Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  “I should warn you—if you break your word to us, even once, we’ll kill you all,” Fallon said, still clasping Covath’s forearm.

  “I was just about to say the same,” Covath returned.

  “Then we’re in agreement.” Fallon’s face was serious.

  They released each other and stepped back.

  Covath’s head tilted as he considered. “We are.” He turned to Shea. “Ajari says to tell you he will see you again. He has named you the Burning One. It is the first time he has bestowed such an honor on a human. Be sure you live up to it.”

  Covath didn’t wait for a response, leaping into the air, his powerful wings taking him high within seconds.

  Shea watched him go. “Is that it? Don’t you two need to discuss terms.”

  Fallon shook his head. “We understand each other. The rest is just details. For a mythological, he is very similar to my generals.”

  That was high praise coming from Fallon. Covath must have impressed him in some way, though Shea would have been hard-pressed to say how.

  Orion stamped his foot, signaling his impatience.

  “I suppose you need to go as well,” she told him.

  Orion let out a snort that she guessed meant yes.

  She let out a sigh and dismounted, her movements only slightly awkward. She patted him on the shoulder in thanks and stepped back. Orion turned his head to her and lipped her hair before he too galloped away, his wings opening to lift him gracefully into the sky’s embrace

  Fallon shifted, turning to face her, his thoughts veiled. “I take it there’s no more need for my army’s presence in the Badlands.”

  Her shoulders slumped, a brief touch of grief rising as she shook her head. “No, there’s nothing left there to trouble us. At least for now.”

  The dark and the other old things that waited at the heart would eventually grow to be a problem again, but the immediate threat had been addressed.

  His face tightened in understanding at what she left unsaid. He stepped closer, his big body oddly tentative as he reached out and brushed her hand with his.

  “I’m sorry you had to be the one to do it,” he told her.

  Shea looked away as her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes. For all the pain Griffin had caused, she’d loved him once. Perhaps it had been a pale imitation of what she shared with Fallon, but there was a history of shared memories and feelings. He was once a sweet boy, her partner in many of her adventures. She could mourn that person.

  “It was unavoidable,” she said in a strong voice, stuffing those emotions back down. It was easier than it should have been, the emptiness inside swallowing them gladly. “He’s responsible for many of the recent betrayals we’ve faced.”

  Fallon’s gaze turned thoughtful as he considered that piece of information. “We have much to share, it seems.”

  “Yes, but perhaps later,” she said. She didn’t know that she had the energy right now.

  He nodded, the movement small. “Much later.”

  He stepped forward, finally pulling her into an embrace that was as gentle as it was fierce, his arms wrapping around her like she was finely spun glass, as if he feared he might break her if he squeezed too hard. “I’m glad to have you in my arms again.”

  She pressed her forehead into his neck, her arms remaining by her side. “Me too.”

  He dropped a brief kiss on the side of her head, relief finally present on his face—relief and something else. He took her hand and turned her toward the army waiting behind them.

  “Your Battle Queen has slain our enemy and come out victorious. She returns to us now,” he roared.

  Hundreds of voices roared back, letting her know she was home again. These people who’d traveled hundreds of miles, intent on invading one of the most dangerous known lands, they were her home.

  *

  To no one’s surprise, Fallon decreed the journey ended. They settled where Shea had landed on her winged horse, making camp on the plains near the first demarcation.

  Her father, Reece and Buck joined them that evening, the winged horses creating a spectacle as the Trateri, released from their battle readiness gathered and admired them from afar. Orion’s companions preened and pranced at the praise before taking off as he had.

  Chirron helped her father off his horse and then swept him to the medic’s tent for treatment.

  The Trateri celebrated long into the night as they toasted Shea’s return and their enemy’s death, even as their battle queen missed most of it, sleeping like the dead.

  The next day they began the long journey back to the Keep, where the majority of their people had remained.

  It turned out that Fallon had woken several days after Shea’s departure, the healing by Chirron and the Keep’s medics a near miracle. He hadn’t been whole but was well on his way to mending. When he discovered her missing, he’d been furious, rising from his bed despite healer advice and the arguments from Caden and his general. He’d summoned his light cavalry and taken off before anyone summoned the courage to stop him.

  Shea heard the story from multiple people during the long days of travel. The Trateri were impressed and in awe of their warlord’s ability to survive anything, even a coward’s blow. Each retelling of the story included embellishments, at one-point claiming one of their many goddesses had come down to bestow a boon on Fallon so he might pursue his love.

  Between listening to those determined to regale her with tales, Shea rested. Sleep became her number one priority, her body finally deciding it was safe to shut down to recover. The second time she almost fell off her horse, Fallon pulled her onto his, cradling her as she drifted.

  Occasionally, he asked questions about her time, but except for basic answers, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. He respected that, though she could see by the impatience in his eyes he wouldn’t be content with her half-answers for long.

  At night, she listened as the Trateri told stories of the two of them, about how Fallon had been called from death’s embrace when Shea had departed to confront their enemy with only a small team of stalwart companions at her side. The Trateri loved a good story and their leaders’ feats—both real and imagined—were played up and retold again and again until they only had a passing relationship with the truth.

