Page 61 of Feathered Thief

Next, he hiked down to the outdoor fishponds beneath the waterfalls. The sky turned from pink to blue while he hooked several fine trout, which he prepared for the pan right there and tossed the heads and guts to waiting crows.

The roar of water reminded him of how close Helena had been to the precipice when he’d caught hold of her in the darkness and heavy mist. A shudder ran through him. She’d been terrifyingly close to the edge. If he hadn’t . . . No. He couldn’t let his mind go there.

She was safe, and he must focus on the future.

Next, he visited the royal gardens and greenhouses to gather ripe strawberries, plums, and even a few oranges. Eager to see Helena again, he washed, shaved, and hurried back to the kitchen. She was still asleep. Avoiding the temptation to sit and stare at her, he fried the trout in salted butter and spices until it was crispy but not overcooked.

By the time Helena woke and sat up, blinking in confusion, he had just scooped the last fish from the cast-iron spider. “What smells so good?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Where am I?”

“Good morning, beautiful.” Kazik smiled at the sight of her creased cheek, mussed hair, and heavy-lidded stare. “You’re in Castle Valga’s kitchen. Remember me?”

She nodded, still looking dazed. “Yes, but . . . Do I know your name?”

His heart pinched. “Call me Kazik.”

When she sleepily looked him up and down, his face burned. “Are . . . are you a knight?” she asked, turning rather pink herself.

“No, I was made a squire just before the curse fell over the land,” he answered honestly. “I never had the opportunity to be knighted, but I still have hopes. Are you hungry?”

“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” she said. “Where should I wash?”

They made short work of that breakfast, and Helena helped him clean up afterward. She even folded their bedding and shoved it into an empty storage room, then picked up a broom and swept the floors. Princess Helena had always been independent-minded, but Kazik never would have expected her to be handy in a kitchen.

Her frazzled braid hung in a thick rope down her back, well past her waist—so beautiful!—and it was difficult to avoid noticing her long slender legs clad in a man’s baggy woolen hose beneath the even baggier cloak she wore. What with all that and her stunning eyes and smile, anyone who believed Helena was a man had to be either short-sighted or an ignorant fool. Perhaps both.

He wanted to ask where she’d been living for the past five years, but she got there first: “Will you please tell me your story? How did you come to be here, yet awake? Are you a mage?” Her questions startled him. But then, her forthright character had always been part of her charm. Few girls or women he’d known could compete with her. None, in fact, except his mother . . . if she was still alive.

Not knowing where his parents were was a constant concern in the back of Kazik’s mind. At least Helena’s father was in the castle where she could see him . . . If she wished to, having no memory of him. Which was very sad.

“Would you like to walk in the gardens while we talk?” he offered. “Or we could seek out a sitting room.” He was still wearing his linen shirt and leather breeches. It could have been worse last night. On hot evenings he often swam laps in nothing but the breeches, and he had just finished swimming last night when he found her. How they’d missed seeing each other earlier, he couldn’t guess, but he was grateful to have been in the right place at the right time to prevent her from walking off a cliff.

Thinking about clothing reminded him. “You could change into some of your own clothes.”

Her head tilted as she thought, and a light sparked in her eyes. “I saw some beautiful clothing in the wardrobes in the bathhouse. I think . . . I believe it may have been my mother’s. I would love to try those clothes before I look through my old things, which I’ve probably outgrown. Do you mind? I think I can find my own way.”

His heart gave an extra thump. She was beginning to remember?

He awaited her return in his favorite solar, gazing through a window at the mountains of Zyrardów while his heart pounded in anticipation. Seeing Helena dressed as a woman for the first time just might knock him off his feet. Turning from the window, he paced before the low-burning fire on the hearth, remembering again that she still hadn’t seen either her father, whom he’d left in the privacy of the Royal Chambers, or the sleepers in the Great Hall.

She was taking much longer than he’d expected, but he didn’t dare check on?—

“Look what I found!” echoed through the halls just before Helena appeared in the open doorway, slightly out of breath and glowing with delight. “I used the bath while I was there. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long, but I just . . . had to get clean!” She wore a form-fitting gown of deep-blue satin, laced at thebodice. Her damp hair was loose, rippling down her back like liquid gold.

Kazik managed to not fall over, but his jaw dropped.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning to make the skirt swirl.

“You’re awoman!” he recovered long enough to blurt, then felt his face blaze.

She laughed. “Yes, and you are a man. How old was I when we last saw each other? And how old are you?”

“I was fifteen.” Even the simplest calculations nearly stumped him with her standing there, looking so gorgeous. But he managed: “I recently turned twenty, and you’re eight months younger.”

“Oh, how I wish I could remember you! We were friends?”

Watching her sling her quiver over her shoulder and pick up her bow, well, he couldn’t help remembering how it felt to kiss her . . .

He quickly looked away, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Yes, we were friends.” That was true enough. “You arebeautiful.” He probably should have kept that thought to himself, but it just spilled out.

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