All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well.
To continue to be sure or firm; endure.
Archaic [Old English]: To Live.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Steph froze, suspended between terror and cold certainty. The scream that tore her heart to shreds never made it past the terror choking her throat. One hand reached out to Ranger, impotent and futile, even as her feet treacherously stayed rooted.
Palamon's hooves drove into the ground on either side of Ranger's head. The destrier's head lowered until he locked gazes with the prone man only inches from death, and Palamon snorted softly, his teeth bared and gleaming.
Ranger didn't flinch. He lay on the ground, completely at the mercy of a ton of horseflesh, and he matched Palamon with a dark gaze that would not back down. Neither one moved.
Slowly, Palamon stepped back, his eyes never leaving Ranger's. A ripple of sound ran through the crowd as the squires hurried forward to corral the destrier. As the noise rose, Palamon deliberately turned away from Ranger and ambled towards the Agincourt side, his saddle askew and his reins trailing.
The destrier stopped beside Sir Marcus. Palamon fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere in the middle distance, away from the fuss and noise; only the play of his ears belied his outward indifference.
Steph sagged against the fence, her head throbbing as she struggled to drag air into her paralyzed lungs. Her exhale was a choked sob as she watched Ranger almost go down when he put weight on his injured leg. A squire caught his arm, and Ranger allowed the man to help him towards the Agincourt side of the lists.
Gentle fingers slid under her elbow, and she silently accepted Estrella's urging. As she moved away from the fence, she risked a glance at the Lady of Finncapall. Estrella shook her head slowly, her expression somber.
"This is my fault," Steph said miserably. "If I had just done what I was supposed to, Palamon would have never gone crazy like that."
Estrella held up a finger to stop her. "Stephanie, the fault is most certainly not yours. You have no control over the exuberance of a horse who has never been kissed. Palamon is Palamon, and some things are inevitable, no matter how we would wish the outcome differently."
"All of my outcomes are bad," she muttered, watching as Ranger sank to the ground by the far fence. Sir Marcus spoke in a low voice to him and he shook his head sharply. Ranger winced as a senior squire eased the collar of his tunic back to reveal the deep purple marks of Palamon's teeth.
"God in His Heaven!" exclaimed Lady Wainhill as she stepped off the bleachers. "We could identify the nag's dead body from that imprint alone. In truth 'tis but fortune that he didn't take the man's throat!"
Estrella shot a glance at Steph. "Not helping, Dosia," she said firmly.
Lady Wainhill took the hint and went back to fanning herself, but the damage was done. Steph knew it was her fault. Her stupidity almost killed Ranger—again—and she had again succeeded in publicly humiliating herself.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. A small hand slide into hers, and Steph looked down to see Angie giving her a tremulous smile.
"Aunt Steph, I think you did great. I can't wait to tell Kelsie about it. It was just like the stories about the tournaments."
"Thanks, Angie," said Steph, struggling to match her niece's smile with one of her own. "But somehow I think this might be a new one for the history books."
"Epic is not everything one would wish," Estrella said in a dry tone. She sighed softly, but didn't elaborate. There was a set to her mouth that spoke of someone trying very hard not to lose her temper, but by the way she stared hard at the group of Agincourt knights across the lists, it was a near thing.
Sir Marcus caught her gaze and said something to Ranger before heading in their direction. He moved slower than normal, and Steph could only figure that his Palamon-assisted dismount hadn't been a pleasant experience.
The knight stopped short of the fence. "We have a problem, my lady."
"A full ton, I believe." Estrella met his gaze with a steady one of her own. "He has surpassed himself this time."
"Not that. Gallus is here." Marcus dropped his voice a couple notches and moved a little closer. "Henri spotted him near the loge."
"The fool overreaches himself if he believes himself safe from justice here," Estrella said softly.
Marcus nodded. "Arrogance is his downfall. Command me, my lady. How would you have this play out?"
"I must talk to my uncle," said Estrella. She sighed. "For certain we cannot manage this alone. Warn everyone to be careful until this can be sorted. We cannot afford any incidents."
