Kyra dressed quickly, thankful when the undergarments disappeared under her clothes.
She set the pig on its feet and shouldered her pack. “Okay, it’s time. Do your thing, pig.”
The pig didn’t move. It looked up at her.
What was the problem? Did she need special words or something?
The pig kept its eyes on her. It looked like it was smiling. If pigs could smile.
For the love of all that was good in the world, it wasn’t expecting breakfast, was it? Kyra liked food as much as the next person, but this was a hunt. Who had time for breakfast?
Kyra lifted the flap on the side pocket of her pack and pulled out a wedge of cheese. “Here.” She threw it to the pig.
Scarfing up the cheese, the pig started down the trail.
The pig certainly looked like it knew where it was going. Now that it had finished breakfast, it rushed through the forest, its pink nose to the ground, oinking excitedly every so often.
Until they came to a river. The pig paced back and forth, looking up at Kyra.
She stood on the sloping bank and looked out over the rushing water.
“Great. You’ve led us to a RIVER, pig. This isn’t helpful.”
The pig oinked back at her.
Maybe seven or eight hours from now a river would be useful, but Kyra was far from ready to stop for the day to do her laundry.
She sat down on the riverbank under the drooping branches of a willow tree and tried to configure her mental map. They’d gone northwest from Arlo’s and walked several miles since they’d gotten up that morning. This had to be the Iota River.
There was a major bridge to the east that crossed the Iota. It was only about fifteen miles away, but it was off the pig’s chosen track. West, the river ran for miles before petering out into swamps and bogs.
They were going to have to cross the old-fashioned way—by getting wet.
At this point the Iota was only about ten yards across and shallow-looking. Kyra could even make out the river bottom through the water.
Definitely crossable—for Kyra, anyway. As she sat staring off into the water, the pig had curled itself around her shoe.
She sighed and looked down at it. “Pigs can’t swim, can they?”
Kyra considered throwing it in to see if it could, but shook her head. If this pig really could do what it was supposed to, it was too valuable to risk.
“Ugh. You are such a pain.”
Kyra stripped off her clothing, feeling like she was taking off a layer of armor. Her clothes had been treated with potions to repel liquids, but water still got trapped between the fabric and her skin. She’d end up having to take them off to get dry anyway.
Maybe it would have been worth a little discomfort. She was completely exposed standing on the riverbank in her undergarments, the grass prickly beneath her bare feet.
Why did she have to be wearing these underthings?
A breeze set the ribbons trembling. Kyra briskly rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them up and reached down to pull out the knife she had tucked into her ankle garter. She grasped one ribbon and put the blade to the base of it.
And paused.
Another puff of wind set the ribbons dancing.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t chop the ribbons off Ariana’s silly gift.
Kyra sighed and arranged her clothing into a nest, the material soft beneath her fingers. She wrapped her cloth shoes in her tunic and pants, keeping her weapons holsters on the outside so she could reach them if need be.
The pig crawled right into the center of the bundle and looked up expectantly.
“Oh, I’m sure you just love this. You’re supposed to be the worker, here. I shouldn’t have to carry you around.”
But there was no avoiding it. Picking up the pig and nest, she held them in front of her and stepped into the water. Icy.
The water got deeper until it was just below her waist and tugging at the hem of her long Kitty underwear. If it got much deeper, her things and the pig would get wet. She was going to have to balance her knapsack and the nest of pig on top of her head.
She carefully lifted the whole bundle up, still keeping her fingers protectively wrapped around her weapons.
How had she come to this? How had she ended up a hungry, friendless fugitive in the middle of a frigid river wearing completely ridiculous lacy underthings?
With a pig balanced on top of her head?
At least there was no one around.
Just as she thought that, a piercing whistle cut through her thoughts.
No. Way.
Kyra froze, her hands seizing the pig, and looked in the direction of the whistle.
A young man—he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than she was—stood across the shore on the sandy bank, watching her appreciatively. He was dressed in rough traveling clothes, and his brown hair was rumpled like he’d just woken up.
Kyra scanned him—he didn’t appear to have any weapons, his stance was open and relaxed, and he didn’t bear any insignia of the militia.
“This certainly isn’t something you see every day,” the young man said in an accented voice. He settled himself against a big boulder three feet from the river’s edge and crossed his arms as though sitting back to enjoy a show. Even from where she was, Kyra could tell he was good-looking. He held himself in that confident way good-looking guys have.
Kyra had had quite enough of handsome men to last her a lifetime.
She started walking again, moving slowly forward through the cold water—she couldn’t let this jerk keep her from crossing the river. And she certainly wasn’t turning back.
“This isn’t something you should be seeing at all,” she said loudly over the rushing sound of the river. “Whoever you are, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”
“And miss this?” The boy appeared to be considering her request, his head cocked to the side as he watched. “No,” he continued, “I think I’ll stay. Besides, what if you slip and fall? I’ll be right here to help you.”
He wasn’t a threat, just an annoyance. A big annoyance, but Kyra was going to have to ignore him.
Somewhat difficult to do. The current was getting stronger. Instead of crossing quickly, as she would have liked, she had to step slowly and make sure each foot had a solid hold before moving the other one.
