Ugly Girl Page 27

  Remy finished wrapping my leg, groaning at me when I told him I had to get up to go into a horse’s stall to change. “I just rewrapped it. Please be more careful this time. You’re putting too much weight on your leg.” He clicked his fingers to Lot, who helped me up gently. His long arms were careful with me as I leaned on him with my clothes tucked under my elbow.

  Lot walked me to a stall that was far enough away that I wouldn’t be seen by the others, turning to me before leaving. “I’m just over there if you need anything. Will you promise to call for me?”

  I nodded, though I knew that would never, never, ever happen. If I needed help getting dressed, I would sooner fall on my face before letting him see me half-naked. I could barely stand in front of him fully clothed. “Thanks.”

  Lot brought my hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to my knuckles, pausing before returning my sweaty hand to me. “Oh, no. Now I’ve done it. You were too shy to look at me before, and I fear I’ve just sealed it. I would take back the kiss, but I just can’t bring myself to regret it. Funny, that.”

  My cheeks were red, and as my eyes climbed to his face to see the all too pleased grin he wore, I reached my peak of frustration with myself. “Alright, alright, you. Get out before you melt my brain with all your gentleman stuff. That’s… Guys don’t do that to me in my world, and it’s tripping me out.”

  He lifted my hand again and brushed his lips back and forth across my fingers, warming them with his breath. “‘Gentleman stuff?’ You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “The whole Disney prince on a shining steed thing you’ve got going on. Quit doing the… Just quit it!” I huffed through his laughter. The sound was easy and fun, like he was used to enjoying the things that encouraged happiness. I pulled my hand out of his and palmed his face with it, earning a laugh from him as I pushed him out of the stall. “Quit being a boy. I’m changing, so out you go.”

  “As you like it, Princess Rosalie.” He bowed to me, and then laughed as I swatted at him to stand up straight. Hamish came to stand guard for me, since Abraham Lincoln had just dozed off for a nap in the hay with Marquis.

  I tugged on Lane’s navy-colored softball t-shirt jersey from when she joined her gym’s team a few years back. It was washed to perfection, giving me that soft hug only the best old t-shirts did. Her top was a little snug on me across the bust now, but it was a far sight better than the princess porn dress, so I didn’t complain. She liked her tops tight, while I liked mine easy to move in without showing the world my stomach by accident.

  The jeans were mine, and fit me beautifully, covering my bandage so I didn’t look like a cripple on first glimpse. My indoor soccer shoes gave me the same “I sure missed you, kid” that I winked at them with.

  When I came out, I didn’t expect fanfare (which Lane gave me in spades), but I also didn’t expect Lot’s face to fall. “You’re dressed like a peasant,” he remarked with obvious disapproval.

  I shrugged, guessing it was best to let the cat out of the bag now and clue him in that I wasn’t Cinderella. “Well, in my world, that’s what I am.”

  “We’re not peasants,” Lane corrected me, frowning as she did up her hair in a messy ponytail. She wore a tight purple t-shirt with a yellow sun on the chest, and skinny jeans with her sneakers. “We’re working class. That’s nothing to sneeze at, Lot.”

  “My apologies, Duchess.” Lot bowed to her and trotted over to help me back to the group.

  A pop like a firecracker sounded, and when I turned toward the noise, there was Bayard, in all his horse-tailed glory. “I brought all I could take without raising suspicion. Rousseau’s not back yet?”

  “No, but he left after you,” Reyn replied.

  We turned our heads as one to the door when we heard a horse riding hard toward the stable. Reyn and Lane ran into one of the stalls to hide, and Remy to the stall next to them. Lot scooped me up and ran me across the way to another.

  The door opened and a young woman’s voice called out, “Duke Lancelot? Lot! Are you in here?”

  He pressed his finger to my lips and set me down, showing himself to the newcomer. “Gwen! Good to see you. How’s your father, the Great Duke Henri?” A second set of boots entered, and Lot greeted the heavier tread. “Damond! I was just resting Marquis in your stable. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Duke Henri’s at the castle answering questions about Reyn!” The girl said in a harried whisper. “Damond and I are to take you all to the bridge, where he and Bastien will meet you once they’re certain they’re not being followed. Hurry!”