He bowed carefully, and without a word went back to the Agincourt knights. A curt word from Marcus sent Istvan ducking through the fence rails and sprinting towards the camp. The knights formed a semi-circle around him as he spoke, and more than a few glances were sent towards Estrella.
The Lady of Finncapall exhaled slowly. "Welladay. I suppose I must see the Seneschal to offer a pledge for the damages here. 'tis certain I shall exact the price from a certain brown hide before all is done."
"Better you than His Grace," said Lady Wainhill.
"Palamon does not dare talk back to me," Estrella said firmly. She turned to Stephanie. "Dearling, please join us at the table for the King's Feast tonight. I would do right by you and Angie by showing you the extent of Westborne hospitality."
Staying at the Faire held little appeal to Steph at the moment. Between her shattered cell phone and the knowledge that she had screwed up again, she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep until she was sure this was all a bad dream. But Estrella's expression said she wasn't accepting that as an answer.
"Uh, yeah," Steph said. "We'd love to."
Estrella gestured to Lisbet, who handed her two embossed silver medallions. "Take this, dearling. Show it at the door when you arrive. The steward will seat you at my table."
The medallion weighed heavily in Steph's hand, and she closed her fingers over it as Estrella gave the other to Angie. "For you as well, my dearling. In case you do not come to the feast together."
"Thanks, Lady Finncapall," said Angie. She slid it into her front pocket and patted the denim to make sure the bulge was still there. "I promise I won't lose it, Aunt Steph."
"I know you won't." Steph put hers into the pocket where she carried her keys. "Lady Estrella, Lady Wainhill. It was a pleasure."
"The honor was mine," said Lady Wainhill. She gestured with her fan, and Steph eased backwards out of range. "Mind yourself, young lady. Mind what Lady Finncapall has told you, and what you have seen. And before Heaven, look up once in a while!"
The last was said in an exasperated tone, and Steph instinctively did just that. The sky was still searing deep blue, and the sun shone through it with a white hot fierceness that made her squint. When she glanced back at Lady Wainhill, the other woman had closed her fan and rested the tip against her lower lip. She watched Steph with a mystifying gleam in her eyes, then nodded once. Steph nodded back as she took Angie's hand.
"Angie! Angie!"
The excited shout stopped them both in their tracks. A girl about Angie's age darted through the crowd, her curly blonde hair bobbing in its ponytail as she moved.
"Ohmigod!" she squealed as she reached them. "I can't believe you're here! We were right across from you on the other side. At first I thought it was you, but that couldn't be right because you never told me you were coming. What are you doing here?"
Angie flashed the other girl a bright smile. "Hey, Kelsie! My Aunt Steph brought me for the day. Are you here with your parents?"
A Burg-worthy eye roll accompanied Kelsie's indelicate snort. Steph hid her smile. She remembered too well dragging her parents through street fairs at that age.
"My little sister is here, too," said Kelsie with a woeful sigh. "I want to see the shops, but she cries when we don't stop at the petting zoo and the rides."
"You have to see Mistress Clara's. Aunt Steph has the most beautiful dress that she's going to wear tonight at the King's Feast and—"
Kelsie's squeal nearly deafened Steph, and she winced and stepped away as the two girls went off in raptures of description, Angie's voice excited as she detailed their day so far. Steph wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear what would be said when her niece reached the part about a big brown horse who seemed intent on complicating her aunt's life.
Speak of the four-footed devil, she thought. Estrella stood by the fence, her hands resting on the top rail as a certain large horse walked towards her. Someone had straightened Palamon's saddle and removed his armor. He moved at a nonchalant amble, his ears swiveling back and forth to catch the snatches of conversation and sounds around him.
Steph checked across the way and saw Ranger struggling to his feet, ignoring the offers of help from the Agincourt squires. The white edge of a bandage showed beneath his open collar, and he limped badly as he attempted to walk. Steph's stomach twisted with a deep pain, and the breath she drew in was shaky at best. She moved closer to Estrella.
"The Anìar bred their horses for war," Estrella said softly as Steph reached her. "They bred for courage to face the spears of the enemy and stamina to fight to the last. Somewhere in the ancient days, a complete idiot chose to breed for intelligence as well."
