“I suppose,” the prince allowed, still glancing uneasily at the carriage.
I didn’t blame him. It sounded as if someone was struggling to break free, as if they’d been bound and gagged and were desperately attempting to escape.
“Well…” The king slapped his hands onto his knees and let out a satisfied sigh. “My thanks for the food and drink and pleasant respite, but I must be on my way now.”
He stood and turned toward the carriage, in a rush to escape.
As he opened the door, however, his bodyguard who was supposedly soft in the head began to hum. His voice was raspy and chopped as if he didn’t use his vocal cords often, but the tune was unmistakably “Singin’ in the Rain.”
“What the hell?” I exploded, leaping forward to grab the king’s shoulder and yank him back out of the way from the carriage’s open doorway.
“Indy!” Olivander shouted in horror, while the King of Lowden tripped backward, over his stumbling feet, and landed on his ass in the dirt with an angry shout.
A scuffle ensued behind me, but I was too busy peering across the seat at the tongue-less bodyguard. He was doing nothing to exit the carriage, just sitting on the cushion with his hands placidly in his lap, shifting around as if in urgent need to get more comfortable. Or maybe he had to relieve his bladder.
Jesus. The man really was soft in the head.
His humming picked up volume though. I shook my head, confused. Why was he humming that song? My song.
“How do you know that song?” I demanded. But the guard paid no attention to me. He didn’t even look my way.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the king demanded from behind me to someone else. “Unhand me.”
I glanced back to find that half of his soldiers had rushed forward to protect him, so all of Olivander’s men hurried forward to intercede. As the High Cliff soldiers pinned down the Lowden soldiers with ease, a slew of blades at their necks, Olivander grabbed Tomrick to hold him back when he tried to charge me.
“I certainly hope you know what you’re doing, Indy?” He grunted when the king struggled against him and elbowed him in the gut to break free. “Because my father will have my head—literally—if this turns out badly.”
“Something’s wrong,” I announced, frowning around at the scene.
“No shit’s something’s wrong!” Vander shouted. “We just accosted the King of fucking Lowden. And I have no idea why.”
“You’ll both hang for this,” Tomrick growled, glaring at me as he struggled fruitlessly against Olivander. “Starting with you, you damned High Clifter piece of shit. Step away from my carriage.”
Ignoring him, I settled my gaze on the king’s remaining horsemen who hadn’t moved or even dismounted when the short skirmish had started. I pointed and commanded the High Cliff soldiers who weren’t restraining any Lowden guards to apprehend the rest.
Three surged forward, but when they went to grab the reins away from the Lowden riders, their hands went right through their horses.
“Son of a bitch!” Olivander hissed. “They’re just illusions.”
“Illusions,” I breathed in understanding as I turned back to the mute bodyguard still inside the carriage. “Oh my God.”
I reached in across the seat. The King of Lowden shouted foul warnings for me to stop, but I kept going, steadily crawling forward until I had my hand wrapped around the guard’s bicep. The fit was all wrong; that was definitely not metal armor I was gripping.
“It’s a glamour,” I realized, and I tugged him out of the carriage, none too gently.
He did nothing to catch himself, just plopped to the ground in a heap and a very feminine cry of pain.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, my heart rate thumping hard in my chest. Who the hell was this?
Kneeling next to the bodyguard, I grabbed a handful of dirt and began smearing it over him, cutting away the glamour with one of the elements.
“What in the world?” Olivander breathed as I began to reveal a small woman one handful of dirt at a time. “Who is she?”
She was wrapped up in a damn rug, her arms trapped inside so she was incapable of moving. Not that she would’ve moved much anyway. Her face, neck, and bare shoulders were covered in bruises and cuts galore. And her head had been shaved bald. When she looked up at me with brown, tear-stained eyes, however, I knew exactly who she was.
“Quilla,” I choked out, sobbing in relief.
Chapter 40
Quilla
Indigo was alive. I could barely believe it.
I thought I had heard his voice inside the carriage, but I’d told myself I was crazy. King Ignatius had said he was dead. Or at least he’d heavily implied it.
But then someone introduced him by name just outside the door, and I knew I had to let him know I was trapped in here somehow.
With my tongue ruined, I doubt I’d ever be able to enunciate a recognizable word again. But I could still hum. Thank God I could still hum.
And thank God he was still alive. He looked even more amazing than I remembered him. Except a fresh, square-shaped wound now sat where his love mark had been.
“My empress,” he rasped, tears pricking his eyes as his gaze moved over me. “My God. What did they do to you?” His fingers trembled as they gently cupped my face, though I still winced when they brushed over the sore bruises on my bald scalp.
He winced too. “Sorry. But don’t fret. I’ll make it all better. I swear.” His lips pressed sweetly to mine, and I closed my eyes, crying because he could still stomach to touch me after the mess I’d become.
How could anyone love such a monster?
When I began to feel better from the inside out, my eyes shot open. Broken bones in my wrists and ankles healed, and my cracked ribs knitted themselves back together so I could immediately breathe better.
After weeks of torture, I’d completely forgotten how easily he could correct everything with a single kiss. Eyes fluttering open as he slowly pulled away, I opened my mouth and tried using my tongue first.
“Thank you,” I said, relieved I could finally talk again.
Grinning his famous Indigo-grin, he stroked my cheek with his knuckles. “Trust me, it was my pleasure.”
A sob of pure joy caught in my chest. “Oh my God, Indy. You’re still alive! I can’t—” It was more joy than I could express. Surging forward, I burrowed close and kissed him again.
“So are you,” he managed to answer between small breaks of air. “I could only hope, but I had no idea.”
Laughing through tears of delight and bone-weary relief, I asked, “Did my hair grow back too?” If my hands weren’t still pinned to my sides inside this damn rug, I would’ve lifted one to check for myself.
The sympathy in his gaze told me the answer before he spoke. “No, my love,” he murmured, only to smile sadly and stroke his fingers over the stubble there. “But the good news is you look just as beautiful bald as you do with a long golden mane down to your knees. Here.” When he realized I was struggling to get my arms free, he produced a dagger to cut me out, only to stop hacking through it when he realized I was naked underneath.