At dawn the harbor rang with a cacophony of sledgehammers and saws as the Wanderers salvaged useful lumber from the shattered remains of Commonground. Along the shores, river-pygmies gathered up scraps of wood too splintered to be of use and heaped them onto bonfires. Nearby, the bodies of dead brethren were stacked into muddy blue piles. I always found it odd that the river-pygmies cremate their dead; a water burial would seem more appropriate. I need only glance up the blackened slope of the mountain to understand the origins of the custom. Greatshadow could wipe out the pygmy tribes at any time for any reason. They pygmies believed that, as long as they let fire consume their bodies when they were done with them, Greatshadow would leave them alone most of the time. Whether Greatshadow was even aware of this bargain I can’t guess.
Once or twice during the night, pygmies had come poking around the trees beneath the boat. I’ve no doubt they would have climbed aboard if Aurora hadn’t stuck her head over to investigate the noise. Her big, tusked face had sent would-be scavengers scurrying back into the darkness.
Relic left at sunrise. I’d watched as he scrambled down through the branches of the trees then dashed off through the debris-threaded thickets, agile as a cat. His crippled routine was obviously just a disguise. I have to say that he’d sounded like he knew a thing or two about disguises when he spent the better part of the night explaining his ideas for how to hide Infidel’s identity. He had wanted her to wear a suit of full plate armor, including a bucket-style helmet that would conceal her features. Infidel had vetoed this; she liked her comfort and full freedom of movement, and helmets got in the way of her peripheral vision. After a few hours of circular discussions, Relic had thrown his hands into the air and announced that he’d thought of the perfect disguise, but couldn’t share it. It would be a surprise, he said, as he scurried out to gather whatever supplies he had in mind.
I still felt like they were wasting their time. With Father Ver among the king’s men, Infidel would be discovered in seconds. My upbringing in the monastery had left me keenly aware of the power of Truthspeakers, and Father Ver was a legend. He was the most powerful Truthspeaker the Church of the Book had ever produced, as I knew all too well.
To appreciate the power of Truthspeakers, you need to know a little bit about the Church of the Book. High in the mountains of Raitingu, what the Wanderers call the Isle of Storm, there’s a temple built into the bedrock of the world’s tallest mountain. Within this temple is a chamber carved from pure white quartz. Here, on a pedestal of gold, sits the One True Book. The book is roughly five feet long, three feet across, and two feet thick. It’s bound in leather black as a moonless night; it’s said that if you stare at the cover, you can see stars twinkling in the void. In contrast, the pages are snowy white, thin as onion skin. The priests calculate that the book contains 7,777 pages.
Within this book, the Divine Author has written the history of the world, from the moment of creation to the final day of judgment. My life, your life, the lives of the dead and yet to be born, are recorded in minute detail on these holy pages. The One True Book is the final authority on all that has been, all that is, and all that will be.
Having access to this document would seem to give the Church of the Book a certain advantage over everyone else, save for one tiny detail: the book is far too sacred to ever be sullied by human hands. All men are too corrupted by lies to risk opening the book and actually reading it. The pure light of sacred truth would melt the flesh from the bones of anyone deluded enough to think himself worthy of sullying the pages with his unworthy gaze.
It’s taught that, one day, a Golden Child will arise, a perfect being uncorrupted by lies, who will open the book and read out the final account. The world we live in is built from four fundamental and opposing forces: spirit, matter, lies, and truth. As the book is read, all falsehood will be banished; all matter will be cleansed, all spirit will be purified. The world we know will be wiped away and replaced with the world as it always should have been, with a trinity of unified forces: truth, spirit, and substance.
Until the day of that Final Account, all that we know of the contents of the Book have been learned through prayer. Truthspeakers spend years on their knees in the temple, their faces pressed to the floor, weeping, sweating, laughing, screaming as they plead with the Divine Author to reveal even a few lines of sacred truth to them. After years of effort, the Truthspeakers go out into the world to spread the received revelations.
The Truthspeakers gain certain gifts as a result of their devotion. The most powerful Truthspeakers can see the falsehoods of the world and correct them. For instance, if it’s raining, and a pious Truthspeaker understands that the One True Book foretold that the day would be sunny, he simply tells the sky it’s supposed to be blue. The clouds will part and the sun will come out. This may be hyperbole; I’ve never personally witnessed a Truthspeaker pull off such a feat. But, I have witnessed another magical gift. It’s impossible to lie to a Truthspeaker. Believe me, I’ve tried.
