City of Dust

Chapter Fourteen

Striker Glaris jumps down from his stallion and stoops down by my side. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just freakin' peachy," I mutter, pushing myself into a sitting position. Pressing two fingers to the middle of my forehead, I twist around to glare at him. "And what are you doing here, huh? Stalking me? How noble." My lips twist in a sneer, but the expression slips into one of agony as the headache reasserts itself.

"Do you have a concussion?" my not-so-white-knight asks.

"No, my head's ripping apart because I used magic."

"Hold on." He gets to his feet and goes to one of his saddlebags.

God, men. Groaning, I grit my teeth and shove myself to my feet. A wave of vertigo hits just then and I list to the right, stumbling slightly.

Two dozen feet away, Winston turns slowly. Seeing me, the big bull elk extends his head, a low, mournful sound setting his throat bobbing.

"Hey, buddy," I whisper and walk stiffly over to him. Rust-red blood coats his antlers like a bucket of paint; it's splattered over his head, the saddle, and some of his armor. Bits of scale and flesh cling to the steel tips. My eyes flicker over his body, doing a quick assessment and checking for any serious wounds. Luckily, the worst seems to be a few thin lines on his cheeks. And the bleeding has already stopped.

Winston butts me gently with his muzzle, nibbling at my sleeve. Resting a hand on his nose, I look around the road. Where's the kid?

"Here," Glaris says, holding out a white tablet and a canteen. "Aspirin and water."

I want to glare at him, but that hurts my head. Instead, I take the aspirin and toss it into my mouth, chasing it with a large gulp of water. Then two—then three—more gulps.

"Where's the kid?" I gasp around the water.

"Over there," he replies, pointing.

I follow the line of his finger. Kayleigh sits by the edge of the road, her back to us. Egon sits by her side and she has her arms wrapped around his cream-colored body.

The back of her shirt is slashed open; even the body armor beneath it is torn, showing light brown skin. But there's something else on her body.

Shoving the canteen back into the Striker's hands, I bobble my way over to her. Egon flicks an ear as I approach, but doesn't move. Neither does she as I lean down and pull at the fabric.

What the hell is this?

Through the rents in her clothes, I see the white outline of what looks like a tattoo near the base of her neck. It can't be a brand, because the edges aren't raised—but it doesn't look like any tattoo that I've seen before. The marking appears to be a part of her, like a strange sort of birthmark: a capital "I" with a capital "X" laid atop it. Two smaller tattoos, feathers, bookend it.

"What ...?" I breathe in disbelief.

"What is it?" the Striker asks.

Something tells me that this marking shouldn't be seen. Closing the gaps in her clothes together with one hand, I unwind a scarf and drape it strategically over her back. "Nothing a grown man should see."

Kayleigh bows her head, hand clenching Egon's fur.

Striker Glaris attempts to peer over my shoulder. "I'm trained in healing. Perhaps I should take a look—"

I pivot and grab the Striker by the collar of his shirt, just above his armor. He jerks as if shocked and stumbles backward as I march him away from the kid. "No."