Chapter 2

"So ... Giant squirrels."

Sam looked around the campfire. It felt good to be back on land, in the wilderness, away from civilization and all that it created. Back in control, somewhat, of her destiny. She only wished Jack was there, sitting next to her. His hand on her leg, strong fingers writing secret words meant only for her. Someday...

"I will be honest," Lil said, "now that the damned compass has, finally, done more than just point ... I'm scared." She hugged herself, despite the closeness of the fire. Kik, perched next to her, held her close. The fairies sat on a wooden cross, shoved into the dirt between Sam and the other two humans. Sam had made it for them a month before their ocean journey, crossbeam padded to protect bare bottoms. Kik looked over at Heather and Cathy, seated on a log.

"Did either of you ... sense something? About the fur?"

Heather nodded.

"It felt wrong. As if it was a human skin hanging there."

"But it's an animal skin," Sam pointed out. "It's odd, but..." Her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, it's freaky." The fact they had bought it was even creepier. What the hell were they going to do with an oversized, evil squirrel skin? The first sign of bad luck, Sam was going to burn it. At least it was on Cathy's animal, and not hers.

"And the damned compass likes it," Lil sighed. "Where the heck did you get that thing anyway, Heather?"

Cathy and her servant exchanged a glance.

"We've told you this story, haven't we?"

Sam saw the reluctance on their faces. She didn't blame them. The past ... well, should be the past. Her own part had been that of bystander, but in a way wasn't that itself a choice? Youth, she now knew, was not an excuse.

"Did you?" Lil frowned. Sam couldn't help but chuckle. The old saying that the little people could only hold so much in their heads before it was pushed out to make way for the new was a sore subject with the black skinned fairy. At the thought, Sam's expression hardened. The Witch had done that to her Jack. The Witch Wendy ... Shaking her head to clear that from her mind, she looked at Lil.

"I think we started the story, before that pack of wolves interrupted us. Never got back to it."

Heather's eyes widened with the memory, bringing the smile back to Sam's face. The larger girl had tripped, sword flying off into the darkness, as the wolves advanced. Sam had literally stood over her, defending the woman until she managed to get to her feet and grab Sam's dagger from her belt. Fun and exciting, in that way brushes with death tend to be after you've survived. As for why the blonde teen was now blushing as her eyes lowered away from Sam's ... well, Sam had never been a good one for reading other women.

"It's a long story," Cathy said. Her eyes were downcast. "Maybe, another night..."

"I'll tell it, Lady." Heather glanced once at Sam, her expression conveying something the teen could not interpret, before looking at the fairies. "If things are coming to a conclusion, one way or another, the stories must be told now, while we have time." She took a deep breath. "I probably should start when I took service with the Duke..."

It seemed weird, to Heather, that now that she was a slave she was dressed in better finery than she had ever come close to owning.

Well, actually, slave was too harsh a term. She had been sold, yes. Sold by her mother into service of the Duke. Not as a sex slave, no, although it had been made clear that her body was not hers, and "no" was never to be uttered in response to ANY order or request. She probably would be raped, eventually, by some guard or cook. Not by the Duke, though. While Heather's fourteen year old body would be considered incredibly desirable by any who held interest in the female form, the Duke ... at least, so the rumors said ... tended to favor those not so feminine (so far as actual gender went, at least). That he had a daughter did not disprove those rumors, although it did create others as to the actual origin of the Princess. The Duchess was certainly not one to ignore her own needs if her husband was not satisfying them.

Heather paused before the nursery door. Her first day. Her first introduction to the royal brat. And, if the girl did not approve of her ... she swallowed hard. Then, it probably would be a merchant's bedroom, or some brothel, for her. Mother needed money, more money than brother could bring in. Heather's wishes were, well, not important. She didn't hate Mom for this. No.

Pity, maybe. Hate would only come if things went bad.

Composed, smile on her face, the girl reached out a hand still smooth and unaffected by work and opened the door. The castle nursery was large. A canopied, four post bed stood against the opposite wall, its pink sheets and white lace standing out against the smooth stone walls. A large fireplace stood to her left, warming the room. The floor was wood, polished to a shine, while hangings tried with mixed success to cover the walls and make the room more friendly. Toys and books were scattered in piles along the floor. In one corner, a small table and chairs, where the girl took most her meals. In the opposite corner...

The six year old sat in a large stuffed chair by the window, a book in her lap. She was dressed in a long gown, dropping past her feet. Almost, Heather thought, as if to deny their existence. Her brown hair was long, neatly brushed. Gathering herself, Heather closed the door behind her and slowly walked up to the girl. There was no reaction. Stopping five feet before her, as she had been taught, Heather curtsied.

"Miss Cathy. I am Heather, your new lady in waiting. I am pleased to meet you."

There was a moment's silence. Heather stood, hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. What happened next, would determine her entire life.

"I don't need a servant. Go away."

Heather's throat went dry. She licked her lips.

"Your mother, the Duchess, she hired me..."

"I don't NEED anyone! Go away!"

Her mind raced. She had to do something, fast. There were other girls who could be brought here, others to take her place at a moment's notice. She was nothing special. Heather's eyes darted around the room, looking for something she could use. She noticed the books. Many books. The girl, for all she was only six, seemed to love to read. Not children's books, either. The one in her hand, for example, was one Heather's brother had read. An adventure book, about an exiled child Prince and his knight protector, roaming the countryside. Fighting bandits, monsters. Not something you'd expect a young girl to enjoy...

"My Lady."

