by T. A. White
Every muscle on Shea’s body locked, and she took a deep breath. She nodded and followed Trenton into the walled off portion of the tent. She braced herself as she stepped through, feeling the fabric drop behind her, cutting her off from the rest of the gathering.
The other side surprised her, and she stopped mid step. She looked around wide eyed. The Trateri’s ability to adapt their surroundings to their specific taste and preference always impressed her. They had a way of taking what should have been a humble lifestyle and inserting into it a grandeur and elegance not often found in the Broken Lands.
Fallon Hawkvale’s chambers embraced this concept so well that it was difficult to believe this space existed in a simple tent that could be packed up and moved on a weekly basis.
Tapestries alive with intricate embroidery were stretched across ornately carved wooden frames, giving the room the impression of painted walls. The sloped canopy of the ceiling had several fabric panels cut out to allow air flow to keep the space cool and fresh. In the possibility of rain or cold weather, each ‘window’ had fabric that could be rolled over it to attach to the sides.
There wasn’t just one large rug on the ground but several, each piled one on top of the other so when a person walked across it their feet sank into the plush fabric. It was soft and thick under Shea’s shoes, leaving no impression of the uneven ground below. No bumps from rocks or clods of dirt marred the geometric designs and vivid colors.
The edge of one had the distinctive pattern of a Lowland city known for their weavings. No doubt many of these were the spoils of war.
That thought helped break Shea’s surprise and led her to recognize other familiar objects, such as the gleaming black wood on the chest at the foot of Hawkvale’s low bed. Shea knew of only one place that made furniture with wood that black.
Having noticed the chest, she found herself cataloging the bed and its comfortable nest of furs and blankets before finding her gaze inexplicably drawn to the figure sitting at the side of the bed.
Shea came to attention, assuming that was what a Trateri would do in this situation.
She examined this man who had caused such an upheaval in her life and the lives of thousands of others.
He looked tired. It wasn’t much, but something in his posture suggested he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. That same exhaustion was present behind his eyes and in the tightness of the skin around them.
In all honesty, she was surprised he was awake. The spinner hallucinogenic tended to linger for days. There was no way his system had gotten rid of all of it. The fact he was upright and alert was a testament to the fierce determination and stubborn drive of this man.
What would it be like to have both of those traits focused on a single person?
Terrifying? Or would it make them feel like they were the only thing that mattered in a world where very little mattered?
Shea dismissed these idle thoughts. She would never have cause to find out.
Fallon’s perusal of her was much more direct. It felt as if his whiskey colored eyes were peeling back her secrets one by one. Something she could not afford.
The taut silence lasted as he looked his fill. She pretended to examine the embroidered panel directly across from her.
“I’m told you’re the reason I’m still alive.” Fallon’s gravelly voice scrapped across Shea’s nerves.
When he fell silent again she realized with a start he was waiting for an answer. Finding her voice was difficult with the full force of his attention focused solely on her.
“That’s not entirely true.”
Fallon’s lips quirked in a semi smile. “So you weren’t the one who figured out my men were looking in the wrong place?”
“I did do that,” Shea admitted. Caden and Darius already knew that much.
“Were you not the one who decided what the most likely routes I might have taken were?”
“I was responsible for that, too.”
“I admit things were hazy, but I’m pretty sure it was your face I saw when I was cut out of the web.”
Shea held her silence stubbornly. That was true.
“How exactly is it not true?”
“None of that would have been possible if not for the men in my team. Eamon created the distraction that gave me time to get you and the other man free. If he hadn’t done that, we would all have been food for spinner babies. If Phillip and Buck hadn’t eliminated the other routes, we would never have thought to look for you there. So I’m not the only reason you’re alive. You have them to thank as well.”
There was a muffled snort behind her. Given the magnetism of Fallon’s presence she had forgotten all about Trenton.
“Each man from your party has been rewarded. You’re the last.”
Shea’s face remained placid and unmoving as she kept her eyes trained somewhere above his head. She already knew what came next.
Fallon stood with a small grimace and walked over to place his hands on Shea’s shoulders. His palms’ warmth sank through her shirt, scalding her.
“You’re about to receive one of the greatest gifts we have to give an outsider,” he told her.
Shea was left with no choice but to meet his eyes squarely with her own. It would have been odd to continue staring over his head. Like all Trateri he was big, not just in height but in the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his arms. He made her seem dainty in comparison.
“What’s that?”
He gave her shoulders a small squeeze. “You’re going to become one of us.”
“Uh-huh. And how am I to do that?”
He gave her a toothy grin. “We’re adopting you.”
“I have parents, thank you.”
“And now you’ll have a clan.” He let her go and stepped back.
“And if I prefer to remain as I am?”
There was a small growl behind her. The humor on Fallon’s face drained leaving a deadly expression behind.
“The offer to adopt an outsider into a clan is not one that is made often. It is considered an honor.” Fallon’s face thawed as a bit of his earlier humor peeked through. “I would advise caution when making your decision.”
Ah, so it was one of those gifts. The kind you might not want but couldn’t refuse.
