Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands Book 2)

by T. A. White

  “Why not talk about it now?”

  “Tomorrow, Shea.”

  Her jaw dropped at the autocratic command. He did not just say that. That wasn’t how this worked. They were partners and partners shared things.

  She pushed out of his arms and sat up, staring down at him. Her silence filled with angry words that she couldn’t get out—her jaw locked tight. It was something that only happened when her temper started unfurling. She wasn’t the best at speaking and sharing. When angry it was just that much worst.

  After turning the words over in her head, she came to a decision. If he wanted to be an asshole warlord, he could damn well sleep alone. She rolled away from him in a sharp movement, getting out of bed.

  His sigh was angry. “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t answer, grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed and her pillow. The partition had been partially repaired from his fit earlier, but it was still a little wobbly. She was careful as she pushed it aside, not wanting to deal with having their private space exposed to the communal side until the partition could be fixed.

  “Shea.”

  “You wanted to discuss it tomorrow, Fallon. We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Until then, have fun sleeping alone.”

  With those parting words she stalked into the other chamber and threw her pillow on the ground before settling down and pulling her blanket over her. She’d only been lying there for a few seconds before a pair of arms swooped down, picking her up, blanket and all.

  Shea found herself against Fallon’s chest being carried back to their bedroom.

  “This is familiar,” he murmured in her ear as he kicked the partition away, not being nearly as careful as she’d been.

  “Yes, and not in a good way.”

  “We sleep together.”

  “Do we talk to each other too?” Her voice held an acerbic edge. She didn’t enjoy when he dictated how things would be.

  “Tomorrow, Shea.”

  “So, it doesn’t matter what I want?”

  He set her on the bed and climbed in after her, dragging the covers over them. He didn’t answer. Shea took that as a no. Fine then, if that’s how he wanted to play this.

  She wiggled out of his arms and turned her back on him. Pressed up against the edge of the bed, she held herself as stiffly as possible, attempting to exude anger through every line of her body. She might not have a choice about sleeping elsewhere but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to act like nothing was wrong.

  His arm wrapped around her, and he attempted to slide her across the bed. She batted it off, before turning and pushing him away.

  “No. Keep to your own side.”

  She turned back to the edge, curling up until she was as far away from him as possible.

  “Shea.”

  “No, you wanted to talk tomorrow; we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  This time it was his angry sigh that filled the air. The mattress moved as he turned onto his side to face away from her. The dark was filled with the things that went unsaid. Hurt feelings so thick that it felt like Shea would suffocate on them.

  Despite it being her who had insisted on distance between them, Shea had never felt so alone. Her eyes stung as she stared at the shadowed canvas. It was a long time before she drifted back to sleep.

  *

  It was a slow progression to wakefulness for Shea. She woke to find herself curled into a ball with the undeniable feeling of being watched. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to find Fallon dressed and looking at her with an enigmatic gaze.

  She closed her eyes and dropped her head back onto her pillow. For a brief moment, she was tempted to go back to sleep. It felt way too early for the confrontation she could feel brewing.

  With a groan, she sat up and blinked at Fallon. A yawn cracked her face, the sleepless night leaving her slightly groggy.

  She leaned back on one hand as she met Fallon’s gaze. His emotions were locked down tight.

  “It’s morning,” he said.

  “That it is. You going to tell me what had you acting so dickish last night?”

  He raised one eyebrow at her crude language. She raised an eyebrow right back at him, challenging him to say something about it.

  Wise man that he was, he moved on. “Why didn’t you tell me how dangerous it was for you to find me in the mist?”

  Shea froze, all thoughts coming to a standstill. She stared at him, her eyes wide. Of all the things for him to ask her, he chose that. Why?

  Her words were a long time coming. “You knew it was dangerous.”

  “Did I?” There went the eyebrow again. His body was tightly controlled as he tapped one finger against his leg. “I don’t think I did.”

  She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around them. The urge to get up and walk out, to escape this coming confrontation was strong. It would be so easy.

  He straightened, the movement that of a tightly coiled beast preparing to pounce. “Because the way I hear it, what you did pretty much amounted to a suicide mission.”

  Shea’s hands tightened on her thighs, the knuckles turning white for a brief moment. Witt. It had to be. He was the only other person among the Trateri who would have had any inkling of just how big a risk Shea had taken.

  “What was I supposed to do, Fallon? Just leave you there?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done. For all you knew, we weren’t in its grip.”

  She aimed a sharp look his way. “I knew. I could feel you slipping further and further away with every breath. Yes, it was dangerous, but it had to be done or you and your men would have never made it out.”

  “You promised to stay safe,” he barked at her.

  “I never did any such thing. This world is too dangerous to make such an asinine vow. I am a pathfinder; this is what I do.”

  “You’re not. Not anymore.” Thunder was in his face. “You left that life behind. It would be really nice if you acted like it for once, instead of rushing straight for the most dangerous, sure to get you killed, situation in a hundred miles. How am I supposed to trust you after this?”

