Every few minutes, I’d tap my temple, making it crackle to see if it was still there.
And cursing every time it was.
Quilla should be gone by now. Out of the Outer Realms entirely, and the mark should be gone with her. Why the hell was she still here?
Was she okay? Hurt?
Panic clawed up my throat, worried about all the what-ifs.
The mark would warn me if she was in excessive trouble. I was too far away from her to catch most of her emotions, but I’d be alerted immediately if she was experiencing something extreme. And I hadn’t been alerted, so whatever she was still doing here in the Outer Realms, it wasn’t life-or-death severe yet.
At least I could be comforted by that.
I’d just paused next to a large bush that hid me and the horse well enough to wait on the others to catch up a little when an arrow whizzed past my face and embedded itself into the trunk of the tree next to me.
“Shit!” I crouched low over the mare’s neck and kicked her flank, getting her to shoot forward. But I didn’t get far. A line of soldiers stepped out of the trees in front of me, blocking my path.
Skidding to a stop, I turned the horse around, only to realize there were more.
They’d found me, and they were closing in. The men bore bows, and every single one of them had an arrow nocked and pulled back, aimed at my heart.
Surrounded by archers was far different than being surrounded by men with basically any other weapon. I could handle hand-to-hand combat all day long. But having over a dozen projectiles lobbed at my head would be another matter entirely.
I stopped and lifted my hands, letting them think I was surrendering.
I wasn’t even close to being done fighting, but I did know how to hedge my bets. I’d have to get them in closer and force them to put aside the bows for something with sharper edges. And then we’d have us a fine ol’ party.
“Off the horse,” one of them called.
Used to dismounting now without the use of my hands—since I’d gone so long having them shackled together—I kept my arms up and swung one leg over the saddle before hopping to the ground. I glanced at my forearms, glad the leather wrist guards were in place. They’d have no idea I still had a sword and shield full of electricity hidden in my wrist cuffs until it was too late.
“On your knees,” came another order, as the men took a step toward me in unison. In very synchronized unison. It was then I realized how they were dressed. Decked out in full metal armor, they weren’t at all clothed like the mob of villagers who’d been with Axel during Quilla’s first perimeter trap breach the day before.
Dammit, why hadn’t I realized that from the beginning?
If these were different men, then where the hell was the first posse who’d run from Holly’s dragon? These trained warriors were dressed and looked like damn palace guards. But High Cliff palace guards typically only traveled with—
Royalty.
Which would mean, someone royal was near.
“What do we have here?” A cultured male voice asked, causing a row of guards to separate and allow their leader to enter the ring in order to approach me.
I recognized the voice, and relief flooded me as I watched the crown prince of High Cliff approach.
“My lord,” I gushed, falling to one knee and bowing my head loyally as I lowered my raised hands so I could fist one and press it to my heart, swearing my allegiance.
The prince jerked to a surprised halt. “Indy?”
I glanced up and sent him a rueful grin. “Hey, Erick.”
Erick blinked once, then turned to the guard closest to him. “What the hell is this?” he demanded as he motioned to me.
“It—it’s the Graykey man we caught,” the soldier answered a bit uncertainly, seemingly confused by his prince’s obvious ire.
Erick snorted in his face. “Graykey man, my ass. He’s no more Graykey than I am.”
The soldier seemed even more confused. “My lord?”
“Are you seriously telling me that I was woken from a dead sleep in the middle of the night—where I was tucked up against a very warm and comfortable wife, I might add—with an urgent message from these Teller motherfuckers saying to come with the utmost haste because they were about to apprehend a blood-born Graykey, only for me to get here and find this?” When Erick motioned toward me again, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, gentlemen,” he dryly announced. “You just caught Indigo Moast, one of the greatest warriors the kingdom of High Cliff has ever had.”
The guards gaped at me, before one mumbled, “You mean, he’s a High Clifter?”
Erick closed his eyes briefly and groaned. “Do you see the tattoo on his temple and not his forearm? Jesus, yes, he’s a High Clifter.”
I silently pointed to the love mark on the side of my head, which should’ve been noticeable way before now, and then I held out my arms, exposing both forearms that were free of any marks.
“And not only that,” Erick fumed. “But he's a very good friend of mine.”
“But…” Another guard shook his head as if confused. “But he ran from us, my lord. We thought—we were sure he was—”
“Did he begin to run from you before or after you took up chase after him?” Erick asked darkly. “Because I’ll tell you right now, if a mob of men with pitchforks and shouts of righteous indignation suddenly took up chase after me, I’d damn well run too.” Then he shook his head with disgust and muttered, “Idiots,” under his breath before snapping, “Indy,” as he glared my way. “Get off your fucking knees and haul your ass over here.”
I grinned. “Yes, my lord.”
I rose and started toward him. He shook his head as if disgusted with me too, only to open his arms and pull me into a full-body embrace. “Christ, it’s good to see you, my friend.”
“You too as well, Erick.”
Patting my back, he pulled away, finally grinning as he looked me over. “I swear, my little brother took all the best soldiers with him when he and Allera headed up to Donnelly, the little shit.”
I glanced toward the very soldiers he was belittling still standing around him. “Maybe that’s because Urban knows how to inspire loyalty and hard work from his knights, whereas King Ignatius…” Clearing my throat discreetly, I finished with a mumbled, “Does not.”
Erick lifted his eyebrows at the slur against his father. “Not that I entirely disagree, mind you, but…” He gave a low whistle. “Those are some mighty strong words to say against your sovereign, Moast. Might I suggest you guard your tongue so no one can accuse you of treason?”
I merely shrugged. “Ignatius hasn’t been my king in years, Erick. I serve another now.”
“True.” Erick nodded in agreement. “In fact, the last message I received from my sister in Donnelly said you’d left Urban’s army as well and had decided to lead your own warriors for her sister-in-law Nicolette in Far Shore.” His brow furrowed quizzically. “But this is not Far Shore either.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “So seriously, what the hell are you doing down here, Indigo?”
“I got a sense of my true love,” I started with a proud grin. “So I left my post with Nicolette to follow my mark here, and—well…” I shrugged helplessly. “You know how it goes.”