  Lot slapped his hands together, and we fell out of the stables like overstuffed decks of cards on a bad shuffle. Lane shoved our dresses in her backpack and ran behind Gwen, who looked to be a few years younger than me. She was tall and dressed in a gown like we’d been wearing, her blonde hair pinned back in the front and hanging loose halfway down her back behind her. She had a rounded nose and thin lips with eyes that darted around the barn nervously. Honestly, she looked nothing like her father.

  Damond grabbed the reins of two different horses without making time for introductions. He looked more like his father, with the black hair and angular features. “Get on!” Damond called to me after throwing a saddle on the beige horse that was just as tall as Marquis.

  “I… But I…” I knew this wasn’t the time for hesitating, but I seriously didn’t know how to even mount the horse with two good legs, much less being down to one.

  Lot pulled Marquis up from his nap, with Abraham Lincoln ambling out next to him with a yawn. “She can ride with me,” he ruled, running to lift me up and place me on his horse.

  “Ah! A bear!” Gwen cried out, stumbling back and pulling out a short sword. “Get back!”

  Reyn scooped up Abraham Lincoln and handed him to Lane once she was settled on the beige horse. My baby clung to her, confused why he’d been woken from his nap so abruptly. Reyn grabbed Hamish and settled him in his shirt pocket before mounting a dark brown horse with spots on his hindquarters.

  Another firecracker pop sounded, announcing Rousseau had rejoined our group just in the nick of time. “Whoa! Hold on a moment! What’s going on?” He waved his red furry hands to calm Gwen’s horse, whom he’d spooked.

  “Grab a horse and ride with us to the bridge!” Gwen instructed. “Duke Henri’s being questioned about Reyn, and they’re sure to check Damond’s stables before they go. Hurry!”

  I expected some sort of oomph and “this sucks for short people” kind of thing from him, but he surprised me by blinking and transporting himself atop a horse with all the gusto of a fart and a firecracker pop. It felt so much like cheating after the unladylike grunts I’d done to get into place with my bum leg. “I’m ready,” Rousseau said, his overstuffed pack on his back. “Everyone ride at a pace that doesn’t rouse suspicion until we reach cover of the woods. Then ride on out as fast as you can.”

  Damond mounted his horse with long legs that looked well-seasoned for the job. If these were his stables, his wiry frame was perfectly at home in them, whispering to his gray horse before calling to us. “Let’s go!”

  Lot pulled himself up behind me, his hands far more polite than Bastien’s had been. Lot kept his hands on the reins, trusting that I could balance on my own and hold on. I tried not to make a fool of myself, but a tiny squeal of fright escaped me as Lot directed Marquis forward slowly, so as not to trample anyone when we first exited the stable.

  The fresh spring wind picked up and I shivered in my t-shirt, holding tight to the bridle as goosebumps broke out on my skin. Twilight had settled in, the sun setting on the prairie behind the brightly painted huts. They lined the horizon in little clusters of tightly-knit communities. The grass was sparse, but enough to make the path we traveled down appear green, though the reddish brown dirt was easy to spot through the patches of growth. It was as if nature was doing her best to thrive, but meager survival was the best it could do.

  Marquis picked up his pace to match
the rest of the horses, who were cantering in front of us. “Are you holding up alright, Princess?” Lot asked, his jaw resting against my temple once the horse hit a predictable rhythm.

  “Uh-huh!” I lied through my gritted teeth. Bastien had found a way to get my body to relax against his, but I couldn’t do that with Lot. He was a proper prince, and I was, well, me. I felt like Lucille Ball on a walrus. “Are we almost there?”

  Lot paused before answering. “No, sweet girl. It’ll be many hours before we reach the bridge.”

  “Bastien and Henri, are they okay?”

  Again, that telling pause. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’ll meet us at the bridge. They may even beat us there. The castle’s closer to the bridge than the stable was.” He boxed me in tighter with his elbows. “I’ll get us there safely.”