The monks run a vineyard where they produce the sacramental wine used in certain church rites. The wine isn’t intended to be used recreationally, but when I had my first sip at age ten, I appreciated the warmth that spread through me as I swallowed, and wanted more. By age twelve I’d sneak out at night to the pitch dark wine cellars to finish off entire bottles, luxuriating in the mellow heat that spread through my body and washed over my mind in a soothing wave. I’d lie on the frigid stone floor in the darkness and dream of using grandfather’s bone-handled knife to hack away vines from ancient statues in steaming tropical jungles.
Alas, the monks kept meticulous track of their inventory. A Truthspeaker was brought in to investigate the missing gallons. I’d heard from other orphans that you can fool a Truthspeaker if you can fool yourself. You couldn’t lie, but truth wasn’t always black and white. I was certain I’d be asked if I’d stolen the wine, and, technically, I hadn’t. The wine didn’t belong to any one person. It was property of the Church, and I was a member of the Church. It was no more a theft for me to share the wine than it was to drink water from the communal well. I trusted I could slip through this loophole if the Truthspeaker interrogated me.
I remember the moment that I’d been brought into the room where Father Ver waited. He was middle-aged then, his close-cropped dark hair speckled with gray at the temples. His skin was pale from spending most of his life in a cave. There was a large callus in the center of his forehead from decades spent rubbing it against the floor. His eyes were sunk back into his skull, hidden in shadows. The interrogation room was lit by a single candle which sat on the table between us, and the light flickered like twin stars in the void of his eyes.
Despite his stern expression, I walked into the room with a confident swagger. I sat down and faced him, unafraid to meet his gaze. I waited for him to speak to me. Seconds passed and he said nothing. I slid back in my chair, prepared to wait him out, but turned my face away. It was uncomfortable to look at someone so directly without saying anything. As the seconds passed into minutes, I’d glance at him and always find his eyes locked on my face. I began to fidget. I could feel his stare boring into me. I started sweating. My palms were clammy as I wiped away the moisture on my brow. I trembled as I worried he might mistake my discomfort for evidence of guilt. Which was absurd, I reminded myself, since I hadn’t stolen anything. I wanted to tell him this, but my tongue had grown thick in my mouth. If my rubbery limbs had possessed the strength, I would have fled the room. Instead, some horrible internal magnet kept pulling my gaze toward his. I felt as if my face wasn’t truly my own, but was instead a mask I’d all but forgotten I was wearing. The Truthspeaker’s eyes were peeling back that mask to reveal the sinner beneath.
After what felt like hours, he spoke, in a low, gravelly voice. “You are the wine thief.”
I collapsed to the floor, my tongue leaping to life: “Yes! Oh yes! Yes! It’s true! I stole the wine!”
Hot tears erupted from my eyes as I wept, my body wracked with sobs. I was vaguely aware of Father Ver rising and walking around the desk.
“You will stop crying,” he said, standing before me.
Instantly, I stopped. It was like he’d reached in and flicked some unseen switch that commanded my tears. I reached out and hugged his ankles, groveling as I pressed my cheeks against his sandal-clad feet. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “Forgive me.”
“You will stand,” he said.
Though my body felt hollow, gutted by guilt and shame, my muscles moved to obey his words and I rose.
Father Ver frowned. “There’s a weakness in you,” he said. “Unfounded hope is the source. Your grandfather paid you a visit two years ago.”
“Y-yes,” I said, sniffling.
“He filled your head with tales of vanished kingdoms, pygmy tribes, and lost treasures. Seductive visions for a boy your age. You’ve turned your eyes from the path of righteousness and now dream of life outside this monastery.”
I wiped snot onto my sleeve and said, “My g-grandfather is going to t-take me with him next time.”
“We both know this isn’t true,” said Father Ver.
I swallowed hard.
“If your grandfather wanted you, he could have taken you on his last visit. You aren’t our property, boy. We’d welcome one less mouth to feed. The truth is plain; Judicious Merchant loves the jungle more than he loves you.”
I wiped my cheeks and whispered, “He… he said the jungle is too dangerous for a child.”
“Do the pygmies not have children? In any case, your grandfather is a free man, still in possession of remnants of your family fortune. He need not live in a jungle like a savage. He could have raised you in comfort on some modest country estate. His actions show what he truly loves in this world. It isn’t you.”
I dropped to my knees, doubled over, feeling as if I’d been kicked in the gut.