Shea sighed. It wasn’t like this would affect her decision to escape one way or the other.
“I would be honored to be accepted into the ranks of the Trateri.”
“I thought that might be your answer,” Fallon said in a wry voice.
Bet he did.
“You’re also to be promoted to the ranks of my Anateri.” He inspected her body, paying attention to her arms and legs. He didn’t seem impressed. “You’ll have to undergo training. Hopefully, you’ll put on a few more inches before you stop growing. Until then you’ll serve in whatever capacity Caden or his men see fit.”
Shea took the news sourly. She had a feeling this was another ‘gift’ she didn’t dare refuse.
“You’ll need a new uniform,” Fallon said with a grimace at the oversized one she had on. To Trenton he said, “Do we have any that small?”
Trenton gave Shea a skeptical glance. “Probably not. I’ll have one of the Snakes alter one to size.”
“Good. Now, let’s get this feast over with before I collapse on my ass.”
Shea blinked. She hadn’t been expecting such a frank admittance of weakness. Not from the Hawkvale.
Fallon continued past her, stepping gingerly. Trenton pushed aside the fabric for him. Two steps before crossing into the other room, Fallon’s shoulders straightened and his stride smoothed out until he prowled passed Trenton. If Shea hadn’t seen it, she never would have guessed he suffered any weakness.
Seeing the confusion on her face, Trenton explained, “Whatever is said or done behind these curtains is never repeated outside this chamber. You would not like the consequences should you share his personal business.”
Trenton’s eyes were steely as they held
hers. She swallowed at the not so veiled threat and nodded.
He gave her a pleased smile. “After you, little brother. The feast can’t begin until the guest of honor appears.”
Shea gave him a squinty eyed glare and ducked past him. From the slightly amused glint in his eye, he knew exactly how she felt about this so called ‘honor.’
Chapter Eighteen
The dining space had filled with people in the short time Shea spent speaking with Fallon. The low roar of voices quieted as she became the focus. One by one, the men and women gathered returned to their discussions.
Shea searched the crowd for Eamon or Buck, wanting the reassurance of a familiar face.
Trenton stepped up beside her, grabbing her arm and tugging her behind him as he plunged into the crowd of faces.
“The Snake Clan’s Cobra,” he murmured in her ear while indicating a striking woman with straight, long black hair and a sleeveless tunic that left her toned arms bare.
If Shea remembered correctly, Cobra was the term Snake Clan used to refer to their Clan Leader.
Trenton said, “The Snake Clan is the only one with a female Clan Leader. They have a long history of woman rulers. Before the clans united under Hawkvale’s grandfather, many thought a female leader was a sign of weakness. The Snake’s taught them otherwise.”
The Cobra was beautiful, but the cold, calculating look in her eyes was evidence of the deadly being residing just under the pretty surface.
“She’s speaking with Jarak, an Earth Clan Amethyst Leader. He’s quite handy with a blade but always looks for the easiest ways to win.”
Jarak was a plain looking man with alert eyes and a crooked smile. His dark brown hair was pulled back tight against his head.
The only Earth Clan Shea had encountered were some of the cartographers. She knew they were also the blacksmiths responsible for the weapons the Trateri carried to battle. They had many soldiers in the army, but most served on the west and south battlefronts.
Trenton’s commentary slowed as people began lining up behind the short chairs rimming the tables.
“It looks like dinner will begin soon. We should find our seats,” Trenton said.
She saw Eamon and Buck heading to the far side of the table and moved to follow. Trenton touched her shoulder and nudged her in the opposite direction, towards the head of the table.
“Come, your seat is this way.”
Shea resisted, shooting a glance back at her companions. They were engaged in conversation with several men, except for Phillip who watched the crowd around him carefully.
Shea caught his eye briefly and received a brief nod before his gaze moved on.
Defeated, Shea followed Trenton as he walked confidently through the crowd. She was dismayed to find she was to sit to the right of the chair at the head of the table. Fallon’s chair.
Uncomfortable, but not wanting the people around her to know it, Shea kept her face as blank as possible as she came to a stop. Trenton stepped to her immediate left where he waited, exchanging nods when he was greeted by their fellow diners.
Shea was largely ignored except for the assessing glances that slid her way as they waited for dinner to begin.
Unexpectedly, she was hungry. Breakfast had been a long time ago and with all her plans to escape and then the stress of being caught, she’d forgotten to eat. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. The faster they were done, the faster she could start making new plans. Ones that wouldn’t rely so much on chance.
The low murmur suddenly trailed off and then abruptly rose to a dull roar as Fallon strode to the head of the table, all earlier appearance of weakness gone. He was once again the ultimate warrior, the man who had guided Shea’s hands in a killing blow and then pulled the dead revenant off her.
Shea found her eyes glued to him as the force of his presence sucked all of the oxygen out of the room.
There was something about him. Even from the beginning. Only now it was stronger because Shea had seen what he had created with his people. She knew what lengths he had gone through to rise to his position and how he battled daily to keep it amid a people who could just as easily tear themselves and the rest of the Lowlands apart. Despite herself, she respected him.