  I had no choice but to trust Lot. My nerves at his handsome face dissipated a little since I couldn’t actually see him. The sun set as we rode on, making my stomach tie in knots at all the things we couldn’t see in the dark. Our path was lit only by their blue moon (like, an actual blue moon) and the stars. Though, the trees seemed to keep even those lights from us at times. I closed my eyes so I didn’t hiss or squeal through my closed lips when the errant branch flew at us too quickly for my liking. I didn’t know Lot, but I was forced into trusting him. I didn’t do so well in those kinds of circumstances.

  When we raced out of the woods finally, the prairie greeted us. The wide expanse of nothingness was broken up only by pink poppies that we ran past at warp speed. We charged through the green field that stretched on beyond what I could see in the dark. The few bunches of flowers gave way to a meadow that was utterly blanketed with thousands of the pink beauties, so close together you could barely see any grass. The poppies smelled like bubblegum and perfume, cloyingly sweet, but invigorating all the same. We’d gone from sparse nature to booming Mother Earth – or Mother Avalon, or whatever.

  I heard Remy shout, “Princess! Try not to breathe if you can help it!”

  “What? Why can’t I breathe?”

  Reyn called to us, “Lane! Rosie! Don’t breathe until we pass the étouffer flowers!”

  “Huh?” I asked stupidly.

  Lot answered for Reyn. “Do you not know about the étouffer flowers?”

  I shook my head, freezing as Lot buried his nose in my hair to muffle the fresh air that came at us. He held the reins in one hand and covered my nose and mouth with the other. I could still breathe, but it was tampered with the polished scent of his hand. He leaned me back so my shoulders were stuck to his chest, my head tilted skyward as he clamped the back of my head to his shoulder. I let out a whimper at being restrained by a man I didn’t know, while riding a horse I wasn’t totally comfortable on.

  The bubblegum smell mutated, and something icy and sharp like menthol on steroids floated into my lungs when I accidentally gasped at Marquis’ impromptu leap. It started out just a little annoying, but after a few shallow breaths I couldn’t help but taking, the ice turned into daggers that needled my throat all the way from my mouth and down into my lungs. The menthol spread like fire into my chest, filling my breasts from the inside and making them feel like they were heavy and burning with a cold sort of fire I couldn’t escape. My pain came out of me in a choked gasp with very little volume to it, but my rigid spine and hands that clawed at my chest told Lot that I’d breathed the bad stuff.

  Lot swore loudly. “She’s been infected!” he announced to the group. We were completely alone in the prairie, and now I knew why. No one would dare come out to smell these flowers.

  Gwen moved her horse to ride beside us. “Are you sure? We’re out of the flower patch now. Try some fresh air, Princess!” she sounded worried, which did nothing to calm me.

  I tried to answer, but breathing was so painful, I couldn’t get any words out. I felt like a fire-breathing dragon, only I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would exhale glass shards. I wanted to run smack out of Avalon, but my head was still clamped to Lot’s shoulder. His hand was over my forehead now, allowing me as much air as I could suck in through my narrowing esophagus. He kept my face tilted skyward, the blue moon looking down at me with a worried “Dang, girl,” feel to it. I felt claustrophobic inside my body and squirmed when the air I sucked in wasn’t enough. Not only were there glass and needles inside of me, but air was growing too thick to suck down. I clawed at Lot’s hand, but my aim was clumsy from the blinding pain. “We have to stop!” I worked out in a gasp of agony.

  “We can’t stop!” Gwen insisted, morose. “I’m sorry, Princess! I’m so sorry! If we stop now, the army might see us.”

  “Just breathe, sweet girl. I know it hurts.” Lot spoke low in my ear. I could only just make sense of their words through the fire that raced around inside of me, rekindling the moment I thought I’d earned a reprieve. “Gwen, she can’t keep on like this! She has to lie down!”

  “There’s nothing you can do for her now, Lot. It’ll pass through her on its own. Just make sure to hold her steady when the tremors come, so she doesn’t fall off Marquis.”

  I let out a strangled cry of agony as their words of doom and a new layer of sunburnt pain ripped through my insides. “What’s happening to me?!”

  Reyn called over his shoulder to us, “It’s the étouffer poppies. You weren’t supposed to breathe them in. It’s my fault. I didn’t warn you properly in time. Your body will survive it, but it’s going to be painful, Princess.”

