By this time, she’d found her pants and jerked them on in angry fits and starts, at one point almost falling before regaining her balance. She located her shirt and grabbed it, her movements sharp and angry. She pulled it over her head and got stuck, fighting with the material for a long moment, her arms sticking over her head as the material restricted her movements better than a rope ever could. A pair of large hands guided one arm into a sleeve and then the other arm into the other sleeve before grasping the bottom and giving one hard jerk. Shea’s head popped out of the top. Her blue eyes spit sparks of fury as they met Fallon’s whiskey colored ones.
It wasn’t fair that his eyes were pools of warmth, trying to reach out and heat her insides. She stepped back and then moved around him, her hands smoothing the shirt into place. Not fair at all. Especially when they were fighting. Especially when he was threatening to end them.
Just like a man. When things get tough, take a break, run for the hills. He was a warlord, he was supposed to break obstacles with his pinky finger. Not give up when they reared their ugly little heads.
“Shea.”
She didn’t listen and stalked out of their chamber. Well, his chamber if he was serious about not being able to make their relationship work.
She stopped in the next chamber at the sudden realization that if they ever did end, what would happen to her? She assumed she wouldn’t be able to keep this tent. It had been specifically built for the warlord, a man responsible for uniting the Trateri tribes. Not for his former telroi. Would she even be able to stay among the Trateri? Would they let her go back to being a scout, or would that door be closed to her now?
The righteous indignation she’d been using to shield herself from the hurt that was lurking deep inside drained out. She’d seen what happened to those unfortunates that had no place in either the clan or military caste. They lived on the fringes of Trateri society, relying on the kindness or lack of it from the clans. Their existence was meager and humble. Two things Shea had faced before, but not like this where you had to rely on the charity of others.
That wasn’t the life for her. If Fallon and she were to end, it would mean she would have to leave, give up the life she’d been building here. Give up the friends who’d made her feel like she belonged for the first time in her life. She’d lose everything.
Fallon was a warm presence at her back as his hands came up to cup her shoulders. “You misunderstood. I’m not saying we’re over.”
She grunted, still reeling from her discovery, and shrugged him off. Her feet began to move again. Over her shoulder, she muttered, “I’ll see you later. I think we both need a little space to decide how we feel.”
She ducked out of the tent, noticing Trenton standing outside. “Just who I was looking for. Let’s go train.”
Surprise registered on his face before he looked over her shoulder. Understanding dawned. Shea knew without looking that Fallon had stepped out of their tent. His eyes were a heavy sensation on her back. She didn’t look back, not wanting to see him.
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” Her reply was terse. She started walking toward the special area that had been set up so the Anateri and Fallon could train whenever they wanted without having to waste time walking to the perimeter of the camp.
There was only the briefest hesitation that she knew involved Trenton conferring with Fallon through the non-verbal communication that all the Anateri seemed to share with their warlord. He caught up with her quickly as she stalked off.
“You don’t typically lead the charge for training. Normally I have to drag you kicking and screaming.” He didn’t lie. Shea usually endeavored to do all in her power to avoid spending any time in the training ring with Trenton. The man was a sadist who took an inordinate amount of pleasure in leaving Shea black and blue after their sparing sessions. “Is this newfound enthusiasm because you’ve finally decided to get serious about weapons training, or are you just looking to blow off a little steam?”
A gemlike stare was his only response.
“Blowing off steam it is.” He gave her the best half bow he could from his sideways walking position. “Happy to be of service.”
Of that Shea had no doubt.
*
Trenton had been merciless in drilling her in defensive sword maneuvers, leaving a stinging rebuke anytime she failed to keep her guard up sufficiently. It left for an interesting number of bruises, several on her posterior, which seemed a favorite target of his when she over-extended her defense. Shea winced as she shifted position.
“Stop fidgeting,” Daere said, without bothering to spare Shea a glance. “It makes you look uncomfortable.”
Shea gave the other woman a sour glare. That’s because she was uncomfortable.
Somehow Daere had convinced her to wear the Trateri version of formal clothes for this dinner, saying that they needed to present a united and impressive front to the villagers. Her hair had been half pulled back from her face in a nest of small, interwoven braids. The rest had been curled and left to spill down her neck. The girls had managed to leave Shea looking like she had way more hair than she had.
They’d brushed a shimmering brown-gold powder on her eyelids and tinted her eyelashes black. They then dusted a lighter version of that powder along her cheekbones and jawline. On her lips they’d left a stain so red that Shea looked like she’d painted them with blood. The effect was stunning, if the mirror they’d shoved her in front of was anything to go by.
Even her outfit hadn’t been safe from their attention. They’d forced her into a sleeveless shirt of deepest blue, made of a silky fabric Shea had never felt before. She ran her fingers along the hem of the shirt, impressed by the feel of it against her skin. It felt cool and refreshing, despite the slumbering heat and humidity of the forest. It framed her breasts in a V while fitting well enough that she wasn’t afraid she’d spill out during the climb up. A belt cinched her waist above an almost transparent loose skirt of the same color. The skirt had high slits on either side, almost up to her ass. Shea had refused to wear it when Daere first presented it, stating she had no plans on flashing everyone her personal bits just because Daere wanted to play dress-up. Daere had rolled her eyes and given her a pair of tight-fitting calf length pants the color of gold to wear under it. The outfit managed to be provocative and modest at the same time, striking a balance between Lowland sensibilities and the hedonism the Trateri embraced on occasion.
Around Shea’s throat a torque of gold had been fitted. The two ends were that of a hawk’s wings clasped around a sapphire stone—a symbol of the Hawkvale. The torque around her bicep had a hawk’s head with sapphires for eyes.
Daere had a similar amount of gold around her throat and arms. She wore an outfit similar to Shea’s, only her legs were bare of the pants Shea had insisted on. She looked regal and beautiful, and ever the Trateri.
It left a strange yearning in Shea. No matter how she tried, she just could never seem to fit in totally. It left her trying to own her strangeness. It was harder than it used to be, like a skin that was just a little too tight.
She fiddled with one of the bracelets clasped around her wrist, the weight an unaccustomed feeling.
