IT TOOK over an hour to reach Airabel, a tree-top village made up of an interconnected maze of pathways built by rope bridges and ladders. These shortcuts from thick branch to thick branch allowed the inhabitants to travel throughout the village without having to backtrack to the trunk of the tree. The trunk was the center around which life revolved; the village sprouting around it like a wheel, the branches being the spokes on which life flowed.
The villagers had risen to meet the challenges of life suspended hundreds of feet in the air by carving their homes directly into the tree. Some were nestled into the great trunk at the village’s heart. As the village population had grown along with the tree, they’d carved the base of their dwellings into the wood of the thick branches that reached out from the tree’s heart. They’d coaxed smaller branches to grow from the thicker limbs until they interwove, weaving them together to create the walls and roofs. Surprisingly, this process didn’t kill the branch or harm the tree.
Shea had asked how they were able to create living houses that grew and changed even as its inhabitants did but was told that it was a secret only the architects of their people knew. Though her curiosity had nearly consumed her, she had left them their secrets. The wonder she felt when she viewed these living houses was enough. She didn’t need to know how they were created to know they were special.
Around the base of the trunk, larger dwellings had been carved out to create meeting places for the entire village to gather. These buildings were much older than the ones further down the branches. As a result, the roofs towered high above the floor, the wood smooth and patterned with age.
The first time Shea had stood in one of those great chambers, she’d been left with an almost spiritual feeling—the space seeming almost holy with the lifeblood of the tree flowing all around it.
Today, Shea didn’t intend to show Fallon the trunk, as he’d seen it when he and his people had first come to a halt under the branches of the soul tree. No, there was something else she wanted him to see. Something that she had only discovered recently during one of the many times she had slipped away from Daere and the Anateri guards.
But first, she needed to locate one of the storytellers. They were her best bet in finding out some of the history behind why Airabel’s first inhabitants had chosen to settle here in the branches of the soul tree.
She led Fallon across one rope bridge after another, using the rope ladders to ascend or descend in a circuitous path that took them to the opposite side of the tree. They stopped in front of a red wooden door that sheltered a small hut. Though they were a fair distance from the trunk of the tree, the little house looked old and well cared for. The small branches to the sides and front of the building had little flowers sprouting from them, resulting in the house looking colorful and cheerful.
Shea raised her hand and knocked. She waited until the door creaked open and one pale-colored eye peered out through the crack.
“Good afternoon, Teller Laura. I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.”
The eye’s gaze shifted from Shea to Fallon and then disappeared into the darkness. The door yawned open.
Shea turned to Fallon. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Shea didn’t wait for a response, stepping in after the old woman as she shuffled to her back door. The little house had a small deck that the teller had set a rocking chair and a small desk on. It was a nice space, one that would allow the older woman to sit and enjoy the quiet and peace of the tree and its splendor without every passerby being able to see her.
“You’ve come about the mist,” Laura said as she lowered herself into her chair and picked up the yarn and knitting needles she had stashed in a basket at her side. She rocked back and forth as she worked the needles, the small scrap of knitting growing with each movement.
“I have. Is there anything in your stories about it?”
Laura’s smile was crooked as she looked up at Shea before turning her attention to Fallon who had followed Shea inside. “And who’s this?”
Fallon stepped forward, impressing Shea as he kept his nod polite and his voice respectful. “Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord of the Trateri.”
“Conqueror of the Lowlands. Would-be ruler of the Broken Lands,” Laura finished for him. “I’ve heard about you. Whoever tells your story in the end will be remembered for a long time.”
Fallon’s lips tilted into a grin. “Perhaps, lady, you will do me the honor.”
Laura snorted. “I doubt I’ll be around long enough for that. The years come quick when you get to my age.”
“You’ll probably outlive us all, Laura,” Shea said. “You look much the same as the day I first came here.”
Laura’s knitting paused. “How long’s that been?”
Shea thought about it. “Ten, maybe twelve years?”
Laura went back to rocking. “The days just float on by when you get to my age. Time was, such an event as the mist appearing would have sent me into a tizzy of worrying.”
“So, your people do have record of it,” Shea said.
Laura nodded. “We do, as I expect most villages that kept up with their past do. As your own people do.”
“Do your stories mention anything about the soul trees?”
