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Indigo
Damn.
With a pounding headache, I opened my eyes to a steaming pile of horse dung that had landed about a foot from my face. A handful of flies buzzed around it, and from the smell of things, it was pretty fresh.
“What the—?” I jerked upright from where I’d been lying face-first in the dirt, only to wince and clasp the back of my head as a shock of pain spiked through my scalp. “Motherfucker.” That really hurt.
Finding the source of the annoying throb with my fingers, I gently prodded the tender flesh before pulling my hand back around to the front so I could see the blood I’d just touched.
Someone had clobbered me good.
But who?
Still dazed and disoriented and wondering where the hell I was, I glanced around to find myself in a narrow passage between wood-built structures. Nothing occupied the alleyway with me except for a broken wagon without any wheels, an empty wicker basket lying on its side among other random odds and ends scattered about, and a mangy black cat curled up and napping against one wall. The cat opened one eye as if to check on me, only to close it again when it found me alive and sitting up.
“I don’t suppose you saw who hit me, hmm?” I asked.
The cat kept sleeping.
“Yeah, I didn’t figure. Unless you’re the culprit who bashed my skull in, are you, kitten?” I’d only been joking, of course. But when the cat’s eyes sprang open, and it lifted its head as if appalled by the accusation, I paused.
But had it just understood me?
No. Certainly not.
I tipped my head to the side curiously, though, and the cat mirrored my move, tilting its face at the same angle.
“Right,” I murmured on a sage nod. “You’d never do anything so nefarious and inconsiderate. Please forgive my rude speculation.”
The cat sniffed as if it were sneezing—or snorting indignantly over my apology—then it laid its head back down and closed its eyes again. When it began to purr, I decided I had been pardoned.
I kept watching it sleep, though, wondering...
“Indy?”
Spinning toward the voice, I sucked in a breath when that caused more pain, and I scowled at the source of it.
Nicolette.
Well, that explained the head wound.
Wherever the Queen of Far Shore went, trouble typically followed.
“Oh my Lord, Indigo! Are you okay?” She rushed toward me, only for someone else to dart after her.
“Nic, stop! Don’t just—”
Her husband gave up the chase, only to sigh and fling his hands in the air. Then, setting them on his hips, he peered past her and shared a disgruntled glance with me, silently asking if she would ever in her life exercise caution or safety.
I shook my head, letting him know, no, I didn’t think she would. But the movement caused a fresh twinge of pure misery to echo through my brain.
“Damn, that hurts.” I gnashed my teeth as I clasped the injury again, as if to tuck all the pain and blood back inside my head.
“My God, you’re bleeding.” Nicolette landed on her knees beside me, getting the skirts of her royal
robes all grimy.
I cringed, remembering the pile of shit nearby and had to check to make sure she hadn’t landed in it. But I have no idea why I even bothered to worry. No matter how much the world fell apart around her, Nicolette always managed to avoid disaster herself. And she’d missed the heap of dung this time too.
