"That sounds smart," I agree. It takes a moment for his meaning to register. "Oh. But that's me."
"It is," he agrees with a smile. "Which is why we're talking."
"Because . . ."
"I was paid by Brown Sun Lake to ensure that happened."
I hear the words, but they're competing with some random thoughts about how strong the flowers smell here. When they click, though, a shot of adrenaline blows away everything but the idea the man before me was paid to kill me.
"But . . . why . . . I mean . . . you had a chance to do that." I stand. "You didn't. And you haven't. Or . . . maybe you did?" I lean precariously to glance into the wine once more.
"Not yet," he admits softly.
I struggle to focus on him. I'm fevered from the alcohol, my vision too blurry for me to make out the finer features of his face. "And why not?"
"You have something I need: a way back. I and the Shadow Knight are all that stand between you and the other eight knights out there that want you dead."
Swallowing hard, I say nothing, trying hard to process everything. My heart feels like it's flying, and my muscles are warmed by the alcohol but aching more with my sudden tension.
"Unhand my lady!" The squire's cry comes seconds before he stumbles from the pathway into the area around the pond. He's off balance worse than me, probably because he's carrying a sword almost his size.
"Calm yourself, squire," the Red Knight responds, amused. "I have done no harm to your mistress. Take her back to her chamber, if it pleases you."
The squire stares, slightly bewildered, and then gives a firm nod and lowers the weapon. "I will. Come, witch."
"Oh, don't you start!" I snap, facing him. I spin too far and end up facing a very large hedge. It's moving, or appears to be in my drunken stupor. "You're too young to . . . why is this bush moving?" I poke the blob.
It's solid, warm. I blink rapidly to focus and then close my eyes, hoping that helps clear my confusion.
"Naught but herbs to help calm her," the Red Knight says.
My god I'm so tired. Someone else responds, and I start to feel the sensation of floating. Tomorrow morning is gonna be rough.