We drew them on everyone this morning, as we have every morning since our search began.
“Still there,” she says with a hint of annoyance.
She’s been begging me for a permanent blood oath for years, just like the one Caz has. But every time she requests it, I find a new reason to say no. In the instance of our current predicament, I told her it would be quicker and perhaps safer if she had a temporary blood oath like everyone else. This way if she or any of them are captured by, say those responsible for the experimentations occurring around the realm, she can rub the blood stain away before they can learn anything about it. She won’t be tied to me, nor the Devonshire family.
Besides, the last thing we need is for the humans to learn any more of our secrets than they already have.
“Very well,” I say, exposing my own tattoo, the one that matches hers in design, but only Caz’s in blood-threaded ink. “I’ll send out word.”
I raise the crimson tattoo to my mouth and whisper against the ink. “Rendezvous at the camp in one hour. Bring anyone you’ve caught.”
Through the oath’s bond, I sense Rhain’s startled embarrassment as if I’ve just walked in to find him in some compromising position. His mate, my jovial and doting cousin, Ursulette, has a different reaction entirely, reminding me more of a rebellious teenager relishing every time she gets caught doing something improper. As expected, Harland’s response is not much more than a grizzled grunt, while Davorin, his counterpart and Caz’s and Renee’s father, as well as the most trusted advisor to the king, bows—or whatever the equivalent of that is in mind-speak.
Neither Gregor nor Boris responds.
“Message received,” Caz says with his usual crooked grin, and a dutiful salute that I’m sure many who don’t know him easily mistake for anything but genuine.
“Let’s get moving then,” Renee says, waving us back toward the direction we came from. “It’ll take us half a day to get back.”
It’s bordering an exaggeration. Although we covered a lot of ground since leaving camp this morning, we really haven’t wandered too far. The roads of Gravenburg are tightly knitted things. They zig and zag around each other like a dense knot of canals that barely leave space for a cart or two to traverse down, even back when the town was alive and not covered in garbage. This would’ve been one of those places that reeked of urine and sweat, with flies buzzing around every open marketplace, and someone swearing, brawling, or both in front of every pub. Not a respectable city, but a bustling one.
Truth be told, it would’ve been exactly the kind of place I would’ve enjoyed escaping to. Somewhere far from aristocracy and wealth, where people lived their regular lives of indulgences. Somewhere Father and my royal obligations would’ve never found me. It’s a place I imagine many of the noctis in my company would’ve found themselves at home, Harland and his brothers making the top of that list. It’s possible that’s part of the reason Gregor and Boris didn’t respond. Perhaps they found some way to indulge themselves and are simply caught up in the moment.
That seems unlikely.
“Something’s wrong.”
Caz and Renee sober, glancing back at me.
“What is it?” Renee asks, her wide eyes flitting to every shadow around us.
Caz understands what I mean before I have to say it. As a long-standing member of the Crimson Guard, he’s had more experience with blood oaths than his sister and knows there’s only one reason I’d be alarmed when we’re in the middle of such a quiet, uneventful street.
“Who didn’t respond?” he asks.
“Harland’s brothers,” I tell them, my mind whirring, mulling over every piece of information I have at my disposal.
It would be one thing if it was just one of them that didn’t reply. It happens sometimes. My communications come at inconvenient moments and every now and then somebody decides not to or simply can’t respond.
But that’s why they have counterparts. It’s their partner’s responsibility to reply for them, to make sure I know everything is okay.
To not hear anything from GregorandBoris? It means with almost certainty that they’re either unconscious or dead.
“Caz, you’re with me. Renee, head back to camp and tell the others what’s happened.”
“Like hell, Malachi! I’m not just some lost pup you get to boss around.”
Something flashes across Renee’s expression, like she’s just realized who she’s talking to and that I do, in fact, have the authority to boss her around—even if I don’t usually. She shifts tactics.
“Besides, you can’t really expect me to just stay behind while you and my only brother stroll into danger.”
Some days, she has a way of convincing me to give into her every whim. I think it’s her voice. She can reach uncanny, shrill pitches or dulcet tones when she wants to.
Today is not that day.
“That’s exactly what I expect you to do.”
When her mouth pops wide in protest, I silence her through the oath bond. Without my lips close to the tattoo, I can’t send her any direct commands, just sensations. And this time I make sure my frustrations are felt like a swarm of enraged wasps.