“Your thirst for wine comes from your love of falsehood. In your intoxication, it’s easy to feel as if the dreams you cling to are real. It’s time to let go of your childish embrace of fantasy. Truth will never be found digging among the ruins of failed civilizations. Truth is revealed through prayer and obedience to the church. The great adventure for any man lies not in exploring the ruins of distant jungles, but in navigating the ruins of his own soul. Your soul in particular is a treacherous labyrinth. Your father, mother, and grandfather all live, yet you are an orphan. What a heavy burden, to be so unloved. I understand why your dreams seem more attractive than your piteous reality.”
I dug my nails into my palms, trying to make the pain blot out the words. I sniffled. “H-how can… how can you say such cruel things?”
“It is a measure of your weakness that you mistake truth for cruelty,” said Father Ver. “Within the One True Book, your life has already been written. I know nothing of your future; there is too much contained within the Book for one man to study it all. I have no certainty of your eventual fate, but slaking your blasphemous thirst with sacramental wine is a poor omen. My informed speculation is that one day you’ll die drunk on some distant shore, leaving your bones to rot in an unmarked grave.”
He walked to the door and rang a small bell to summon the monks. He didn’t look at me as he said, “If I were the sole arbiter of your fate, you would be hung. A boy who is a thief will almost certainly grow into a man who is something worse. Alas, the brothers will sanction no punishment more severe than flogging. You will receive ten lashes a day with a braided leather whip for the next seven days.”
My mouth went dry as I thought of the pain I would endure.
“I know you are afraid of what’s to come,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Look at me.”
I turned my face toward him as he untied the knot that held his simple robes at the waist. He shrugged the heavy cloth from his shoulders. He turned, revealing his bare back. He was more muscular than I’d suspected. There was no fat on him; his muscles looked wiry and powerful beneath his white skin. I squinted in the candle light. Quickly, I understood what he was showing me. His back was crisscrossed with scars and countless fresh scabs.
“When the whip touches you, pain flashes through your mind like a light,” he said. “Follow this light. It will lead you to truth. Pleasure leads only to falsehood; pain guides men to what is real. Truth is hard. Truth is harsh. Truth is all that matters. It is stark and beautiful and complete. Embrace your pain, child, and you may yet live a righteous life.”
He pulled his robes back up his shoulders. “Should you not heed my words, pray we do not cross paths again,” he said. “When next we meet, I will not show such mercy.”
He left, and I listened to this feet pad away down the stone hall. I was all alone, his words echoing in my ears. All I could feel was gratitude. Father Ver had given me a precious second chance. I didn’t fear the punishment to come; I was eager for it, ready for the whip to beat away my weakness and bring me to the same state of grace as this holy man.
I didn’t find enlightenment in my floggings. The instant the whip touched me I found only hurt and humiliation and a festering distrust for all things labeled holy. I returned to wine theft within the year. When I finally fled the monastery, it was with a belly full of sacramental wine and the contents of the poor box jingling in my pockets.
Relic had told Infidel to wait for his return, but nothing was holding her at the boat beyond her own weariness. As the heat of the day settled over the bay, she was wide awake. Aurora’s cold compresses had helped reduce her lumps and bruises. She looked like her old self as she finished off the last of the whale jerky. She and Aurora cracked crude jokes as they speculated as to what, exactly, Relic might be. There are nineteen sentient species in the Shining Lands; toss in the more popular half-seeds and there were roughly fifty different types of humanoid that could be hiding under that cloak.
There was no reason to limit the speculation to the earthly realms. Aurora’s belief in a Great Sea Above was hardly the only auxiliary reality one could believe in. The Church of the Book believed there were two further realms of existence. Heaven was populated by true men, glorious creatures who had reached the final perfection after passing through the trials of life. Hell was populated by sinners and worse things. There were demons whose very existence was a lie the universe had been tricked into accepting. Only when the Golden Child read the One True Book would these false creatures be eradicated.
Of course, I take these teachings with a grain of salt. The Vanished Kingdom is proof that men lived long before the Church of the Book. I’m sure that these men believed in the stone idols they worshipped, gods whose names are now completely forgotten. If ancient men had been mistaken about their beliefs, why should modern men be any different?
All my life, I assumed that I’d finally discover the answers to these philosophical questions once I was dead. What a gyp that I have more questions now than ever. Still, when I think of the scaly flesh that surrounds Relic’s eyes, I can’t help but think of how closely he resembles the drawings of demons from the books of my youth.
