by T. A. White
Some of the determination must have shown on her face, because Braden stepped back and gestured her forward.
Shea stepped into the tent, small candles lighting the interior. It lacked the comforts the Trateri normally piled into their homes. There were no rugs or room for comfortable seating. The inside was bare—just a single table.
It was also notably missing either of the clan leaders.
Caden ducked in seconds later, his eyes going unerringly to Shea before turning to Braden, a question in them.
“I want both Rain and Earth in here, immediately,” Shea said, not giving the two time to speak.
There was a small hesitation before Braden said politely, “It’s generally wise to question them separately.”
Shea took a deep breath, struggling for patience when all she wanted was action. Taking her feelings out on Braden was unwise, especially since he was trying to advise her. She’d need her allies before this was over. Alienating one of them because of the boiling feelings inside would only serve to isolate her at a time she needed people at her back.
Shea lifted her chin, her gaze piercing. “My order stands.” She gave him her best attempt at a smile, her lips barely tilting up before she abandoned the endeavor. “Thank you, though. Your concern is unnecessary. I have a plan.”
Caden’s face was expressionless as he considered her. She tamped down any emotion, knowing they were less likely to follow her lead if she was a sobbing mess. The respect she’d garnered as Fallon’s telroi only went so far. She needed to become the battle queen, someone respected and obeyed in their own right, not as an extension of Fallon’s power.
Whatever he saw there must have established her determination because he turned on his heel without another word. Braden didn’t move to stop him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Braden murmured in a quiet voice, taking a stance at her back, a clear indication of where his loyalties lay.
Shea did too.
It didn’t take long for Gawain and Ben to be escorted into the tent. Shea wiped all emotion off her face, building the layers of protection over her thoughts and feelings she’d once used as a mask against stupid villagers and their idiotic prejudices.
Caden took a position slightly to the side of the two clan leaders, making sure they could see him as he took a dagger out of his belt and used it to clean his fingernails. All the while his eyes were locked on the two, his powerful body tensed and poised for action.
Shea ignored the show in favor of giving Ben and Gawain her full attention. The Anateri usually defaulted to an emotionless mask when they didn’t want anyone to know what they were thinking. Shea’s mask had always been boredom. She donned it now.
She was silent for a long time, watching them with a predator’s lazy interest.
One of these men was responsible for Fallon’s current state. The question was which one had done the deed? Ben? Gawain? Both?
“Which of you tried to murder my warlord?” Shea asked, her voice silky.
Caden looked up. “They each said the other did it.”
“What did your men see?” Shea asked.
“They entered the tent as soon as they heard Fallon’s cry. They arrived to see Gawain and Ben struggling, Fallon on the floor. There was no clear indication as to who was responsible,” Caden said in a grim voice.
Ah, so that was the reason they’d both been scraped up. Unable to determine who deserved their rage, the Anateri had nonetheless been unable to abstain entirely from hurting the men. Shea saw a bruise under Gawain’s eye. Ben’s lip was split.
Ben was the first to speak, his face flushed with anger, his eyes glinting with righteousness. He ignored Shea, speaking to the men at her back. “This insult is not to be born. I’ve already given you the culprit.”
Shea’s lips quirked in a cruel smile. Looked like they had a taker.
“Ah, but he says you did it,” she explained.
“An obvious lie,” Ben said through gritted teeth.
Shea lifted an eyebrow in that same lazy manner, inviting him to expound.
“He has a long history of enmity with the Hawkvale. His clan refused to join under his banner until there was no choice left,” Ben said, his voice loud.
“There is always a choice,” Gawain said in a lazy voice, his arms folded over his chest. Of the two, he was the calmer, his balance evenly distributed. He looked tired, grief around his eyes, but otherwise unworried. “I chose the route most advantageous for my clan.”
Ben turned to the rest, his gaze wild. “He’s always hated the Hawkvale. We’ve all seen it.”
Shea studied the two. Ben made a good point. Even Shea had noticed the way Gawain sometimes antagonized Fallon, almost daring him to do something. Still, that was a long way from cutting the Hawkvale down in cold blood.
On the other hand, Ben wasn’t a warrior though he had created an untold number of weapons for the Trateri’s use.
Most importantly, Gawain was the one to confirm Shea’s status as battle queen. She found it hard to believe he’d do that immediately after striking Fallon down. It would have been to his benefit to keep his silence, which could very well have prevented Shea from taking control.
Trenton stepped into the tent, crossing to Shea’s side. “He’s awake.”
Caden’s head whipped toward the two of them, wild hope on his face. Braden jerked at her side, relief in his expression.
Shea didn’t move, giving the two captives in front of her a victorious smile. “I don’t need your convincing after all. Fallon will tell us which of you faces a coward’s judgment.”
Gawain looked relieved. It confirmed her suspicions. She hadn’t been sure until now, but that look helped seal it.
Ben broke, whirling and darting out of the tent.
Shea’s smile turned cruel as she glanced at Trenton. “Do not kill him.”
He nodded, then he was gone.
