Chapter 2 #2
“Oh, but it did.” The shifter sounded supremely confident in his answer.
It was the sort of confidence that came either from vast experience—and looking at this man, who couldn’t be more than his mid-twenties, his experience couldn’t be that vast—or it came from an elevated position of birth.
There was something about the aristocracy, Deyvid had found, that allowed them to give off the impression that they had been born infallible.
Luckily for him, that wasn’t an impression that he fell prey to. “Clearly, you don’t know everything.”
The shifter grinned. “I know more than you think I do,” he said and took a step forward. He flared his nostrils as he breathed in, and Deyvid found himself transfixed by the light at the back of the man’s eyes, a glow that made him look like any other creature, peering out of the woods.
“Ordinarily, I would just think you were a liar,” the shifter continued.
“A mage who didn’t want to admit it for some reason, or someone in possession of some very powerful protective spells even if you didn’t come up with them on your own.
But no …” He breathed in deep again. “You smell like marlroot.”
Deyvid kept his face serene, but inside he was cursing. “I don’t believe there’s any law against consumption of marlroot.”
“You see, that’s the thing, though,” the shifter drawled, putting his hands on his hips.
It was a provocative posture, particularly given the fact that he was completely nude.
Deyvid did his best not to let his eyes follow the movement down.
“Marlroot’s not something that you eat. It’s generally considered inedible, thanks to its incredible bitterness and likelihood of causing intestinal upsets.
The only uses for it are either as a purgative, to help you get rid of parasites and poison, or as a dye.
“And you—” He took another step closer, lifting up a hand.
Deyvid shied back, but the man just wiped the pad of his thumb beneath his own right eye.
“You have the look of someone who used marlroot to color your skin tone and hair, which creates a realistic-enough color, but you’d have done better to vary the shades.
Plus, there’s just a little bit of color missing right around your eyes.
” He grinned fiercely. “I wonder what color I would see if I looked in your ears, or on the bottoms of your feet, or between your toes. Or”—his grin got a bit sharper—“perhaps if I spread your thighs—”
Deyvid pulled a dagger, threw it, and immediately followed it up with the second one. The shifter knew what he was. I have to get out of here. But the shifter batted the daggers out of the air like they were nothing—they didn’t even come close to connecting.
Deyvid turned to dive back into the river, but strong arms clamped around his body and lifted his feet off the ground.
He wasn’t a small man, not by a long shot, but this shifter, whoever he was, had several inches and at least forty pounds on him.
Still, he jerked his foot up and back, trying to connect with the man’s unfortunately bare testicles, but his leg was trapped between strong thighs before it could connect.
“Ah, ah, ah,” the shifter tutted in his ear. “None of that. There’s no cause for violence between us.”
“Let me go,” Deyvid said through gritted teeth.
“I can’t do that,” the shifter replied. “You know I can’t.”
“I know nothing of the sort. I’m solving a problem for your people,” Deyvid spat. “Just let me do it and leave me be.”
“I can’t do that either,” the shifter said. “I’m afraid you’re too interesting to release back into the wild.”
Interesting. That was a dangerous word. Deyvid slammed his head backward as hard as he could, and this time he connected.
The shifter, startled, dropped him as his hands flew to his nose, which was gushing blood.
Before he could charge back in, Deyvid pulled another knife.
The light of panic entered the shifter’s eyes as he saw Deyvid press the edge of the blade to his own neck.
“Stop,” he said, one hand stretching out in supplication. “There’s no need for that.” His voice was thick with blood but earnest too. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You hunted me down,” Deyvid snapped, anger and fear tearing at him in equal turns. “You chased me up a river. You made me face you. You threatened me with—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” The shifter tilted his head and smiled winningly. “All I did was tell you who you are. Or rather, what. You’re the one who took it as a threat, not me. That’s certainly not how I meant it.”
The little bit of hope Deyvid had left about his cover identity died. “You know what I am?”
“I can guess,” the shifter said somberly. Now that his nose was no longer bleeding, he shook his soiled hand, drops of blood spattering across the fallen leaves and loam. “High Harrier.”
