The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

pear each – Slaíne still didn’t seem quite herself. He sighed as they crawled out from beneath the pine. Exhaustion would be his constant companion, it would seem, until this whole sordid affair was behind them. That is, he reflected, if Slaíne was still up for participating in the theft and deception.

Her words accosted him out of nowhere. “You’ve strange dreams, no?”

Aidan eyed her as she brushed the pine needles he’d missed from her dress front. “Yes, I have.” He paused, waiting for her to go on. When she didn’t, curiosity got the better of him, and he resigned himself to inquiry. “Why? Did you have some strange night vision?” He meant it playfully, but she frowned up at him.

“Aye, strange indeed. But it weren’t no vision – I don’ know what’s to come. Ain’t no ruddy seer.”

Perhaps teasing hadn’t been the best approach. She seemed to clam up now, her jaw set taut and her posture rigid. Ah, well. If she wasn’t going to offer any more, he wasn’t going to ask anything more, but he couldn’t shake a dark feeling that came over him all at once. Aidan put out a hand to stop Slaíne, drawing a curse from her. “Slaíne, did you dream of Meraude?”

She let out a groan. “Not that old hag again. You dream of her?”

“Not last night.”

Slaíne narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

What did it matter to her? Aidan shrugged. “No, I did not. What has this got to do with anything?” She didn’t answer. “Answer me straight. Did you dream of Meraude?”

She bristled. “’Course I did nay dream of that wretch. I dreamt about the woods.” She shot him an accusing look, and took off toward the road, seemingly forgetting her curse as Aidan ran to catch up with her.

“Easy.”

Slaíne growled at him. “I’m not a horse.”

Aidan rolled his eyes. Why did she always want to start fights? “No,” he said after a measure, and that is when he noticed the great rip in her dress. “You are not. Forgive me.” He waited a moment longer before changing the subject. “I think you should change.”

She stopped mid-stride and looked over her shoulder at him. “Change what?”

Aidan put up his hands. “Please, hear me out. We’ve been in the woods for a while now, and, I – I don’t know how to say this but….” Why was he starting to laugh now? There was nothing funny about the tear in and of itself, but she was already in such a foul mood, apparently, that one more thing going wrong was ridiculously horrible. It was so awful, it was funny.

It was Slaíne’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’ve got a tear in me dress, haven’t I?”

Aidan turned away as she started cursing, shaking with laughter. What was the matter with him? He attempted to calm himself, turned and was surprised to see her staring at him expectantly. His eyebrows shot heavenward. “What?”

“Sir, you gotta help me.”

He still wasn’t understanding. They’d come close enough to town that Aidan could feel more individual Pulls milling about not more than a mile away. They had better start moving. “What is it?” he pressed.

Of all things, Slaíne stomped her foot and threw her hands up in the air. “You, sir, are going to have to help me get dressed.”

* * *

Half an hour later, after much awkwardness and snarled instructions, Aidan finished lacing up the back of Slaíne’s blue dress, and they both stood away from each other, fuming. Now was not the time to be divided by something so silly. Still, Aidan could scarce look at her without laughing or scowling, and she would not even favor him with a glare. So into town she walked as instructed, Aidan following as close behind her as he dared, keeping his head down.

He’d given her some instruction as to what to say and do if stopped or confronted, though he doubted the latter. If anything, the men would tip their hats, and the women would nod or turn to gossip about this unknown woman in their midst.

They passed through the town’s iron gates, which always remained open on this end, as they were too heavy and cumbersome to close every night and open every morning. The cobbles were well worn from much foot, horse, and carriage traffic. At this early hour, with the sun still on its ascent, there were not too many people about. A few of the tall buildings boasted ten windows apiece, and some of the upper ones had been opened so that maids could empty chamber pots or shake out rugs.

Aidan hadn’t been through this part of town for years upon years. He hoped that no one would remember him. He would have to rely on Slaíne’s acting skills – which he wasn’t sure existed – to get them through if anyone suspected him.

The town had changed quite a lot since he’d last passed through. New buildings had sprung up, giving the outer ring of the city a claustrophobic feel, too many sights and too many Pulls surrounding them. There were some familiar sites, like the carved stone fountain in the middle of the square that depicted two lovers kissing, something Aidan had always rolled his eyes at.

“Sir?” Slaíne murmured.

“Aidan,” he replied. “Better yet, call me something different altogether.”

There was a brief moment where she paused mid-step and turned around to look at him, perplexed. “Sir— Rutherford, I mean.”

Aidan grimaced as her shoulders began to shake with laughter. “Yes, milady?” He’d affected a lower-class accent, obviously startling his traveling companion, who paused again and looked over her shoulder at him. “Milady?”

Slaíne shook herself and stepped out of the way for an open carriage and horse rolling and trotting through the middle of the square. The driver raised his hat to Slaíne as he rattled and jingled past, and in response, Slaíne all but ignored him. Perhaps she would do all right after all.

“Rutherford, what if our friend is following