  Gwen shouted to me from my right as her horse galloped at our side. “First comes the ice and fire, then the numb, then the spiders, then the tremors, then the drowning, then the sweats. The important thing is to breathe. The more fresh air that goes into you, the faster everything will work its way out.”

  Lane was towards the front of the group, but pulled her horse to Lot’s other side to stay with me as best she could. “Rosie? Baby? It’s okay, honey. It’s going to be fine!” I heard the same lie in her voice as when she’d tell me we totally had enough money for rent the night before it was due. Then I heard her turn to Reyn and let a portion of her fear loose. “She can’t stay on the horse the whole time! No one can stay still enough to ride through the tremors!”

  “I’ve got a firm hold on her!” Lot shouted to the group, his voice determined.

  The ice traced down my legs until my toes were screaming at me with phantom frostbite. My fingers were totally useless, but they were molded onto the bridle, so they stayed there, willing me to believe that they wouldn’t let me fall. The menthol cold felt like it was traveling inside of my spine, freezing me and making me squirm to put out the clutch of death the foreign element had on me.

  When André René Roussimoff was only forty years old, he’d had back surgery. It was so hard on him that he’d had to wear a back brace to wrestle after that. I kept that factoid in my mind to center me through the pain. If André could make it through actual back surgery, then I could handle a little freaky Avalon torture magic. I mean, it was a field of poppies. How dangerous could a flower actually be? In my imagination, it wasn’t Lot’s hand on my forehead, but André’s massive mitt. My giant’s calm, steady presence gave me strength that only he possessed. He could produce a thick-lipped smile after a rough wrestling match. If he’d breathed in the poisonous poppies, he would find a way to deal with the pain gracefully.

  Lot’s hand on my forehead was too clumsy with fear to be comforting. “It’s alright, Princess. Just hold on. I’ll get us to the bridge, and from there we’ll find you a place to lie down and sweat out the poison.”

  “P-poison?” I eked out. André held me tighter in my angst, willing me to buck up and handle it. He’d gone through far worse in the wrestling ring, and my guardian angel wasn’t about to desert me now. The flames in my veins only seemed to be growing hotter with each breath I took, so despite my need for oxygen, I took in as little as possible – until my lips and fingertips started to tingle with the ominous warnings that I was going to pass out if I didn’t
get more air. I took in as deep a breath as I could, letting out a closed-lipped noise of panic. Lot muffled the pathetic sound by moving his palm from my forehead to my mouth. I didn’t want to be the girl who screamed. I could handle pain well enough, but this was from the inside, and totally foreign, which didn’t do a whole lot to calm my peaking nerves.

  Lot’s voice was gentle as he tried his best to calm me. “There, there. I know it hurts. Let it out. I can muffle the screams.” When I didn’t take him at his word and kept my slow whimpers as the only noise I would permit, I heard the panic in his voice. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

  It was a precious lie he told me, but as the hours passed while we rode through the night, the fire did not quell. It only mutated into something darker.

  34

  Spiders in my Brain

  I don’t know how long it was that I couldn’t feel my body. I was stiff like a board as we rode through the prairie that seemed never-ending. Bayard remained as quiet as the others out of respect for what he referred to as “living through a slow death.”

  He was not wrong. Lot was whispering encouraging things into my ear, but I couldn’t focus once something started nipping at the inside of my big toe. I wanted to jerk it away, but I couldn’t move my body at all. The only sensation I could feel was the something that was crawling on the inside of my big toe. It moved slowly, and then started prancing, daring me to swat at it. It danced in defiance with a “you can’t catch me” vibe I did not appreciate. Then just when I thought my irritation couldn’t take anymore, the spider duplicated himself. Now there were two tapdancing spiders inside my foot. One in my big toe, and one in the toe next door. I kept my mouth shut through the slow torture that filled my foot, one toe at a time. Then the spiders infested both legs with dozens, and then hundreds of tiny imaginary arachnids. They all fought for dominance inside my body as I screamed in my mind. Hamish shouted for me, and Abraham Lincoln moaned his worry that another mama would up and die on him.