by T. A. White
He’d been too consumed with his own concerns to care about that child, nor did he care when Henry made him a priority even over his own flesh and blood.
“What? No sarcastic remarks? Nothing on the mistake I’m making,” Fallon asked, his face hard.
Gawain’s lips quirked. “No, I think that’s probably one of the smartest moves you’ve ever made.”
Fallon stared at him, trying to figure out what this newest game was. The one thing Gawain had been consistent in all these years was taking the opposing side of any matter Fallon was on.
He couldn’t be supporting him now.
Gawain sat back with a smirk. “She tempers you. Makes you bearable for the rest of us to deal with.”
Fallon gave him a considering look, going over the events of the past few days. “I noticed you didn’t speak up against my alliance with the pathfinders either. Both you and Lion seemed to be in support of it.”
Gawain reached forward and poured ale into a goblet, doing the same for Fallon. He slid a goblet Fallon’s way before taking the other for himself. He didn’t bother doing the same for Ben.
Ben, of course, let it slide. A mistake. If Ben wanted his clan to receive the respect they deserved, he needed to step up and demand it. Starting by taking a stand on the little insults the other clan leaders threw his way on a regular basis, such as what just happened with the ale.
“An alliance with them only makes sense,” Gawain said after taking a long sip. “They’re a formidable force in their own right. They have weapons we can only dream of. If we don’t snap them up, it’s only a matter of time before someone or something else does.”
Fallon didn’t know how much he believed of that speech. Gawain and Lion had been vocal in their opposition until now. What had changed?
Ben chose that moment to reinsert himself into the conversation.
“Are you sure it’s wise to make her the battle queen so soon?” Ben said, his voice rigorously polite, not challenging in the least.
Gawain gave him an impatient look. “Of course, you would say that.”
Ben’s voice was defensive. “I simply mean, their relationship isn’t that old. She hasn’t even given him children yet.”
Fallon’s expression became icy. “Shea brings more to the table than her ability to breed.”
Gawain seemed equally disturbed by Ben’s statement. “You and your clan are a bunch of hypocrites. Had Shea been Trateri, you would have never brought that up.”
Gawain was right. While continuing the next generation was an important role for all Trateri, not just women, there were many women who chose the path of a warrior over that of a mother. No one was allowed to challenge such a choice. In the same vein, men could choose to stay close to home, to become an artisan or den father instead of leaving for raiding and war.
That Ben had thrown that in Fallon’s face left him feeling slightly protective. He felt an inner spurt of amusement. Had Shea been here to hear that argument, she would have taken the clan leader apart. Decimated him so thoroughly he would probably never seek to oppose her again.
Perhaps Fallon should wake her, if only to be entertained by the spectacle.
“Shea has earned this right,” Fallon said instead, his voice moderated and cool. “She has shown she has a steady head on her shoulders even in the worst of situations. She’s never faltered in any of the tasks I’ve set before her.”
Gawain wasn’t content to let that be the end. He leaned forward, stabbing the table with a finger to get his point across. “More importantly, she’s fought side by side with our warriors. She, at least, is always on the front lines, putting her life in danger to save people she doesn’t even like. You should be so lucky to have such a one as your battle queen.”
Fallon felt his interest sharpen at those words. He wondered if Gawain’s sudden loyalty had anything to do with the trust Shea had shown in having him help her with the aerial assault.
Still, Fallon sensed there might be more to the story. It was a question for another day.
He’d grown tired with this conversation. He wanted this wrapped up so he could go back to bed. His gaze went to the wrapped bundle at Ben’s side. “Is that the sword I commissioned?”
Ben looked down, almost seeming surprised at its presence. He touched it, his face momentarily uncertain. “It is.”
“Let’s see it then.” Fallon cocked his head, curious.
The man Fallon commissioned the weapon from was known for his unparalleled work. It was slightly odd that Ben had brought it in the middle of the night without the artisan in question. Fallon could only assume the clan leader was eager to impress, to curry Fallon’s favor for himself and his people.
Ben bent to unwrap the blade, his movements careful and measured lest he accidentally cut himself. The weapon revealed was a thing of beauty. Slightly curved, its blade was a blue-gray that only the finest Trateri steel ever achieved. Even before he picked it up, Fallon could see the intricate tempering on the blade that was evidence it had a wicked edge that would hold up well to the stress Shea would no doubt subject it to.
Ben picked it up, one hand on the pommel and the other under the blade itself. Fallon held out his hands to receive it.
In a movement faster than the Earth clan leader had ever displayed, he pointed the sword at Fallon and thrust.
A sharp, white-hot pain pierced Fallon low in the abdomen.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot let you and that woman lead us into ruin,” Ben said in a low voice.
He grasped the handle with both hands, his intent to twist the sword in Fallon, making the damage worse.
Gawain roared, jumping to his feet and knocking over his goblet.
Fallon grabbed the blade with both hands, ignoring the way it sliced his skin or the bright red blood spilling down the steel.
Ben strained but couldn’t budge the sword. Fallon bared his teeth at the other man, murder in his gaze. He took a step closer, gritting his teeth against the feel of steel sliding deeper into him.