"Isn't a smart horse a good thing?" asked Steph.
Estrella nodded towards Palamon as the horse stopped just out of reach. "Behold a ton of I-think-not. Of what use are brains if the horse will not use them? God's truth, I am ready to boot his tail between his ears so he may at least use his ass for thinking."
Her hand smacked flat against the top rail, and Palamon's ears swept back, then sideways as he lowered his head. His lower lip trembled, then drooped enough that Steph could clearly see the pink inner flesh. Palamon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his head dipping down even further.
The picture was one of complete and utter dejection. Even though Steph tried to harden her heart by calculating exactly how many people had witnessed the entire debacle, the tiny quiver of Palamon's lip did her in. "Maybe we shouldn't be so hard on—"
Palamon slowly blinked, his dark lashes sweeping down then up as he peeked at her from the tops of his eyes. His head slowly tilted to the side, and Steph could have sworn she saw the faintest twinkle in those dark brown depths.
A tired chuckle came from Estrella. "I never said the horses of the Anìar were ever bred with a sense of shame. If he were not the best we have, I would banish him to Fenditch and let Bowen's six daughters have at him."
"This would be bad?" muttered Steph. Palamon snorted, flipping his nose into the air.
"Pink ribbons and braids with bells," Estrella said. "They are a handful and I know my brother would be grateful if they would turn their attention from his hunting dogs."
She pointed her finger at the horse. "Go, while I still have the forbearance to allow it. Go straight to camp, Palamon, and do not turn aside. Are we in understanding?"
The snort this time was downright petulant, and Estrella frowned. "No games, Palamon."
The warhorse looked away from her, and she shrugged. "I will not yield to this, so accept it or go home. But if you go home, then Marcus must as well. Do you have so little regard for him?"
The ears went back and Palamon glared at her. Estrella gave it right back to him, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the fence. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the battle of wills, until Palamon dropped his gaze. He dipped his nose towards the ground in acquiescence. Estrella nodded back to him, and Palamon heaved a desolate sigh before ambling towards the gates.
Estrella waited until he had disappeared into the shadows beyond the gates before she let her façade slip. She leaned against the fence and blotted at the sweat on her forehead with her fingers. "I would wish a pox on the nag," she muttered, "but he would repay the favor by coming to me for nursing."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't?" asked Steph.
"Cursed if I do, cursed if I do not," Estrella corrected her.
Steph closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the sting of fatigue. "I didn't know there's a difference. There isn't one in my life."
"You'd be surprised."
Her eyes flew open, but Estrella wasn't looking at her. Instead, her steady gaze was focused on the Agincourt knights. Her lips thinned, and Steph turned as well. As her eyes picked out Ranger, she went cold and her insides froze with a different kind of fear.
Felise, the Countess of Harecote, stood in front of Ranger, her chin tilted up as she stared into his face. A small triumphant smile graced her lips as she spoke to him, and she drew her fingers over his arm. He was partially turned away from the lists, so Steph could not catch any glimpse of his face other than the angle of his jaw as he answered her. Never in her life had she so desperately wanted to see his eyes, to gauge what he was actually thinking. There was no mistaking what the Countess had on her mind. She lifted a delicate hand and touched her index finger to Ranger's throat. When he didn't move away, her smile grew brighter and she traced the line of his jaw until she reached his lips.
Pain pierced Stephanie's heart. Even more than the jousting and the other play acting, this little interlude proved how little she knew about her own life. She once thought that Ranger was the one constant in her life, the one person who would always be there for her.
She blinked away the sudden tears that blurred her vision in time to see the Countess plant a kiss on his cheek. It was a reach for her, given her shorter stature, but Ranger didn't seem to mind. He touched her cheek lightly, then curved his fingers around her face to cradle it.
Dark spots gathered in Steph's vision, and she pulled in a shaking breath. "I have to go. Angie—"
She spun around, turning her back on the horrible image that would be burned into her mind forever. She nearly stumbled as she reached Angie. Her niece looked at her with concern written plainly on her face. "Aunt Steph, are you all right?"