After her meal, Infidel got dressed in the clothes Aurora had found. Though the tan britches and striped shirt were tailored for a man, I thought she looked fantastic. Her sculpted perfection makes her enticing even in peasant clothing, her features unadorned by make-up or jewelry. Royalty breeds for beauty. I can only imagine that, dressed in lacy gowns in a palace, her face framed by pearls and gold, she must be breathtaking.
Aurora created a mirror of ice for Infidel to use to fix what was left of her hair. She had little choice but to crop what was left, trimming away the frizzled ends. While I’d always liked her long silver tresses, I had to admit this new style had a certain charm. It highlighted the graceful lines of her smooth, slender neck, and drew attention to her enigmatic gray eyes.
I wondered where she would go after she was done with her hair; I was certain she wouldn’t simply wait for Relic. Then, fate provided her with a destination. Far out at the mouth of the harbor, dark shapes appeared, a long line of humps rising and falling in the water. At first, I thought it was an enormous serpent, but as it drew closer I could see that it was, in fact, a pod of a dozen whales, enormous blue-gray beasts big as ships. Long strands of woven seaweed trailed from elaborate harnesses that hung over their broad, flat faces. A crew of mermen swam beside them, urging them on, prodding the slower ones with tridents, and trumpeting long, low commands through horns fashioned from giant conch shells.
Behind it all, towed by the mighty sea beasts, was an enormous barge, waves breaking against its squat frame. From the center of the barge a single mast thrust into the air, sporting a banner of white and the silhouette of a black swan.
Aurora rose, shielding her eyes, staring at the barge like it was an apparition. The new arrival looked much like the old Black Swan barge, only larger and obviously newer. It now rose three stories instead of two. One by one, the whales were set free of their harnesses as momentum and tides carried the vessel forward. The mermen exceeded even the Wanderers in their understanding of water currents. The barge came to a halt mere feet from a newly built dock the Wanderers had finished only hours before. A crew of men leapt from the barge to lash it into place. Anchors splashed all around the vessel, sinking down to the mud. The Black Swan had come home.
Aurora jumped down from the boat, quickly clearing the tangled mangroves and reaching the mudflats. The ground crackled as she froze a long, rock-hard path across the mire. Infidel leapt to follow her, slipping the second she hit the icy mud. She grimaced as she waved her arms for balance, looking around for a less slippery path. She jumped toward a river-pygmy canoe floating about twenty feet out in shallow water. The two pygmies currently occupying the canoe toppled into the bay as Infidel landed in the center of the craft. The canoe spun, capsizing as the lip sank beneath the water, but Infidel had already kicked off again, flying toward a slanted piling that jutted from the water. She barely touched down before she sprang again, leap-frogging her way toward her destination. When she reached the Black Swan, she leaned against a wall, crossing her arms. She looked nonchalant as Aurora climbed up onto the deck.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
Aurora didn’t respond, racing past Infidel toward the main door of the new Black Swan. There were no guards in place to stop the ogress from bursting through the door. The main room had more gambling tables than the old one, and the whole place smelled of pine varnish. It hadn’t yet acquired the funk of ten thousand cigar-smoking men and the heavily perfumed women who clung to their arms. Infidel followed as Aurora vaulted over the bar and down the hall beyond. At the end of the passage she looked ready to throw her shoulder against the door there.
Before she could make a move, the door opened.
The thick, cloying scent of potpourri poured out into the hallway. Aurora stepped into the dimly lit room with Infidel at her heels. The room was little changed. If not for the smell of freshly finished carpentry, it would be easy to mistake the Black Swan’s new chamber for her old one.
The Black Swan herself was stretched on the couch. In front of her, there was now a low table covered with a long semi-circle of engraved letters, painted white against the black finish of the wood. It was a simple alphabet, plus the numbers 0 through 9, and a few common marks of punctuation. The only actual words were a ‘YES’ at one end and a ‘NO’ at the other.
“Mistress,” said Aurora, sounding joyful. “You’re still alive!”
The Black Swan said nothing. One of her bony hands unfolded from her chest and pointed toward the ‘NO.’
Infidel sucked in her breath. I followed her eyes to the Black Swan’s wrist. It wasn’t merely bony; it was actual bone. Beneath her black veil, I could see an eyeless skull, white as chalk.
“Oh, mistress,” whispered Aurora.
The Black Swan moved her finger across the board with a surprising rapidity; she seemed much faster now that she was freed from her withered muscles.
“My work is too important to be slowed by death,” she spelled.
Infidel stepped back toward the doorway. She looked… spooked. I’d never seen her react like this.
The Black Swan nodded toward her and spelled, “You need not fear me.”
