“I will admit that is a significant benefit to our union,” he told her, his voice a deadly whip in its quiet intensity. “But you would have led me past the cliffs and the mist whether I claimed you as my Tolroi or not. Those weapons you had in Edgecomb are too important to walk away from. You forget, little cat, I am the warlord. I don’t need pretty words to get what I want from you.”
She grasped his wrist tightly for balance. He wasn’t hurting her. His grip was firm on her neck but not harsh.
He put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I suggest you enjoy your run while you can. In the end, you will still be mine, and you will give me what I want.” He drew back and smiled his dark smile at her. “I will certainly enjoy the chase you lead me on.”
With that, he released her and was gone before she had caught her balance.
She sank back into the water no longer feeling the warmth.
She’d been pretty sure he wanted her to get him past the mist and into the Highlands. To be truthful, she’d been expecting that all along. The Lowlands were civilized to a point. They didn’t have as many beasts, or they hadn’t before this summer, so they weren’t as isolated as the Highlands. At the same time, that isolation was the Highlands greatest advantage. The only way to attack it was from the border near the Badlands and few would brave that land long enough to launch an invasion. As a result, the Highlands hadn’t been conquered or seen a significant invasion in over a thousand years.
For the same reason, the Highlands kept the secrets of a long dead civilization locked away in its stretches of thinly populated land. Shea’s people held the key.
The most obvious secret, and the one Fallon would be most interested in, was the boomer. The Lowlands simply didn’t have anything to like it. To be truthful most of the Highlands didn’t either. Shea’s people, the conclave that trained guides, did though. If Shea hadn’t angered the elders, she would have probably been given her own weapon to look after.
Her people’s cache of weapons were kept secret from the rest of the Highlands. Though boomers were common knowledge, the worst of the weapons, the ones that sparked the cataclysm, were kept hidden. Shea didn’t know how Fallon had found out about them, but she could guess. Paul. If she was ever alone with him again, she’d probably kill him.
She crossed her arms over her knees and rested her head on them. She never should have stayed with Eamon and the others as long as she had.
Shea picked up the soap again and scrubbed at her skin. Her pleasure in the luxury had fled on Fallon’s heels, and she simply wanted to be done.
Minutes later she contemplated the outfit Trenton had given her. This couldn’t be all of it. Two tiny scraps of unadorned cotton lay on the bed. The first was a band designed to wrap around her chest, leaving her stomach, shoulders and arms bare. The small skirt that went with it looked like it would barely cover her ass.
The towel she wore covered more than the proposed clothes.
“Are you ready yet?” Trenton said impatiently from outside.
“I think there’s been some mistake.”
There was a silent pause and then the leather tent flap was slapped aside as Trenton entered.
Shea stiffened and clutched her towel tighter.
He rolled his eyes and told her, “Relax. I have no intentions towards you. Just imagining what the warlord would do to me is enough to kill any of those thoughts.”
Shea watched him carefully as he approached.
“What’s the problem?”
She pointed at the bed. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
He looked from her to the bed before raising his eyebrows and giving her a look as if he thought she was a bit of an idiot. “Put them on.”
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. He knew what she meant.
“Where’s the rest of the outfit?”
“That’s it.”
Shea could feel her blood pressure rising. She was not wearing that. If need be, she’d put her old clothes on. At this point, she didn’t care if they were coated in dirt and sweat from a day spent training.
She looked around. Not finding her old clothes, she asked, “Where are the clothes I was wearing?”
He crossed his arms and shrugged.
“Where. Are. The. Clothes. I. Was. Wearing?”
The sardonic twist of his lips told her everything she needed to know.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
They were gone. Either Fallon had taken them while she’d been lazing in the tub or someone else had come in while she was distracted and gotten rid of them.
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed softly to herself.
“Put those on and get out there.”
“I’m not wearing these.”
“You are.”
Shea let her silence speak for her.
She knew she was acting childish. The scraps of clothing would cover the pertinent pieces of her body, but she was tired of being pushed around.
“You are.” He leaned forward, invading her space. She stiffened but didn’t back up. “You will also have them on in the next five minutes so we can leave.”
She didn’t think so.
“You will not like it if I have to come back in here.”
With those ominous words, Trenton exited, leaving Shea fuming in his absence. After a long moment, she moved to comply, pulling the clothes on with angry movements.
Dressed, she took a deep breath and composed herself. It took a long moment and several deep breaths before some of the anger melted away and a bit of perspective to creep back in.
Only when she had control of herself again, did she exit.
Trenton led her out to the very edge of the camp where a crackling fire waited. Meynard and Caden sat on smoothly worn stumps on either side of the fire.
It seemed odd for a fire to be going full blast in the middle of day, especially when it was this warm out.
Trenton prodded her forward when she hesitated.
He maneuvered her until she stood on the other side of the fire. She coughed as a gust of wind blew smoke in her face.
Meynard lifted his arms and proclaimed in a voice as ageless and old as the mountains, “Shea of the Highland people, you come seeking to mingle your being with that of the grassland people.”
Shea coughed again as a deep burning spread down her throat. Had she inhaled ash?
“The grassland people are fierce with roots dating back to the beginning of time. You are either born of us or become one of us through fire.”
Shea didn’t know what he was talking about. Grassland people?
“Fire is the great catalyst. It can destroy, but it can also be an instrument of change and bring forth the seeds of a new beginning. It is life.”
The world around her rippled and then tilted. A burst of light flared behind Caden’s head and then Trenton’s. She fell to a knee as she looked around in confusion.
The old man was droning on and on. “You must survive the fire and be reborn to be fully accepted as one of us.”
She didn’t want to be one of them. She liked herself just the way she was. Shea, a pathfinder of the Highland guilds, a scout for the Dawn’s Riders.
The burning in her lungs intensified, and she coughed hard, nearly choking. A sweet smell, like that of vanilla, invaded her nose. Its scent so strong she almost imagined she could see it carried along on the breeze in ever widening arcs.