"No, not really." A shaft of incandescent fire hammered into her skull, and she had to grab onto the fence to stay upright. "Um, I think I need to sit in the shade for a while. If it's okay with Kelsie and her parents, maybe you could show her the dresses we were looking at earlier."
"Are you sure? I don't want to leave you if—" Angie let her words trail off, but Steph forced herself to smile, even though it felt like her face was about to shatter into a million pieces.
"Clear it with Kelsie's parents, and go have fun. I'll sit at the table where we had the pastries and meet you at Mistress Clara's so we can get ready for the Feast."
That set both girls off, and their excitement bubbled over. Steph gathered herself mentally and followed them as Kelsie scampered towards her parents waiting by the end of the bleachers. She managed the short walk without stumbling, and she was proud of her ability to keep it together. Seeing Ranger flirting with the Countess was enough to snap the fragile hold she had on her emotions, but she wanted the breakdown to be as private as possible.
Kelsie's parents were the absolute perfect image of a Burg family: the father in a polo shirt and jeans, genial and with the confidence that came from money. Her mother was a June Cleaver clone, watching her children with the half-proud, half-anxious expression of a woman ever alert to any behavior that would discredit her in front of the Burg.
Steph forced herself to smile in the right places, and assured them that she would meet Angie before the Feast. She knew precisely when Kelsie's mother recognized her. The woman's mouth formed a perfect O and her eyes widened. She grabbed her youngest daughter and moved her to the side, out of reach of Steph's insidious contamination.
It didn't even hurt. Steph tried to find some sense of outrage that anyone would be so obviously rude, but she couldn't even manage that. If someone asked her right now, she would be the first to tell the little girl that it was safer to be the next Burg housewife than suffer the loneliness of being the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Steph realized that she had become what every mother dreaded for her daughter: a dire warning of the folly in trying to be something other than what her mother wanted.
Somehow, she managed to send Angie off with Kelsie and the family. She shooed Angie away when her niece fretted about leaving her alone, and assured her more than once that she would probably sit at the table under the tree and catch a little shut eye while she waited. After several more promises to meet at Mistress Clara's, Steph heaved a sigh of relief as Kelsie and Angie disappeared into the crowds, their excited chatter drifting back to her over the other crowd noise.
Only then did she let her shoulders slump forward. She knew the RangeMan team was still keeping an eye on her, but she didn't care anymore. They would probably die of boredom in the next few hours, because she intended to do nothing more exciting than sit and watch the Faire pass her by. It would be good practice for how the rest of her life would turn out. She might as well practice watching as every opportunity and dream floated beyond her reach.
Steph found the table and chairs empty as before. She sank into one of the chairs, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. It felt good to shut out the world, and pretend for a very short moment that the world didn't exist.
The sounds of the Faire drifted around her, punctuated by laughter. Steph didn't look up and didn't move for the longest time as her thoughts chased their tails. She slipped into a light doze, images of the afternoon dancing through her mind like a dream.
A sound pierced the air, startling her awake. Before she could think, she was automatically reaching into her purse for her battered cell phone as it struggled to play more than every fifth note of the Batman theme. She debated letting it go to voicemail, but the decision was taken out of her hands as the readout went dark. Cursing under her breath, she flipped it over and jiggled the battery pack. The phone chirped to indicate she had a voicemail, and Steph held the back securely in place as she turned it so she could see the readout.
Ranger's private number scrolled across the display. Her finger froze over the Talk button, and she stared at the readout until it flickered again and went dark. Steph sighed and dropped the cell phone back into her purse. She hunched over, her fingers rubbing circles in her temples as she tried to ease the tension pounding against her skull.
Get it together, Plum, she thought. You're a professional. He's a professional. D'you think you can manage to remember that for more than two seconds?
The pep talk helped. The roiling in her stomach eased, and Steph clung to the faint hope that never seemed to die. She nodded to herself. Finish the mission. Keep your eyes open and let the guys do their job while you do yours.
"Come with me, my sweet burd," a deep male voice crooned.