  Even Trenton’s heroism at the end was celebrated in song, his blade given magical properties and a sentience the Trateri had never subscribed to inanimate objects before. Shea had a feeling more than one warrior would make a pilgrimage to the silveright when they returned to the Keep. She wasn’t sure how her people would respond to that.

  It was on one such night that she noticed Gawain in the shadows. Shea stood, squeezing Fallon’s arm when he made to follow her. He’d been loath to let her out of his sight since her return. It was a sentiment she understood. She sometimes woke frantically searching for him, only to settle when she found Fallon safe beside her.

  “I’m just going right over there,” she assured him.

  He settled back as she strolled off, her pace slow and measured.

  Patrick sat forward on his pillow, his face questioning as she moved past. Her father had weathered his time in the Badlands well. He’d told her, Reece and the rest had only missed her by minutes. They’d arrived too late to do anything but retrieve him.

  Trenton had ordered the others to head back while he continued on after her. Buck had argued, stating that he was best qualified to track Shea. It had gotten pretty heated from what Shea was told.

  Trenton eventually won after pointing out Shea wouldn’t be happy to learn her father and cousin died because the two of them had gone after her. Good thing too, because Buck and Reece had both been needed on more than one occasion to fend off beasts as they began their return trip.

  “Everything alright?” Patrick asked. His canny eyes hadn’t missed Gawain’s departure or Shea’s interest.

  She nodded. “Just have a loose end to tie up.”


  “Well, hurry up then. Your warlord isn’t going to wait long,” he said, relaxing back onto his pillow with a grimace as he adjusted his leg. The Trateri had made him comfortable, and Chirron had given him the best care. Still, her father was unused to being immobile. It had made him a bit more cranky than usual.

  Shea gave him a small smile. “Stall him if need be.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” he yelled after her.

  “Use some of that charming personality you say you have,” was her retort.

  Most of their people had congregated in the center of the camp, drawn by the fires and food, leaving the edges mostly empty. Shea waited until they’d reached one of those isolated sections before making her presence known.

  Gawain noticed her and paused, his expression guarded. “Battle Queen,” he said in greeting. He tilted his head. “Oddly, the title suits you.”

  Shea didn’t know about that. She didn’t feel particularly queenly, and she was next to useless in real battle, but the title had stuck and seemed to have replaced the old one of Telroi.

  Shea wasn’t sure if his statement had been meant to flatter or mock her but ignored it to focus on the reason she’d followed him. “An interesting tidbit came to my attention during my sojourn in the Badlands.”

  Gawain seemed unsurprised by her statement. “Oh?”

  She nodded. “Evidently, Griffin had been the voice in the ears of many of Fallon’s enemies, inciting them to treason.”

  He remained silent. Waiting. Watching.

  “I know he got to Charles and Ben. Perhaps even Fallon’s half-brother. Griffin was smart. He went after those whose loyalty to Fallon was already weakened.” She waited as his silence lingered. Smart, but then his father was too. “It strikes me that there is one other who would fit that description.”

  Someone who had never wanted to join Fallon in the first place, someone whose jealousy had poisoned the relationship they once had, much as Fallon’s half-brother’s had.

  Gawain’s expression was reserved. “Say what you came here to say.”

  Shea straightened her shoulders, remaining light on her feet. “You fit what he was looking for. He spoke to you. I’m sure of it. What I’m not sure of, is why you didn’t act.”

  Because he could have. He’d had many chances. He could have killed her in the Reaches when it was just the two of them. He could have let Ben finish Fallon rather than stop him, no one would have known the difference.

  He hadn’t done any of that. Shea wanted to know why.

  Gawain sighed, looking away from her. “He did come to me, promising to make my most tightly held dreams come true if I killed Fallon. Or even you.”

  The last part didn’t really surprise her. Shea had gotten the sense that Griffin still felt something for her, but it confused him. He’d wanted her at his side just as much as he wanted her dead.

  “Yet you didn’t act. Why?” she asked.

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “He couldn’t have given me what I wanted, not with all the power in the world at his disposal.”

  Henry’s love and admiration, Shea realized. That’s what Gawain wanted.

  Gawain’s smile was twisted, lacking even the facade of humor. “How pathetic is that? I’m a man, leader of my own clan, and yet I still yearn to make my father proud.”

  Shea could understand that. Family had a way of twisting you up inside, making you think up was down and vice versa. They could hurt you worse than any external wound.

  “Fallon isn’t responsible for my father’s faults,” Gawain said. “And I will not become that which I hate because of an outsider’s manipulations. Does that answer your question?”

  Shea hesitated for a moment. “Yes, it does.”

  “Are you going to tell Fallon?” he asked.

  The question was a dangerous one with far-reaching implications. If she revealed what she knew, Fallon could very well decide to kill Gawain. That would most likely lead to other deaths in Gawain’s clan, many of whom would take his execution hard and want revenge.