Laura’s knitting paused, and her faded blue eyes swung to fix Shea with a long stare. “They might. What’s it to you?”
“I’d like to hear them. When we were lost, I thought I noticed something about the trees.”
Laura looked into the distance, her gaze faraway. She was silent for a long time—long enough for Fallon to step closer to Shea and place his hand on her back as he leaned down to say in a low voice, “Are you sure this woman is the right person to ask about this?”
“She’s one of the oldest in the village. She’s also a respected teller, someone who keeps the Airabel’s oral history and speaks it to her people at gatherings and when asked. If anybody knows anything, it will be her.”
Fallon gave her a look that said he had serious doubts that Laura was in the right mind to share anything of note.
“She’s also in possession of perfectly good hearing,” Laura said acerbically, fixing Fallon with a gimlet stare.
Amusement tinged Fallon’s eyes as he gave her a courteous bow of contrition.
Laura harrumphed. “You asked about the trees. I may know something.”
Shea leaned forward in interest.
Laura’s eyes shifted to Shea. “Did you feel it when you were there? The connections?”
Shea nodded. She had.
Laura put her knitting in her lap and looked out at the tree before her. “Our history says these trees exist in many worlds. That their branches lead to different places, ones not ravaged by magic or mist, ones where beasts do not exist and the world was never broken.”
Fallon made a small movement at Shea’s side. She looked up to catch a fleeting grimace before he schooled his face to impassivity.
Laura’s smile was sly as she looked at Fallon. “You don’t believe. That’s alright. I didn’t either for a long time and then I followed one of these branches to a place so utterly unlike this one that I fled in terror. That day, I learned that every story that was passed on to me, even the ones we no longer tell as anything but myth, was true. You see, these trees don’t just protect us from the mist. In a way, they call it to us. They’re one and the same. Two halves of a whole. With the mist will come other things, some wondrous, many terrifying.” Laura picked up her knitting and began rocking again. “You have your work cut out for you, future conqueror. Pick your teller wisely.”
*
Shea and Fallon were quiet as they walked along one of the thick branches, its bark covered by a mossy plant except in the middle where hundreds of feet had worn a path through many years. Each digested the teller’s words and predictions. One thing she now knew was that the tree would protect those touching it from being lost in the mist, but it sounded like it could be dangerous in its own way too.
Shea and Fallon climbed one of the ladders hanging from the branches above, then made their way across one of the many rope bridges as they traveled further and further from the village’s heart.
The air was cool against Shea’s face, while patches of sunlight warmed her as she passed under them. She took a deep breath then released it. She let go of some of the worry eating at her. They were away from all of the responsibilities and duties that came with the Trateri. She was determined to enjoy the next few hours.
The sun was setting the world aflame with a golden glow as it sunk behind the horizon when they finally reached the spot Shea had picked. The golden tint picked up the deep auburn in Fallon’s hair, a color that was only obvious at times like these.
Fallon stopped beside Shea, taking in the scenery around them. Shea had chosen a spot where the branches of the soul tree and the trees surrounding it had interwoven so closely that it blocked out any but the briefest glimpses of the world below. On one side of the branch floor was a deep groove where water had pooled, creating a series of mini pools. From a branch above, a small stream of water trickled down, creating a small waterfall shot through with the hues of sunset. Moss covered everything as it drenched the small scene in lush, verdant greens. A small purple flower that Shea had learned only grew in spring lent a pop of color to the world.
“How did you find this?” Fallon asked, his face expression alight with wonder.
Shea’s shoulder jerked in a half shrug. She didn’t think he would enjoy learning she left her guards behind as she wandered outside of the safety of the camp and village.
The censorious glance he leveled on her said he guessed how but didn’t feel like arguing with her before he turned his gaze back to the small oasis.
“This is beyond anything that I’ve seen before,” he said, as his eyes took in their surroundings.
Shea gave him a small, pleased smile. She thought he might like it, since he was used to the rocky plains of his homeland and the forested mountains of the Lowlands. Nothing like this. Even with all her travels, this place stood out—a place that most of the world didn’t even know existed, for the simple fact that so few people look up.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” She shrugged out of the pack and set it on the branch at her feet. “I brought food for dinner and a change of clothes for both of us. We can stay the night up here if you’d like.”
The gaze he shot her said she’d surprised him.