He grabbed Ben by the shirt, wrenching the blade out of his hand. “You will pay for this.”
Gawain shouted for Fallon’s guards, even as he grabbed Ben and threw him on the ground.
Fallon’s legs collapsed. He caught himself on the table and lowered himself to the ground, the sword still sticking out of him.
He was right, he realized. The blade had been sharp.
Wilhelm’s face appeared above his, frantic and wild. Fallon’s eyes slid shut, the furor in the room fading as he lost his hold on consciousness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shea was startled awake, the cacophony in the next room serving to pull her abruptly from a sound sleep. She sat up, propping herself on one hand, and looked around in confusion, her surroundings unfamiliar for a moment.
The spot next to her was empty. Fallon must have gotten up at some point. Not long ago, if her internal clock was anything to judge by. She was still tired, so it must be the middle of the night.
She rolled off the bed, grabbing the first items of clothing she could find. The increased buzz of activity from the other side of the screen lent urgency to her movements.
Shea stumbled into a scene of pure madness. She stood shocked beside the privacy screen, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The Anateri had swarmed into the tent, their faces grim and intense.
They’d ushered two people, Gawain and Ben, into a corner of the room. She didn’t dwell on the oddity of the Anateri acting like the clan leaders were the enemy.
She absorbed everything after that in disjointed flashes. A sword, blood coating its length. Caden’s angry expression, his face nearly red as he shouted. A body on the ground.
Fallon’s body, his face still and pale.
Shea sucked in a gulp of air, the world suddenly moving again. She was on her knees by his side before she even registered crossing the room.
“Fallon,” she said in
a small, choked voice. Her gasping breaths hurt her chest, her cheeks were wet, her hands fluttered over him. She clung to control.
His entire front was soaked in blood, his skin three shades paler. He looked dead, his face peaceful.
“This is a nightmare,” she assured herself. The words rang with false promise, ones she wished with all her heart were true.
But no, this was all too real. It was Fallon’s blood soaking into the knees of her pants. It was his face slack and missing the charisma that drew her like a moth to the flame.
The shouting in the room faded as Shea crouched over his body. A sob tore loose. She shook her head, the motion frantic, and clamped down on any other utterances. She gulped down the tears that felt like a briar bush in her chest, the knowledge if she let them loose they’d cut up her insides as surely as any razor blade.
No, she wouldn’t lose control, not until she knew for sure.
With a shaky hand, she held her hand beneath his nose. For a moment she felt nothing, and another stuttering sound of grief escaped her, then there was a whisper against her skin, a faint breath.
Her heart leapt and she bent over him, her head touching his shoulder before she straightened, her motions frenzied as she whipped off the shirt she’d hastily donned, pressing it hard onto his wound.
He’d already lost so much. She needed to stop him from losing anymore.
“Shea.” Trenton’s voice was tentative.
“He’s alive.” The rawness of her voice surprised her.
Trenton hesitated and then landed by her, he reached up, testing his pulse. “Shit. Caden, Braden, he’s alive.”
Shea looked up, her face determined. “I want Chirron here now.”
“He’s still tending the wounded at the Keep,” Braden said.
“I don’t care.” Shea’s voice was shrill, and she took a deep breath, calming herself. She needed to lock down her emotions. Fallon’s life relied on her keeping her wits about her. She looked down at him, not moving her hands from where they pressed hard against his wound. She wouldn’t fail him. “There are other healers still in camp, he wouldn’t have pulled them all into the Keep in case of this very scenario. Find them, bring them here, then go get him. Do it now.”
Several Anateri left the tent at a clip, not waiting for Caden’s approval.
Shea took a deep breath. “Help is coming. Just hold on, Fallon. You hear me, you hold on or I will hunt you down in the next life and kick your ass.”
“What should we do with these two?” someone asked.
Shea looked up, noticing that Gawain and Ben both looked a little bruised and battered. The Anateri around them looked like they would relish eviscerating and stringing them up by their intestines.
Shea took that to mean these two were suspected of trying to murder Fallon—because it was murder. Fallon was unarmed, fresh from bed, and thinking he was meeting with allies. This wasn’t battle or honorable combat from a duel. This was cowardice, pure and simple.
That neither of them was dead meant the Anateri weren’t sure who was responsible. Their restraint was unexpected. Under most circumstances, they would have killed anyone suspected of such an act, that they hadn’t was probably because both men were in positions of power. It was a sign of clear thinking for which Shea knew she’d appreciate later. It would have been all too easy to get caught up in the agony of Fallon’s death and kill now and think about the consequences later.
“We don’t have time to figure out who is responsible for this,” Shea said before anyone else could speak. Her voice was diamond hard, her face poised and determined despite the grief and fear shredding her insides. “Take them both into custody until we can decide which one will face a coward’s reward.”
“She can’t order that. She hasn’t the power,” Ben said, the normally reserved Earth clan leader seeming almost in disarray as he looked between Braden and her.
Shea’s smile was cold. “You’re wrong. Fallon made me his battle queen last night. I have all the authority he would.” She turned her gaze on Caden. “Do it.”
His gaze was speculative as he watched her. Whatever he saw there seemed convincing because he made a sharp gesture to his men.
