In order to get to the drylands where the Zandalee tribe lived, they had to pass through hotlands jungles. Paxton wasn’t a fearful man, but being in the jungle did not put him at ease—he wasn’t particularly fond of the giant bugs that insisted on taking chunks out of his skin while he slept, or the rattling of overgrown snakes that he knew were near. It did, however, help his frame of mind to be surrounded by warrior women who seemed to fear nothing and never complained.
It was early morning, and though the temperature was not necessarily hot yet, a layer of moisture permeated the air at all times, stagnant and humid. Oversized birds cawed their loud screeches in the overhanging branches as the Zandalee fed their sleek black stallions. Paxton packed the last of their things and then stood, pushing his hair off his damp forehead.
He’d lost track of time. How long had they been traveling? A week? Two? Time no longer mattered to him. Days ago he’d asked the Zandalee leader, Zandora, how they’d made it to Lochlanach so quickly for the hunt when the trip back to their home seemed to be taking so long. She’d wryly responded, “We did not have a man to haul along with us.”
Aye, he’d become accustomed to their humor and the jabs at his gender. And he thought perhaps they were taking him on the scenic route, attempting to ease his dark mood before dumping him on their tribe.
By now they must have realized his temperament was here to stay, because in the last day or so they’d picked up the pace. The jungle seemed to be thinning. Fewer roots to step over and vines to wade through amid sinking mud spots. The only ones who seemed to dislike the jungle more than Paxton were the horses.
He opted to walk today rather than share a saddle with the younger of the sisters, who wasn’t at all shy and enjoyed the nearness of a man very much. Zandora had said, “She tells us she prefers your brother, Tiern, but you’ll do in a pinch.”
“Isn’t she newly married?” Paxton had asked.
“Oh, jes. And she would slice off your fingers if you tried to return her advances. Zaleek only likes to play.” Zandora had winked.
Seas almighty, these Zandalee women. In truth, though, he appreciated them. And he was glad for the distraction of their company. The last thing he needed was to be left alone with his thoughts.
By midday the sun was glaring, and the moisture of the air was overpowering. He sorely missed the cool breezes of Lochlanach. It was early winter there. He’d be able to see his breath in the morning air while hunting. . . .
Paxton shook the thought away.
They trudged for hours, chewing venison jerky from Paxton’s stores, the only respite coming when the three Zandalee would raise their voices in a tribal song, harmonizing and keeping the beat with one hand smacking their thighs. Their voices rang like jewels, vibrant and clear. Paxton let it soothe him as the sun lowered, another day gone.
As they pushed through a mass of leaves as large as two hand spans, Paxton heard a distant noise and stopped, holding up a fist. The Zandalee halted their horses, and the four of them surveyed the area.
Muted voices sounded from ahead. The youngest Zandalee pointed upward at a thin plume of smoke rising in the hazy sky above the trees.
“We are not far from the Zorfina border now,” Zandora whispered, her brow furrowed in suspicion. “I do not know of any Kalorian tribes near Rainiard after the slaughters.”
“This is Lake Rainiard?” Paxton asked. His grandmother’s words about the rumors of safety for Lashed at Lake Rainiard came rushing back to him. A place of freedom that may or may not have been a myth. “What slaughters?”
“It is said that the last act of King Kalieno before he became ill was to have all the inhabitants surrounding Rainiard killed. He wished to silence the rumors of Lashed safe havens in his kingdom once and for all.”
“Deep seas,” Paxton muttered, his chest tight.
The middle sister, Zula, whispered something in Zorfinan and Zandora nodded. “Tribes always have scouts placed along the borders of their territories, but there are none here.” Her eyes grazed the trees.
“Perhaps these are only travelers,” Paxton guessed. “Gypsies. We can go around them.”
Zandora shook her head. “I am bored. Let us approach. Perhaps we can find someone to fight.”
A breath of laughter huffed quietly out of Paxton’s nose as he shouldered his pack and bow. In truth, a fight with strangers didn’t sound like a bad idea to him either.