“Or we can go back. I know you’re busy with everything; I just thought it might be nice to take a night to ourselves before things get even crazier.”
They hadn’t had one in a while—if ever. There always just seemed to be something in the way, whether that was one of the clan heads demanding his help with an internal clan issue, or him needing to visit with his soldiers, or having to make battle plans because one of the villages decided to rebel. Shea just wanted a little time to themselves.
“No. No, I’d like this.” Fallon’s gaze was warm on her and Shea gave him a happy smile.
“Good. Race you to the pool.” She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it before taking off at a run for the cool water.
There was a long silence before Fallon gave a war cry and pounded after her, the wood under Shea’s feet vibrating slightly as he gained on her. She hadn’t made it even halfway there before he swooped her into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder as she shrieked with laughter. She wriggled madly until he slapped her on the ass. She yelped before wriggling even harder than before, laughing the entire time.
He walked to the edge of the pool and then stopped. Shea used her hands to lever herself partially upright.
“Don’t you dare. These shoes take forever to dry, and I don’t want to climb down with soggy boots,” Shea told him.
His shoulders heaved in a sigh. One huge arm wrapped around her upper thighs to pin them against his chest. The other got busy unlacing her boots before tugging them off in a feat of strength and dexterity that impressed Shea, despite how hard she thrashed as she fought to escape.
He repeated the act with her pants and underwear until she was hanging over his shoulder, her ass bare to any passing breeze. One large hand came up to cup a cheek before squeezing it. He slapped it again, and this time it stung without the protection of a thin layer of cloth. She yelped and then whacked his ass in retaliation.
His shoulders bounced as a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.
Shea’s eyes closed and she slumped over his shoulder. Crap.
“Yeah, you didn’t think that through, did you?”
“Fallon,” was the only word she got out before she was sailing through the air. She took a deep breath before the water rose up around her, covering her head. She bumped against the smooth wood on the bottom. Her feet under her, she pushed, exploding up.
She slicked her hair back and blinked away water to glare at Fallon. That was her intention anyway. Fallon had disappeared.
“Fallon?” She waded a step toward where he’d just been, noticing belatedly the pile of clothes in his place.
A hand grabbed her ankle and then yanked. She went under with a shriek.
They surfaced at the same time. She splashed him in the face which triggered retaliation as he wrapped her in a bear hug and sank under again. She came up laughing, his hard chest pressed against her back and his arms wrapped around her front.
“Do you give up?”
Shea tilted her head so she could look at his face. “How did you even get undressed and into the water so fast?”
He gave her a smug smile. “I was very motivated.”
She snorted and tried to splash him again. He dunked her twice more.
“Give up yet?” he said in her ear, sending shivers racing down her spine.
“Yes, yes I give up.”
His arms loosened, and she took two steps forward, a smile pulling at her face. She gave him a sly backwards gaze before sending a wave of water his way, feeling victorious when it hit him square in the face.
“Victory is mine,” she crowed before diving into the water and scissor-kicking for the opposite size of the grotto.
The muffled sound of splashing water reached her as he arrowed toward her. She evaded his grasp, slipping from his hand with a move that would have impressed a fish. They played this game for several more minutes until he cornered her at one end of the pool, her hands pinned behind her back and his face close to hers.
“What was that you were saying?” he murmured, a dark wicked look in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shea tried to keep a straight face but feared the mirth showed through despite her best efforts.
His smile was that of a conqueror, arrogant and dark, and just a little bit cruel. “If you were anybody else, such actions would have resulted in a swift and painful punishment.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”
He nodded solemnly. He leaned forward pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, following it up with a sharp nip. Shea bit down on her moan, warmth spreading through her core, but she wasn’t ready to give up the game just yet.
“Well, you should know by now, Warlord. This pathfinder rarely does what she’s supposed to.”
Shea twisted her wrists, sliding out of his grip. At the same time, she kicked his leg out from under him in a move Trenton had spent considerable time teaching her over the last few months. Done properly, it could seriously injure someone. Ideally, it would send her opponent crashing to the ground. Fallon staggered but didn’t fall. It was enough that Shea was able to slip past him.
She aimed a smile at him as she treaded water at the deeper end of the pool.
The look he gave her was half fascination, half determination, and all possession. It sent a thrill of adrenaline through Shea. She took off, avoiding his grab. The two of them romped for another hour, each giving as much as they got.
