Ever the Hunted
Page 29
In Finn’s fourteen years, I figure I’ve seen every one of my brother’s expressions. The wide tooth-and-gum smile he flashes when he catches a river trout. How tight-knit his brows get when he’s frustrated or angry. The somber set of his eyes before we part for months on end. None of those expressions match the look he’s giving me now. Panic and fear and something more. Something like disappointment.
I put a hand on Finn’s shoulder, squeezing. Reassuring. “He’s a boy. One who needs to get back to tending fields. Not sit around in taverns. Time to go, Finn.”
“You aren’t leaving so soon” comes from the Goliath behind me.
“It’s the truth.” Finn misses the accent target by a league.
“He’s from Malam!” the barkeep yells.
Bloody seeds!
Someone reaches for Finn, but my brother skitters out of his seat. I slam an elbow into the man behind me before he can grab Finn. “Get out of here,” I rasp.
My brother jerks away, maneuvering for the door before more kinsmen come at me. Four to one aren’t bad odds, considering the barkeep is blocked by the counter.
The bearded man charges. I jump back, grab my stool, and shove it into his gut. Angling for the door, I slam a shoulder against another fellow. Fend off a punch. Take a fist square to the chin. Bludger.
I block a hit, bob out of reach from someone coming at my side, and narrowly avoid a crashing stool. Cheers erupt over the fight. A few voices shout to end it. Or end me. The tavern is chaos.
I manage to push someone onto the playing table. Cards scatter. Money falls to the floor. The diversion leaves one mountain of a man between the exit and me. He’s easily a half-head taller and a half-body bigger. The zing of his drawn sword has me cursing.
The man swings. I grasp a stool, thrusting it between us to catch his blade before it takes off my limb. My arms rattle from wrists to elbows. I use all my strength to twist the stool and shove, a move that sends the man off-balance and gives me the opening I need to flee the tavern.
Finn’s across the street, headed for an alley. I scramble after him, my breath running hard. The tavern thugs chase us around town, but they’re drunk and we’re sober. We wind through shops and hide in shadows until we’ve lost any followers.
On the northern outskirts of Rasimere Crossing, an old barn sits unused. We settle against the wall that faces the forest and catch our breath.
Sweat slides down Finn’s temples. “Cannot believe that.”
“I nearly got you killed.” I’m so angry, it comes out choppy. I promised Ma and myself I’d keep him safe. Piss of a job I’ve done.
“Nah, you made me leave before it got to the good part.”
I rub my thumb over the scar that starts beneath my cheekbone and hides in my short beard. “The good part?”
“I didn’t get any punches in, but still . . .”
“Shouldn’t have been in a situation for you to throw punches.”
“My first tavern fight,” he says, awed.
“Don’t be a fool.”
He grins, teeth and gums shining under the sun.
Footsteps clap against the ground around the corner. I grab my dagger as a girl holding a sword steps into sight. There’s something familiar about her raven hair and tan face. Irritated that she was able to sneak up on us, I gesture with the point of my blade. “Stop there and state your business.”
Her lips twitch. “Nice to see you too, Cohen.”
My frown sets. I rack my brain. Who’s this girl?
She lets out a short, squeaky laugh that sounds like it’s being pressed through a windbag. “You don’t remember who I am? We met once . . .” She trails off, as if hoping I’ll pick up the scent. “In Celize.”
“I meet a lot of people.”
Her grin fades. “At Enat’s home.”
A memory surfaces of a log home outside of Celize. My scowl shifts into surprise. “The Archtraitor’s daughter. Lirra, right?”
Her father is infamous for openly opposing the Purge Proclamation—a decree that eliminated most Channelers in Malam—and defecting to Shaerdan after his wife and small child were killed because of his outspoken defiance.
Lirra cinches up straighter than an arrow. “Don’t call him the Archtraitor. Around here, he’s just Millner Barrett.”
“No offense intended.”
She eyeballs my dagger. “Lower your blade, hunter. I know where you can find the woman you’re hunting.”
Buy the Book
Visit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to purchase the book in its entirety.
Visit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to order the book.
About the Author
ERIN SUMMERILL was born in England. After spending years bouncing between Air Force bases in Hawaii, England, and California, her family settled in Utah. With a B.A. in English, Erin had aspirations to write the next great American novel. But writing proved tougher than she first thought, so she grabbed a Nikon and became a professional wedding photographer. When she isn’t writing, or shooting a stunning wedding, she’s chasing her four kids, two dogs, one cat, and five chickens.
You can check her out at www.erinsummerill.com
Connect with HMH on Social Media
Follow us for book news, reviews, author updates, exclusive content, giveaways, and more.