Caden followed at his heels.
Gawain gave her a considering look. “You planned that.”
Shea didn’t answer, just stared back at him.
“I take it Trenton’s message was a ruse.” There was understanding in his eyes.
The sudden grief on Shea’s face was all the confirmation he needed.
He sighed and nodded.
Trenton stepped through the tent, his sword still out, blood on the tip as he dragged a moaning Ben after him. The former Earth clan leader’s legs were covered in blood as he whimpered, curling around them when Trenton dropped him.
Caden watched the man with a predatory interest.
“I give this man into your custody,” Shea said, capturing Caden’s attention. “Finish this interrogation. Find out how many others in Fallon’s army wish for his death. Report to me anything you find.”
Caden gave her a respectful nod, before touching his fist to his heart in the same salute the other Anateri had given her. Shea hid the aching pain the sight caused her and swept out of the tent.
Shea’s stride ate up ground as she returned to the quarters she shared with Fallon. The public part of the tent where they held the war council and entertained guests was empty except for a pool of red.
The evidence of her warlord’s attempted murder haunted her even as she turned away, moving past the privacy screen and into their private quarters.
A weight felt like it lifted off Shea’s shoulders at the sight of Chirron as he straightened over the bed, Fallon a still figure before him. Her gaze turned to the woman on the other side of the bed—Alexa, Trenton had given her the woman’s name on the trip back here. She’d kept her promise, as impossible as it had seemed.
For some unknown reason, Shea was convinced everything would be alright now that Chirron was here. It was a ridiculous belief, but she couldn’t help the spark of wild hope that leapt in her chest. The healer, more than any other, stood the best chance of saving him. Of that she was sure.
Her mother stood, unnotice
d in her seat in the corner until now.
Shea blinked in surprise, the sight momentarily distracting her. “Mother, I—what are you doing here?”
“The watch notified me when your warriors showed up to collect the healer, Chirron,” she said, her face sympathetic. “I came as soon as we learned what had happened. I’ve brought Whelan and Joseph.”
Shea blinked rapidly, this time to keep the tears at bay. Her mother’s gift was unexpected, especially given the state of their relationship. Whelan and Joseph understood many of the old ways, their knowledge would fill in any gaps. Their methods were just as effective as Chirron’s strange power. Between all of them, Fallon stood a fighting chance.
That was all he needed, Shea told herself. With their help, her warlord would win this battle.
Lainey opened her arms wide; Shea crashed into them without hesitation. Lainey’s arms wrapped around her, comfort seeping into Shea at the simple embrace.
The tears Shea had been holding in escaped in great gulping sobs. Her shoulders shook so hard Lainey struggled to keep hold of her.
“We’ll fix this, I swear,” her mother whispered, emotion clogging her voice.
Shea nodded, already gaining control of her wild emotions. She stepped back, swiping a quick hand across her eyes. The release had been cathartic, some of that relentless pressure Shea had been carrying around finding its way out. She felt lighter, even as her mood remained grim.
“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Shea said, her voice quiet.
Lainey gave her a firm nod, taking Shea’s arm and pulling her along with her. “Let’s keep out of their way while they work. Wash and change; I have food, water and a place to sit.”
Shea stared down at the plate and chair her mother had somehow procured, no easy task given the state the warlord was in, yet her mother had somehow managed.
“You’ll eat it too,” Lainey ordered, her voice firm. “You won’t insult the woman who brought it. She seemed to be as in need of distraction as you.”
It was the right tactic to take.
After she’d cleaned herself up, Shea forced herself to pick up one of the meats and nibble on it before turning to the cheese. Piece by piece she worked through the plate, all while her attention kept straying back to Fallon.
“You know, when we sent you away, we thought it for the best,” Lainey said softly.
Shea’s chewing paused, and she closed her eyes in irritation. She didn’t want to do this now. Her mother’s presence and the gift of her people’s assistance in healing Fallon were something Shea would never forget. It was something she would always be thankful for. That didn’t mean the old wounds weren’t still there.
“This isn’t the time. Let’s talk about this later,” Shea murmured as the healers bent over Fallon, their voices a quiet hum.
“When we sent you away, we felt it was for your own good,” Lainey said, spearing Shea with an unfathomable look.
Shea hung her head and made a sound very like a groan. She should have known her mother wouldn’t be swayed from her agenda so easily.
“You were broken, and we didn’t know how to fix you.”
“I wasn’t broken,” Shea snapped. “I was hurting. My friends were dead and the rest of you acted like I carried some foul contagion that might rub off on you if you got too close.”
Lainey inclined her head in agreement. “Despite our knowledge, we tend to be a suspicious lot. Your father and I saw the way things were going. They were never going to forget or let you forget. We thought distance might help, might let you heal.”
Shea was quiet for a long moment, her gaze on the bed where her warlord still fought. All this seemed so pointless now, the events in the past. Did she really care about the why anymore, or was she holding on simply out of habit?
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Her mother wasn’t one to give up. Might as well give her what she wanted.