It was a rare opportunity to play, something Fallon told her he’d never had the chance to do as a child. So much of his life was spent protecting his mother or in training that he’d never been able to be a child. While she’d had plenty of opportunity to play games when she was younger, it was a forgotten art until she met Fallon. As an adult, she had to be serious and restrained when living in the villages, not wanting to give them any reason to see fault with her. She’d never realized how much of a strain it had put on her until she’d experienced the light-heartedness playing with Fallon could bring. He was the only person to bring out that part of her, and she took pleasure in these small moments, rare though they were.
Fallon lunged forward, catching her before she could slip away, his momentum carrying them to the side of the pool. A seriousness had entered his face. Shea stood still as he lowered his head ever so slowly to hers, giving her a dozen chances to turn away if that was what she wanted.
She lost patience with the slow tease, bridging that last little distance and pressing her lips against his. For a long moment, his lips remained hard, then they softened and suddenly he was kissing her like he intended to consume her. Like the world might end if he didn’t get inside her. His hands gripped her ass, lifting her and crushing her against him. She helped him by wrapping her legs around his waist.
There were none of the teasing touches of earlier. No delaying the inevitable culmination. It was like someone had lit a match and they were going up in flames.
He was inside her between one breath and another, thrusting up into her and pressing frantic kisses against her throat and breasts. She threw her head back and moaned, feeling her womb pull tight, and those feelings spiral deep inside.
He reached down, rubbing the bundle of nerves just above where they were joined, building the tension in Shea. She was hurtled into climax before she could even think to guard against it. He followed moments later, his groan echoing through the trees.
Finished, he pressed her closer as he rested his forehead against hers. Shea was still breathing hard as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he moved to the side of the pool and lifted her up to set her on it.
They were quiet as they dried off, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. They shared little touches with each other, a caress against the shoulder, a fleeting touch to the back, a press of lips against the chin, telling each other without words the depth of their feelings.
They dried off and dressed in the change of clothes Shea brought. She pulled out the food, mostly trail rations—nothing fancy—except for two pieces of fruit she saved for their dessert.
By now the sun had set and even its memory had faded from the sky, leaving only night in its wake. This high in the canopy there were gaps for the sky to be seen, and what a sight it was. This far from the camp and village meant there was no light pollution to obscure the heavens on this nearly cloudless night. It made for the perfect opportunity to lay next to each other and stare up, as the stars woke one by one, until they were a stream of light twinkling across the heavens, sometimes so thickly that they looked like a river of sparkling dust.
It wouldn’t be long now until the main event—the reason Shea had wanted Fallon to see this. It was only visible for a limited time beginning a few hours after the sun set. Not every night, but often enough that Shea had risked the trip.
“This is beautiful, Shea. I can see why you brought me here.”
Shea turned her head to find Fallon staring at her. She gave him a smile, only visible because of the moon and stars. Something over his shoulder caught her eyes. She tapped him and pointed. “Look.”
The purple flowers that had been folded tight in daylight began to unfurl, looking nearly silver in the pale light. Out of each flower a light rose, slowly at first, then with ever-increasing speed until the little treetop grove was aglitter with moving, flickering lights. It turned the grove into a fantastical oasis as the tiny lights became nearly as numerous as the stars above.
“It’s like the stars have come down for us to touch,” Fallon said in a soft voice, reaching out one hand to touch a light that had drifted close.
“This is the only place I’ve ever seen these,” Shea confided. “It seems to be a phenomenon unique to this area. This is a small showing. I’m told that deeper in the forest, the lights are so plentiful that it’s brighter than the sun at midday.”
“What are they?”
“Bugs, as near as I can figure it. The locals call them fairy lights. They’re nocturnal and reside in the flowers during the day, using its cover as protection against predators. At night, when the flowers open, they wake up and come out.”
Fallon caught one, gently cupping his hands around it. He held his hand out between them and unfurled his fist in a slow movement. In his palm, no bigger than Shea’s thumbnail was a miniature figure, almost humanlike with a head and arms and legs but no features, and wings that closed and opened in a lightning fast movement. As they watched, its wings flickered, creating the glow they’d been watching.
“How does it create light?” Fallon’s face was intent as he tilted the fairy light in his hands, this way and that as if he could find the mechanism it used just by observation.
