“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.”
