My Dear Damsel

Chapter 8

It didn't take long to learn how Arexi knows Ree. Knew Ree. Because everything is terrible and I'm going to stumble over present tense forever. 

Arexi isn't one to mess with words. She's blunt and to the point, which is much appreciated.

Also, she seems to know Fahj-Dsal, which is slightly worrisome. I wonder if anyone else has tried to rescue this Cheryl. 

Who is Cheryl? I actually have a couple theories... 

"All better," she declared. "This one's rather reckless." 

"Yeah," I smiled  faintly, remembering how she had charged the darkness. The dragon regarded me with something akin to disdain. I stuck out my tongue. 

According to Arexi, there are countless children who don't feel right in their kingdoms, or their roles, or their bodies. 

"Ree felt like a princess," I said tentatively, choking over her name. "Even though she was born a prince. Do you mean there are more like her?"

Arexi nodded. "There are other kids,  too, with other differences. I'm married to a woman." 

I felt myself start to tear up again. "That's okay?" I gasped. 

She nodded and smiled a bit, and I took a moment to process the information. "I mean, it's technically illegal," she began, "but that doesn't mean it's not okay." 

Okay, so that's less good. "Is that why Ree came here so much?" I asked. 

"Yeah," Arexi said sadly. "Unfortunately, she was also a prince. She was also supposed to be a hero. The eastern side of the village has been a popular hunting ground for orcs. There was an attack one day, and Ree felt obliged to defend us, so she..."

"Oh." And my heart twisted. 

That was yesterday. 

I pawned my jewelry, which gave me even more money than I'd expected. Enough to buy a set of leather armour, new clothes, food for three days, some herbs that I'm pretty sure are used for healing—I was too embarrassed to ask—and a sword. And I still had some left over. 

The sword is a bit scary up close. It's maybe three feet long, with slender, razor-sharp edges that taper to a wicked point. It's simple compared to others I've seen behind glass cases. No gemstones in the hilt, no delicate carvings, no enchantments or runes that cast a mystical spell over the weapons. Just steel and leather. 

Still, it's terrifying. I used to only practice with wooden swords, or swords like these wrapped in canvas. 

This one could kill. 

The thought simultaneously thrills me and makes me want to throw the weapon as far away as possible. 

We set out this morning, after spending the night in Arexi's shop, sleeping on cloth bags. It was easy enough to leave the town again. The guards let me through as soon as they saw me. No one would deny a prince passage, after all. 

The path Fahj-Dsal is taking me down is dark, despite it being afternoon. The tree's shade isn't shielding, it's smothering. 

Everything in this forest seems like it would be perfectly happy to eat me and spit out my bones where no one would ever find them. 

The trees are all tall and lean, with dark gnarled bark that looks rough to the touch. Small clusters of what could be fruits or nuts hang heavy from drooping branches, but I don't  trust them to be safe to eat. Because there's no path, we're cutting our way through thick thorny ferns. I feel comfortable using the sword for that, at least. 

Wow. See, I'm making it sound like Fahj-Dsal is suffering too, but that goddamned dragon is just squirming underneath the hostile flora. As a result, my new clothes are full of tiny nicks. 

They don't really make adventuring clothes for women, which is really flipping annoying. Plus I'm disguised as a prince. As a result, I'm wearing baggy brown work pants and the kind of white collared shirt you'd expect a pirate to be wearing. And the armour?

Oh my god, armour sucks. 

This shit is leather, and it's squeezing my breasts in weird ways. It's not as bad as a corset, but it has nearly as many laces. Holy crap, I hate laces. I can't imagine how actual metal armour would work. I've got a leather chest plate thing, these sort of sleeve pad things, and shin guards. From what I've gathered, leather armour isn't supposed to actually deflect anything. I guess its goal is just to royally piss off any would-be assassin while they kill you. 

I had questions, but princes are supposed to know these things. And everyone seemed so thrilled that their beloved Arian was back, I didn't want to take that from them. Like she was taken by me. It' definitely going to blow up later, but hopefully things will be better by then. 

I should probably feel something over the fact that I'm currently disguised as my dead twin, using a name she hated. When she was alive. Since she's dead. Which my awful, inconsiderate brain refuses to stop reminding me. 

I should be feeling, you know, feelings. 

Instead I'm just numb and so, so tired. 

So I return my focus to the task ahead of me. My hand, stuffed in my pocket, rubs the parchment that contains the note. Cheryl. The name doesn't sound familiar. I wonder who she is, how she even got to be a prisoner in the first place. 

I'm almost certain she's real. The dragon is too annoying/endearing to be a ploy. Plus, honestly, at this point I just really need her to be real. So she's real. 

I flinch a bit as a thorn digs into my hand. I pick it out and glance at Fahj-Dsal's lean form, padding through the undergrowth without a care in the world. She glances back at me, eyes flashing with concern as if she can sense my brief physical pain or the more lingering emotional pain. 

Which, I remind myself, I am definitely not feeling. Or not allowed to be feeling. 

"I'm fine," I say, feigning a grin. "How much longer?"

She juts her nose out, like she's saying, almost there. Quit whining. 

The woods are eerily quiet. It feels like the dragon and I are the first souls to pass through. I decide that I shouldn't be scared of any humans or creatures. I should be scared of the nature here. 

Half an hour later, as I'm gnawing on some beef jerky—which is basically chewy salt doused in pain and marinated in taste bud repellent—we round a bend. A creek burbles, but it seems ominous. If something could burble ominously. 

Maybe I'm just a paranoid idiot, which is far more likely than ominous burbling. 

The forest suddenly opens up into a small, picturesque clearing dotted with wildflowers and small, non-evil trees. And there, in the centre, is a tall tower.