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.