Infidel squared her shoulders. She put on her brave face, but I could hear a hint of discomfort in her voice as she said, “I’m not afraid. If you give me any problems, you won’t be the first undead I’ve taken apart this week.”
The Black Swan nodded.
“How did you do this?” Aurora whispered. “Why?”
The skeletal hand tapped out. “My great work is not yet finished.”
Aurora furrowed her brow. “Your great work? What great work? I’ve never known you to want anything other than money.”
The Black Swan tapped the ‘YES.’
“People say you can’t take it with you,” said Infidel. “Guess you proved them wrong.”
‘YES.’
Then, she spelled out, “Priests tell us the world is built of matter, spirit, truth, and lies. There is a fifth force, most powerful of all. Money.”
Infidel looked skeptical. “I’ve known more than my fair share of rich people, and money hasn’t kept their skeletons animated after they croak.”
“They didn’t know how to spend it,” the Black Swan tapped. “With every journey into the future, my wealth grows exponentially. My purse strings entangle all the world’s kings. The future rests upon my decisions.”
“Really?” said Infidel. “Because with that kind of power, you’d think you’d choose to be something other than a bag of bones stuck in a dark, smelly room.”
Before the Black Swan could respond, Aurora asked, “Menagerie told me I was fired. Why?”
“You cannot serve two masters. You have chosen to recover the Jagged Heart and return to your people. I have arranged a contract with Ivory Blade on your behalf. We will not meet again after this day.”
Infidel stepped closer. “Then it’s true. Tower has the Jagged Heart.”
The Black Swan’s hand remained motionless as her empty eyes gazed at Infidel. At last, she shrugged.
“You mean you don’t know, or won’t tell us?” asked Infidel.
The Black Swan shook her head, the vertebrae in her neck creaking. “In my most recent trip to the future, I was unable to learn whether or not the Jagged Heart endures. All that is certain is that twelve of the world’s greatest warriors set out to slay Greatshadow. They failed. Only two survived.” She nodded toward Infidel. “I learned this from your daughter.”
Infidel’s eyebrows shot up. “My daughter?”
“Given her birth date, you may be pregnant now. If not, the child will be conceived within the month.”
“Umm… no. No, I can assure you that’s not possible. Whoever you met in the future, she wasn’t my kid.”
The Black Swan shrugged, then once more began tapping out a message. “The resemblance leads me to think otherwise, but no matter. I’ve returned to ensure that the future I lived through doesn’t come to pass. Your daughter died soon after I met her. Everyone died. Everyone.”
Aurora gave Infidel a puzzled glance.
“What do you mean, everyone?” she asked.
The room grew quiet save for the tapping of bone on wood. “All humanity is destroyed when the primal dragons rise as one to wipe out civilization in the span of a day.”
“That’s impossible,” said Aurora. “Hush would never take part in such destruction.”
“She does,” tapped the Black Swan.
“Why?”
“The dragons judge mankind for their sins; none are found worthy of forgiveness.”
Infidel looked pale. “Do… do we cause this? Does our quest to kill Greatshadow cause this destruction?”
The Black Swan shook her head. “The world carries on twenty years after the assault on Greatshadow.”
“The primal dragons think of time differently than we do,” said Aurora. “If there’s a risk that Lord Tower is going to trigger some kind of dragon apocalypse, we need to stop him.”
The Black Swan’s skeletal hand lingered over the board, edging toward the ‘YES.’ Then, her fingers returned to the letters to tap, “Rather than stop him, ensure he succeeds. We must hope the primal dragons will be weakened if Greatshadow is no longer among their ranks.”
“Hope?” said Infidel. “If you’re trying to change the future, shouldn’t we be going on more than hunches?”
The Black Swan shrugged and sank back onto the couch, growing very still.
“So, what, your plan boils down to guessing what we should do?” asked Infidel.
The Black Swan didn’t move.
Aurora put her hand on Infidel’s shoulder. “Don’t drive yourself crazy. I try to ignore any hints she tells me about the future. The more she tells you about tomorrow, the more she changes today, and pretty soon hunches and guesses are all you have. The best thing to do is make the choices you would make anyway. Try to pretend you’re in charge of your own fate, and not a puppet following someone else’s script.”
Infidel nodded as they left the room. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve never worried what the Black Swan thought before now. I guess there’s no reason to change that.”
They went back outside, blinking in the light. Aurora said, “I’m still going on the quest, but if you want to back out, I understand. I mean, if you’re pregnant…”
“I’m not pregnant!” snapped Infidel. “It’s not possible. It’s never going to be possible. Without Stagger, I wouldn’t want it to be possible.”