Steph tilted her head the tiniest bit, her eyes scanning the entire lane... She wasn't quite sure she had heard correctly, and if she had, whether the sentiment was directed towards her. Men didn't compare her to canaries or parakeets, and they certainly didn't sound like a creepy version of Mr. Rogers.
She waited, and the back door to the one of the bakeries slid open. She squinted slightly as the two people lingered in the doorway. Then one grasped the hands of the other, and the man in the green tunic stepped into the sunlight. He tugged on the hands in his grasp, and a woman in her early 20s followed him into the lane.
"Gallus, I can't be gone for very long," she protested, her voice brimming with laughter. "Wat is busy up front, and I need to make sure there are enough tarts."
The man named Gallus pulled her closer. He kissed her hands entwined with his. "Dearest heart, come away with me. Time will have no meaning when you look into my eyes."
The girl stared into his eyes, her head tipped back, and then slowly nodded. He gave her a smile that sent shivers down Steph's spine like the scampering of a legion of mice. He caressed her throat with his fingers, lazily stroking over the groove where the life pulse beat. "You want to come with me, my little burd?"
She nodded again, her face expressionless, her eyes wide. "Yes, Gallus. I want to come with you."
The laughter in her voice was gone, replaced by an utter lack of emotion. Steph kept herself as still as possible, and watched as Gallus gave the girl another creepy smile and guided her out of the lane.
Before they had rounded the corner, Steph was out of her chair and moving. She slung her purse over her shoulder where it wouldn't get in the way and half-ran on the balls of her feet, trying not to make any sound. When she reached the corner, she eased around it and located Gallus walking rapidly through the crowds, the girl's hand securely in his as she trotted to keep up with him.
Steph used a group of teenagers to conceal her as she left the lane. They turned off by the tattoo parlor, and she merged behind a wandering minstrel trio, never letting her quarry out of her sight. She could hear the murmur of voices around her and the lilting strain of the music, but all of it was background noise to her main focus. Ranger, jousting, public humiliation—none of it mattered in the here and now. All she was concerned about was finding out why the mysterious man was spending time with a bakery worker, and why in the middle of the busiest time?
Gallus stopped at the maze entrance, and scanned the area around him. The girl stared straight ahead, her eyes never blinking or shifting, and it was that utter stillness that kept Steph on target. She waited until they were through the gate and it was starting to close before she slipped through it.
This time she was more careful about tailing him. As before, the sounds of the Faire were muted in this greenwood. She could plainly hear the birdsong and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. Steph paused at the turning, her ears straining to hear anything that would give away her quarry. She heard a snatch of conversation, judged it to be sufficiently far ahead, and slipped around the corner.
Steel bands clamped around her throat and lifted her off her feet. She clutched instinctively at the arms of the giant man holding her off the ground, fighting to loosen his grip just a little so she could drag air into her starving lungs. As her vision darkened, she saw small details-a shock of dark brown hair and seal brown eyes that glared angrily. Then her grip loosened, and Steph couldn't force her fingers to work. Air was her overriding concern, and she wasn't getting nearly enough.
"What is this here?" Gallus walked out of the underbrush, the girl trailing behind him like a puppy dog.
"She was following you, m'lord," the brown man said, giving Steph a tiny shake for good measure. The movement slammed her brain against the inside of her skull, but it also created a little bit of room for her lungs to grab some air. "Be you wanting her dead?"
Gallus swept his gaze over her from head to toe, then let it return to a point midway between where it lingered long enough to be insulting. "Put her down. I want to see her."
Pain shot through her as the man dumped her on the ground. Steph fell on her ass and her spine lit up from the impact. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she raised her chin defiantly.
Before she could move, Gallus gripped her chin and forced her head back. Steph fought to keep from overbalancing, but he pushed her back until she was precisely on the tipping point.
"You have spirit, I can give you that," he murmured, staring in to her eyes. "But you are also troublesome. I do not tolerate loose ends, not when I am so close to my goal."
Gallus shoved her backwards and Steph sprawled on the ground, her head spinning.
He nudged her with a foot. "Still, you are strong and healthy. Perhaps you can be useful."
"Useful for what?" Steph coughed slightly, trying to clear the gunk out of her throat. It wasn't easy; being strangled always made it very difficult to talk.
