by T. A. White
“The gold suits you,” Fallon murmured, his eyes sweeping over her one last time in appreciation.
Shea blinked at him. That was such a strange compliment. Mentally she shrugged. Perhaps it was a Trateri thing. “You don’t look so bad in it either.”
There was a choked sound from Braden. Shea would have categorized it as a laugh, if it had come from any other person. She gave him a sideways glance, noting that his attention had already moved on. He was staring at Daere with an intense focus that Shea would have sworn was capable of scalding its recipient. Daere was made of stronger stuff though, determinedly ignoring his attention.
Shea waited, half expecting Braden to push the issue. Make a comment on how amazing Daere looked. He surprised her when he switched his attention back to Shea, noting her attention with a frown. She held his gaze for a long moment, determined not to be cowed or made uncomfortable for staring at what was probably a private moment for him. She felt like she’d spied on something she shouldn’t have, even if he’d been making eyes in front of everybody.
A slight furrow formed between his brows before he turned away, making a point of not looking in Daere’s direction again.
“Shall we ascend?” Fallon asked, holding his hand out to Shea.
Shea looked at it for a long moment, remembering the fight from the morning. She slipped her hand in his and offered him a small smile. “We shall.”
Two of the Anateri had already started up the ladder to the first resting platform. They moved fast as Fallon steadied the rope ladder for Shea. His hand was a warm weight at her back as she stepped onto the first rung.
She met his eyes through the ladder. He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss against her lips before resting his forehead against hers.
In a quiet voice only meant for her ears, he said, “I’m sorry for this morning and last night.”
Her eyes closed in relief. “I’m sorry too.”
“Forgive me?”
She nodded. His hands tightened briefly around her waist before they slid away. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Shea gave him a playful grin. “We’ll see.”
She didn’t wait for a response, scaling the ladder as fast as she could, leaving the rest behind. The rope swayed under her as Fallon stepped on and started climbing. She’d almost caught up to the Anateri above her when she had to slow down, not willing to crawl over them to get a further lead on Fallon. Not to mention, given how upset he’d been this morning, she didn’t want to push him too hard this soon.
Fallon wasn’t far behind her by the time they made the first platform. There, they took a brief rest, letting the rest of the group catch up. There were several strangers among them, four men that Shea recognized as Anateri and two others that she assumed were in the upper echelons of the clans. Witt was the last to join their group, his quiet calm suffusing his gaze as he glanced at Shea.
She took a deep breath and released it. She needed to talk to him about what he’d told Fallon, and why. The more pressing question was how he had known what he did. The pathfinders guarded any information about the mist and how to navigate it with a zealousness that bordered on mania.
The first of the strangers had hair that looked like someone had caught the sun and then poured its light into its strands. He was big, bigger than Fallon, and he walked with that perfect, self-aware balance that only warriors seemed to possess—the kind that said he was mindful of his surroundings and prepared to fend off an attack at any moment.
The other stranger was as dark as the first was fair. His skin looked nutbrown, and his hair had been tied entirely back from his face. His eyes were two pools of dark brown highlighted by streaks of amber. He was slight where the other man was muscled, and he moved with a dancer’s grace. He looked at the others in the group with a friendly caution, not fully suspicious, but not at ease either.
Shea didn’t engage with them, content to stay to her side of the platform and watch them from afar. The blond looked like he’d spent a little too much time training—she recognized him. He’d come out of several meetings that involved the clan heads. She was willing to bet he was one of those heads.
Trenton and Wilhelm moved to the next series of ladders and rope bridges and Shea followed close behind. There was a little chatter at this stage of the journey, but Shea knew it would soon drop off as the climb tested the group’s physical endurance, forcing them to save their breath.
Shea and her guards would be in a better position later, as she’d made a habit of taking this trip whenever possible in the past few months, and they had been forced to tag along with her.
They’d just passed the third platform and were taking a breather on one of the rope bridges when Fallon came up to her.
“I can see why your climbing skills were so developed when we first met, if this was the kind of place you learned on.”
Shea gave him a crooked grin. “This isn’t where I learned to climb cliffs.”
He arched one eyebrow, one side of his lips pulling up in a half grin. “Oh? A story you haven’t told me then. I’d be interested to learn where you developed that particular skill set.”
She gave him a wry look. “And if I tell you, will I wake to find the camp preparing to pick up and move?”
A smile cracked the stern mask he normally wore, lending warmth to his expression as a hint of playfulness peeked through.
“It’s always a possibility.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Then perhaps I’ll wait until a better time to tell you that story.”
She looked away from him, still smiling. The dark-haired stranger watched them with a curious expression. His eyes drifted between Shea and Fallon with an almost perplexed look in them.
“Who are your friends?” Shea asked Fallon.
He glanced in the direction she was looking and then away, almost turning his back on the other two as he bent and said in a low voice. “The blond one’s name is Van, clan leader of the Lion clan.”
“And the other?”
