The Deaths of Me (NEW ADULT REWORK)

17. Ivy's Reluctant Respect

Nonviolence is fine as long as it works.

--Malcolm X

Ivy groaned and pressed her fingers to her wrist, dramatically checking for a nonexistent pulse. Was it possible to be bothered to death? The bird and the dog were cooperating in the loosest sense of the word. They maintained their distance from each other, so technically there was no danger. But, if they stared any harder at each other, their eyeballs would fall out of their sockets.

She stomped across the park ground that led to the palace entrance under the bridge. They were approximately two hours late, but Ivy had refused to leave until Nikolai called to let her know that the gala was clear of any enemies to Rory.

They were the only ones sauntering under the bridge, however, so when they came across the river trolls, Ivy was underwhelmed, to say the least.

"What's this?" she inquired, holding up a hand behind her to stop Dane and Rory.

There were two of them. They stood at about six feet. Scale-like, blue skin ran over their fat bodies, bulging over the sides of their burlap trousers. River trolls weren't as foul as mountain trolls; probably because they were always in the water. To be honest, that wasn't saying much. The beasts were still decidedly repugnant. Their hair was covered in moss and seaweed. Under-bites and warts seemed to be a trademark of the species. They wore dirty, ripped clothing that looked to be patched together with pixie silk. The troll on the left sported a fishing hook in his ear, and the one on the right had only one milky, yellowed eye. To a human, the trolls probably appeared to be unfortunate, portly homeless men.

While Ivy found trolls of all sorts to be unintelligent and dirty, the phoenix looked like she'd walked into a fine arts museum. As Ivy glanced back at her to make sure the bird stayed behind Dane, she saw her eyes alight with curiosity, even as her body leaned against Dane's for support. Speaking of support, he barely gave any. He stood, propped like a statue next to the phoenix, eyes laser-straight ahead like a trained police dog.

Ivy swung back around to stare down the milk-eyed guards. "We're here for the gala," she announced. She was bored already.

The troll on the left scratched his belly with cracked, yellow fingernails. "You gotta answer the riddle," he drawled out. Somehow, the backwoods southern accents didn't surprise her. She rolled her eyes.

"Then why did the queen give us invitations?" she bit back, flashing the silver squares in the troll's faces.

The other beast snorted and took a lopsided step forward. "The queen says people who ain't got no wit ain't fit to be in her presence."

"Oh, is that why you two are out here?"

The trolls took a moment to process the insult before they looked at each other, seeming to agree to be upset. They roared out their stupid displeasure. The first troll charged toward her. She charged back. A weak hand grabbed her shoulder. She could have easily shaken it off, but she stilled under Rory's touch and growled a warning at the troll.

"I love a good riddle," Rory offered, slowly staggering in front of Ivy.

The trolls grunted at each other. Eventually, they calmed, their shoulders slumping in relaxation. When the one closest to her exhaled his relief, the stench of goblin grog swelled up to meet her nose. Ivy resisted the urge to cough and cringe.

"Well, go on then. Ask your stupid password puzzle," she snapped.

The trolls visibly ruffled, but Rory held her hands out in front of her, palms down, and their mumbles trailed off into upset silence. "Now, Ivy," Rory began, "these fine...gentlemen...have been standing out here all night, protecting the queen and her guests. They deserve our full respect."