Shea shook her head, the movement visible by the fairy light. “The villagers don’t know, and my people haven’t spent enough time in this area to study it. There’s a story the villagers tell about a race of people so tiny that they are almost invisible to the eye unless you look very closely. That the race was once so plentiful throughout these lands until the cataclysm, which forced them to retreat into obscurity to avoid annihilation. The fairy lights only come out at night when they feel safe, chancing the light only when predators or enemies aren’t close.”
Fallon looked up for a moment, the fairy light’s wings opening and closing, its light turning off and on with each movement.
“Watch.” Shea lifted her hands and clapped once, the sound a crack in the night. The lights closest to them winked off, including the one in Fallon’s hands.
“It reacts to danger.”
“Yes, which means the light can be controlled. Its reaction to threat is to hide, using the natural camouflage of the night as protection.”
When Shea made no other movements, the fairy lights gradually drifted closer again in a slow meandering movement. Fallon slowly lowered his cupped hand when it became clear that the light he’d held was no longer there.
“The villagers harvest the fairy lights’ waste to create artwork and ceremonial dress. For the summer solstice, they always have a celebration that they call the Joy of Light. It looks like a dance of the sun. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Shea said.
Fallon’s hand covered hers on the blanket. “I would like to see that someday.”
Shea leaned her head against his shoulder as they watched the fairy lights move in swooping patterns over the pond, its water reflecting their light.
“When we have children, I’d like to bring them here,” Fallon said, his statement startling in the quiet.
Shea lifted her head. “We’re to have children, are we?”
“Of course. I must have someone to pass what I’ve created to—someone to take up the legacy and make something better, something stronger out of it. I’ll sit them down here and tell them the story of how we met, how you exploded onto that platform like a goddess of old, like the stories my grandmother told me when I was a child.”
“What if I don’t want children?”
His shoulder shifted as he peered down at her. “Do you want children?”
Shea rubbed her chin against his shoulder and sighed. “Truthfully, I’ve never thought about it. I’ve been so focused on making a place for myself—and then when the Trateri caught me, on surviving—that the thought never crossed my mind.”
“I think you would make a good mother, teaching our children how to read the trails and track beasts.”
“Like my mother taught me.”
“Not your father?” Fallon voice curious. “You so rarely talk about them.”
Shea was quiet a long moment. Her first instinct was to clam up, to ignore the question and make it clear there were some things she didn’t want to discuss. It’s what she would have done not so long ago.
“My father did teach me some, but he was gone so often. He’s a pathfinder; my mother is too, but her duties required her presence at the Keep more often.”
“Was that difficult?”
She’d never thought of it in terms of difficulty or not. It simply was the way things were. “No, our family was happy. My father brought me trinkets from his trips, and my mother was the firm hand of discipline, teaching me the skills she thought I’d need when I took my place as a pathfinder. Turned out it was a good thing as it gave me an advantage over other initiates when I began my formal training.”
“You speak as if they’re dead.”
She sighed. “They’re very much alive, though they probably wish I’d done them the service of dying in the course my duties.”
“That sounds harsh.” There was no judgment in his voice. He was simply making an observation.
Her laugh was rough and ugly, hurting her throat as it left. “To them I’m a disappointment. Long before I was captured by the Trateri, I knew I hadn’t lived up to their expectations. Now, I doubt they would want me to darken their doorstep. I’m the round peg among a world of square ones. I never quite fit, and once that cost the lives of other pathfinders, they made it clear I wasn’t welcome.”
Some of the peaceful feeling she’d had after viewing the night sky and seeing the fairy lights threatened to dissipate. She wasn’t ready for that, wanting to hold on to the good while she still could.
“And you, what was your childhood like?” she asked, wanting off the subject of her past.
Fallon laid back, pulling her down so her cheek rested on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. It made her feel safe and comforted.
“You know some of it,” he told her, staring up at the stars. “My father was a great man, grandson of the man who first united the clans. When I was a child, I would watch him fight. He was fierce; no man could beat him in a fair fight. He was able to take on five men, and they couldn’t even land a single blow.”
Shea was quiet, knowing that his father had not had a happy ending. She rested a hand on his chest, her fingers rubbing lightly along his pectoral muscle in a soothing caress.