Heather bowed, low. A male bow, a knightly bow, one hand on her chest while her other swung behind her back in a gesture of respect. She held that pose. Eyes peeking upward, she saw the Princess drop the book in her lap, eyes wide in surprise. Good. Maybe this would work.

"My Lady, I apologize. I know a strong, intelligent girl like yourself does not need servants, or ladies in waiting. However, perhaps I can be more. Might I humbly suggest, you accept this poor woman as your loyal knight?"

"My knight?" The Princess giggled. Not a mocking giggle, but a genuinely happy one. Heather stood up.

"Yes, my Lady. Your knight, servant and protector, sworn to your service."

"You don't have a sword."

Heather looked around. It was forbidden to move without permission, but she ignored that. Moving across the room to the fireplace, she grabbed the iron poker. She turned to the girl, rod held in front of her as if it was a sword, legs shifting as she had seen her brother do when he played war with his friends.

"This is my sword, my Lady. I dedicate it to your service and honor!"

Cathy laughed, clapping.

"A knight of my own! Oh, but we can't tell Mother, or Father! They won't like me having my very own knight!"

"Then," Heather said, coming up before the girl and kneeling down, "we will not tell them. I pledge myself to YOU, my Lady. If ... if you accept me."

The girl drew herself up, bearing becoming royal. She reached her small right hand out, leaning forward and placing it on Heather's bowed head.

"I accept you into my service, Sir Knight."

"No, no. Straighten that arm! That's it! Yes! Just like in the picture!"

Heather held her pose, sword held out before her. It was a heavy sword, like all of them tended to be. Not the largest they had, no, but the biggest she could comfortably smuggle back to the nursery. How she had been talked into swiping it from the armory, she still didn't know. As her muscles strained, her eyes peeked over at Cathy. The girl held a large book on military training, eyes completely focused on whatever instructions were in front of her. Heather hoped the next instruction came soon...

A slight noise came from beyond the nursery door. Cathy bolted up, book slamming shut.

"Places!"

Heather ran for the bed. One hand, attached to an arm much stronger than when she first came here, lifted the edge of the large feather mattress. She shoved the sword in, far enough that the pommel left no indication of its position. Hurriedly, she redid the bedspread, smoothing the silk and lace. She finished just as the large wooden door creaked open.

Heather turned, curtsying to the Duchess. Her Highness was beautiful, naturally. For all the questions as to the male involved with the birth of the Princess, Cathy was clearly her mother's daughter. The same long brown hair, the same lovely eyes. The spark behind them was different, though, and if Heather had to guess she would say that was where the male influence lay. Those eyes regarded the lady in waiting for a long moment, as if trying to find fault. Cathy came to her rescue.

"Mother! Hello!"

Cathy was sitting up straight, book hidden away somewhere, a cloth doll now on her lap. Her eyes were wide, happy, her body moving to the edge of the chair. The Duchess's expression became a weary, almost pained smile. She slowly moved to stand before the chair. Cathy wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging tight.

"I missed you, Mom! Are you going to stay?"

"No, no, I'm afraid I can't, my dear." She placed one perfect hand on her daughter's head. "There's a dinner party tonight, and I'm afraid I must prepare for that." She saw Cathy about to speak, and shook her head. "And, no, you can not attend. It is in the main hall, and I will not have you carried in like some peasant cripple. I will have Heather bring you your dinner, as always."

Even from across the room, Heather could see all life leave her Mistress's eyes. Cathy pushed herself back in the chair, hands folded in her lap.

"Yes ... Mother."

"I hate my body."

Heather said nothing. She stood next to the small table as Cathy picked at the roast chicken and carrots. The almost eight year old girl dropped her fork, the silver utensil clattering on the china. Looking into her lap, she began frantically pulling her dress up, the silk bunching in her lap with no concern for wrinkles. Her bare legs thus exposed, the Princess glared down at them. They were thin, white, wrinkled. Never had they supported her weight, or been exposed to a sunny day. Balling up her fist, Cathy slammed it into her thigh.

"I want to walk!" She began hitting herself, again, and again. Heather bit her lip, at a loss. If ... if only...

"Mistress ... have ... well, have the Duke and Duchess tried magic?"

Cathy's fist froze mid punch. She looked up, surprised. To Heather's amusement, the girl bit her own lip before answering.

"Father does not LIKE magic. Says it is evil. The books say it is evil."

"Not all magic," Heather said. Bowing her head to the girl, she sat herself down in the chair nearest her. Heather reached a hand over, covering Cathy's fist. "My brother, for awhile, ran errands for a man who did magic. A Warlock. He ... Paul said he was a good man, an honest man."

Cathy's eyes widened as she listened. She swallowed, fist relaxing, fingers intertwining with Heather's.

"Oh ... Oh, Heather, do ... do you think he could do something? Heal me? I'd do anything! Pay anything!"

"I do not know." Which was true. She had never met the man. Did not, in fact, know if he was still there. She took a deep breath, knowing what she was doing could go horribly wrong. But ... wasn't she the girl's Knight Protector? She smiled. "I can find out, though."

Heather was allowed one day free every fortnight. She had earned this, after a year of service without once attempting to flee. She was still required to be there for the Princess for breakfast, and be there again by dinner, but the between time was hers. Usually, she just wandered the city. Avoided places her mother might be. Not because she hated her, no. No, not because of that. It was more ... seeing the woman, and not seeing the emotion in her eyes that Heather needed to see, WOULD make hate rise up in the teen.