On one level he fascinated her, and on another, he absolutely terrified her.
As if sensing her thoughts, he looked up from where he was exchanging a nod with the Leo of Lion Clan to meet her eyes. Whatever he read there caused him to pause and then his eyes narrowed as if something had just occurred to him.
“What’s she doing here?” a strident voice asked from the door.
Shea frowned and looked at the man standing just inside the entrance, the sun at his back and his face still in shadow. She noted that a few had cast the newcomer disgusted looks while the others steadfastly ignored him. Whoever he was, he wasn’t liked.
“You finally have her, so let us go,” the man demanded, taking another step into the chamber.
Who was he talking to?
She looked where he was looking and felt her throat tighten when she saw Fallon looking back at him with a dark look on his face.
“You need to keep a muzzle on your friend,” Fallon spoke above the first man’s head to another just ducking into the tent.
“I’ll speak with him,” a familiar voice said.
Shea’s eyes swung back to the two men as the air thickened and froze around her. A pair of brown eyes flicked in her direction and then just as quickly away as he collared the first man and started to jerk him from the room.
Witt’s mouth was set in a hard line as he started herding the man she was just recognizing as Paul out of the tent.
They hadn’t made it out of the encampment all those months ago as she had hoped. She’d looked for them, for any of her men, every time she came back but hadn’t found any sign of them.
Now, in possibly the worst situation, she had.
She took a tiny step back as Paul continued to fight against Witt. Trenton’s eyes came sharply to her as the movement drew his attention and she stilled.
“No! She’s right there!” Paul yelled at Witt, flailing an arm in the direction of the table’s head, where Shea was inching back step by tortuously small step. Several pairs of eyes swung her way. She looked blankly back at them and then glanced behind her.
No one there but her.
“That’s who you wanted, isn’t it?”
“What is he going on about?” Darius asked impatiently.
“He’s imagining things,” Witt said tersely, “or trying to cause trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’m not,” Paul stated loudly.
Witt yanked him harshly around and shoved him. Paul fell to one knee and struggled up only to be caught roughly by the shoulder and propelled to the door.
“Hold up,” Fallon’s quiet voice stopped the pair. “Let him speak.”
Paul shoved free of Witt and stepped around him. Witt’s head dropped slightly, and it looked like his fists clenched before he too turned to face the Trateri’s leader. Unlike Paul, whose face was victorious as he eyed Shea with a smirk, Witt was careful to keep all thoughts hidden behind a hard mask, leaving him to watch the room and Fallon guardedly.
Shea noticed Henry, the Horse Clans leader, eyes linger on her a moment as his mouth pursed thoughtfully. He suspected what was coming. She was sure of it. Her body flashed hot as the skin on the back of her arms and neck started prickling and sweat popped up on her forehead.
“Tell me why you felt the need for your outburst,” Fallon said. Despite the feeling of heat bouncing around Shea’s nervous system, she still shivered at his tone.
“You mean you don’t know?” Paul asked, cocking his head. “I can’t believe this. Your entire army is out looking for her, and now you don’t even recognize her when she stands next to you at dinner.”
That was her cue. Time to go. Though the entire gathering was between her and the exit, she didn’t plan to let that
stop her as she loosened her grip on the dinner knife she had palmed the moment she’d recognized Witt.
The nice thing about tents as opposed to houses is that the former was made of cloth, which could be cut. So really there were an infinite number of escape routes if someone was inventive enough. Shea was extremely motivated to be inventive.
“I suggest you make your point quickly, boy.” Darius sounded tense as if he had already guessed where this was going.
A hand caught Shea’s shoulder and another reached down to jerk the knife from her hand. “Going somewhere?” Trenton asked in her ear.
Slowly, Shea raised her eyes to meet Fallon’s gaze. His eyes held a startled recognition that quickly changed to a fierce look of victory before a shutter dropped down, masking his thoughts from her.
Shea drew in a sharp breath. Possession had been there too.
“Everybody out,” Fallon said softly, still pinning her with his gaze.
“It’s Shea,” Paul kept going, ignoring the order. He pointed at her, “That is Shea. The woman you’ve been looking for.”
“Out,” Fallon roared.
The room emptied quickly. Many of the men slid her sidelong looks. The Cobra smiled coolly as she moved lithely out of the room. Shea barely registered this, finding herself unable to move her attention from Fallon’s intense regard.
“I do not envy you the next few minutes,” Trenton said softly. Then he too was gone.
Shea was afraid to move for fear of what would happen once this moment was broken.
Her gaze flitted about the room.
“Trying to escape would be pointless,” Fallon informed her. “By now Darius has stationed my men all around this tent. We wouldn’t want you escaping the same way you did last time.”
That was good to know, though she hadn’t really been thinking of cutting her way free. For one thing, Trenton had taken her knife. For another, escape would only delay the inevitable. There was no way she would ever make it out of camp. Running would only see her recaptured.
Fallon moved to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. Shea’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides and that damnable prickly heat was back, racing up and down her spine and neck.