Deyvid hadn’t heard those words come out of another person’s mouth for …
oh, it was years now. He’d barely wanted to think them himself.
Ten long years of mercenary work across the southern half of the continent, ten years away from his people, never catching more than a glimpse of any clansman and never one of the Windwests, never one of his own family.
Ten years of careful isolation, hiding his past as best he could, and in seconds, mere seconds, this man had seen right through him.
Curiosity began to gnaw at him. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Put that blade down and I’ll tell you,” the shifter said with a winsome smile.
After a second, Deyvid dropped his arm. He hadn’t wanted to threaten that anyway. Killing himself now would be next to useless. As long as he wasn’t about to be thrown in a dungeon, he might as well play this out a bit. After all, his odds of escaping could only go up.
“Good man.” The shifter placed a hand in the center of his chest. “You have the pleasure of meeting His Highness Prince Petur Alloui, Chief of the Queen’s Guard, Premier Defender of the Realm.” His grin was somewhere between self-deprecating and lascivious. “I’m sure it’s quite an honor for you.”
All of that, hmm? No wonder he was aware of what a High Harrier was. He’d have to be well educated to even know about people like Deyvid. “It’s good to know your name,” Deyvid said formally.
The shifter brightened … no, Petur brightened. He wasn’t a traditionally attractive man, his face too angular, his chin too strong. But there was something about him when he smiled, something undeniably alluring. The nudity didn’t hurt either. “I’d be very gratified to know your name,” he said.
“I’m sure you would,” Deyvid replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Or you could just tell me,” Petur prodded.
“Hmm. What will you give me for my name?”
His opponent grinned as they settled into a negotiation. “I’ll give you a dry blanket and a warm fire.”
Deyvid shook his head. “Not good enough. I could find those on my own.”
“Not soon, you can’t,” Petur said. “Or haven’t you noticed that I’m not about to let you go?”
“Well, that’s hardly gentlemanly of you,” Deyvid objected mildly.
“I might be a prince, but my sister would be the first to tell you that I’m no gentleman,” Petur replied. “What about a warm blanket, a fire, and a hot meal?”
“Getting better,” Deyvid acknowledged. “But we’re not there yet.”
“Well, I can’t just call you Silver like the villagers of Veshay do,” Petur said. “Or rather, I could, but I like to think I’m better at negotiating than a bunch of peasants. I want your real name.”
“Well, then, offer me something real,” Deyvid said, dropping the act. “Creature comforts aren’t enough. If you want me to come with you, I need to know I have a way out.”
He was surprised when Petur nodded. “I can respect that,” the prince said.
“Very well. A warm blanket, a fire, a hot meal, and my personal assurance that neither I nor anyone of my troop will seek to stop you if you choose to leave.
We will not abduct, abscond with, or adjudicate anything to do with you.
“I don’t want to hold you in a place where you think you’re not wanted, but I do want the chance to convince you,” he went on, “that we could work together, far more successfully than either of us work alone.”
Deyvid tried to arch an eyebrow and was pleased to find that he pulled it off this time. “I was perfectly successful before you showed up,” he pointed out. “You’re the one who got in trouble out there, not me.”
“You were successful because you’re immune to magic,” Petur replied, watching carefully as he laid Deyvid’s innermost secret bare.
Deyvid didn’t flinch, but it was a close call.
“Mages are troublesome for shifters, there’s no denying it.
But we can help smooth your way, pay your fees, and finish the hunt with you.
Allow me the honor of eradicating this threat to my own people at your side. Please,” he added.
It was the “please” that really did it for Deyvid.
There was no need for this man to use such pleasantries with him unless he truly meant them.
Petur already had the high ground, and Deyvid was on the defensive.
He could have been as rude as he wanted to, could have taken instead of asking, but he was treating him with respect. Deyvid would respond in kind.
“Very well,” he said, finally sheathing his knife. “You may call me Deyvid Cleareyes.”