  A tight feeling took root in Shea’s chest at those words. She looked away from him. “I’m well aware that path is closed to me. Thank you for pointing that out. That doesn’t mean you can relegate me to the rear with the gear and expect me to sit pretty somewhere while you or others are in danger. That’s not who I am, and you knew that before we started.” She put every ounce of her frustration and resolve into her eyes as she met his thunderous glare. “You don’t get to make this choice for me. You don’t get to berate me and make me feel ashamed for having the skill and gumption to pull your ass out of the fire. If you can’t accept this part of me Fallon, we won’t last long.”

  There was a crack and then a crash as he kicked the chair he’d been sitting in. It flew back and clattered to the ground after it hit the tent wall with a loud thud.

  There was movement in the other room and then Trenton came through the partition, sword in hand and his eyes scanning for a threat.

  “Get out!” Fallon roared.

  Trenton’s gaze went to Shea as if to check that she was in no danger before he gave Fallon a short bow and backed out of the room.

  “Do you feel better now?” Shea’s voice was calm with a slightly sarcastic edge. She felt a tinge of pride that it showed none of her throat-gripping unease.

  Fallon remained facing away from her. One hand went up to rub his face before going back to grip his neck. He stood like that for a long moment, his shoulders slightly bent and his head hanging down.

  He looked so miserable that Shea almost softened. She stiffened her spine.

  “Fallon, I don’t take stupid risks for the hell of it. The risk to go deeper into the mist was a calculated one. Yes, it was more dangerous than I originally let on, but you can’t expect me to sit back while you’re in danger and do nothing. That’s not who I am.”

  He still didn’t turn. Shea sat there, the covers pooled in h
er lap and an ache in her chest.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Fallon said without looking at her.

  Every fiber of Shea went cold. A beast gripped her by the throat—one fueled by heartache, pain and desperation.

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice eerily calm. A calm she in no way felt. There was a turbulence inside her that was just beginning to make itself felt. A turbulence that felt like it had the power to destroy her if she didn’t hold perfectly still.

  His sigh was long and held an emotion she had never thought Fallon capable of. Hopelessness. Dejection. Defeat.

  “I don’t know. I need to think.”

  He needed to think. Shea felt like he had just slapped her across the face. She was left blinking dumbly at him. He still hadn’t turned to face her.

  Well, wasn’t that just ducky. He had to think. Fine. He could think. She’d give him all the time in the world to think.

  “You do that, Fallon.” She ripped the sheets off and crawled out of bed. The soft mattress made it difficult to convey the depth of her rage by its utter comfortableness and inability to give her motions any violence. She finally made it to the edge and swung her legs down. “You just remember—it wasn’t me who started this relationship. I warned you before we ever began. You’re the one who couldn’t listen.”

  By this time, she’d found her pants and jerked them on in angry fits and starts, at one point almost falling before regaining her balance. She located her shirt and grabbed it, her movements sharp and angry. She pulled it over her head and got stuck, fighting with the material for a long moment, her arms sticking over her head as the material restricted her movements better than a rope ever could. A pair of large hands guided one arm into a sleeve and then the other arm into the other sleeve before grasping the bottom and giving one hard jerk. Shea’s head popped out of the top. Her blue eyes spit sparks of fury as they met Fallon’s whiskey colored ones.

  It wasn’t fair that his eyes were pools of warmth, trying to reach out and heat her insides. She stepped back and then moved around him, her hands smoothing the shirt into place. Not fair at all. Especially when they were fighting. Especially when he was threatening to end them.

  Just like a man. When things get tough, take a break, run for the hills. He was a warlord, he was supposed to break obstacles with his pinky finger. Not give up when they reared their ugly little heads.

  “Shea.”

  She didn’t listen and stalked out of their chamber. Well, his chamber if he was serious about not being able to make their relationship work.

  She stopped in the next chamber at the sudden realization that if they ever did end, what would happen to her? She assumed she wouldn’t be able to keep this tent. It had been specifically built for the warlord, a man responsible for uniting the Trateri tribes. Not for his former telroi. Would she even be able to stay among the Trateri? Would they let her go back to being a scout, or would that door be closed to her now?

  The righteous indignation she’d been using to shield herself from the hurt that was lurking deep inside drained out. She’d seen what happened to those unfortunates that had no place in either the clan or military caste. They lived on the fringes of Trateri society, relying on the kindness or lack of it from the clans. Their existence was meager and humble. Two things Shea had faced before, but not like this where you had to rely on the charity of others.

  That wasn’t the life for her. If Fallon and she were to end, it would mean she would have to leave, give up the life she’d been building here. Give up the friends who’d made her feel like she belonged for the first time in her life. She’d lose everything.

  Fallon was a warm presence at her back as his hands came up to cup her shoulders. “You misunderstood. I’m not saying we’re over.”

  She grunted, still reeling from her discovery, and shrugged him off. Her feet began to move again. Over her shoulder, she muttered, “I’ll see you later. I think we both need a little space to decide how we feel.”

  She ducked out of the tent, noticing Trenton standing outside. “Just who I was looking for. Let’s go train.”