“His name is Chirron. He’s a friend of Braden. Technically, he does not hold any power in the clans.”
“And in reality?”
“He’s probably one of the most powerful men amongst the Trateri, with the exception of myself and possibly Darius.”
Shea gave Fallon big eyes. How was that possible? Especially since he wasn’t in the clan hierarchy.
“He’s the leader of our healers. They denounce all ties to their clan once they take their vows. It’s to prevent them from being biased and only offering their services to one clan. In reality, it gives them a voice in all clans.”
And because they were healers, no one would want to risk angering them and having them refuse to assist their clan in times of need.
“Is he a friend or foe?” Shea asked.
Fallon looked over her head, his eyes distant. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“He sounds interesting, if you can’t categorize him,” Shea said, her eyes lighting up playfully.
His gaze came down to rest on her. He reached up and tugged on a loose curl, watching in fascination as it straightened and then sprung back when he let it go. She let him do that several times before she batted his hand away and gave him a warning look.
“It is not always easy to tell friend from foe. Chirron, especially, keeps his motives close. I can’t tell if that’s because he’s planning something, or if it’s a natural response from having to deal with the fractious clan elders.”
Shea saw Wilhelm and Trenton begin to move again and knew their discussion was almost at an end.
“Probably a bit of both, I’d guess.”
He made a sound of agreement.
She followed in Trenton and Wilhelm’s wake, leaving the rest of the group to keep up. She was surprised at how well the two strangers were doing, less so with Darius and Braden who probably followed a similar training regime as Fallon and would have stamina for days.
They made the rest of the journey easily,
Van and Chirron not falling back or voicing any complaints, even when their breathing turned slightly labored. It was one of the things Shea liked best about the Trateri. They rarely complained about things that couldn’t be changed. It was a welcome departure from some of the charges she’d led while in the Highland.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHEA GAVE a full-bodied stretch once they’d stepped onto the last platform, hands above her head, back arched as she lengthened throughout her body. It felt sinfully good after the climb, her muscles stretching pleasantly to counterbalance the strain she’d put on them.
She felt Fallon at her back moments before his hand landed on her stomach. He leaned down, his breath tickling her ear. “What do you do to me?”
She tilted her head back to look at him questioning from upside down. “What do you mean?”
His gaze was searching and filled with dark things as he looked down at her. His eyes did strange things to her stomach as it dipped and flipped. She felt warm stirrings at the heat and intensity he was aiming her way. He sighed heavily, the erotic intensity in his gaze disappearing.
“Now’s not the time,” he murmured. He stepped around her, his hand sliding to her back and ushering her forward.
She blinked at him in confusion, not quite understanding what had just happened. That had come out of nowhere. It made her wish they were closer to their tent and bed, though she knew such a wish was selfish.
Eckbert stood at the head of his people as they waited for them on the other end of the rope bridge that marked the beginning of the village. They would have to cross that bridge one by one to greet the headman and those gathered.
Trenton and Wilhelm stayed at Shea’s side while Fallon debated with his two advisors who should go first. Darius and Caden were in favor of anyone but Fallon being the first across the bridge, pointing out the need for caution since the Airabel, while allies, were still not to be trusted.
“I am not a child in need of protection,” Fallon snapped. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself, having done it long before you formed the Anateri.”
That last comment was aimed at Caden.
“No one is questioning your prowess with a weapon, Fallon. These people are unknown. Let one of us go first to test our footing before you come in,” Darius said, frustration in his voice. “There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.”
“I’ve already met with the headman. If they’d wanted to kill us, they could have done so yesterday morning when there were fewer of us. Sending in a guard first makes us look weak—like we fear them when we don’t. I cannot afford to look weak before them or anyone else.”
Darius looked at Caden for confirmation on the first statement. Caden hesitated before giving a quick nod. A storm began gathering on Darius’s face. “What were you doing up here with so few guards last night? Because I know damn well that Caden and the rest were down below getting some rest.”
Fallon’s jaw ticked as he met Darius’s glare with a fierce one of his own. Shea stood very still not wanting to draw Darius’s wrath. She hadn’t taken into consideration Fallon’s position or the potential danger to him when she’d dragged him up here last night.
Darius didn’t need anyone to confirm who was at fault, his gaze swinging to take in the uncomfortable expression on her face. He swore and shook his head. “You’re going to get him killed.”
“Enough,” Fallon snapped. “I’ve lasted this long without a problem. We were in little danger last night.”
“That was before, Fallon,” Darius snapped back, not cowed by Fallon’s anger. “Before you went and united the clans and pissed off a lot of people. By the gods, Caden tells me you’ve had three assassination attempts in the last week.”
Shea jolted forward. What was this? “What are you talking about?”
Darius’s attention swung to Shea—for a brief moment he looked like a bull about to charge. “Maybe you should have considered that before you dragged him out of the protection of the camp.”
“What are you talking about? What assassination attempts? I thought those were done.”
“Enough, we’re not talking about this anymore.” Fallon’s voice was a cold snap of winter.
