Page 58 of Rogue's Pawn (Covenant of Thorns 1)

“Just so.”

Right, because otherwise they’d be gifts and would create obligation. I was getting the hang of this.

“I don’t suppose anyone sent one of those magic chamber pots?” I asked. To blank response. Ah well, a girl could hope. “Maybe we could just move the pillow-factory into this tent?”

“We should have several tents, my lady sorceress,” Dragonfly piped up again. “Lord Falcon has five and you’re at least as important as he is, if not more.”

“Okay, really, do not repeat that one ever again.” I could just imagine Falcon’s response to that. I doubt he’d be interested in my excuse that I didn’t know how to control Dragonfly’s mouth. “But, fine, however many tents you two can arrange is fine—with no threats. If you all could move Santa’s workshop into the annex, I can have my own space again?”

My word, their command. Dragonfly and Larch moved the pillow works immediately, returning my tent to blissful emptiness, punctuated by a select few softly glowing pillows in jewel tones of emerald, sapphire and ruby. I could even see the carpet laid over the grass, woven in similar tapestry hues, velvety plush squishing between my toes. Dragonfly was hanging about, a sullen set to her piquant lips. I was about to put her to work on setting me up with a bath of some sort when we heard from Falcon.

Larch escorted the messenger in. The page—not of the Brownie variety, but rather taller and less colorful—bowed deeply. I tried to look regal. However that looked.

“Lord Falcon thanks Lady Sorceress Gwynn for the excellent lights and offers this tribute in return.” He held out a small wooden box.

Probably had a viper in it. I took it judiciously, holding it with the very tips of my fingers.

“Further, Lord Falcon, General of the Most High Command, informs Lady Sorceress Gwynn to be ready to ride at first light—” wow, an actual external demarcation of time. For my benefit only? I didn’t think so, “—to engage in a most glorious Battle with the Enemy!”

Dragonfly began clapping hands while jumping up and down like a squealing pogo stick. I thanked the messenger and glanced at Larch, who then escorted the page back out, pressing some token into his hand. Finally—someone to handle the tipping. If I hadn’t just hired Larch, I’d give him a raise. Though since I had no idea what I was paying him, I might already have done so.

I turned to Dragonfly to ask if a bath could be arranged when Darling sank one claw delicately into my ankle.

“Ouch!” I yelped. “Bad kitty!”

Darling lashed his tail, then firmly sent an image of himself in battle armor.

“Oh, right. I forgot you. Sorry. Bad me.” I set down the box from Falcon and picked up Darling, holding him cradled in my arms, nuzzling his belly fur with my nose. He licked my forehead. Then sent me the picture again. “Yes, yes—okay. Dragonfly, can I take a bath somehow?”

“In a tub of water?”

“That’s how it’s generally done, yes. Unless you can offer me a shower.”

“All of the girls have been bathing in the pond, my lady sorceress.”

I sighed. “And probably no big, brass tub in the tribute pile, I suppose?”

She shook her head gravely.

“Ah, well, sponge bath it is. Off with you then.” At least the magic kept my hair from looking grimy, but my scalp was starting to itch something fierce. I squelched the image of lice.

Darling wriggled impatiently in my arms, so I set him down on my workbench, the drying lily drifting upside down over his head. I thought he might bat at it and was ready to stop him, but he only gazed at it. Then he showed me a picture of Rogue looking disappointed and sad, gazing out a window at a misty landscape.

“Don’t give me that,” I answered. “I don’t like being manipulated. I’ve had my fill of it just lately. Now—show me exactly what you want. Something practical, please, that might actually protect you in battle.”

He licked the side of one paw, considering. I waited. The image he gave me finally showed him in a metal collar with spikes and an attached breastplate. A helmet covered his kitty head, graced with a giant purple ostrich feather.

“No plume—it’ll make you a target. How about this?”

I imagined the helmet with a short bristle of mottled brown feathers.

He replaced them with vivid yellow.

“No, yellow is even more visible.”

I replaced the yellow with his original purple, in a zebra pattern. “The broken pattern should help camouflage you—harder for the eye to see. At least, I assume whoever we’re fighting has eyes that work like ours.”

We agreed on the image—now I just needed some raw material. My teachers said I ought to be able to conjure things from nothing, but I couldn’t get the laws of thermodynamics out of my head. Conservation of mass. I just couldn’t believe in mass created from nothing. And unfortunately, this magic business came down to what I believed was possible. Too bad I’d dispatched Dragonfly. And eliminated all extraneous pillows. I’d have to go to the tribute pile for material myself. Not a big deal. Or it shouldn’t be. Still, it was full dark out there and I…dammit, I felt too frightened.

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