She chanced a glance up and saw something that made her heart stop.
Just behind the young man was a wolf. It watched them with glittering eyes.
The pig noticed the wolf a second later.
And went crazy.
It squealed and twisted itself around in the clothing atop Kyra’s head. She tried to hold it tighter, but the pig was thrashing about so furiously it was impossible for her to get a good grip.
Kyra recoiled as one of the pig’s hooves poked her in the eye.
Next thing she knew, she was under the freezing water and the pig was gone.
Swept away with all of her weapons.
KYRA TOLD HERSELF not to panic.
She would NOT drown in water that was shallower than she was tall. She needed to find the riverbed. But just as her foot brushed the bottom, it got caught in the current and shot out from under her.
She thrashed her feet and hands out frantically to try to touch ground again, but they slid cleanly through the water without hitting anything solid.
The bottom had disappeared.
Suddenly a strong hand caught her and pulled her straight up. Air hit her face. She sucked in deep luscious breaths.
She was cradled against an extremely warm body, one that smelled tantalizingly of roasted spices and wood fire. She looked up to see the young man gazing down at her, his face inches from her own, the corners of his eyes crinkled in concern.
“You okay?”
She nodded, not quite able to catch her breath to talk yet.
His eyes were stunning. They were a vibrant green with little flecks of amber and gold, like glimpses
of the sun through a canopy of leaves. His face looked like a painting of some kind of trickster god—equal parts mischief and pleasure. Like the world had been created as his playground and he was enjoying every minute of his time here.
No one should look that pleased with life.
His lips looked so soft, Kyra wondered for a moment what it would be like to touch them, and she realized they were turned up at the corners as he caught her staring at him.
“You know,” he said, “you didn’t have to go to all of this trouble just to get my attention.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kyra said with all of the dignity she could muster.
He replied with a grin.
“Put me down,” Kyra said.
“Really? You want me to put you down? Right now?” Kyra realized they weren’t moving. “That water’s awfully cold.”
“On the shore.” Her lungs hurt from holding her breath, her nose was raw inside, she was cold and disoriented, and she was in the most vulnerable position she’d been in in months.
The boy started toward the bank. “I don’t have a ton of experience with rescuing helpless maidens, but I was under the impression they’re usually a lot more grateful.”
“I am NOT a helpless maiden.”
“You’re kind of cute when you’re angry, has anyone ever told you that?”
Kyra glared up at the boy.
“Yep, that’s just exactly what I’m talking about.”
That’s when she remembered. “Where’s my pig?” She struggled to look down into the water.
“Safe on the shore. I grabbed her first and then came back for you.”
On the riverbank, Kyra’s pig was sitting happily on the boulder. Relieved, she sagged against the boy, and a rush of sensation flooded through her. His jacket rough against her skin, the play of muscles in his chest, Kyra was suddenly very physically aware of him. She stiffened and pulled herself away as much as she could. “You saved the pig while I was drowning?”
He chuckled. “Thought she must be valuable or you wouldn’t have carried her on top of your head. Besides, pigs can’t swim. They cut their little throats with their sharp hooves.” His arms still cradling Kyra, he demonstrated, paddling his hands under her.
Good-looking AND completely insane.
“Besides, as you said, you’re no helpless maiden. I’m sure you would have been fine in a minute.”
Kyra had no response to this.
“I’m Fred, by the way,” he said. “I’m a traveler, exploring the countryside. This is my first time in the Kingdom of Mohr. And you must be…” He angled his head down at her. “Kitty?”
“Kitty?” She looked up at him, startled. She felt a pang at hearing Ariana’s nickname for her in the mouth of a stranger. Get a grip, Kyra, she thought.
“It’s written on your…” He pointed his chin toward her chest.
She felt her entire body flush as she realized he was referring to the nickname written across her soaked and clinging shift. The stitching across her left breast. She looked up sharply, but the boy’s eyes were now focused straight ahead.
It was then that she realized just how naked she was: the boy’s arms under her legs were touching bare skin, her shift was almost completely transparent, her belly button was in plain sight through the lace, and she didn’t dare look any higher for fear of what else had become visible through the damp fabric.
Before she could actually die of embarrassment, they’d reached the shore. Kyra pushed herself out of his arms, landing on her feet in the soft sand of the riverbank.
Only to find her pig shrieking for all she was worth. The wolf had come back and was circling the large boulder.
Kyra gasped.
Fred whistled, and the wolf sat down obediently.
“Langley, I told you to stay,” he said.
To the wolf.
“And I told you to sit over there.” He pointed firmly to a spot ten feet away from the rock and the pig.
The wolf looked—and Kyra could barely believe this—guilty.
The wolf moved to where Fred was pointing.
“He’s your wolf?” Kyra asked.
Fred turned back to Kyra, a bashful smile just tweaking the corners of his mouth. “He’s a dog, though I’m sure Langley takes your mistake as a compliment.”
Kyra hugged her arms across her cold, soggy body and stared back at him. “He’s your dog?”
“Um, yeah?’
“And you thought I would be grateful for being rescued?”