“Fallon!” Shea protested.
“No, enough.” He gave her a fierce warning glare, one strong enough to freeze the words on her tongue. His gaze moved slightly to the side. She snapped her mouth close. Van and Chirron watched the proceedings with a fascination that made her feel dirty, like she’d done something wrong.
She gave Fallon a nod, saying she understood. The warning look she gave him said that this would be one more thing they talked about later.
“Caden should go first,” Shea blurted.
Caden and Darius looked at her in surprise.
“He’s the captain of your Anateri. It makes sense that he would proceed you. They’ll see it as an honor, not as an insult,” she said in belated explanation.
Fallon didn’t look happy as he watched her. Her eyes went everywhere but his as she waited for a rebuke or to have her suggestion overridden. If he pushed her suggestion aside, he’d be undercutting her in front of potential enemies and hinder any progress she’d made. The expression on his face said he knew it too and wasn’t happy about it.
He jerked his chin down once in a nod that still managed to be an order.
Caden gave her a considering glance before he took off, tilting his head down in an almost bow before he strode across the rope bridge. It swayed under his feet.
Fallon waited beside her in a thunderous silence as they watched Caden greet the headman. It was only a few moments before he gave the signal for Fallon and the rest of them to approach.
Fallon went first. Then it was Shea’s and her guards’ turn. She took a deep breath before following Fallon’s broad back. She looked past him to where Caden and the villagers waited, decked out in their best finery, much as the Trateri were. The generals followed her, then the clan heads, and Daere. Witt and the rest of the guards brought up the rear.
Eckbert stepped forward and gestured, several women breaking from the crowd to step forward with necklaces of brightly colored flowers.
“Welcome, friends. Welcome,” Eckbert said giving them a wide grin.
Shea ducked her head and accepted the flower necklace with a smile, murmuring a thank-you to the young girl who’d placed it around her neck.
“What’s this?” Chirron asked, picking up the braided flowers and examining them closely.
“It’s tradition for the village to greet their guests with the mbel. It’s a sign of their esteem.”
“I wonder if these have any medicinal properties,” he muttered, rubbing a petal between his thumb and forefinger.
Shea’s mouth opened and then closed. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask one of the villagers. They’re familiar with the flora around here and could tell you more about its properties.” She thought a moment then volunteered, “I do know that the bark of the soul tree when brewed at a high temperature can calm a cough.”
She had personal experience with that treatment having had to sit through a few cups after she’d contracted a particularly nasty cough while visiting the area previously.
Chirron’s eyes brightened as he looked at the tree trunk. “I wonder what temperature the water needs to be to achieve the best results, or if the treatment could be replicated in a paste.”
Shea shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sure Eckbert will be more than happy to introduce you to their healer.”
“I’d greatly appreciate that,” Chirron said. The expression he bestowed on her was full of eager anticipation.
“Careful, Chirron. Your tendency to lose yourself in inconsequential things has begun to show again,” Van said, clapping the other man on the shoulder.
Unlike the rest of them, he was not wearing one of the mbel. Shea looked back at the girl who had been the one to approach him. She was staring at the ground as several other women gathered around her and talked
in hushed voices while shooting quick glances in Van’s direction.
“A new method to treat a cough or fever is never inconsequential, Lion.” The earlier anticipation in Chirron’s gaze had disappeared, leaving him with a calm expression that bordered on serene patience.
“I’ll be honest; I’m more interested in what kind of warriors they can contribute to our armies. You can treat as many coughs as you like; it’ll never win us the war.” Van’s gaze was assessing as he took in those who had gathered to welcome them to Airabel. “Though from the sight of this lot, I’m willing to bet the pickings will be slim.”
Chirron’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn’t react in any other manner.
“I imagine a treatment for the fever one gets from an infected battle wound would be worth its weight in gold, if it had the ability to restore soldiers to the ranks, when otherwise they’d be consigned to the grave,” Shea said before she could stop herself. Once the words were out, she was committed, and she met his gaze with an impassive one of her own.
Daere turned her body so she was half facing away, saying so only Shea could hear. “Well said. Now don’t push him any further. You’re not the one who will pay the price for his anger.” Daere’s eyes slid to the girl being led away by the other women.
Shea dipped her chin just slightly to show Daere she understood.
Van studied her, his face thoughtful as he pulled at one lip. “That is a fair point, but ultimately irrelevant. You have to win the battle before you have the luxury of treating your wounds. Only after you have been victorious, can the healers treat those unlucky or unskilled enough to be caught by their enemies’ blade. Without the first, you cannot have the second.”
Shea bit her tongue on the response she wanted to give him. His argument was flawed and shortsighted. Yes, winning the battle to then be able to treat your wounded was necessary, but how would you win the next battle or the battle after that if half your force was fighting off infection from non-mortal wounds. Eventually you’d run out of men with which to fight and you would lose.
Not to mention, luck had as much to do with surviving a battle as skill.