Fire - Kristin Cashore [123]
The bath was still the purest, hottest ecstasy but she stood, and climbed out, suddenly impatient to be done with this place. She scrubbed herself dry and dressed in the flimsy long-sleeved gown they’d left for her. It had enough the look of bedroom clothing to make her uncomfortable, in addition to which, they’d taken her boots and coat away and given her nothing for her hair. She went to a wardrobe in the corner and dug through its random assortment of items until she’d found socks, a sturdy pair of boy’s boots, a man’s heavy robe that was far too big, and a brown woolen scarf that would do for a head wrapping. She hoped, a bit grimly, that the ensemble looked as peculiar as it felt. She didn’t need beauty to control the boy’s empty-headed puppets, and she wasn’t in the mood to gratify Cutter by presenting the appearance of a doe-eyed monster woman ready to be ravished by one of his disgusting male customers.
She ran her mind through the hundreds of creatures held on this estate, monster predators, horses and hunting dogs, even an odd collection of rodents she couldn’t imagine the purpose of. The choice of horses satisfied her. They were none of them as sympathetic as Small, but several would suit her purposes.
She soaked the tip of her dart in the vial of sleeping poison and tucked the vial back into her gown. She held the dart in her hand, where it was hidden by the length of her heavy sleeve.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she went downstairs.
CUTTER’S SITTING ROOM was small and as warm as the bedroom had been, the walls similarly dressed, in tapestries showing fields of flowers rising to cliffs overhanging the sea. The rug here was colourful too, and it occurred to Fire that at least some of this beauty had been woven from monster fur. And the books on the bookcases, and the golden clock on the mantelpiece - Fire wondered how much of this house’s richness had been stolen.
Cutter sat at the head of the room, clearly believing himself to be the room’s master. The room’s true master leaned against the wall to the side, small, bored, blinking unmatched eyes, and surrounded by a woven field of flowers. Jod the archer stood beside Cutter. A man was positioned at each of the room’s entrances.
Cutter barely glanced at Fire’s attire. His eyes were glued to her face, his mouth stretched into a jubilant and proprietary simper. He looked just as he always had, except for a new vacantness of expression that must have to do with the fog.
‘It’s been no easy task stealing you, girl, especially since you’ve taken up residence in the king’s palace,’ he said in the self-satisfied voice she remembered. ‘It’s taken a great deal of time and considerable spying. Not to mention that we had to kill a number of our own spies who were careless enough to be captured in your woods by you and your people. We seem to have the stupidest spies in the kingdom. What a lot of trouble. But it was all worth it, boy, wasn’t it? Look at her.’
‘She is lovely,’ the boy said disinterestedly. ‘You shouldn’t sell her. You should keep her here with us.’
Cutter’s forehead creased with puzzlement. ‘The rumour among my colleagues is that Lord Mydogg is prepared to pay a fortune for her. In fact, a number of my buyers have shown particular interest. But perhaps I should keep her here with us.’ His expression brightened. ‘I could breed her! What a price her babies would fetch.’
‘What we do with her remains to be seen,’ the boy said.
‘Precisely,’ Cutter said. ‘Remains to be seen.’
‘If she would only behave herself,’ the boy continued, ‘then we wouldn’t have to punish her, and she might understand that we want to be friends. She