The Lost Knight (Volume IV) The Lost Prince

Chapter 29: The Hair From Your Horns

"Why does the amount of time we've been friends dictate what you should know?" She's not trying to hurt my feelings. She's truly looking for an answer.

But she did hurt my feelings, so she's not getting one. "Why do you answer questions with questions?"

"Because I know it annoys you," she says with a smile. "But seriously, I would've thought you would have given up tracking time. I mean, you have me doing it now. I told the garrison to report back in an hour, then had to explain what an hour was?"

"I always use time references when I talk to her," Dathid says. I think it's sweet until he says, "It makes her feel better even though I'm making them up."

"No, you don't," is the only retort my brain comes up with. It's just so mean, or manipulative, or mean! "Why would you do that?" I want to cry or punch him, or both.

"Don't look at me that way. I wasn't playing a game with you. I was trying to make you more comfortable. I know that seconds are quick, minutes are quick too, but slower than seconds, an hour is a wait and several hours is a long wait. And a day is the time you wake up to the time you sleep."

Solara cocks her head to the side and studies Dathid. "Sounds confusing. Does everyone on Earth sleep at the same time?"

"No, they have schedules, and rituals, and a lot of rules involving time," he assures her. "It's all very confusing and contradictory. Sometimes I don't think it's a real thing. It's just something they do to keep their brains busy. You know how much humans like to think."

Solara snorts. "Yeah, I learned that trying to speak the language. They make a rule just so they can break it."

"And we're done with the human bashing," I say as I start pulling again. "I won't make any more time references, and we'll all live happy. And FYI, anyone who speaks Naga-Nuru has no right to criticize anyone's language." 

Dathid smiles at me. "You don't need to get upset. We're just having some fun." I know he's right, but they discussed me as if I wasn't there, and I hate when they do that. 

"Honestly, I wasn't trying to trick you. I was trying to make you feel more at home. I've read the human time references in their books, and Jonah actually understands how to use them correctly, so I joined the fun."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." They make me feel as if my need for time is a failure of character, like I'm letting this unseen force dictate my life. I concede their point, but I can't change it just because they find it peculiar. And they do need to shut up about it.

Dathid changes the subject. He and Solara share a laugh about something other than humans, and the friendly ease between them strikes me. When did that happen? I've only ever heard them discuss strategies and preparations. I have a flash of jealousy that I quickly squash. Who or maybe what, am I jealous of? Maybe it's the respect they show to each other. They're peers, and I'm not.

We roll Qince over, and Solara stares at his wings. I ignore her, but Dathid doesn't appreciate the gawking. He looks at me. Is he remembering my reaction from earlier, or does he want me to knock Solara out of her gaping?

I nudge her shoulder with mine, and she shakes herself out of her trance. "Sorry," she says and clears her throat. "I was curious. Faeries are so strong and agile. I've seen pictures, but never up close. At least alive...and assembled." Her voice fades to nothing, and she focuses intently on pulling thorns from the back of his leg.

"Curiosity seems to be a theme today." Is Dathid joking or offended? 

Qince's wings are in much better shape than Dathid's, but Dathid went through the vine without protection for his wings. What's surprising is how beautiful Qince's wings are. They're so thin and translucent. The veining is an intricate pattern of bluish-green swirls and dots that shimmer in an amazing design that I could gaze at for hours.

I'm about to ask Dathid about the difference in his wings compared to Qince's when I answer my own question. Dathid's wings are scarred and dulled by war. Anger crawls up my throat when I move the wing aside to get the thorns in his pristine back. Pulling the numerous thorns has made me much more familiar with his body than I ever wanted to be. But there's more than just pristine wings. His skin is flawless and soft. Who is this guy?

My brain has an argument with itself, and I'm not sure who won, but I decide to ask Dathid. "Why is he not scarred?"

If the smirk on Dathid's face can be trusted, he finds my question amusing. "This is my eldest sister's worthless son. His brother, a reckless Bagould, got himself killed at Tridews Pert, even though he was warned not to go. This lump is now the future of Manahata. He's supposed to be in a bunker with his royal in-laws, not freeing prisoners."

Dathid gets up, and for a moment, I think he contemplates kicking Qince. I share a questioning look with Solara, but we both awkwardly continue to pull thorns. I'm sorry I asked. I need to learn to never listen to my brain. It's wrong most of the time.

Dathid sits on a log on the little camp's outer edge, and Goutadge immediately plops down next to him. Neither of them look at each other or speak for a long time. Then Goutadge pulls her flagon of water, takes a sip, and hands it to Dathid. He smells it, takes a sip, and gasps for air. He wipes his eyes and laughs. "Well, that will strip the hair from your horns."

I've never heard Goutadge laugh, but it's beautiful, like a happy song. Just hearing her laugh makes me smile. I wish I was funny. I'd love to make her laugh again.

We finish, and Solara washes the blood and any missed thorns from Qince. Dathid's passed out in Goutadge's arms. She's almost asleep too. All she seems to do is eat and sleep, and drink apparently.

"I'd love to have a camera right now," I say to Kyrbast as I sit beside him.

He pulls his wand and waves it around at Dathid and Goutadge with small and jerky movements. "There," he says when he's finished. "When we get back, I'll print it out for you?"