
that as he looked into her eyes. A vicious preening. The look was so
familiar, like that of a fellow fée who deemed Gossamyr lesser
because of her half blood, and yet, the rank of her father elevated
her above all. Fluttering beringed fingers near her head, he insulted
with silent menace. "My master once treated a victim of
psychomachia."
"Psycho-what?"
"It is one who lives within their own mind. Entire worlds are
invented. An extraordinary life is led
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