Fred’s gaze dropped to his sodden traveling boots, and his hair ruffled in the breeze. Chin tilted down, he peeked up, his green-gold eyes catching her own, causing a tiny shiver to course through Kyra. He really was quite beautiful, she realized. “Maybe? A little bit?”
“But it’s your fault that I fell in! If you had left when I told you to and taken your wolflike dog with you before my pig saw it, I would be dry right now. Possibly even warm.”
“I sincerely apologize. I had no idea the effect Langley would have until your pig started squealing.”
“Where are my clothes?” Though the sun was out, it didn’t cut the chill from the river.
Then her stomach clenched. Her weapons! She hadn’t been more than inches away from them in months—years, really. Even before the whole incident with the princess, she’d always had them nearby.
“I’m afraid I was only able to rescue the pig and your bag. Your clothes…” He shrugged.
Kyra stared hard at him. “Are you kidding me?”
His face broke into a heart-stopping smile. “Yes.”
“Ugh!” Kyra resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. “You have got to be the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”
Gracefully, Fred reached down behind a large rock and picked up the pile of her clothes and her pack. He held out the stack and stepped back as she ripped them from his hands.
Automatically, her fingers scanned the water-slicked clothes, covertly checking that her weapons were still securely hidden in their water-repellent holsters.
“Do you mind?” She gestured for him to turn around.
His smiled turned wicked. “Don’t see what difference it makes. I’ve already seen all there is to see.”
Kyra considered pulling out a quill and putting him to sleep for a while. It wouldn’t be hard. He wouldn’t be expecting it, and she never missed.
Except, of course, that one time. The only time that mattered.
But missing the princess had been a statistical fluke.
One that would not happen again.
Kyra dismissed the thought of taking Fred out with her sleeping draft. The people hunting her would be more than a trifle interested to hear about a woman who used quills dipped in Doze.
She did have a secret up her sleeve for tough situations like this, a confusion potion that left no visible evidence, but she dismissed that idea too. The tiny swabs sewn into the sleeves of her shirt depended too much on her being unmemorable in the first place. She doubted that anything short of a full-on memory potion would make him forget the sight of a woman in absurd underclothes crossing a river with a pig on top of her head.
Kyra carefully picked her way around the rocks to a spot behind the large boulder and shook out her clothing. Water flew off, spattering the ground. She wrung out her shift, jammed her feet into the tight black pants, and immediately began to feel warmer.
She checked her pack to make sure that nothing had been broken or swept out by the current. Silt from the river had made its way in, but her gear was otherwise in order.
The pig had calmed down and was watching her curiously from its perch on the boulder.
“Let’s scram,” she told it.
But when she stretched her arms up, she realized she couldn’t reach the pig. That annoying Fred guy must have been a good head taller than her to be able to put the pig so high up.
She couldn’t just grab her pig and run.
She took a deep breath. Reaching into
her bag, she removed a long polished wooden hair stick, methodically wound her wet hair up on top of her head, and pushed the stick in close to her scalp to keep the bundle in place. The deliberate, familiar movements calmed her. When she was finished, her hair was tight to her head and she felt in control again.
“Okay.” She came out from behind the rock. “I need to get my pig down, and you seem to be the only one who can reach it. Would you please get it down for me now?”
Fred smiled when he saw her. “Hey, Kitty.” He greeted her like they were at a church social or something. “I would be more than happy to get your pig down for you. What’s her name?” He reached down to rub a hand over his dog’s head.
“My pig doesn’t have a name, Fred,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you just got it down, and we’ll be on our way.”
He moved over to the pig. “This will just take a minute.” Putting one hand firmly on the pig’s rump, he held his other hand over its snout. The pig began sniffing, its face buried in the cup of his palm. “You look kind of like a Sasha to me,” he said. From one of the big flap pockets of his rough green jacket, he pulled out a small dog biscuit. “Or a Rosie. Oh, Rosie’s perfect.”
“You CANNOT name my pig.” Kyra shook her head.
“Everyone should have a name,” Fred said. “Hello, little Rosie.” He rubbed the pig’s head as it munched contentedly on the biscuit. “You are a fine little thing. Even carry your own basket.”
Kyra started as he touched the scent basket that was supposed to lead her to the princess. Miraculously, the scrap of fabric was still pinned within it. She only hoped it still worked after the dunking.
Fred stroked the pig’s chin and continued to coo over her. She seemed completely oblivious to the dog sitting not ten feet away. “I’m introducing them to each other’s scent,” he said over his shoulder. “They’ll be friends in no time.”
Kyra blinked hard. She had to get out of here. “They don’t need to be friends.”
Fred loped over to his dog and rubbed the animal’s ears, his back to her. “It never hurts to have friends,” he said, petting his dog with one hand, the other hand cupped around the dog’s nose. He winked.
Kyra pulled the stick from her bun, and the sloppy knot of her hair came apart. She ran her thumb over the slightly thicker end of the stick, feeling the secret button that popped a tiny blade out of the other side. It was treated with a paralyzing poison. Two fast slices above a combatant’s wrist would make him drop his weapon, and then a kick to the head would take him down. A few nicks…