They approached the clearing and watched from behind the trees. Paxton counted seven people milling about, ranging from a young girl to two middle-aged men. They were doing everything from cooking and scrubbing laundry to playing cards of some sort. Two of the men had the smooth, shaved heads of Torestans and olive skin. Their garments were threadbare. Three horses were tied under a thatched stall of sorts. Definitely travelers from afar.
A structure stood nearby, two stories high with a watchtower of sorts on a third level. The rock and mud masonry appeared beaten, chunks missing and broken, as if the building had been through a war. Beyond the structure was a wide lake, so still the surface reflected the grayish sky. Near the people were three tents propped open.
“I’ll approach first,” Paxton offered. He touched his bow and felt for the arrows in his quiver before stepping out of the trees. The moment he entered the clearing all eyes snapped to him. All three men and two lads jumped to their feet. A sudden zap of something in the air buzzed warmly across Paxton’s skin.
They were Lashed, like him. He could feel their energy. He slowly raised the palms of his hands to show peace and began walking forward again. One of the men grabbed a wooden club and the other reached for a bow. Paxton turned his hands around to show his nails. His heart was pounding as he got close enough for the people to see the purple lines that ran through the middle and bottoms of his nails—lashed marks from when he’d started fires for warmth and to cook food, and to heal his brother. The people seemed to relax a fraction, but they didn’t move.
“My name is Paxton Seabolt, and I’m traveling through with my three companions to the drylands of Zorfina. We mean no harm.” He couldn’t help but look toward the hands of the men, thrilling to see purple lines on two of them as well.
“You sound Lochlan,” the older of the men said with distrust. His Euronan was choppy. Torestans were known for not speaking Euronan, just as most Lochlans did not speak Torestan.
“I am . . . formerly Lochlan,” Paxton said, “but no longer.”
“Because you are Lashed?” The shorter man ran a hand over his smooth head.
Paxton nodded, feeling that pit of loss stir deep within him.
The travelers had all come forward now, and their eyes grew wide as they looked past Paxton. The Zandalee had entered the clearing on their horses.
“They are friends of the Lashed,” Paxton explained. “Women of the Zandalee tribe.”
The travelers all gasped and stared, whispering. The warrior women were a sight in their fitted black leathers with black head scarves, their blue eyes bright against dark skin. As the Zandalee approached and dismounted, Paxton introduced them.
“This is their leader, Zandora; her middle sister, Zula; and the youngest sister, Zaleek. The younger two only speak Zorfinan.”
The huntresses eyed the people and their camp in full before nodding. Zandora seemed disappointed that nobody wanted to fight.
“We are three families,” the Torestan man said. “Two from Toresta and one from Eastern Lochlanach near our borders.” He pointed to a man with a mop of stringy brown hair and gaunt cheeks. “My name is Chun Aval. I worked as King Gavriil’s chef until I did magic to save my daughter from a severe burn in the kitchens. It was then, as we packed to flee, that my brother also admitted one of his sons is Lashed. We left in the night without a word and found this Lochlan on the path, facedown and near starvation. He had been beaten. We could not leave him when we saw his lash marks.”
The Lochlan man put his hands behind his back, as if on instinct, and stared down at the ground.
So, this man Chun had worked for the royalty—that explained he and his family’s language education.
Chun introduced them to everyone in their group: his wife, daughter, brother, and two nephews. Only Chun, his nephew, and the Lochlan man were Lashed. Paxton set down his pack and joined the men sitting on fallen logs while the Zandalee went to explore the lake.
“What brought you to Kalor?” Paxton asked.
“Rumor of Prince Vito’s Lashed sympathies,” Chun said. “Our king and leaders in Toresta do not trust the prince, so I wondered. And it has been true. Twice on our journey we encountered Kalorian tribes who let us be when they saw our markings. Some even traded goods to have their tribesmen healed of various ailments. Each time they pointed south and told us, Lake Rainiard. So we have come. We have been here three days and seen no one.”
