“Reasons?” I snorted. “A High Cliff knight relentlessly pursuing me? I think I can ascertain for myself why you seek an audience.”
Still barefoot and my hair soaking wet, I charged, leaping off the boulder as I went. The High Clifter blinked, as if stunned and maybe even a little hurt and disappointed by my attack.
Which confused me. Hadn’t we just been talking about how I considered him a foe?
I swung, and he easily—too easily—ducked, swerving to the side. After a minute of fending me off with no weapon, he finally parried one of my attacks by nudging me in the back with his arm, right in the middle of my spine, which caused me to lose my balance and go stumbling forward, straight past him.
“Shit,” he muttered in distress. “Are you okay?”
Was I okay? Hell, no, I wasn’t okay. This guy was kicking my ass, and he wasn’t even fighting back.
As soon as I caught myself, I fumed and whirled back to him, more determined than ever to run him through, once and for all, and be done with this humiliating nonsense.
Tilting his head to the side, as if trying to read the thoughts in my head, he drew his sword slowly, making sure I saw it make an appearance. I got the feeling he was trying not to alarm me, and yet my entire system tightened with panic. I’d never been good at fencing. There was no doubt his skill far outmeasured mine; he’d been besting me for the last five minutes without even using his damn blade. I’d be dead in a nanosecond if he decided to fight back. But that wasn’t going to stop me from dueling until the last breath of air left my lungs.
So I rushed him, and he lifted his sword, but not to swing. Only using it as a shield, he blocked my every advance, merely defending himself, not once attacking, and he didn’t even sound out of breath as he began a conversation with me.
“If you want to get technical, I’m a Far Shore knight at the moment, you know—not a High Cliff one. I’m commanding the queen’s army for her. And before that, I was a Donnelley bodyguard. But I guess that’s neither here nor there, as you’re right, I did originate from High Cliff. What gave me away?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, maybe the fact that you’re trying to kill me,” I seethed.
“Kill you?” He laughed. “What in God’s name gave you that idea?”
Damn him. His blasé attitude only enraged me further. Men who hunted you down in order to wipe you out of existence should not smile so charmingly and look so damned happy about their bloody, murderous quest! This was no laughing matter. It was my life on the line.
And yet when I growled out my livid feelings and swung with all my strength, the bastard chuckled again and lifted his blade to keep me from beheading him. I gritted my teeth and kept pressing my sword forward, its steel only inches from his throat, but his sword successfully thwarted my victory.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Riddle me this, my lady, but if I were attempting to kill you, then why am I the one on the defense right now? In all reality, I believe you’re the one trying to kill me.”
“Don’t play stupid,” I snarled, finally relenting and backing off so I could consider him from a fresh perspective and hopefully discover his weak points. “You’re not going to convince me that you’re not here to end me.”
“I’m so very confused,” he confessed, truly shocked by my admission as he glanced around the forest as if trying to make sense of my words. “Why do you think I want to end you?”
There, I realized. Distracting him with conversation was his softness.
He turned back to me, his blue eyes glittering with promise. “I would die before hurting you.”
“Lies!” I sneered. “Why else would you—a High Cliff warrior trained enough to rise to the commander of the Far Shore army—be tracking me down?”
His cheeks flushed as if the question embarrassed him. But then he said, “Well, if you’d lower your weapon for five seconds and just let me talk, I’d gladly—”
“Never,” I snarled and attacked again. “High Clifters don’t just talk to Graykeys; they only murder them!”
He blinked stupidly before repeating, “Graykey?”
I swung, and he distractedly deflected the blow as if it were instinct for him to block me. Growling my frustrations, I blew the hair out of my face and cried, “Just stop acting already. I know what you are and why you’re after me. There’s no other reason—”
“But I’m not—” He squinted at me, then shook his head. “Are you saying you’re a—” Suddenly, his face went stark white. “Oh, holy shit,” he whispered as absolute dread clouded his features. “You can’t be.”
His sword suddenly flashed forward and clanged against mine. When mine went sailing off, leaving me weaponless, I blinked, not prepared for him to unarm me so easily.
Dammit. That wasn’t fair at all.
Then he dropped his own blade and snagged my wrist.
I gasped at the contact. He was so fast, though; I didn’t even have time to struggle before he drew me forward and turned my hand over, palm facing up, so he could reveal the underside of my forearm.
My tattoo stood out stark and distinct against the paleness of my flesh. There was no denying its existence.
I bore the mark.
I was a Graykey.
“No,” he rasped, his mouth falling open and eyes widening with horror.
He dropped my arm as if I were diseased—or cursed—and then he tripped backward away from me, his gaze lifting to my face as if I’d betrayed him in the most forbidden and sacrilegious way possible.
“But you can’t be,” he repeated, shaking his head insistently. “How is this possible?”
Something wasn’t right here. If he hadn’t known I was a Graykey—and he clearly hadn’t—then why had he been pursuing me so persistently?
Now wasn’t the time to question it, though. I’d caught him off guard completely by my revelation; this was the best chance I had to defeat him.
Surging forward and striking like a cobra, I grasped his shoulders and simultaneously hiked my knee up, catching him right between the legs.
He sucked in a breath, froze for half a breath as he clutched himself, then he toppled to the side, wincing as he landed on his shoulder in the dirt.
“There’s the money shot,” he gasped, his face contorting in pain as he curled into a ball and tried to look up at me as he cringed. “Well done, my lady.”
“Thank you.” I nodded over his praise before swinging out and knocking the blunt edge of my sword’s hilt against the top of his head.
He grunted before falling unconscious, shoulder first to the ground on his side, where his body went limp and half his face slammed ungracefully into the dirt.
“Damn,” I panted out, bending at the waist to rest my hands on my knees.
Finally. Thank God that was over.
But what the hell was I supposed to do with him now? I blinked at the man sprawled before me, his back facing me, and a new fear clutched my gut.
I couldn’t just let him live. He’d been able to track me for a solid week, and it didn’t matter what disguise I wore; he’d been able to find me again every time. That meant he could in the future, too. If I didn’t kill him now, he could always pursue me, which also meant I’d have no peace, no sense of security, no rest. I’d just be constantly running. More so than I did now.