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Either he was repulsed by me or dazzled; he couldn't have it both ways.
“Were you disappointed?” he asked softly, his eyes turning watery as if fearing an answer that would haunt him for the rest of his days. I could tell he was holding his breath as he awaited a response. “To learn we’re mates, I mean.”
I sniffed. “You mean, as disappointed as you were?”
His eyes widened. “I wasn’t disappointed,” he rushed to assure me.
I turned away. “Is that why you were rolling around on the ground not but two minutes ago wailing, why, God, why?”
He winced. “That wasn’t what I said.”
“Close enough.” Snorting, I hefted the saddle and tossed it over my horse’s back.
Feeling a presence behind me, I whirled around and gasped when I found him right there, looming. “What’re you—”
“Shock doesn’t equate disappointment.” His gaze bore into mine as he shifted closer. “Learning which house you belonged to threw me off-balance, yes, but I wasn’t disappointed.” He eased forward another step and drew in a deep breath, breathing me in. Then his gaze went drowsy, as if he’d just been drugged with arousal. “I’m still not.”
A heady weight filled my chest and began to rush up my throat. It was pleasure, but a needy, pathetic, dependent kind, and it bubbled toward the surface, almost spilling over before I could stop it and contain it again. I hadn’t realized how badly I’d wanted someone—anyone, really—to say those words to me until they were filling my ears and stirring up old, forgotten wishes.
Needing them to go away, I pulled my dagger and pressed the blade against his throat. “Get back, High Clifter. And don’t ever sneak up behind me like that again, or you’ll find yourself missing a hand. Got it?”
“Damn, you’re violent,” he murmured appreciatively before backing away slowly and lifting his hands in front of him to show his surrender, even as his eyes swirled with excitement. “I can definitely dig that.”
I pierced Melaina with a disgusted glower. “If you insist on keeping this animal, make sure it sits and stays on command, otherwise I’m neutering it.”
“Come, then, darling,” she urged, speaking to the man before she snapped her fingers and whistled, then patted her thigh, beckoning him to her. “Come to Auntie Melaina. Quilla doesn’t wish to play right now.”
“Quilla?” Surprise clogged his tone as the man repeated my name and turned back to me. “You’re Quilla Graykey? Good God, I know all about you.”
“Do you?” I arched an eyebrow and lifted my blade again, threateningly. “Think you know all about me, do you?”
He nodded slowly, then confessed, “I know about every Graykey.”
“So tell me everything, then,” I snarled. “Just who do you think I am?”
“You’re the youngest daughter of Preston,” he started, “who’s the oldest son to Obadiah, which was always a more peaceful branch of the family, but still...” He gave a cold shrug as he added, “Graykey.”
I swallowed bitterly as I listened to the loathing that filled his voice as he said that one word.
“You disappeared from the family home when you were eight, during the tenth reaping,” he went on, “along with a handful of other family members. No bodies were found, but one woman did eventually return a few moon cycles later.” His gaze strayed to Melaina. “A redheaded Graykey wife, whose magical powers were disguises and glamours. But she disappeared again at the beginning of the eleventh reaping, after her husband was killed.” Turning back to me, he murmured, “So now I see how you remained und
etected for so long.”
Preening, Melaina lifted her hand and waved it. “Because of me,” she confirmed with a cheerful brag. “She had the ultimate mistress of disguise and most powerful glamour artist in all the Outer Realms hiding her.”
The High Clifter blinked at her a moment before turning back to me and continuing his report. “You didn’t resurface again until meeting Yasmin of House Mandalay in boarding school about ten years ago, though a Graykey was never officially enrolled there, so you probably went disguised under an alternate identity. There, you transferred all your magical powers over to Yasmin, and you lost the gift of persuasion, which was probably the most unique and powerful ability I’d ever heard of. You could compel anything and anyone to do or think whatever you wanted them to. You could’ve taken control of the entire Outer Realms with your gift; yet you chose to transfer it to some young, vengeful girl, who would go on and use it as a love spell to ensure the future King of Donnelly would marry her before she turned around and wreaked havoc throughout their realm.”
He stared at me with a slight squint, trying to figure me out.
An explanation rose to my tongue as I felt the urge to defend myself.
But honestly, I’d had no idea Yasmin would turn around and do what she’d done with my gift. I hadn’t known my magic was what had been cursed; I thought I had been. Me, personally. I’d only gotten rid of my powers because I hadn’t wanted to use them for evil. And Yasmin had been a lonely, depressed girl when I’d met her, always cast in her older sister’s shadow. I thought my giving her my gift would help both of us. It’d save me from possible future bloodlust and give her some control over her own life.
I’d been so sure she’d go on to use her magic wisely and graciously. But she’d only been filled with revenge and greed. And she’d turned her sister’s education into a living nightmare.
I had chosen wrong; and that was on me. There was really no way to defend that.
When I looked into the High Clifter’s eyes, he seemed to see my regret. Then again, love marks were supposed to help mates feel the other’s emotions, so he probably was sensing my guilt. Dammit. His expression softened as if he’d already forgiven me.
