by Linda Kage
“This again? Really? How many times are you and your aunt going to tamper with my belongings?”
“As many times as it takes to find everything you’re hiding.”
“What makes you think I’m hiding anything?”
“Maybe because of the fact that you have a locked book that you refuse to open and show us what’s inside.”
“I never said I refused to open it.”
She stopped pawing through my things and looked up.
I smiled. “You just haven’t asked in the right way yet.”
With a growl, she dropped my shaving kit and savagely grabbed a handful of my hair. “Listen here, asshole. You can act like this is some game all you like—”
“I don’t see it as a game,” I promised, my voice going low as I gazed into her eyes. I’d never been this close to them before. They were stunning. “Whoa. You have little golden flecks in the irises of your brown eyes; did you know that?”
The breath left her lungs. “What?”
“They’re really pretty,” I swore. “But I think I like the dark brown ring around them more. It fades in slowly toward the pupil. It’s like a piece of artwork. And what is that?” I leaned a centimeter closer, squinting as I did. “Is that a single blue dot among the gold and brown in there? It is.” I shook my head in wonder. “So incredible.”
“Stop looking at my eyes,” she hissed, except she didn’t move away like she should, since that would be the most effective way to keep me from seeing what she claimed she didn’t want me to see. She simply stared back into my eyes as heartily as I was staring into hers. Which made me think she really did like me looking at her.
Anticipation roared through her emotion, and it tasted like sweet nectar on my mark.
I licked my lips and leaned toward her. “I think I’d rather die than stop looking at your eyes.”
Her jaw hardened as if she hated what I said, and the grip she had in my hair tightened threateningly. But the eagerness I experienced through the mark spoke otherwise. She wanted this just as much as I did.
“I didn’t get a chance to really taste you when you saved me,” I murmured, my face tipping toward hers, our cheeks almost touching. “I really think we should remedy that.”
“I don’t,” she countered. But she stayed where she was, and her breath quickened.
“Quilla.” I groaned and pressed my brow to hers until our mouths aligned and a single breath separated us.
She made a needy, hungry sound deep in her throat. I closed my eyes and leaned in.
But her lips never touched mine.
“What’s this?”
Her fingers landed on the leather strap around my throat. She must’ve seen the truth there in the flash of surprise as I opened my lashes, because suddenly, she tugged at the thin leather rope, pulling a spear-shaped pendant out from under my tunic and ripping it right off my neck.
“Wait, no!” I grasped her wrist, stopping her.
My heart beat hard in my chest as her gaze met mine. I tried to apologize with my expression, but her features only hardened. She tugged on her hand, and I regretfully loosened my grip, letting her slip free.
She scurried backward; the necklace clutched in her grasp.
I said nothing as the dread sank deep.
Words couldn’t fix what she was about to read.
Chapter 14
Quilla
One thing I could not deny about the High Clifter was how neat his penmanship looked, how easy and detailed his notes read, and how absolutely organized his journal was.
The moment I settled myself in a comfortable spot across the campfire from him, my stomach swirled with excitement. This pendant was the key; I just knew it.
I bit my lip and squinted at the leather strips holding the book closed. No matter how I’d tried to undo the tangle of knots binding them together or how hard I tugged at them, they only became more impossible to loosen. Not even a knife’s blade had been able to break the strips. Ergo, they must be spelled with some kind of magic.
With the necklace’s pendant gripped in one hand, I randomly slotted it into the knot and immediately heard it click open as the leather strips fell away from the book, landing in my lap as if relieved they didn’t have to hug the book so persistently anymore.
I lifted my gaze to send the man a superior glance, but he’d bowed his head and was scrubbing his hands over his face as if agitated.
Humph. Sore loser.
Upon opening the front, the first thing I came across was a collapsed sheet of folded parchment that had been pasted to the inside of the cover. I unfolded it carefully and found a map of the Outer Realms that more than doubled the entire size of the book. As I scanned through the eight kingdoms that made up our world, I found places he’d marked that I’d never even heard of before, places probably only the locals in that area knew the name of.
Thinking this might come in handy someday, I tore the map from the book, glancing up when I heard a choked sound of protest sputter from the other side of the camp. The High Clifter gaped at me as if I’d just stabbed him through the heart. Rolling my eyes, I refolded the map and tucked it into a side pouch of my own pack. He really did hold his book in high regard, didn’t he?
“That…” He shook his head, eyes full of torment. “That was just cruel.”
I shrugged and opened the first page. The graphed genealogy I found there made my eyebrows spike. It wasn’t for House Moast that he claimed to belong to, though. No, it was a Graykey family tree.
Interesting.
I glanced at him again. But he had his eyes closed this time. With his head tipped back, he rested it against the tree behind him and clasped his hands tightly in his lap. One might confuse him for praying, save for how pale he was as he tapped his toe anxiously against the ground.
I returned my attention to the family tree, finding my own name almost immediately. He even knew which year I’d been born. When I found an asterisk mark beside it, I frowned, curious to know what that meant. Discovering more similar marks beside the names Taika, Melaina, Questa, Quailen, and a couple more, however, I began to get a suspicion over what they stood for.
