Page 33 of The Princess Tied

“And what is that?”

“I forget the exact abbreviation.” He scratched his chin. “No, it is gone. Let’s name this a Glorious Pathway Sensing. It means I don’t need maps to find my way.”

“Well.” His eyebrows shot up, sank. “I guess that will help. You can join our band of merry...” John looked at the three of them. “A dwarf-giant therapist, a pampered…girl.” He sighed. “Maybe we aren’t that attractive. If you want adventure, we have it nailed. Pay? If you want pay, that’s going to have to wait until we catch my brother’s kidnappers. Glory, however, is totally off the table.”

“I’ve had enough of glory—it goes hand in hand with death. Rescuing your brother from kidnappers appeals to me. I have been too long without a cause. A man needs a cause or he rots away. There is a stream we can get to before dark. We can camp there, have a proper meal. I’ll wash the eye up better than this. And once my eye is in…” He nodded to himself, as if imagining it. “Then we can move out.”

“Okay. You’ll fix this, Po.”

She eyed John. “Yes. I will.” Because she wanted to.

They moved to the stream, and Shades assured them the next town was a half a day beyond, along the road. In the morning, she would see if her skills with clocks could be applied to his eye. It seemed likely. This was why she had been crammed full of knowledge.

If a man needed a purpose then so did a princess. Po was strangely happier than she had ever been in her busy, over-scheduled, protected, and yes, pampered, life. Her heart was happy.

The fire crackled low, and everyone went about their small tasks, cooking, eating, cleaning of metal eyes. Ruth came to her where she sat atop her roll of sleeping linen and gave her a book.

“It is a diary for you. To take notes of our journey.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

“There is a pencil inside the spine.” Ruth clicked her tongue. “I thought you would appreciate it.”

“Yes. I do.” She clasped Ruth’s giant hand and shook it, marveling at the heat in her fingers.

Sucking on her lower lip, with the diary clasped to her chest, she considered how lovely this was as Ruth moved away to sit and talk again with Shades.

Life was in disarray, and the prospect of writing the adventure down, yes, it filled her with excitement. In the last of the light, she wrote a few words, then closed the diary and slid it into the small bag John had given her.

John, the man who had happily sexually violated her but now did nothing more than watch every move she made—as if she held some secret he wanted but did not dare ask for? Or was he merely suspicious, thinking she might escape?

Then again, he hadn’t even roped her wrist.

After she slipped into the bedding, with a wad of clothes for a pillow, Po felt her wrist. She remembered the rope on her, tightening. Smiling, she shut her eyes and fell into some very odd dreams, none of which she could quite remember when she woke.

Morning, with the cold of the earth numbing her bones and flesh.

Bit by bit, Po unpacked herself from her roll of bedding. She rubbed her hip, combed a mess of hair from her eyes. Sleeping on the ground would make anyone feel a hundred years older.

Soon after, still yawning she stumbled to where the others had gathered beside the fire.

There was breakfast in the offing, for Shades was frying bacon, eggs, and tomatoes in a pan. With lard, she was told. She wasn’t sure what lard was, but it smelled delicious.

She leaned in and inhaled again.

“Oh, this is marvelous. The one thing I really miss is having a chef prepare my meals.”

Silence sneaked in.

“What did I say?”

“Here. Dig in.” Shades handed her a filled plate.

Of course. She looked down at the plate. This was what they always ate. Only John was likely to have ever eaten chef-prepared meals.

Had she insulted them?

Shades shot her a curious look, and John shook his head, but no one admonished her.