She looked up at Lainey, her gaze frank. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t explain why you left me alone out there. In all the time I was at Birdon Leaf, I didn’t get one letter from you, not a single carrier pigeon, zero visits. You might say it was for my own good, but I think it was for yours too.”
Lainey was still for several moments. Finally, she sighed, the sound heavy and weary. “You’re not wrong, but you aren’t right either. Think on this, daughter mine. In all that time, did you ever reach out to us? Indicate in any way you would have welcomed our presence in your life? Your heart was closed to us long before we sent you away.”
Shea sat back and folded her arms over her chest. There was some truth in her mother’s words. In all that time, she’d never made even the smallest effort to reach out, to connect. In the beginning, she’d simply existed, bitter and angry at the world, unwilling and unable to let anyone in.
“Time passes so quickly,” her mother said, her hands clenched in her lap, the only sign of emotion in her mother’s rigid body. “When you become a mother, you will find this to be the case too. You blink and years have passed. All you can do is hope you’ve done your job well enough, that your child becomes better than you.”
Shea stared at her mother.
Lainey gave her a soft smile. “I couldn’t be prouder of you, despite what you might think. You’re the best pathfinder that’s ever come out of the Keep. You found love in the most trying of circumstances and made his people love you, despite their dislike of strangers. They fit you and you them. There isn’t anything more I could have asked for you.”
Shea’s face softened and she looked away, unsure how to respond to that. All this time she’d been convinced she was a failure in her parents’ eyes. She would have to think more on how she felt about this later, when her emotions weren’t so high and intense.
Caden stepped inside the tent, his gaze going straight to Fallon.
“Excuse me, mother,” Shea said, standing and approaching the leader of Fallon’s Anateri.
“How is he?” Caden asked, his voice abrupt.
Shea looked at Fallon’s motionless form, the sight making the knot in her chest draw tighter.
“Still breathing,” Shea admitted in a shaky voice.
Caden nodded but didn’t say anything else.
Shea let the silence deepen, unsure how to comfort the other man or if she even should. They were cordial to each other because of their love for Fallon, but they had never taken the time to get to know one another.
“Thank you for your support with the clan leaders,” Shea offered. If he hadn’t thrown his weight behind hers, she would have had a difficult time exposing Earth’s treachery.
Caden grunted. “It’s what Fallon would have wanted.”
Shea nodded. That was very true.
“There’s a chair if you want to sit,” she offered.
He shook his head. “I’ll stand.”
Shea nodded and turned away, leaving him to his vigil.
His voice stopped her. “He would have been proud of the way you handled yourself.”
Shea gave him a look of surprise, before inclining her head in respect.
The healers worked into the night, Shea and Caden keeping a silent vigil. She didn’t understand much of what they were doing, but Fallon was still alive so she chose to believe they were successful.
At some point during those long hours, her eyelids began to drift down. Once, then twice. Her head sagged forward, the Badlands rising up all around her.
Shea lifted her head. She stood in the distinctive ruined landscape from her nightmares. She’d know it anywhere, that particular brand of desolation chillingly distinctive. More than any other place in the Broken Lands, the Badlands still held a haunting reminder of a war fought so long ago no one remembered its actual cause.
“Covath,” she called.
This time she knew it wasn’t a dream, or at least not a normal dream. She still wasn’t sure of the distinction between dreamwalking and real life.
“
I’m here. What do you want?” she shouted, turning in place. Impatience made her temper short. The mythological hadn’t seemed sure he wanted an alliance by the end of their last conversation, and given recent events, she didn’t have time to fence words with him. She wanted to go back to her vigil over Fallon’s bedside.
There was a laughing hiss from the darkness around her and Shea went still. She knew that sound. It called up memories of a time her mind had protected her from. It came from those hazy days in the Badlands, when she’d wandered aimlessly, hopelessly lost and inches from death.
Dread stole down her spine, it was a prickly feeling followed quickly by its twin, despair. The skin on the back of her neck felt like a thousand tiny ants marched across it, biting, burrowing deep.
She turned, afraid of what she might see. An empty landscape greeted her. The twisted shapes of what might have once been trees, snarled and hunched. They were dead, had been for a long time, no leaves had graced their branches in centuries.
The dirt beneath her feet was so lifeless it was almost a fine powder. In other parts of the Badlands, the gravelly dirt was sharp and cutting. You wouldn’t want to walk barefoot over it. Here, it was like ash.
In the distance a storm appeared to be brewing, spun from the reddish-brown dust under her feet.
She remembered one of those storms from before. Actually, there had been more than one. She looked around with familiar eyes, the feeling of dread still gripping her, but she could think. Yes, the storms had come fast and frequent, blinding you to your surroundings, the wind rising and whipping you with the fine-grained sand as it suddenly turned as sharp and cutting as a thousand knives.
That same laughing hiss came again and Shea twisted, catching a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. The thing that had made it was gone, leaving her staring up at the craggy façade of a butte, one that stabbed the sky with all the fury and rage the land seemed steeped in.