Fallon continued without prompting. “He couldn’t be defeated in a fair fight so when it looked like he might succeed in reuniting the clans, his uncle resorted to trickery to stop him. My father’s allies used deceit and false promises to lure him from his stronghold. They attacked him with over thirty men, and even then lost two thirds to his blade, before several archers were able to put ten arrows in his body.”
Shea’s fingers stilled, and she closed her eyes at the pain in his voice. Her family might have its problems, but her childhood was nearly idyllic. Or as idyllic as a childhood in the Highlands could be. It was only because of her own mistakes that the divisions in their family took hold.
“My mother was forced to flee and take shelter with Henry’s clan. He was one of the few who did not take part in the betrayal.”
That must have been when she met Cale’s father. Shea didn’t bring his name up, knowing Fallon still regretted the necessity of executing his half-brother.
“Henry’s the one who helped me track the men who killed my father. He helped finish the training my father started. When he deemed me ready, he put a blade in my hand, gave me a horse and told me to avenge my father.”
Shea lifted her head and looked up at his shadowed face. “And did you?”
His face shifted down until he was staring at her. There was a dark pleasure in his voice as he said, “Every last one. Trateri across our plains heard what I’d done and began to gather. From there, I hunted down the clans that had betrayed my father and destroyed them—wiped their names from our history and made sure they could never recover.”
Fallon fell silent after that, and Shea was content to let him. She pressed her hand flat against his chest and smoothed it across the hard ridges of his body.
“Is that why you’re so stubborn when it comes to me being a scout?” Her question was soft. She almost lost her courage at the slight tension in his body, but forced herself to stay the course. If they had any chance of lasting, they needed to be able to communicate—even about the hard things. Shea knew deep in her bones, she couldn’t go on as she had over the last few months. It would slowly destroy anything they attempted to build.
“Is that why you brought me up here?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble against her ear.
Yes. And no. She knew they needed time to themselves, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t have an ulterior motive. How to put that into words, though?
She hesitated too long, and he took her silence as answer enough.
The moment shifted. He withdrew from her without ever moving a muscle. It was almost a physical feeling.
“No, that came later.” The answer came after a long moment, one where she thought he was going to ignore her question.
She lifted her head and looked up at him, holding her breath. He’d shared some things, but only in passing. She knew most of his family was dead, but not how, or why it affected the present.
He fell silent again. Shea didn’t push even though she wanted to. She had a feeling that the wrong words right now would cause him to close down and shut her out again.
“My mother was a lot like you,” he said. “She was strong and brave and not diplomatic in the least.”
She pinched him in retaliation for that last statement.
“She was a Lowlander?”
He made a ‘hm’ sound of agreement. “My father used to say that he was struck dumb the first time he saw her. She was standing in the door of her family home with an arrow aimed directly at his heart.”
His father sounded like he had an odd sense of the mating dance. She could imagine being struck dumb at the sight of someone pointing a weapon in your direction, but not then wanting them as your telroi.
“She sounds like my kind of woman.”
“She would have approved of you. She wouldn’t have let you know that, but she would have.” His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers smoothing through her hair. “You know that my people have the custom of kidnapping our telrois from other clans or Lowland villages. She’s one of the few that came willingly. She gave up her family and life because she saw something in him that called to her. When he died, something broke inside her. She was not the same for a very long time. Some days I don’t think she ever got back to the person she was.”
Grief will do that. It was like a many-headed beast; every time you chopped off one, two more heads sprung up to bite you in the ass. Left unattended, it could reach deep inside, ripping out the vital parts that made up a person.
“She met Cale’s father in that time. Everyone knew the two of them were not a good match. He was ambitious but lacked the discipline to make his ambitions a reality. He latched onto her because she was the former wife of the Hawkvale and thought she would bring him the acclaim and recognition he craved.”
Shea leaned against Fallon harder, letting him take more of her weight—wishing that she could prevent the ugliness that was coming.
“When that didn’t happen, he changed, taking his frustration out on her. And me sometimes. Back then, I was small. He would taunt me about my inability to protect her. He did that until I was finally big enough and well-trained enough to put a stop to it. I took my mother and Cale and we left him. Henry helped with that too.” His voice was hoarse by then. Shea’s eyes smarted though all this happened years before she met Fallon. “I thought it was over then. My mother gradually became the woman I remembered. In the end I was wrong, that man was simply biding his time. Waiting until I was off getting our revenge before striking. He snuck into our tent one day and killed her and two others. He tried to kill Cale too, but Henry managed to get there in time to save him.”
