“This is significant how?” Fallon barked.
“Haversham isn’t a man,” Shea supplied, already at the door. “She’s Griffin’s mother, and she’s still in the Keep.”
Her father was already at the end of the hall as Shea hurried to catch up—not because she wanted to stop him from whatever he planned, but having failed three times, Griffin’s mother would realize the chance of discovery had increased.
Her father needed someone at his back in the event Haversham got the drop on him.
Fallon’s mood rolled down the hallway after her, a storm given almost physical presence. She ignored him and the rest as she stalked along at her father’s side.
They headed for the southeast area of the Keep where Haversham’s family quarters had been for three generations. Like Shea’s mother, Haversham was a child of the Keep and grew up wandering its halls. The two women had been friends once, and Victoria had been an honorary aunt while Shea was growing up.
Their relationship was why it had been so difficult for Shea to face her when she’d come back without Griffin. Shea had assumed a guilt that wasn’t hers, helped in part by Griffin’s mother and others. It had poisoned many of her relationships.
Now, she had to wonder if some of that was because Victoria’s son had been spilling poison in her ear all this time, turning her and others against Shea’s family.
Pathfinders saw them coming and got out of the way, neither father’s or daughter’s expressions inviting interference. That was helped along by the larger forms of the Trateri now flanking them, their weapons on display. All had seen their prowess today on the bridge. No one sane wanted to test them, not when the looks on their faces said they would relish the chance to spill blood.
A man stepped out of a room and then rapidly stepped back in again. Shea glanced inside to see him watching them from the doorway, his gaze avidly curious.
They entered a large room, one of the main gathering places in the Keep. It was a homey sort of space where pathfinders often came after a long mission to de-stress and share stories. It was a place Shea hadn’t often visited toward the end of her tenure here, not wanting to risk the blame others cast her way for surviving when so many hadn’t, or the gossip that accompanied their looks.
There was a quiet murmur as Shea and her companions came into view. She absently noticed Whelan seated at one of the tables, as well as a few others she knew and had once counted as friends.
Shea ignored them in favor of turning towards Victoria and the people standing at her side. This time she didn’t let past guilt influence her. She wanted blood and she wasn’t sure she cared who she hurt to get it.
Allyn stepped forward, the teacher’s eyes going to the warriors at her back. “Is this really the best place to do this?” he asked Shea in a quiet voice.
Although he taught the children and was unable to participate in most parts of a pathfinder’s duties, Allyn had a certain amount of influence over the people here—partly because he’d helped raise them and their children.
“Move,” Fallon rumbled.
Allyn drew himself up, his face and body filled with a quiet dignity indicating he wasn’t going to be intimidated by the potential of physical harm. At any other time, Shea would have admired him for standing up to people who could end him with barely a thought. It took courage. Today, she struggled with impatience.
She would have preferred to do this in private, far from prying eyes ready to judge and jump to conclusions. She shared a look with Fallon. He gave a tiny nod, telling her to continue. These were her former people, she would take the lead. It would have more weight that way.
“You’ve been betrayed,” she said, her voice abrupt. “We all have.”
Victoria met her gaze with a bitterness that surprised Shea, even now. Her son wasn’t dead. Why did she still act like Shea was the one responsible?
Shea pointed at Victoria, looking around at the other pathfinders. “How many of you have conspired with her, whispering in the dark as you plotted the death of my family and me? Do you even know why she wants us dead? Truly?”
Shea doubted Victoria had been upfront about her goals or the fact that her son’s demise was greatly exaggerated. Though her former people didn’t stand for all that she’d once thought, she found it hard to believe they would have fallen so far.
Victoria would have kept her son’s role in all this hidden, if only because of his changed appearance and fear that the same distrust that had smeared Shea would be turned on him.
That was how Shea planned to break her hold on the rest. Her people didn’t like liars, and Victoria had that sin written all over her.
Several pathfinders shifted in their seats. Shea was gratified to see surprise and confusion in some of their faces. Not all, but enough perhaps that it meant her people weren’t as far gone as she had feared.
Shea returned her attention to the woman in front of her. It almost scared Shea, the lack of emotion she felt—just a diamond hardness deep inside as she stared coldly at her quarry.
“Tell me, Victoria. When was it, you decided your fellow pathfinders were an acceptable casualty in his plans? Or did you fool yourself into thinking he would spare them?” Shea asked, her eyes hard as she stared at the woman who’d made her life so difficult for so long.
Victoria face was pinched and self-righteous as she lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shea made an ugly sound. As she held Victoria’s attention, Caden and Zeph worked their way around the room, flanking Victoria and her small group without them being the wiser.
Whelan stood and hobbled over to them, his movements slow and deliberate. He frowned at the lot of them, his bushy eyebrows acting as punctuation marks as he asked, “What’s this you’re saying? Share with the rest of us.”
