The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Thirty

The princess almost choked on a rabbit bone when she spotted Lady Jain approaching the fire.

There she was, looking a touch bedraggled, but even the princess had to admit that she was not in a position to throw around any accusations of that sort. As it was, it troubled her to see Jain had actually come through the experience quite well. The warm air had added a touch of colour to the girl's cheeks, and her yellow hair looked soft and full now that it was free from its usual prison of pins. If it hadn't been from the expression on her lady's face, the princess might have taken her from a huntress, returning without her horse.

The princess ducked down in the ditch she'd hidden herself in, and watched through the long grass as Jain staggered through the field, falling to her knees in front of the fire. She stayed there, quite still, her hands raised to the flames in a pose that might have been taken for prayer if it hadn't been in the middle of a field.

The Princess threw away the remains of the rabbit leg and tore off another piece of meat as she watched, her hunger proving too pressing to allow her to stop eating, no matter who was close by.

As she ate, the Princess narrowed her eyes and watched her former lady-in-waiting, tearing at the meat with her teeth, hardly bothering to chew before swallowing it down. That woman had trekked across the county to meet someone. Why else would she have come this way and not gone to her father's castle? The fire must have marked the location of their meeting place.

And then silly girl had gone and fallen asleep while waiting for her love, giving ample time for the princess to steal her luggage.

Back in the safety of her ditch, the princess poured over the clothes which she'd so recently disparaged. Satins and velvets and other fripperies were useless to her now. But Jain was not a an utter fool. There were several good pairs of stockings and the princess pounced on them as if they had been emeralds. Using some silk brocade to wipe off the worst of the mud that had crept up her legs, she pulled on the stockings, glorying in the feeling of clean wool against her skin and feeling altogether more like a real person.

She turned over the rest of the clothes. The gowns were fine enough, but all cut to be worn with a corset and Jain had not seen fit to pack a spare. Useless then.

But there was something. A lump sewn into the stiffened bodice of a gown. The princess plucked at the stitches with her fingers, but they refused to give way. What she really needed was a knife, but her trusty kitchen weapon was left back at the house of that traitorous knight. She glared at the skull which she had chosen to take instead. More uselessness.

She looked around, waiting for inspiration to strike, but there was nothing but grass and twigs, which proved too weak to withstand Jain's insufferably competent sewing.

Her searching eyes fell on her legs. The pale stockings sticking out of the sodden skirts, already marked with streaks of black mud, and the grease of the meat staining her fingers. No peasant could possibly ever be as filthy as her. If anyone saw her, they would think her a feral child of the forest. No one would ever confuse her with a princess, let alone the rightful ruler of Serrador. The sight of it was all to much, and she had to close her eyes, as if blocking the view would mean that she wasn't sitting in a disgusting ditch, with no allies from which to call aid.

Well, if she looked like a child of the wilderness, there was nothing to stop her acting like one. With a grimace, she applied her teeth to the task, and after a minute's worth of gnawing, managed to loosen the threads. A sharp rabbit bone was able to unpick the rest.

What the princess had hoped for had been pearls. The Lady Jain had worn a rather fine set of them. A gift from her father the traitor. It pleased the princess to think of Wallia's wealth helping her in her time of greatest need, especially when stolen from his eldest child. But what poured out of the velvet pocket was nothing more than stones, dark and without any shine or gleam that might hint at a hidden value.