Fallon fell silent after that. Shea rubbed her chin against his shoulder, trying to give him wordless comfort. It was a poor offering, given what he’d shared.
“I understand your desire to cling to this notion that you can keep me safe,” Shea finally said. She lifted her head to look up at him in the poor light. “It is a noble feeling, but you must understand that it is not possible to wrap me in swaddling to protect me from what’s out there. Just look at what happened earlier with the mist. There are no guarantees in the Broken Lands.”
“You cannot argue that the danger you are in increases every time you go outside the camp.”
“That is true, but your enemies are more likely to do me in, than anything out there. You know this or else you wouldn’t have put as many guards as you could spare on me.”
She could tell by the loaded silence he didn’t want to concede that point. Seeing a chink, she pushed on, “Fallon, you can’t make me into something I’m not. I’ll never be a pretty trinket on your arm or a ball of fluff sitting by your side. I deserve more; I am more.”
The shadow of his head dipped in the dark and Shea got the sense his intense eyes were focused on her.
“What is it that you like about being a pathfinder?”
Shea drummed her fingers against his chest. She’d never really thought about it before. It was just the world she was raised in—the world she was born into.
He didn’t wait for her answer. “Because from where I sit, you don’t appear to like it.”
Shea reared back. How could he say that? Yes, she might not be able to quantify what she liked about it, why it drew her, but that didn’t make it less the case.
“How can you say that? I’m a damn fine pathfinder.”
“Are you now?”
Shea opened her mouth to say yes, then shut it.
Sensing he’d scored a point, Fallon pushed his agenda, “You forget, my love, I talked with Eamon and your men before we ever began. I spoke with every one of my units that you led or worked with. I know what makes you tick, and you were one of the worst soldiers or scouts in my army.”
Shea opened her mouth to protest; a warm palm covered her lips before she could.
“Not in skill. There you were better than any man in the clans. But there is more to being a scout, and I’d wager a pathfinder, than skill. From what I heard from both Eamon and others, you flirted with the edge of insubordination more than once. That if you hadn’t been so damned talented, they would have had you strung up and whipped as punishment.”
Damn Eamon and his big mouth. She knew exactly what incident had been at the forefront of his mind when he’d told Fallon that.
Her sigh was angry. There was little argument she could present. What Fallon said was true.
“I loathe stupidity,” Shea finally muttered.
Fallon’s chest moved under her as he chuckled. “I am well aware, as is anybody you worked with during your time as a scout.” He settled under her. “I’m not just doing this because I want you safe. It’s a big part, but not the only part. You’re too good and too smart to be a follower, and at the end of the day that’s all a scout is. They follow orders about where to go and sometimes how to get there. You’re meant for more. I don’t want a pretty trinket; I want a strong and powerful partner capable of ruling by my side.”
“Shouldn’t this be my decision?”
“No, not in this. I am the Warlord, and if I say you won’t be a scout, you won’t be a scout.”
She sat up. This, this was what drove her crazy. They were having a reasonable conversation and now he was back to being an autocratic ass.
“I hate when you pull that card.”
His arms came up to yank her back down. “I know. Why do you think I do it?”
She pushed against him, his strength no longer as amusing as it was earlier. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to say something and then have it your way.”
His sigh was heavy and frustrated. He rolled over, pinning her wriggling body under his. “We haven’t seen each other in months. Do you really want to fight? Whatever our thoughts, this issue will not be solved tonight.”
He pressed a few kisses along her jaw and one on her nose.
“Fine. For now. We’ll pick this up at a later time.”
He pressed another kiss against her neck and collar bone. She shivered.
“And in the meantime, can you at least try to find something meaningful that takes advantage of your unique skills here?”
Her silence was stony.
“Shea?” He kissed lower, using his chin to drag her shirt down until he was kissing the tops of her breasts.
She wriggled again, testing his grip but getting nowhere. “Fine, I’ll look, but I make no promises.”
She felt rather than saw his smile against her skin. “That’s all I ask.”
He resumed kissing her, sliding until he nuzzled the valley between her breasts.
“Really, again?”
A hand sliding under her shirt was her only response.