"Useful for my purposes." Gallus knelt next to her and made a flicking curious gesture with his fingers. Her eyes followed his fingers instinctively, as they wove a complicated figure in the air. "Look into my eyes, silly burd, and let time go away."
"I'm not really—" Steph winced as he wrenched her head around. "Easy on the grabbing! I'm not a hooker."
He laughed without humor. "You will be a common whore when I finish with you. And you will beg for it." Again the gesture, drawing her gaze towards his eyes.
"You're not my type." Steph gave him the best glare she had in her, one that was part fear, part anger and sprinkled liberally with pissed-off Jersey Girl. He held her gaze for a long moment, then released her with a thoughtful sound.
"You are not affected," he said, watching her with considerably more interest. He climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt and leaves off his pants. Gallus stared at her for a long moment, then nodded to his lackey. "Search her."
Steph tried to scramble away, but Big Brown grabbed her foot and dragged her back. Just as she rolled over for another attempt, he buried his fist in her kidneys and she bit back a scream.
Steph squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to catch her breath. Every bit of her focus was on that; if she had spared anything, it would have noticed the professionally callous way the man searched her. He did it with a horrible thoroughness and made no effort to hide his enjoyment. By the time his hands closed around the waistband of her jeans, Steph felt both bruised and completely violated.
She steeled herself for what came next. It was no different from the playground, surrounded by the Slayers. Only this time there would be no Sally Sweet riding to her rescue.
The man cursed viciously as he scrambled away from her, his hands clenched into tight fists. "Bitch! You be one of them!"
"She has a talisman?" asked Gallus, shifting backwards.
Big Brown rubbed his palms against the side of his legs. "Front right pocket. They be good at hiding 'em."
"It will not help," Gallus said. "Kill her. I will send a Hound for the soul. That will be one less I must feed them."
Big Brown leered at her, displaying rotting, stained teeth. Gallus didn't spare Steph another glance. He snapped his fingers towards the young woman waiting by the path, and led her away. Before the next bend in the path had hidden them, Big Brown advanced on Stephanie, his fingers reaching wide as he bent over her.
"I'm going to enjoy this one, little bitch. Your little lucky charm does no keep you from physical harm. Think about that while I choke yer life from your body."
She didn't have the strength to fight him off. A sick feeling swept over her as she struggled to get up, to move, but her treacherous body failed to produce even a weak twitch. As Big Brown's meaty hand closed around her throat like a vise, Steph struggled to draw a breath. The pressure built up in her chest as she fought for air and as the rush of blood grew in her ears, the last thing she heard was his low, eager laugh. It followed her into the darkness, echoing through the eternal shadows.
Dirt filled her nose and her lungs with a loamy, musty smell. Steph tried to move, but that made the smell even worse. As she started to cough, her throat burned with intense fire until she could barely breathe. She couldn't force her eyes open and her entire body was as responsive as lead weight.
A cold hand touched her forehead, and Steph's reflexive shriek came out as a strangled croak.
"Shh," said a soft voice. Another cold touch slid across her throat, and Steph flinched. "Do not move. Try to breathe shallow for a few minutes."
"C-c-c-o—"
The voice whispered a quiet laugh. "Yes, my hands are cold. You did not have time for me to warm them, dearling."
A wave of pain swept over her, and when she surfaced it was to hear the voice talking to her, soothing her instinctive restlessness and encouraging her to breathe. Steph pried her eyes open a little, but a bright white light shot straight into her brain. The pain lanced through her head and she went under again.
The voice didn't let her sink this time. That feather touch brushed across her forehead, and the pain retreated as the voice whispered in her ear. "Breathe deeper and relax. Take it slow."
Steph counted to herself, struggling to relax and think only of the steady expansion and contraction of her lungs. Even though she hadn't tried to open her eyes again, she listened. Only silence reached her ears. No birds twittered overhead, and no breeze pattered through the leaves. Even the air was funny; Steph licked her dry lips and tasted a metallic tang almost like copper on her tongue.
"It should be okay now, dearling," her rescuer said. "Try again."