They moved to the two clan leaders. “You can’t do this,” Ben yelled. “My clan will never stand for such an insult.”
Gawain stirred from where he’d stood silent until now, the clan leader oddly subdued given his normal outspokenness. “Rain submits itself into the custody of the warlord’s Anateri.” He looked at Braden and Caden. “She is correct. Fallon confirmed her status.”
The words were oddly formal, as was the look on his face.
Shea knew his agreement meant something, but the shock of Fallon’s life hanging in the balance made thinking difficult.
Shea inclined her head at him, before turning a fierce look on Ben. “I don’t care what your clan might think of this. You resist and these men will treat it as an admission of guilt. I suggest you think carefully about your next actions.”
Ben’s hair stuck up in places. The clan leader looked bedraggled, nothing like the calm man she was used to.
“There will be consequences for this,” he threatened in a stiff voice.
“I don’t care,” Shea said, already turning her attention away from him. If Fallon died, Shea doubted she’d care about anything ever again.
The Anateri escorted the two clan leaders out.
Trenton reached over, touching Shea’s blood-covered hands where they pressed the shirt into Fallon.
“Let me help,” he said, his face gentle.
She jerked, staring up at him with a frozen expression, unwilling to relinquish her spot. A part of her believed if she stepped away, it would be an admission she was giving up on him, that she and she alone could tether him to this world. It was ridiculous, but still she resisted handing over the task to anyone else, even Trenton, a man who’d proven time and again his steadfast loyalty.
“Shea, you’re getting tired,” he said in that same gentle voice. There was understanding on his face.
Until he’d said something, she hadn’t noticed the quiver in her arms, a shakiness that was growing steadily worse. Even kneeling and putting all her weight behind her, it was taking its toll. People never realized how much strength was required to put pressure on a wound.
Logically, she knew Trenton’s request made sense.
She gave a small nod, edging backward as his hands slid over hers, taking her spot in a seamless transition.
Shea shifted over, giving him space. She moved until she crouched at Fallon’s head. She put her hands on his cheeks, ignoring the streaks of blood she left behind.
“You will not die,” she told him, infusing every ounce of her will into the words. “Do you hear me? You will not leave me to do this alone.”
Trenton and Shea stayed like that until a woman, her hair tangled and snarled around her face, her eyes still containing that sleepiness of someone who’d just been yanked from bed, stumbled into the tent, accompanied by Fallon’s Anateri.
“Battle Queen, I’ve brought the healer,” the man said, his eyes equally gentle.
Shea stiffened her spine and gestured the woman forward, concealing her flinch at her blood covered hands. She couldn’t afford to fall apart right now. She needed to be strong, even if inside she was a wreck.
The woman’s face showed horror when she got a look at a blood-stained Shea and the person she crouched over.
“You will keep him alive,” Shea ordered, her words firm.
The woman shook her head, her face horrified. “Telroi, I can’t promise that. He’s gravely wounded.”
The words were like a blow to Shea’s already faltering foundation.
“You will keep him alive, until Chirron arrives,” Shea clarified. “You will do this for me.”
The woman looked from Shea to the warlord still lying at her feet. Her mouth firmed. “I promise to do my best, but I ca
nnot work miracles.”
Shea held herself still for a long moment. She wanted to tell the woman that her promises weren’t good enough, that she’d keep Fallon alive or Shea would order her head separated from her shoulders. She did none of that. It wasn’t the woman’s fault matters had deteriorated to the point they had. Also, a small piece of her knew people didn’t do their best work when they feared a single mistake might lead to their deaths.
The woman knelt at Fallon’s side and looked up at Shea. “I can’t work miracles, but Chirron can. I’ll keep your warlord alive as long as I can. Pray that the healer gets here in time.”
“I will,” Shea said, stepping to the side to let the woman work.
To the Anateri who’d brought the woman, Shea ordered, “You don’t leave his side. Make sure someone gets her anything she needs.”
The man snapped to attention, giving her a salute she’d only ever seen Fallon receive. Her head jerked down in a shaky nod. She was unable to hide the quiver of her lips or the feelings his actions had sparked.
She sent one last lingering look at Fallon. Much as it burned, there was nothing she could do for him.
She strode out of the tent, her back ramrod straight, blood still covering her. No, she was useless here, but there was always another path to a destination. Time for her to turn her attention to those who’d tried to take her warlord from her.
*
It took only a few questions for someone to point her in the direction Caden had taken the other two.
This time of the night, there were very few people out and about. The victory celebration of the earlier hours was long since over, most having sought their beds.
Trenton trailed behind her as she stalked through camp toward a tent on the outskirts. Braden saw her coming and broke from the small group of Anateri he’d been consulting with.
“Shea, we can take care of this,” he said, moving to intercept her.
“Maybe so, but I will be a part of it,” she said, her face daring him to tell her no. She was hanging on by a thread. Keeping busy, taking care of Fallon’s people as he would have, was the only thing preventing her from toppling off that last ledge. If Braden told her no, she wasn’t going to be responsible for what she did next. She just knew it wouldn’t go well for him or any who stood in her way.