  Though Gawain hadn’t acted on Griffin’s request, he hadn’t revealed the plot to Fallon either. By rights, that was treason in and of itself.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Shea said.

  Gawain’s actions had saved Fallon’s life. She was so tired of death. He was a good leader and had turned out to be more loyal than others. She saw no reason to destroy that. Fallon needed his remaining clan leaders. At least for now.

  Gawain blinked, seeming unsure. Her response was unexpected.

  He turned to go.

  “Gawain,” she said, stopping him. “I’ll be watching you.”

  “I’d expect nothing less of the battle queen,” he said without turning around.

  She watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight before addressing her guard. “You can come out.”

  Trenton stepped from the shadows, his gaze pointed in the direction Gawain had gone.

  “That’s an interesting development,” he said. “I would have expected his betrayal the most.”

  “Then I’m glad he surprised you,” Shea said. She’d grown to like Gawain.

  She turned to study Trenton, noting for the first time the circles under his eyes and the tautness in his face. She’d been so preoccupied with herself over these last few days that she hadn’t taken the time to see how he was faring.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  His startled gaze turned to her. He opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her he was fine, then closed it at her look. There was no reason to pretend with her. There was no way to be fine after what they’d went through. They’d reached the heart. Like it or not, it had affected both of them.

  His shoulders slumped and he looked away, his expression uncomfortable. “I’m surviving.”

  Shea thought about asking him if he’d noticed any changes, but the rigid way he held himself warned her off. She understood that. There were things she wasn’t yet ready to discuss with Fallon.

  She squeezed his arm, letting him know she’d be there when he needed her and turned back toward the center of camp where Fallon waited.

  She hadn’t made it far when a whoop drew her attention from rehearsing her excuses to Fallon about where she’d been.

  She turned to find herself lifted off her feet in a back-breaking hug, a hulk of a man grinning down at her.

  “Eamon!” she cried in surprised delight.

  “Lass, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he said.

  Shea wrapped him in a hug and held tight.

  Buck popped up next to them. “Is this a group hug?” He didn’t wait for a response, wrapping his arms around them both.

  “You know, if the warlord sees this, he’s going to kill you both,” Trenton drawled.

  Buck leaped back, a cocky grin on his face.

  “What? You don’t think he’d make an exception for one of the Badlands’ heroes?” Buck asked, referencing how he and the other’s who’d gone on the mission were now called.

  Trenton gave him a wry look. “Considering he’s threatened to kill me at least twice a day since we’ve been back, I’m not sure how much weight your new title will carry with him.”

  Trenton wasn’t exaggerating. There’d been tension between her warlord and him since their return. Fallon had made it obvious he grudgingly tolerated Trenton’s continued presence as her guard. Some of that was because she’d made it clear she’d accept nothing less.

  She knew deep down—very, very, deep down—he appreciated and respected all Trenton had done. But, he was also protective of Shea, more so now than he’d been in a long time. She wasn’t the only one to carry the scars of the past month’s events. Until they healed, she had a feeling Fallon would continue to be difficult whenever Trenton was present.

  “Good point,” Buck said, putting his hands behind his back.

  “How did you escape the beasts?” sh
e asked Eamon. “I was afraid you’d been overrun after firing the flares.”

  “We have Darius’s scouts to thank for that,” Fiona said, strolling up to Eamon’s side.

  She touched his arm. Eamon covered her hand with his, a soft look on his face. The intimacy of their actions wasn’t lost on Shea. She widened her eyes at Fiona in question.

  Fiona’s lips turned up in answer. Well, well, it seemed more had happened during that mission and its subsequent events than Shea had ever guessed.

  “Thought you were interested in Reece,” Shea said.

  Fiona shrugged, ignoring the question on the other’s faces. “The commander has won me over to his side.”

  Eamon looked bashful, yet proud. Shea knew his cheeks would be red if it had been daylight.

  “I’m glad,” she told the two. “You are some of the best people I know. You’re strong warriors and selfless friends. You deserve whatever makes you happy.”

  Fiona gave Shea a small nod.

  Eamon finished the explanation. “Fiona’s right. If his scouts hadn’t shown up, we would have been slaughtered. As it was, Phillip damn near lost his arm, and Ghost lost the sight in one eye. We were lucky.”

  Buck nodded. “It was a close thing. I talked to some of the team who found you. They couldn’t believe how many beasts your group killed. You should have seen it, Shea. There were piles of bodies around them. We’re not the only ones the Trateri will be telling their children about.”

  Eamon’s smile was easy. “My only regret is that we missed you in camp. I would have liked to have gone to the Badlands with you.”

  Shea didn’t know about that. Privately, she was glad he’d missed their little adventure.

  “Your actions—both of your actions,” Shea said, including Fiona in that, “probably saved everyone in the Keep.”

  His nod was sad. For all that, they’d still lost people.

  Buck slung his arm around Eamon, pulling him forward. “Come on. Enough sorrow. We’re alive for another day. Let’s celebrate.”