I would not be the means of breaking him, too.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see many other options. By law, we were only allowed to attack the elves’ creatures in cases of clear self-defense, not mere anticipation of accidental injury. Any magic that Wrexham worked against the troll before it deliberately tried to hurt us—even a simple binding spell to cast it back to sleep—would break those ancient treaty rules in the most disastrous manner.
The Boudiccate would never forgive him for it. Nor would the rest of the nation if the elves were to set the rest of their pet trolls rampaging in revenge.
“Go,” I said tightly, my fingers clenched around my rocky anchor as we rose higher and higher into the air. “Get yourself to safety, now. I’m the one who made the foolish mistake of walking up here in the first place. I’ll find my own way down.” Somehow.
I couldn’t whisk myself to the ground with any spell of my own, nor protect myself from the troll if it chose to lash out at me in its dozy, half-asleep state.
But there had to be something I could still do. There had to be. If I didn’t believe it was impossible…
What did impossible really mean, anyway?
It had been common knowledge all throughout my childhood that a young lady could never be accepted at the Great Library, any more than a human could ever converse with a troll. But that hadn’t stopped me, had it?
“Harwood, don’t be a fool,” Wrexham muttered as I lunged upward. “Take my—damn it, Harwood!”
I was already scrambling out of his reach, the force of my frustration propelling me as fiercely across the troll’s slanted, rising back as any of the unstoppable metal steam trains that thundered through the southern counties. “Gothan dag!” I bellowed, cupping one hand to my mouth as I clung with my other hand to the sloping ground.
It was the language of the old Deniscan invaders who’d carried the trolls with them in the first place over a thousand years ago. Even in the northernmost points of Angland, it had been centuries since almost anyone had spoken it apart from two or three of the most obsessively dedicated historians…
…Including my older brother, as it happened. Jonathan had taught himself as a youth out of academic curiosity, and then taught it to me as a useful secret language. All through my childhood, it had filled our letters to each other and our most private conversations. We’d retreated into it whenever we most needed a safe harbor from our parents’ disapproval or his classmates’ prying eyes.
Apparently, some creatures in this land were old enough to recognize it too.
The rocky surface beneath us went abruptly still.
Wrexham’s dark eyes widened. “You’ve certainly got its attention,” he murmured. He rose to his feet, giving the unmoving landscape a wary look, but he showed no signs of leaving to save himself…as usual. Would the man ever learn the value of a strategic retreat in any area of his life?
But there was no time to waste in that old battle.
“We apologize for disturbing you!” I shouted instead in Densk, aiming my words in the direction of the troll’s still-hidden head. “If you could let us safely off your back, please, we would be extremely grateful. And we’d make certain that no one else disturbs your rest any time soon, I promise! We would protect you from any other intruders!”
It was, of course, a perfectly safe promise to make. Once the tenants around here were alerted to the real nature of this “hill,” I was more than certain that they would all steer a wide berth around it. If any more incentive was required, Lord Cosgrave could be called in to add magical protections.
But for all the good sense of my strategy, Wrexham was staring at me with open shock.
“Good God,” he said. “The tone of your voice… You actually listened to some of your mother’s political lessons after all! I’ve never heard you actually negotiate with anyone before. I didn’t even know that you could!”
“Pah.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Of all the times to ramble nonsense! I had negotiated for years to make my entry into the Great Library…by utterly refusing to give up on my great plans until the world around me finally saw sense and accepted them.
But before I could come up with a properly sizzling retort, the ground suddenly dropped away beneath my feet.
The lantern slipped out of my hand as I fell. I lurched forward just in time to snatch the iron casing from mid-air…but with both hands full, I landed hard on the troll’s rocky back at a distressing angle.
My heart thudded in my tight chest, and my breath came in shallow pants. The spellcast bubble of warmth around me stopped the snow from soaking my coat and gown, but it couldn’t stop my knees and elbows from bruising badly. I bit back a curse as I pushed myself upright, only slightly mollified to see that Wrexham, too, had fallen into an undignified pose.
“It appears,” I said breathlessly, “that my negotiations may have worked. So—”
The troll’s stony knees hit the ground below us with a thud that rocked through my bones and sent us both sprawling in the snow.
“Ouch.” Wrexham picked himself up, wincing. “I should have known that if you ever did agree to negotiate on anything, the result would inevitably be painful for both of us.”
“Ohhh—!” Growling, I lunged to my feet and shoved the compass into the pocket of my greatcoat. “For once in your life, would you stop talking and run?”
I didn’t wait to hear his answer. Holding my too-constricting skirts high with my free hand, I leapt, skidded and half-slid down the rocky slope, grateful for Lady Cosgrave’s sturdy boots. The lantern’s light rocketed around me wildly as it swung from my right hand, sending beams of light shooting through the thickening veil of snow.
The sky above was growing noticeably darker already, shifting from light to dark gray as the pale winter sun slid down toward the horizon. This far north, it would be night-black soon, even though it wasn’t yet evening. And then…
Panting, I hurtled down the final yards of the troll’s bent back. The creature’s earlier movement had dislodged all of the accumulated earth and sod of centuries that had smoothed out the cracks between its crouching limbs when I’d first climbed up it. Now I had to grit my teeth, toss the lantern aside, and take a flying leap across the last ten feet to solid ground, bending my legs and wrapping my arms around my head for self-protection.
Distantly, I heard the sound of glass shattering as I landed and rolled across the snow.
Ow. Ow, ow, ow…
I rolled to a stop, breathing hard.
My shoulder hurt. My ribs hurt. My chest hurt.
It was glorious. I felt tinglingly, wildly alive for the first time in ages.
It was the absolute polar opposite of the last four months of smothering safety and silent tears and cosseting, overwhelming solicitude all around me.