Steph ratcheted open her eyes bit by bit, blinking away the tears that washed out the grit. A few more blinks pulled things into focus, and Steph glanced at her surroundings.
This most definitely wasn't the maze. Massive trees crowded around them, their thick branches weaving together to form an impenetrable canopy overhead. No sunlight pierced it; the white light filling the air came from everywhere at once. It burned like a summer sun, erasing the shadows lurking beneath the trees.
A woman knelt next to Steph, watching silently. Her brown hair was braided back, the plaiting loose and half-undone, with wisps of fine hair floating around her face. A patched and faded blue tunic hung loose over dark grey pants.
As she reached out to touch a cool finger to Steph's cheek, the sleeve of her tunic slid across a thick line of moist red that marred the pale skin of her inner forearm. Steph's gaze flipped up to hers and she nodded without any warmth in her dark blue eyes.
"I said I was in a hurry. Would you like to sit up?" she asked.
"Who are you?" asked Steph. She got an elbow underneath herself and pushed, nearly overbalancing. The woman slid an impossibly strong hand under her shoulder and braced Steph until she could make it upright.
"Who am I?" repeated the woman. "I am what you one day may be, Stephanie. If you so choose."
Steph grabbed at her head as vertigo turned the trees into a crazed carousel. Then images flashed through her brain—of the Ren Faire, Gallus and his ugly henchman choking the life out of her. She shuddered. "I'm dead. There are no more choices. I'm dead."
"Not quite. Or should I say 'not yet'?" The woman smiled with the barest upturn of her lips. "I can send you back. But I cannot dictate what you must do."
Her hands shook like the last dead leaves in an early winter wind. Steph stared at the ground, her eyes wide and unseeing as she tried to come to grips with the biggest question of her life.
"I don't understand," she said finally. "Are you an angel?"
The woman laughed. "No. Your life was in peril, and so I came. My only regret is that I did not get here sooner."
"Oh." Steph kept her head down, her mind still refusing to work. What did she want? Her mind spun even faster, and a tremor swept through her.
Those cold hands slid over hers, and they gave a soft squeeze. "Dearling, you do not have unlimited time. Is it so difficult to understand what your heart desires?"
An image flashed through Steph's mind before she could stop it, and she felt pain twist through her. She sucked in a breath, hunching her shoulders as she willed it away. "I can't."
"Cannot? Or will not?"
The voice was no longer gentle. Steel threaded through it, edged with implacable power.
Tears stung at her eyes and she closed them as a few drops spilled down her face. "I . . . even if I wanted . . . it's not going to happen."
"Ah." The woman was silent for a moment, then blew out her breath in a deep sigh. "So that is the way of it. Both ways cursed, and nothing promised as a surety. Your path then lies in whether you choose to fight until the end."
"Isn't this the end?" Steph couldn't help the question. She looked up through tear-blurred eyes and met the woman's gaze.
Her expression softened. "Not if you strengthen your heart and screw your courage to the sticking point, for you will have need of both in the hours ahead. All you must do is choose."
She climbed to her feet, and casually picked up two swords lying on the ground behind her. A large diamond flared brilliant in the crosspiece of the larger sword, then faded as the woman shifted. A long smear of red marred the silvered steel blade and Steph swallowed hard as she realized that it was human.
The woman extended her hand. Steph took it with only the smallest hesitation, and a surge of power flowed through her, graying out her vision. When it cleared, she stood once again in the forest maze. Dusk had fallen, and the path was a pale tan ribbon winding through the forest's shadows.
"How did you—"
"That is not important," the woman said. "Stephanie, I freely give you these things—both gift and advice. You shall know what has been hidden before, and see things with your heart. Hold this knowledge close, dearling. Do not back down, no matter what you face."
"But I don't know your name," said Steph as the woman stepped away from her.
She paused, the diamond in the sword beginning to glow like a newborn star. "Some day you will. Go in grace, Stephanie."
The white light strengthened until it blazed like a beacon. A wind brushed past Steph and the light increased to blinding. Then it blinked out, leaving only a faint afterimage.
Steph was alone.
