Page 7 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

“Everyone, go!” said Pétra. “The girl needs to decompress. We have obviously overwhelmed her with all this talk of skoulikotrypa and metakínisis. She has yet to break the evening fast. The child must be famished. Go, I say…Go!” Pétra shooed her home free of every last ogler save her son, who had every right to remain but was given fair warning about making his presence a nuisance. “Come, break bread with us.”

Millicent walked over to the table Pétra had set for the trio, stationing herself across from Mármaro. She waited for her hosts to begin but quickly disregarded the manners of gentile society when offered the first bounties of their morning meal—ripping into bread smeared with butter and lavender honey. She lapped up the drips from the corner of her mouth using her tongue without a second thought.

Alongside the bread, platters of grapes, pears and a variety of berries she didn’t recognize as well as soft farmer cheeses enticed the malnourished girl, who relished every bite. To drink, there was a perfectly-brewed, wonderfully-fragranced tea sweetened with that very same lavender honey.

“Mother…” the young man started after the frenzy of the feast had slowed. “What do we have to clean her up a bit?”

Millicent swallowed hard, the bread and cheese having stuck like a lump in her throat. She’d momentarily forgotten to be scared. But something about their warm, pleasant smiles and Pétra’s soft chuckle made her decide she had nothing to fear from these people and so she needed to embrace this adventure. After all, the universe had given her a second chance—a second chance at freedom to live unbound from that horrible man Leland Barnabas. She didn’t figure the universe gave too many second chances.

At Mármaro’s question, Pétra continued to chuckle quietly as she poured herself more tea. “I suppose you want to keep her too. She’s not a pet, my son.”

“Ha! I didn’t meanthat.” He rolled his sparkling eyes. “She can’t go around looking so out of place. We don’t want to set the Forfex onto her, do we?”

“No, brilliant boy… you are correct. Dressed so foreign, she would certainly rouse suspicions, and with all manner of spying creatures lurking about the forest—yes, I will come up with something.”

Gaze drifting between the two, Millicent couldn’t help feeling excited about what Pétra would come up with to disguise her appearance, and that they planned to disguise her appearance meant they planned to allow her to explore this new land. Or at least she hoped so. Why else would they need to change her?

Pétra stared down at the leftover berries still resting on the platter. A smile creased her lips. “Go fetch some water, please…and where is the mineral oil?”

“Mother, what are you planning?” He threw down his remaining bread onto the table.

“Never you mind. Just do as I ask.”

He honored his mother’s request and promptly returned with the bucket of water. She took it from his hands and swiftly shuttled him back outside. At the end of a very long hour, Millicent emerged showing off legs, arms and neckline covered in vibrant berry marbling. From head to toe, she fit the description of a Vráchos woman. The only exception was her less vivid blue eyes, not nearly topaz enough to be genuine, yet passable to those not of the clan…if they didn’t stare too long.

Unlike Mármaro, whose mouth gaped open quite like a fish gasping for breath when she approached him. “You’re beautiful,” he said and reached out his finger to run over the streaks on her arm.

“I don’t know about that.” She humbly kept her head down while smoothing her hands along the length of the new, highly-unusual frock. “She’s mixed the berry juice with mineral oil. Says it should stay on for days, so long as I don’t go for a swim or get caught in a heavy downpour.”

“Come with me, explore. I’d love for you to see the splendor of these woods, and all they have to offer. I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.” He grabbed Millicent’s hand, pulling her along behind him. “You’ll never want to leave.”

Five

Millicent Merchant, 1820s…

SHE FOLLOWED THE HARD DIRT TRAIL INTO THE forest, keeping close behind Mármaro. Packed solid and icy cold on her bare feet, it was something a Vráchos, made of rocks, wouldn’t need to give the slightest consideration to. Although starting with a fresh tingling sensation, the farther along she traveled, the more she found those tingles replaced by stinging lightning shooting up from the pads of her feet into her legs.

“I can’t.” She let go of his hand and dropped to the ground, cupping her feet, blowing warm air and rubbing them vigorously.

He looked to her, this wretched girl, feet colored as brightly red as the bearberries they were on their way to pick in the clearing in the center of the woods. “Please, let me.”

Mármaro pulled her legs onto his lap, gently massaging them with his hands and a steady stream of hot breath, sending Millicent’s heart fluttering. She caught herself and recoiled swiftly. “This isn’t proper.”

“I mean no harm.” He pulled her legs straight once again, massaging them until all the redness from the cold had dissipated, replaced by the ruddy flushness of excitement and a touch of embarrassment.

The first to stand, Mármaro helped Millicent to her feet, but giving them only that second to touch ground, he lifted and swung her around, piggyback style.

She laughed quietly at the thought of Mother Merchant seeing her daughter in such a condition.How very un-Margaret.

He carried her through the lush foliage, dense with deep green leaves draping and sweeping to the clay basin. Pushing deeper into the brush, the trail narrowed considerably. If he hadn’t the manners to carry his guest before, he would have to now or she would surely fall too far behind to ever catch up.

Day appeared night as the vines and treetops intertwined, catching any of the sun’s rays before they had the chance to reach the ground. Mármaro kept going. Onward. Onward. Onward, snapping twigs and branches as he moved so effortlessly. Finally clear of obstacles, joined as a pair, they burst forth into a brilliantly-lit clearing. Day was day once more.

“What do you think?” Mármaro asked as he helped passenger her down off his back.

“What do I think? There are no words.” She spread her arms out wide and twirled, spinning and spinning, drinking in the warmth and majesty. “What is that?” Millicent stopped suddenly, off-balance, falling to her knees. “There! There it is again!”

“It’s okay, she won’t hurt you. Imelda, stop. This”—he pointed to the curiosity hovering over a branch— “is Imelda. She’s a Dryad.”

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