George plied the priest with far more drink than was good for him, but even deep in his cups, the man didn't drop so much as another hint about the beast they faced, or the best way to kill it. Which was unusual in itself, he had to admit. What man was so afraid of something he refused to talk about it at all? Didn't he want it dead?
He turned to ask Melitta, for with her mind-reading magic it was possible that she had caught more from the man than he had, but he was disappointed to discover that she'd disappeared. Back to her chamber, he assumed, resting before tomorrow's journey.
Sure enough, when he'd managed to roll out of bed the following morning and drink enough to dispel his lingering hangover, he found Melitta at breakfast in the common room downstairs, wearing her breastplate and a grim expression.
"Good morning, my lady," he wished her warmly.
Melitta eyed him over her cup, drinking deeply before she replied, "No morning is good when the day must end in killing a unicorn."
George spat out a mouthful of water. "You're killing a unicorn? But those things are purity itself. Killing one would condemn you to hell for eternity. Don't do it, my lady, I beg you."
Melitta slammed her cup down on the table. "I never said I'd do it. You did, though. You promised the priest that you'd kill his unicorn. And virgin or not, I won't help you do it. You're on your own for this one." She rose and made to leave.
If she left, he stood no chance against the dragon. Ever.
George grasped her wrist. "My lady – Melitta – please. Don't go. I need you."
Melitta wrenched free. "I'm not killing a unicorn, George."
Possibilities spiralled through his mind. Slowly, he began, "What if we don't have to? What if we just trapped it, like we did with the boar?"
Melitta snorted. "Like that worked. Or don't you remember being run out of town without our things? And I killed the beast, in case you've forgotten."
George waved away her worries. "This isn't the same thing. I'll speak to the priest before we set out. I know all he needs is to get the beast away from the building site, so it's safe to build the abbey. If we trap it, then he can do what he likes with it. We can earn our money and be on our way to fight something more deserving of death, like a dragon."
He'd sparked her interest, he knew, but he wasn't sure if it was enough.
"Imagine the tales they'll tell about us if we not only killed a dozen giants, but captured a unicorn, too," George added.
"Six, not a dozen," Melitta replied. "And you only killed two of them."
"But a unicorn…" he wheedled. "Have you ever seen a unicorn?"
She sighed. "No. If I hadn't seen one in the priest's memories yesterday, I still wouldn't believe the creature exists. And I certainly couldn't bring myself to kill one."
"A lady who has killed a dozen with one blow, and a wild boar that was terrorising a town, and four giants…my lady, if you decide something must die, may God help anyone who stands in your way." George meant every word, but he wasn't sure Melitta believed him.
A slight smile curved at her lips. "Flatterer. You make me sound so frightening, yet I suspect I will be little more than virgin bait for the beast, if anything."
George placed his hand over his heart. "I swear by my own life that I find you terrifying, my lady."
She seemed to measure him with her eyes for a long moment, before she gave a nod. He hoped he had passed her inspection. "You promised to put your magic potion on my new boots," she said.
He bowed his head. "Indeed I did. In all the excitement last night, I forgot. I will remedy that tonight, if you allow me to."
"Before we must face the unicorn, or after?"
"Before, of course. When you meet your first unicorn, you must wear your best boots."
Melitta laughed. "I must be mad, listening to you. And yet, your words have untold power. My first unicorn. I like the sound of that too much to refuse. We will go with this priest, see his unicorn, and if he still insists the beast must be killed…then we will decline the task and be on our way."
She made it sound so easy. Yet for her, it would be, George was sure of it. He swallowed his last mouthful of breakfast. "We ride."
An hour later, ride they did – but without the priest, who had claimed illness after drinking too much the previous night. He gave them directions to the lake campsite and promised he would catch up to them. Melitta waited until she was out of his earshot before expressing her doubts that he'd arrive before they'd dealt with the beast, and George had to agree.
Still, he rode to battle alongside a veritable goddess of war whose eager enthusiasm was more contagious than any plague. Oh, but what a pleasurable plague. George felt his own courage rising every time he glanced at her.
Yes, it was his courage. Nothing else, for nothing could happen between them. Fairytales were for knights and ladies and royalty. Shoemakers were never the hero who won the heart of a fair lady. One day some prince would ask for her hand and she would be someone else's lady. Never his.
George knew his place, and counted himself fortunate that today it was at her side. What more could he ask for, except victory?