Page 18

twelve

Just a Girl

B idding? The word clanged through her head until it lost all meaning. Heather had had enough. That rat bastard king hadn’t been looking into an antidote at all. She rolled over to her knees, trying to gather the will to stand.

Her anger turned inwards, she knew not to trust the man, that he was up to no good. With all of his questions about what she could or could not do. His sudden interest should have been a warning trumpet.

She should have left when she had the chance.

Her hands went to her head, running her fingers roughly through her hair, desiring to grab hold of the roots and pull.

She wanted to rage, to burn the world down.

And what was worse was the realization she was a fool. Skye was right, she was in danger here.

And the king was going to barter her as if she were a possession.

But Heather would rather die.

She clenched her fists, refusing to give Uster the satisfaction. He would relish her cowering like a frightened rodent. She rose to her feet, the anger a fire in her belly. But she would be long gone as soon as the court’s evening meal commenced, with the royals preoccupied in the great hall.

She had considered how she’d get away, ever since Snail brought it up. Heather decided to flee during the night, giving her the most time to travel as far as she could before anyone detected something was amiss.

With shallow breaths, she leaped from the chessboard ledge and ran inside, up the staircase and into her sleeping chamber.

Heather stripped her mattress of its linens.

She needed a way to lower herself down to the floor from the miniature castle table.

And since she still held onto the will to live, she’d need to train.

Her first attempt was going to be from the balcony of her bedroom.

It was a less severe drop, but high enough that she could safely practice the descent.

Her stomach and nerves protested, the knot forming there, cold lead.

She couldn’t stay here and be sold off to who knows who…

or fall victim to Uster’s plans. She wished for a rope or wings like Skye.

“If wishes were ribbons…” she muttered under her breath.

Sighing, she did her best to not allow the sorrow of regret overtake her.

Would she ever see Skye again? Tears lined her eyes.

She dreamed of dancing with him. His powerful body pressed up against hers.

His ruggedly handsome face. She wondered how his lips would taste.

The intensity of his undivided attention was utterly intoxicating.

She slept with his dagger under her pillow, remaining true to her vow to be vigilant.

She carried it on her throughout the day by slipping it into the stays at the back of her dress, concealing it by wearing her hair down long and loose.

Uster’s taunts resounded in her ears, a haunting echo.

“You are nothing, no one, a trifle plaything. That’s all you’ll ever be, mouse.

” Although the words were embedded deeper than an arrow, she disallowed them.

Heather was not a doll, or a plaything that they could barter.

She would no longer be a dancing puppet for the royals.

And she was definitely NOT a mouse! Regardless of how quiet in manner she was.

She refused to be prey or a pawn henceforth.

Her wishes would remain her own, and she’d gather them like she was the faerie tree.

She was someone! She was Heather Thistleby.

Her namesake might be a mere bramble, but weeds were resilient.

They persisted in the most impossible conditions and were difficult to eradicate.

Likewise, she reminded herself she was capable of great things.

Heather straightened her back and shoulders, gritted her teeth, steeling her spine against her own self-doubt.

Here goes nothing! She clenched two corners of the sheet in clammy hands.

The linen fell behind her, an extravagant dress train as she prepared to climb up onto the balustrade.

She didn’t have a fear of heights, but it wasn’t as if she catapulted out a window on a daily basis.

After several long deep breaths, she reminded herself that she could do this…

it was the drastic drop from table edge to the floor that filled her with terror.

This leap was insignificant in comparison.

After another cleansing breath, she stepped from the railing.

Her heart dropped to her stomach in the split second her feet left the precipice.

The fabric whooshed as it expanded with air.

Her flight was over before it began.

The third story fall didn’t allow for enough velocity to let her glide down.

She landed in a clumsy crash that would most likely have her aching and bruised for days.

Rejoicing she hadn’t broken any bones, the thought of the longer drop from tabletop to floor filled her with dread.

It was comparable to jumping from the side of a mountain and expecting to live by the grace of a woolen scrap.

But it was worth the risk. She’d rather face death or a painful injury than be bartered for the king’s gain.

She didn’t know what she’d encounter as pixie sized outside the castle window.

Heather already happened upon a talking snail, and she discovered that what she thought was a moth was actually a pixie.

What more would she experience? What other threats lie in wait beyond her home?