I turned the page, and my stomach plummeted.
He’d listed each family member by name and written everything he’d learned about them, including birth year, what atrocities they’d done in their lifetime—names of individuals they had murdered, items they’d stolen, people they’d tricked—and how they had died.
Then I came to a page full of another list of names. This list was titled Unknowns, and it had the asterisk mark next to it, making me think it was connected to the asterisks next to the names on the family tree.
The first name on the list was Qualmer, my first cousin and Melaina’s second son—the one she had stabbed in the eye and not taken on our big escape. Apparently, he’d gone missing from everyone’s radar six years ago without a trace at the end of the Great Lowden War. Under that bit of news was another indented list of all the people he was accused of killing. When I spotted the names Edgar and Emlett Moast among them, I paused.
Moast, huh?
There was no mention of how they were no doubt related to the man who owned this journal; it merely said the two were High Cliff emissaries who’d been in Lowden in the year three-ten, which was when the tenth reaping had occurred.
I lifted my face, but the High Clifter across the campfire was still restlessly tapping his knee with his eyes closed. A thin trail of sweat swept down his temple. My jaw tensed. And I knew he felt my rising ire because he heaved in a deep breath.
I went back to reading.
Number two on the list was Quo Graykey. I remembered him. He’d been a second cousin—I think—and grandson to Grandpa Obediah’s brother, King Orick. He’d been a direct heir of the Graykey crown. But his name had been marked out with an update written to the side, claiming he’d been found six years ago.
Becoming suspicious, I flipped back to the family tree and discovered that he’d
been marked as dead on that page the very same year he was marked as found on this list.
Only one other person on the list had a line marked through their name—my first cousin, Quart, who’d been Aunt Taiki and Uncle Palmer’s oldest son. He also had a side note saying he’d been found the same year the family tree claimed he died. Everyone else on the list either had a question mark as their death year or parenthesis around the year they went missing.
Realizing what I was looking at, I ran my finger down the list until I found my own name. Digit trembling, I read the notes that had been written about me.
Quilla Graykey. Born in 302. Disappeared in 310. Sibling of Quesen, child of Preston. Abilities: Compels movement and thought from people and things. Update in 323 – New information confirms she attended the Ladies Academy of Warren somewhere between the years 313 to 319 under a false identity, where she shed her magic and passed it off to Yasmin Mandalay-Donnelly, who would become the Queen of Donnelly in 321. Threat level: low.
Threat level: low? Really? He thought I was a low threat, huh?
I shot the author of that passage an icy glare. Oh, I’d show him just how much of a threat I was.
“Nice kill list,” I sneered.
His gaze zipped up, eyes wide, chest heaving.
I pointed at the printed words as I continued to glower at him. “And oh, look. There’s my name. Right there. Number—what am I—eight, is it?”
He released a slow breath. Though he remained calm, I could see all over his face that his nerves were shot to hell. He’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar—or his fist wrapped around a kill list with my name on it—and he knew there was no way to escape the truth. He’d been planning to eliminate his own supposed true love.
Nice.
“It’s not a kill list,” he started quietly.
“Oh, really?” I arched up an eyebrow as if amused, while inside, everything went cold and hard. Sealed tight and shielded away from any pain or feelings. “Then what is it?”
“It’s a list of the remaining Graykeys who—”
“Still need to be eliminated,” I finished, glaring at him for thinking he could pour sugar and pretty words on a pile of shit and try to pass it off as an apple tart. That was bullshit. “In other words, it’s a kill list.”
“Quilla—”
“I’m curious,” I cut in, hating how nice his voice sounded when he said my name. He had no right to speak any words that belonged to me. Not after this. “Did you share this list of remaining Graykeys with your beloved King Ignatius?”
He wrinkled his face with disdain. “Not sure if we can refer to him as my king any longer. I’ve served under three different rulers since leaving High Cliff five years ago.”
“Five years ago, you say? So no one in High Cliff knows about this little update you made about me five years ago, hmm?”
Regret filled his eyes, and something in me that I thought I had guarded tight ached with misery and disappointment.
“I didn’t personally report that to anyone, no,” he answered, “but Queen Yasmin’s announcement that she got her magic from you was very public. I’m sure either of the two children of King Ignatius who were present when she made it reported the information back to him.”
“Right.” My voice was snide and disbelieving. “So you’re saying you have all this information about my family but you aren’t affiliated with the High Cliff warriors who are hunting the last of the Graykeys—the innocent Graykeys who never hurt anyone and just want to live in peace—and killing them. Like—like—” I checked the list to retrieve the two names who’d been marked off and found. “Like Quo and Quart.”
My God. I remembered Quart going fishing with me and Aunt Taiki once. He was quiet and thoughtful and had probably never hurt a soul until the reaping had started. It wasn’t his fault he’d suffered from the bloodlust.
Heartache swelled in my throat.
“I never technically went on a Graykey hunting expedition,” the High Clifter confessed in a low, apologetic voice.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “But you were given the opportunity to, weren’t you?” I pressed.
