“To Mytatyo,” Dray answered. “They’re not rebelling against our king, but they’re not rounding up curse-bearers either.”
“Mytatyo is a long way,” I said.
Dray nodded. “We’d best get started then.”
The softness of a breeze trailed through the trees. Our horses cracked over the terrain, slipping from the river’s edge and into the throngs of the forest. After a few paces, the trees thinned and an expanse of an open field peeked through.
We went toward the field. A million words peppered my thoughts, but I didn’t have the energy to start a discussion. Instead, I let Dray’s steady breath reassure me.
The horses broke through the trees and started down a low hill.
A hint of a voice carried on the wind.
Dray drew the reins back. The horse neighed, its breath huffing in annoyance.
“What’s wrong?” Rylla paused beside us.
“I’m not sure,” Dray answered, peering into the darkness.
Above us on the hills, sparks of torches illuminated the darkness. More and more lit until the crest appeared to be a wave of fire burning right toward us.
I sucked in a gasp. Several people on horseback wore golden armor with the King’s crest pinned to their chests – his Royal Guard.
The soldiers settled three lengths from us. The Guard parted, and another horse trotted from the depths of the haphazard isle, carrying a man adorned in jeweled armor and a heavy crown on his head.
More than the weight of his appearance, was the sudden surprise as uncomfortable pinpricks cascaded down my skin like the legs of a thousand spiders over my limbs.
Curse-bearers recognized curse-bearers. That telltale feeling only meant one thing: The King was cursed. He was one of the very people he hunted down and killed.
“Hello Dray.” His lips split the way a gator’s mouth gapes before clamping around a meal’s neck. “So nice of you to join us for this prisoner’s execution.”
His gaze landed on me.
Chapter Eleven
Dray drew his sword and held it awkwardly around my body in front of him. I chewed my lip and eyed the blockade. Several of the Curse Catchers gathered with the king’s Guard, each wearing a stern expression. At Dray’s draw, they released their own weapons and held them up.
The King laughed. “You dare to raise arms against your King? You know the outcome of that venture better than anyone.”
“I’ve seen my family fall beneath your sword,” Dray spat. “I’ll not see another I care for go the same way.” He wrapped an arm tighter around me. “She’s mine.”
“You forget your place.” The king flicked his fingers and two of his Reapers trotted to the front lines. “I’ll have her head one way or another.”
Dray tensed, the lines of his body stiffening around me. I held a breath, caught between the Reaper at my back and the man ordering my death in front.
Dray sighed. He slipped to the ground.
“Dray?” I asked.
“Stay on the horse.” He glanced at Rylla. “Both of you.”
I twisted my fingers in the reins and the mount shifted unsteadily beneath me.
The two Curse Catchers rushed Dray. I sucked in a gasp as their swords clashed and torch light danced from the silver blades.
I knew I should fear for Dray’s life as the trio turned and twisted to dodge strikes, but a sort of enthralled calm paralyzed me. The Reaper’s muscles tensed before he swung the sword, drawing my eye to the strength in his arms and chest. He ducked a high swing as effortlessly as crouching beneath a hanging branch.
The tendrils of silver embellishments vibrated along Dray’s chest. I wished his powers affected more than silver, so he’d be able to melt his opponents’ swords in a heartbeat. And yet, magic proved a fickle power. A twist in my gut reminded me of everything he’d done with those silver bands. Instead of turning into instruments to torture and pleasure me, they struck at Dray’s adversaries. A thin line of blood swelled from one man’s cheek.