With the rain wreaking on the human world, what greater obstacles would it create for her at this size.

To mitigate her risk and calm her nerves, she took stock of the things around her.

Among the clothes the princess gifted her was a cloak Heather held high regard.

It was deep forest green with white fur lining, feather soft.

A scrap of velvet and remnant mink from the child’s old muff.

She had her servant utility belt on when she was shrunk.

She’d wear it when she departed, as it would be invaluable with its pouch.

And it provided a strap for Skye’s dagger.

She was thankful for the weapon. Without it, she was at the mercy of anything that crossed her path.

For a prisoner, she had the most exquisite collection of gowns and apparel.

A drastic difference from her life as a servant, with solely two changes of clothes.

She regretted leaving any of the new assortment behind, but she’d have limited space in her makeshift carry on, which she fashioned out of one blanket from the spare bedroom.

If she didn’t pack clothing, she would waste time constructing some when she could use the energy hiking toward the faerie tree.

The journey would be vast. The image of Skye and his fine apparel came to mind.

Obviously, the pixie procured his clothes from somewhere.

He wasn’t donning leaves. She had already decided to take the dancing slippers, unfortunately gifted her by the monster.

After all, she was just a girl at heart, and she refused to give up another slice of happiness at his expense.

Many times in life, others had prevented her from taking liberties, but now she grasped them with both hands.

To her shock, she’d miss the miniature castle and its comforts, knowing it would be a rough existence out in the wild.

Her ultimate goal was the faerie oak. She could kick herself for not attempting the expedition to the tree in all the years before she ingested the dreadful pottage.

At least now, she knew it was more than a myth.

There, she would tie her ribbon to a branch, wishing to revert to her old size.

She decided to split her travels up into manageable benchmarks so she wouldn’t get overwhelmed by the scale of it.

Her destination was daunting as a human, and seemingly impossible pixie sized.

Her first goal was to make it alive to the floor, next to the window, then the garden behind the keep, where she would scavenge for travel worthy provisions.

Her stomach pinched. The drop from the real castle windowpane would be even higher than the tabletop one. A height so intimidating, it made her wish for a flagon of mead to dull her senses.

She rationed food after the princess carelessly forgot about her breakfast days ago.

From that day forward, she refrained from eating her meals in their entirety, the task burdensome by the heir's failed deliveries. It was an often messy and difficult chore. For dinner one night, she was given a whole blueberry, probably from a bushel she picked that last afternoon in the garden. Since the fruit was half her size, it was a feat to cut up into portions. And the berry’s juices made it too sticky to stow away for traveling.

She feared scavenging for food would be her greatest challenge in the wilderness.

So far, she put aside crumbs of bread and tiny slices of apple that she managed to dry. It wasn’t much, but she’d make do. As always.

The one capability she lacked was the ability to store and carry water. She didn’t even have a source here in the miniature castle… but with the rains, she could drink from the puddles if she had to. Reality struck her, puddles would most likely feel comparable to ponds now.

It was the best plan that she could conceive, rash, but she wanted to leave before another ill befell her.

For all she knew, the king lied about the performance date.

He was sly like that. The salt ring, visual proof.

She glanced at the open door, ever fearful, Fee would find the way in since Uster’s threat.

Heather pulled the blanket from a guest cot and laid it flat on her own. She placed the dancing slippers, the cream and sage day dress, and the silver blue satin kirtle upon it. She impulsively set the pink and chocolate gown on the bed, caressing the cool, smooth silk material.

She hesitated.

It was the one she wore the night she danced with Skye. The fabric held a memory she wanted to cherish, but she simply could not justify the space and additional weight of it. With a heavy heart, she reluctantly returned it to the armoire.

However, she packed the tiara; it was genuine diamonds after all.

Mayhap she’d wear it when her wish transformed her, providing something valuable she could barter for coin later.

She would need the means to live, as she wouldn’t be returning to this court anytime soon.

Heather laid her servant clothes out on the mattress, along with the forest green cloak and boots.

She tied the blanket up by its corners and draped it over her shoulder, diagonally over her midsection, forming a proper sack.

Satisfied, she stored the new traveling bag beneath the bed, avoiding any chance of the king or his heirs making a spontaneous visit and raise suspicion. For now, all she had left to do was rest from her earlier dancing and wait for the evening to descend.

And worry about that ominous fall from the tabletop.