“You’ve been listening to him,” she accused, still glaring at Gareth. “With all his talk of honor and chivalry. Well, I can do without it, thank you. It’s what got Nell killed.”
Gareth closed his eyes, allowing the pain of her words to pass through him. She spoke out of anger. She did not truly mean it. “And will you allow Nell’s death to be for naught?”
He had spoken quietly, yet the room quivered with such stunned silence you would think he had shouted.
When Gareth opened his eyes, he saw such pain in Millicent’s face he almost gave up his plan. But if he did, he would be giving up on Millicent, and he could not allow his love for her to turn him into a coward. “Ladybird wanted us to stop him,” he continued. “She loved her queen and her country. And despite your denials, my lady, I believe you love them too.”
They stared at each other, and he watched her strong will war with her heart, her stubbornness battle her anger. His Millicent was such a complicated creature, and he loved her for it… and allowed his love to show on his face.
Bran cleared his throat, turned his gaze away as if embarrassed by Gareth’s naked display of emotion.
In Gareth’s time, in the court of his king, such open displays of admiration were commonplace. Poems were recited to ladies, ballads sung in their honor. Swords were crossed for any slight to a maiden. Times had changed, and Gareth had adapted to them, but he still found himself falling back into old habits.
Perhaps it would be wise to remember them now.
“I would trade my life for Nell’s to make you happy, Millicent.” Gareth fell to one knee. “Indeed, my sorrow for the loss of ladybird, and your broken heart, are almost too much for me to bear. If you would blame me instead of Ghoulston, then so be it. I am at your service, my lady, to do as thou wilt.” And he drew his sword and held it out to her.
Millicent snorted, made as if to turn away, and suddenly stilled, her lovely brow wrinkled in thought. Then her face cleared, and she glanced down at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get up. I’ll do it.”
Gareth looked up at her in astonishment. “Am I forgiven?”
“There is nothing to forgive. I-I spoke from grief, and acted like a fool. But no more.” Her eyes glittered. “This is all Ghoulston’s fault. Every bit of it. And if I can foil his plans, it will be a handsome revenge. When do we leave?”
The were-bear raised his eyes, opened his mouth, then closed it, his face still an unusual shade of red.
Millicent curled her fingers into fists. “I’ll make Ghoulston pay no matter what it takes.”
Gareth shook the hair from his face and rose to his feet. Ah, well, not exactly the intention he had hoped for. He had wanted Millicent to help the queen, and by so doing, realize the goodness within herself. Instead, she now saw this as a way to destroy Ghoulston and avenge Nell’s death. He should have known this would not be so easy. How could he help Millicent see the beauty inside her, when she had no inclination to do so?
Well, at least she no longer blamed him for Nell’s death. Her anger had weighed upon his heart, and the absence of it made Gareth suddenly feel lighter.
Bran stepped over to the bar and poked a finger at the small winged form lying facedown in an empty saucer of gin. “Ambrose. Wake up, ye sot. I have another errand for ye.”
The sprite rolled over and cracked a lid, then struggled upright as he caught sight of Millicent. “My lady! How may I be of sher… servish… service?”
Bran rubbed a hand across his broad face. “Ye are to take her to the same place ye delivered my message to.”
The pointed brow furrowed.
“Egads, man, ye were there less than an hour ago. Surely ye cannot have forgotten?”
The sprite waved a hand, the movement nearly upsetting his balance. “Course not. I know the aboveground like the back of my hand. I used to be a message sprite for the gentry above, don’t you know?” And he leaned down toward the saucer, eyeing a small puddle of gin still wedged within the curve of the bottom.
“No more of that for ye until ye get back,” said Bran, blocking the sprite with his hand.
“Jusht one for the flight…”
“No.”
Ambrose sighed. “Let’s be off then.” And with an overly dramatic flourish of his arms he took wing, a dazzling swirl of iridescent color, which would have looked impressive if he hadn’t been bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box. When he came to an abrupt halt by the simple expedient of smashing into the door, Gareth winced.
“Are you sure he can manage to find his way there again?”
Bran nodded. “Seen me a lot of drunks, and he manages his liquor better than most.”
Gareth nodded, walked over, and gently picked up the sprite. “Are you all right?”
Ambrose rubbed his head, glanced at Millicent, and scowled. “Slightly wounded. Never incapash… incapacitated.” And he took flight again, this time waiting for Gareth to open the door.
“Good luck,” called Bran as they left the pub. “If ye’re not back by tomorrow evening, Millie, I’m coming up myself to get ye.”
She did not reply, just shifted to panther and kept her gaze resolutely focused on the message sprite. Those wings glowed somewhat, which made it easier for them to follow Ambrose through the twisted streets of the Underground. They crossed too many bridges for Gareth to count, the water smelling as bad as the Thames, carrying away the waste of the city. Two thugs challenged them once, a man with a deformed face and his dwarf partner, but at the sound of Gareth’s sword sliding from its scabbard, they quickly disappeared.
They finally reached the outskirts of the city, where tunnels peppered the walls of the enormous cavern, and the sprite unerringly chose one, Millicent and Gareth having to push to follow. Some sort of glowing fungus grew on the walls of the tunnel, so they had a greenish luminescence to light their way. Despite Gareth’s excellent night vision, he still managed to stumble into Millicent. The first time she turned and looked at him, golden eyes glowing in the darkness, then continued up through the passage, ignoring him after that.
Gareth wondered if she had shifted on purpose to avoid conversation. Millicent still grieved for her friend, and he would comfort her if she would only let him. He had to remind himself that she was unused to comfort. Bran had mentioned as much, when they had been searching for her after she’d run away following Nell’s death. The were-bear would have been more of a friend to Millicent, if she had but let him. But by the time Bran hired her, she had already been on her own for far too long.
Ambrose grunted as he slammed into another wall. He had managed to bounce off more than a few as he led the way.
The rocky ground slowly changed to more even footing, and soon they reached a rough-hewn set of stairs. Gareth could only imagine how many sorcerers had carved secret passages into the Underground to perform the darker arts, and began to wonder about this lady friend of Bran’s. But the man would not send Millicent into danger. Perhaps the passage had already been there when the lady had moved into her residence and she had come upon it accidentally. And later discovered that the Underground was no myth. But how had the lady met Bran? Gareth now regretted his reluctance in asking Bran more questions. He had a feeling he had missed a rather interesting story.
The passage finally ended at a closed door. Ambrose lifted the knocker—his wings buzzing furiously—and let it fall with a muffled thump.
“There is a knocker?” said Gareth in disbelief.
“Of coursh,” piped Ambrose. “How else would the lady know when Bran comes to call? You certainly aren’t shug… suggesting he barges in unannounced, are you?”