“It was unavoidable,” she said in a strong voice, stuffing those emotions back down. It was easier than it should have been, the emptiness inside swallowing them gladly. “He’s responsible for many of the recent betrayals we’ve faced.”
Fallon’s gaze turned thoughtful as he considered that piece of information. “We have much to share, it seems.”
“Yes, but perhaps later,” she said. She didn’t know that she had the energy right now.
He nodded, the movement small. “Much later.”
He stepped forward, finally pulling her into an embrace that was as gentle as it was fierce, his arms wrapping around her like she was finely spun glass, as if he feared he might break her if he squeezed too hard. “I’m glad to have you in my arms again.”
She pressed her forehead into his neck, her arms remaining by her side. “Me too.”
He dropped a brief kiss on the side of her head, relief finally present on his face—relief and something else. He took her hand and turned her toward the army waiting behind them.
“Your Battle Queen has slain our enemy and come out victorious. She returns to us now,” he roared.
Hundreds of voices roared back, letting her know she was home again. These people who’d traveled hundreds of miles, intent on invading one of the most dangerous known lands, they were her home.
*
To no one’s surprise, Fallon decreed the journey ended. They settled where Shea had landed on her winged horse, making camp on the plains near the first demarcation.
Her father, Reece and Buck joined them that evening, the winged horses creating a spectacle as the Trateri, released from their battle readiness gathered and admired them from afar. Orion’s companions preened and pranced at the praise before taking off as he had.
Chirron helped her father off his horse and then swept him to the medic’s tent for treatment.
The Trateri celebrated long into the night as they toasted Shea’s return and their enemy’s death, even as their battle queen missed most of it, sleeping like the dead.
The next day they began the long journey back to the Keep, where the majority of their people had remained.
It turned out that Fallon had woken several days after Shea’s departure, the healing by Chirron and the Keep’s medics a near miracle. He hadn’t been whole but was well on his way to mending. When he discovered her missing, he’d been furious, rising from his bed despite healer advice and the arguments from Caden and his general. He’d summoned his light cavalry and taken off before anyone summoned the courage to stop him.
Shea heard the story from multiple people during the long days of travel. The Trateri were impressed and in awe of their warlord’s ability to survive anything, even a coward’s blow. Each retelling of the story included embellishments, at one-point claiming one of their many goddesses had come down to bestow a boon on Fallon so he might pursue his love.
Between listening to those determined to regale her with tales, Shea rested. Sleep became her number one priority, her body finally deciding it was safe to shut down to recover. The second time she almost fell off her horse, Fallon pulled her onto his, cradling her as she drifted.
Occasionally, he asked questions about her time, but except for basic answers, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. He respected that, though she could see by the impatience in his eyes he wouldn’t be content with her half-answers for long.
At night, she listened as the Trateri told stories of the two of them, about how Fallon had been called from death’s embrace when Shea had departed to confront their enemy with only a small team of stalwart companions at her side. The Trateri loved a good story and their leaders’ feats—both real and imagined—were played up and retold again and again until they only had a passing relationship with the truth.
Even Trenton’s heroism at the end was celebrated in song, his blade given magical properties and a sentience the Trateri had never subscribed to inanimate objects before. Shea had a feeling more than one warrior would make a pilgrimage to the silveright when they returned to the Keep. She wasn’t sure how her people would respond to that.
It was on one such night that she noticed Gawain in the shadows. Shea stood, squeezing Fallon’s arm when he made to follow her. He’d been loath to let her out of his sight since her return. It was a sentiment she understood. She sometimes woke frantically searching for him, only to settle when she found Fallon safe beside her.
“I’m just going right over there,” she assured him.
He settled back as she strolled off, her pace slow and measured.
Patrick sat forward on his pillow, his face questioning as she moved past. Her father had weathered his time in the Badlands well. He’d told her, Reece and the rest had only missed her by minutes. They’d arrived too late to do anything but retrieve him.
Trenton had ordered the others to head back while he continued on after her. Buck had argued, stating that he was best qualified to track Shea. It had gotten pretty heated from what Shea was told.
Trenton eventually won after pointing out Shea wouldn’t be happy to learn her father and cousin died because the two of them had gone after her. Good thing too, because Buck and Reece had both been needed on more than one occasion to fend off beasts as they began their return trip.
“Everything alright?” Patrick asked. His canny eyes hadn’t missed Gawain’s departure or Shea’s interest.
She nodded. “Just have a loose end to tie up.”
“Well, hurry up then. Your warlord isn’t going to wait long,” he said, relaxing back onto his pillow with a grimace as he adjusted his leg. The Trateri had made him comfortable, and Chirron had given him the best care. Still, her father was unused to being immobile. It had made him a bit more cranky than usual.