“But there were signs that others were here just before us,” the Lochlan man said quietly from the other end of the log.
“What is your name?” Paxton asked him.
“Konor. Konor Shoal.”
“What signs did they leave, Konor?”
“They’d buried their scraps and covered their fire, and the dirt looked fresh.”
Paxton was riveted. Was Prince Vito truly breaking the Eurona Pact by allowing magic and giving refuge to Lashed from other lands?
“We are not sure who to trust,” said Chun. “While we are glad for our safety, we fear the Rocato woman who has created these creatures in all the lands. If Prince Vito is in partnership with her—”
“What did you say?” Paxton’s heart was a hammer inside his ribs. “They’re in partnership?”
“It is rumored among the Torestan nobles,” Chun answered. “I heard a great many things while serving meals.”
This was not good news. “And what do you mean creatures in all the lands?”
“Haven’t you heard, man?” asked Chun. “There were notices on all the paths. . . .”
“We kept off the paths,” he explained.
Paxton’s head began to split. The beast was dead—all was supposed to be safe. He wouldn’t have left Lochlanach if he had thought otherwise. What was happening there?
The other Torestan man, Chun’s brother, pulled a worn, folded paper from his pocket and handed it warily to Paxton, who flipped it open and ran his eyes over the words in disbelief. They were written in all languages.
Granddaughter of Rocato . . . created the beasts with Lashed powers . . . burn Lashed lists . . . terrorize all the lands until the laws are changed . . .
“One group of travelers said they think this is where she comes to—what is the word?” Chun thought and snapped his fingers. “Ah, recruit. I do not know what to think of this woman. Some speak of her as evil, while other Lashed revere her as a savior. She is building an army of Lashed from those like us who want to fight for our freedom to do magic.”
“Extraordinary.” Paxton handed the paper back to the man, careful not to let his panic show. “Excuse me a moment. I need to inform my companions.” He moved swiftly toward the water, where the Zandalee had taken off their head scarves and looked ready to brazenly strip down. The women turned at his quick approach, their eyes widening when they caught sight of his pale face.
“There are more.” He sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. “More beasts, and they’re in all the lands now. Rozaria Rocato—she has an army of Lashed, and they’re threatening to kill innocents until the laws are changed. It seems that she and Prince Vito are possibly working together, which would mean she has more backing and power than anyone knew.”
Zandora cursed harshly in Zorfinan and translated for her sisters, whose nostrils flared with anger.
“If Zorfina is under attack, we must go there,” Zandora said. Paxton nodded. He understood. But he could not go with them now.
Aye, he wanted freedom for the Lashed, but not by Rozaria’s extreme means. He’d seen innocents killed firsthand. That was not the way. He had to be smart. Where would he have the most advantage over the enemy? If there was a chance that Rozaria Rocato would come here, he knew he needed to stay, though it took every ounce of his willpower not to return to Lochlanach that very second to check on his family and Aerity.
A scorch of envy and loss filled his chest. Aerity had Lief to look after her. And she was smart. Resourceful. Paxton needed to remain in Kalor and attempt to find the Rocato woman on her own turf.
Zandora reached out her arm and took Paxton’s shoulder. He did the same, blocking the two of them in. Her hair was long and wild outside its wrap, black as night. She had a smudge of mud along her jaw, and Paxton’s heart swelled. He realized he would miss her. He held tight a moment longer before releasing her. At Zandora’s side, Zula kissed her fingers and touched them to her shoulder, a gesture of love and respect. Paxton nodded.
Zaleek grasped the side of Paxton’s head and pulled him down to kiss the corner of his mouth. Zandora punched her youngest sister in the arm and shoved her away, but the girl only laughed and rushed off, pulling her head scarf around her hair as she went to her horse. Zandora gave Paxton one last roll of her eyes before putting on her own head scarf and swinging herself onto her horse’s back.
“I hope you get all you deserve in this life, dear Pax, which is far more than you think.”
And with those last words from the huntress leader, the women dug their heels into the horses and were gone.