“You two never fooled around even a little? You can get pregnant just by-”
“No!” Infidel threw her hands up in the air. “This is crazy.” She gave a dismissive wave toward the Black Swan. “Forget her. All I know is I woke up this morning planning to kill Greatshadow, and nothing I’ve heard today has changed my mind.”
“What about the Truthspeaker?”
Infidel clenched her fists. “If he messes with me, he won’t be the first priest I’ve killed.”
Aurora nodded as they walked down the rebuilt dock. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe the Truthspeaker’s powers will affect me. Our faiths don’t overlap even a little. The whole truth and lies as foundations of reality, that’s just dumb. The world is obviously a flux of heat, light, cold, and darkness.” She blew out rings of fog. “The evidence is right before your eyes.”
“Whatever,” said Infidel. “I’ll let the two of you debate religion. I just want to get on with this dragon hunt. The quicker I get my hands on that treasure, the faster I can build my palace and hire my cake servants.”
“There are simpler ways to get cake,” said Aurora.
They reached the edge of the dock. Once it had led all the way to shore; now, crooked pilings were all that remained.
“There are simpler ways to get back to the boat,” said Infidel, looking out over the water. “But simple isn’t always entertaining.”
Without warning, she grabbed Aurora by the hips and hefted her up, holding the oversized woman directly over her head. Aurora let out a yelp as Infidel leapt, flying out over the topsy-turvy pilings, lighting down every third or fourth post before skipping on again. They reached the mangroves in under a minute and practically flew the last dozen yards to the boat. The old boards creaked as Infidel landed and planted the ogress on the deck feet first.
“Don’t do that again!” Aurora growled as Infidel giggled.
“What?” said Infidel. “You don’t like short cuts?”
Aurora sighed. “I’m not as invulnerable as you. One misstep on your part could have broken my neck, for no reason other than you wanting to show off. You’re reckless, princess. Perhaps this was charming when you were fifteen, but it’s not a quality I want in an ally when we face Greatshadow.”
“I was just having a little fun.”
“Children have fun. A warrior needs discipline.”
“I’m living backwards. I was disciplined as a child so I’m having fun as an adult.”
Aurora didn’t look persuaded by the reasoning. Before she could argue, someone cleared his throat from inside the tilted doorway to the cabin. Both women turned to see Relic squeezing from the opening, a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder.
“I told you to wait for me,” he grumbled. “Speed is of the essence. Ivory Blade has contacted the Three Goons. We need to prepare your disguise, and the dye takes several hours to set properly.”
He dropped the sack to the deck. Things within it clattered loudly, as metal hit metal.
“There’s dye involved?” said Infidel, squatting down over the sack. “I like my hair blonde.”
“It’s not your hair we’ll be dying,” said Relic.
Infidel opened the sack and pulled out various objects. She paused to study what looked like two shoulder caps for a suit of plate armor. They were formed of half-inch steel and polished to almost a mirror finish. Only, as shoulder plates, they weren’t very practical; the two halves were joined together by a single link of chain. And, the plates were too rounded. No one had shoulders this circular. Infidel looked puzzled as she turned the metal cups over and over in her hand.
“What the hell is this?” she asked.
Aurora chuckled. “It looks like a plate-steel bra.”
Relic was very quiet.
Both women stared at him.
He stared back.
“No freakin’ way,” said Infidel.
“This would be easier if you’d wear a helmet,” said Relic. “If not, we must choose attire that ensures none of the king’s men will be staring at your face.”
I expected Infidel to fling the armored lingerie into the bay. To my surprise, she shrugged. “What the hell,” she said. “It’s about time I had an outfit that doesn’t get ripped to shreds every five minutes. But if there are chain mail panties in here, I’m drawing a line.”
It turned out that there weren’t any chain mail panties, which provoked a mixed reaction within me. As unfair as it was for me to have such thoughts, I would have been relieved to see a full-blown, padlocked, cast-iron chastity belt. Infidel might have shrugged off the talk of pregnancy, but I was a little worried. My poor mortal frame might not have been up to the task of fathering a child with Infidel, but the king’s men were more than mere mortals. Lord Tower could fly, Father Ver can change reality with his voice, and Ivory Blade supposedly can move faster than the human eye can follow. Who knew who else might along for the trip? What if someone among the heroes matched Infidel in strength and stamina? What if what the Black Swan said about an impending pregnancy was true?