Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
Hugo’s head swung toward Cally.
Max’s heart froze, his foreboding screaming through his whole body.
“You will drop your rifle,” Hugo shouted up at her, turning sideways, his pistol swinging toward her, too, his other side facing Max, giving Cally a narrower target, a target that included Max, if for any reason her aim faltered and her bullet missed the Evil Prince.
“I reckon I won’t. This here is what folks in these parts call a standoff, Prince Hugo, and I aim to win.”
“You will not shoot,” Hugo said as Cally stepped down the hillside, her rifle always aimed at him, his attention on her, not Max, Hugo falsely protected by his arrogance and belief that Max, a Zalgravian—and a bastard at that—would never dare harm him. “I am royalty.”
“I reckon a varmint is a varmint, no matter how many princely titles he has,” she told him. “I reckon I have as much right as anyone to shoot you dead.” She skirted the wagon on the low, flat rise not forty feet away, her cowgirl boots swishing through the grass. From atop the hill, among the trees by the second wagon, Apollo whinnied, sending Ares racing up the hill past her to join the other horse. “This here is a repeater rifle,” she told the prince. “It can shoot more than one bullet afore I have to reload. I’m accounted a good shot in these parts.”
But Max knew the true danger. She wouldn’t shoot Hugo. She knew what it would mean for Max and his family, and his heart sank. “Save yourself,” he yelled to her, his voice buffeted by the growing wind. The scent of rain grew stronger, the rumble of thunder louder as the storm churned and roiled among the hills at the end of the valley, sending down rain like a dark curtain.
Behind him, the water slowly, surely, crept up the river bank toward the silver trophy.
Not daring to lunge forward for Hugo—Hugo would shoot her by instinct at any fast movement on Max’s part—Max slowly backed up toward the trophy, intending to quietly take his ancestor’s attention from Cally, intending to toss the trophy to her if she came close enough. If lightning hit, if anyone needed to leave this spot, it was her Max wanted to get to safety.
The heel of his boot struck a low rock, making him stumble. Grabbing the trophy as he tried to right himself, he straightened, sending a warning shout to Cally as a whirlwind of dust and dead grass rose around him, presaging the flood that would hit any minute.
Hugo turned toward him at the shout.
Cally leaped forward off the low rise, sprinting toward Max, gravity and self-will driving her fast, her rifle’s aim never leaving Hugo.
The sound of shouts and buggy wheels came from beyond the hilltop. Racing horse hooves thudded nearer.
The wind blew harder, icy cold now, nearly knocking Max over.
Thunder boomed overhead in the clear sky, startling Hugo, Hugo looking up from Max for an instant, then he turned back to Cally, flinching for an instant as he realized she was racing toward him.
A terrible, harsh expression, one of malice and hate, filled his face as his pistol turned toward her, electricity gathering in the air, skittering over Max’s skin, skittering over his body, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The roar of water coming toward him filled the air.
And whether Hugo shot now in this instant, or after Max left, Hugo would kill her—for Max knew this, that damned foreboding was like a freight train hitting him over the head, racing over him down the tracks—and Cally wouldn’t be able to defend herself if she wasn’t prepared to kill Hugo.
“ Down, Cally ,” cried Max with all the love he had for her, his finger lunging for the trigger of his six-shooter, his heart racing, Cally diving toward the ground and rolling head over feet toward him. For honor, he told himself, his hand never hesitating as he fired the shot. For his honor, for his family’s honor, a prayer leaving his lips all in the same instant, asking God and his sisters to forgive him, then lightning struck the trophy cup with a crack the same moment Cally struck his shins, driving him back onto the remnants of the dam, and the freezing floodwaters thrust him away with a heaviness he hadn’t felt on his previous trip, and he knew as he passed out he’d shot Hugo not for honor, but for love.