He refused to look at me. His attention was focused on his hands that he was wringing together between his bent knees. “I was more on the research end of it,” he said. “I discovered the genealogy, names, ages, last known locations. I found what I could about them and learned who was still alive and who wasn’t. But yes, I reported everything back to King Ignatius, until five years ago when I was sent off to Donnelly with the soldiers that accompanied Prince Urban and Princess Allera there.”
“Then why were you still updating your notes after you arrived in Donnelly?” I asked, lifting the book and shaking it. It was a well-known fact Queen Yasmin hadn’t gone evil and exposed her magic until after Prince Urban and Princess—now Queen—Allera had arrived in Donnelly. Ergo, he’d made that note about me after serving a new ruler.
Appearing lost and defeated, my so-called true love gave a helpless, beaten shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. By that point, it was a habit for me to keep my records up to date. And I won’t lie; I do have a personal, vested interest in finding one Graykey and ending his life. So, yes, I still write down everything I learn about every member because you never know what might turn out to be vital information someday.”
“Let me guess,” I said, examining the page again and focusing on the number one person on his kill list. “Your vendetta’s against Qualmer?” When he shifted uncomfortably without answering, I added, “For killing—what were their names—Emlett and Edgar?”
He visibly winced, but quietly explained, “They were my parents.”
“He’s Melaina’s son,” I said. “Qualmer. Did you know that?”
Of course, he knew that. He had the entire family tree, five generations back, right here.
“I’m aware,” he said, nodding solemnly.
“And you never thought to mention this fact to us?”
“What fact? That I would literally slaughter your cousin if he happened to show up at camp for a mother-son meet and greet someday? Yeah, I didn’t think I should mention that, no.”
I shook my head and snorted. “And you wonder why we keep you chained.”
“Hey.” Anger contorted his features as he surged to his feet. Alarm raced through me. What did he think he was—
Oh shit.
He stormed forward, and my first instinct was to retreat. But I pulled my daggers, one in each hand, and crossed them threateningly, ready to slice off his head if he came any closer.
My threatening snarl didn’t intimidate him at all, though. If anything, his jaw set with steely determination, and his eyes filled with rage. Stepping right up to me, he voluntarily fit his neck against the blades. All I’d have to do is snap the knives together and he’d be about a foot shorter.
But he knew I wasn’t going to kill him, and I was forced to edge a step back. Then another. Soon, he’d have me backed against a tree, and I would have no way to escape.
Panic crawled up my throat.
He lurched to a halt. “I would never hurt you,” he swore with so much fervor that I swallowed hard. “You’re my blood, my soul, my destiny. I don’t care if you succumbed to bloodlust this very moment and murdered a dozen people, I couldn’t kill you.”
My heart fluttered against my will.
Just a little.
But I pushed the stupid emotion down and tilted up my chin defiantly. “Just admit it,” I growled. “If that mark wasn’t on your face, telling you who I was supposed to be to you, you’d have killed me a dozen times by now, wouldn’t you have?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe.”
I jolted in surprise, not expecting him to so openly admit it. His shoulders slumped. “But it is on my face, so I’m not going to.”
From between clenched teeth, I snapped, “Just go ahead and try. What’re you waiting for?”
Shaking his head, he repeated,
“I’m not going to kill you.”
I snorted. “And you’re still convinced we’re going to have some perfect relationship?”
He laughed softly. “No. There’s no such thing as a perfect relationship. The mark never would’ve paired me with anyone if it’d been looking for that. My mother always told me finding my soulmate would just be the beginning. It will still take a whole lifetime of work and effort to make our relationship work. And I suppose we’ll have to work through more than most. But yes, I’m convinced we will. Or that we at least can.”
“Work through more than most?” I sputtered incredulously. “You’re insane. I’m not working through shit with you. I want nothing to do with you. Your people are trying to indiscriminately murder and capture my—”
He kissed me. The asshole actually had the gall to lean in and press his too-soft lips against mine.
I still held the daggers scissored up against his throat. All I had to do was snap, and it’d be bye-bye, true love.
But my heart gave another stupid shudder. A piercing ache followed, and a part of me I couldn’t seem to control wanted someone to put in the effort. It wanted someone to love me and say words like Indigo had just said. Didn’t matter if he was totally the wrong man for the job, and he was only saying it because his mark was basically forcing him to, his devoted words were nice. So I couldn’t even say he startled me motionless when he sprang the kiss on me. I was still fully capable of cutting him or even just pushing him away. Yet I didn’t.
Because I didn’t want to. His lips contained an addictive pleasure I was incapable of resisting.
He was the idiot who messed it up by separating our mouths and pressing his brow to mine so he could talk some more.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I know my countrymen’s—and my own—philosophy on how to handle the Graykeys is flawed, but you’ve got to admit we can’t just do nothing and let the curse continue. It’d eventually wipe out the entire Outer Realms with the killing sprees and wars it causes. I would’ve thought you’d know more than anyone just how destructive your curse is.”