  Surprise registered on his face before he looked over her shoulder. Understanding dawned. Shea knew without looking that Fallon had stepped out of their tent. His eyes were a heavy sensation on her back. She didn’t look back, not wanting to see him.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” Her reply was terse. She started walking toward the special area that had been set up so the Anateri and Fallon could train whenever they wanted without having to waste time walking to the perimeter of the camp.

  There was only the briefest hesitation that she knew involved Trenton conferring with Fallon through the non-verbal communication that all the Anateri seemed to share with their warlord. He caught up with her quickly as she stalked off.

  “You don’t typically lead the charge for training. Normally I have to drag you kicking and screaming.” He didn’t lie. Shea usually endeavored to do all in her power to avoid spending any time in the training ring with Trenton. The man was a sadist who took an inordinate amount of pleasure in leaving Shea black and blue after their sparing sessions. “Is this newfound enthusiasm because you’ve finally decided to get serious about weapons training, or are you just looking to blow off a little steam?”

  A gemlike stare was his only response.

  “Blowing off steam it is.” He gave her the best half bow he could from his sideways walking position. “Happy to be of service.”

  Of that Shea had no doubt.

  *

  Trenton had been merciless in drilling her in defensive sword maneuvers, leaving a stinging rebuke anytime she failed to keep her guard up sufficiently. It left for an interesting number of bruises, several on her posterior, which seemed a favorite target of his when she over-extended her defense. Shea winced as she shifted position.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Daere said, without bothering to spare Shea a glance. “It makes you look uncomfortable.”

  Shea gave the other woman a sour glare. That’s because she was uncomfortable.

  Somehow Daere had convinced her to wear the Trateri version of formal clothes for this dinner, saying that they needed to present a united and impressive front to the villagers. Her hair had been half pulled back from her face in a nest of small, interwoven braids. The rest had been curled and left to spill down her neck. The girls had managed to leave Shea looking like she had way more hair than she had.

  They’d brushed a shimmering brown-gold powder on her eyelids and tinted her eyelashes black. They then dusted a lighter version of that powder along her cheekbones and jawline. On her lips they’d left a stain so red that Shea looked like she’d painted them with blood. The effect was stunning, if the mirror they’d shoved her in front of was anything to go by.

  Even her outfit hadn’t been safe from their attention. They’d forced her into a sleeveless shirt of deepest blue, made of a silky fabric Shea had never felt before. She ran her fingers along the hem of the shirt, impressed by the feel of it against her skin. It felt cool and refreshing, despite the slumbering heat and humidity of the forest. It framed her breasts in a V while fitting well enough that she wasn’t afraid she’d spill out during the climb up. A belt cinched her waist above an almost transparent loose skirt of the same color. The skirt had high slits on either side, almost up to her ass. Shea had refused to wear it when Daere first presented it, stating she had no plans on flashing everyone her personal bits just because Daere wanted to play dress-up. Daere had rolled her eyes and given her a pair of tight-fitting calf length pants the color of gold to wear under it. The outfit managed to be provocative and modest at the same time, striking a balance between Lowland sensibilities and the hedonism the Trateri embraced on occasion.

  Around Shea’s throat a torque of gold had been fitted. The two ends were that of a hawk’s wings clasped around a sapphire stone—a symbol of the Hawkvale. The torque around her bicep had a hawk’s head with sa
pphires for eyes.

  Daere had a similar amount of gold around her throat and arms. She wore an outfit similar to Shea’s, only her legs were bare of the pants Shea had insisted on. She looked regal and beautiful, and ever the Trateri.

  It left a strange yearning in Shea. No matter how she tried, she just could never seem to fit in totally. It left her trying to own her strangeness. It was harder than it used to be, like a skin that was just a little too tight.

  She fiddled with one of the bracelets clasped around her wrist, the weight an unaccustomed feeling.

  “You look fine,” Daere said. From the tone, Shea was betting Daere was trying not to roll her eyes.

  Fallon, Braden and Darius came around the tree trunk, a low rumble the only warning of their approach. They, like the women, were dressed in Trateri finest. Their chests were bare and glistening, each wearing a sleeveless tunic. Gold torques similar to Shea’s and Daere’s were wrapped around their throats and biceps. Fitted leather pants completed the look.

  Fallon’s hair was pulled back on the sides in tiny braids. The top had been slicked into a half Mohawk. Black paint streaked along his temples to the corner of his eyelids, framing those whiskey-colored eyes and making them even more intense than they were normally.

  Fallon stopped dead at the sight of Shea, his eyes sweeping down her, pausing at the gold around her throat and arms. A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes heating before they swung to Daere briefly then returned to rest on Shea.

  “I appreciate that,” he said.

  Shea tilted her head, not quite understanding.

  “I thought you might,” Daere murmured.

  Fallon closed the rest of the distance between him and Shea, reaching down and grasping her hand. He raised it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, not taking his eyes off hers. Despite some of the anger and hurt still lurking in Shea, she felt a stirring of warmth, flutters of desire at the surprising gesture.