“That’s something, at least,” Braden said in a mild voice. The pressure from above abated as he stepped back, lowering the staff to his side. “Good job on keeping your defense up after that blow.”
Shea was too preoccupied with sucking in oxygen to appreciate the back handed compliment.
The crow’s feet at the corners of Braden’s eyes deepened as he regarded her with a reserved expression. “However, your footwork was sloppy, your blows weak, and you need to work on your reaction time.”
Shea nodded as she calmed her breath.
There was a laugh off to her side that she ignored. Braden’s gaze flickered and an expression of annoyance showed briefly on his face.
Trenton ambled up. “You’re better than when you started, at least.”
She gave him a grateful smile, even if she didn’t entirely believe him.
“Barely,” Braden qualified. “There is still a lot of work to do.”
Trenton focused on something over Shea’s shoulder. The skin around his mouth tightened. Shea kept her sigh internal as she turned to see what had caught his attention.
Several pathfinders watched them. They edged the area Braden and Trenton had claimed for practice, reminding Shea of giant scavenging birds, waiting for lame prey to finally succumb to death.
“I find it unsettling when they do that,” Trenton muttered in a low voice.
“Indeed,” Braden agreed, his expression grave as he watched the others.
It wasn’t the first time the pathfinders had turned up to watch a practice session. In fact, they’d been present at all of them. Whether their purpose was to watch Shea fall on her face or suffer a few bruises, was up to debate. They never said anything, just watched.
Not just Shea’s practices either. They were silent observers of everything the Trateri did or said. When the Trateri set up camp, when they rose in the morning, when they ate. The pathfinders never spoke or interacted, even when a Trateri tried to engage them; their faces expressionless and their mouths shut, never giving a response no matter the question or provocation.
It had created a certain amount of tension between the two groups, and Shea was stuck right in the middle.
“Shall we continue?” Shea asked, deciding to ignore the problem currently watching them.
Braden’s gaze was thoughtful as his eyes moved between her and the others before he gave a short nod. “This time concentrate on staying out of range of the staff until you need to strike.”
Shea jerked her chin down and settled into her stance as Trenton backed out of the way. Braden and Shea assumed their positions and resumed their practice, ignoring their unwelcome onlookers as they went over the moves again and again, with Braden sometimes stopping to correct her form or show her where she had gone wrong.
It was over an hour later when they stopped for the night. While Braden had hardly broken a sweat, Shea’s body begged for respite from the practice’s abuse.
Their audience had thinned but not disappeared in that time, boredom and the promise of food drawing several away.
Shea turned toward their small camp, Trenton crossing over to follow at her back, taking up the position of protector even though he was injured. As one of the Anateri, elite warriors who answered directly to Fallon Hawkvale, the warlord of the Trateri, he could be missing an arm and still he would try to do the job his warlord had entrusted him with—protecting Shea.
They drew near the four pathfinders who still watched. Shea passed without acknowledging their presence.
“Traitor.” The low word reached her just as they passed.
An ugly feeling crawled up the back of her neck, even as she straightened her shoulders and continued on, ignoring them. It wasn’t the first time that word had reached her ears in the week since they’d left Birdon Leaf, and she doubted it would be the last.
While the pathfinders might not be outright hostile to the Trateri yet, the same could not be said of her. She once was one of them and thus held to a higher standard. In their eyes, she had failed. Not only them, but the rest of the Highlands as well.
They might forgive the interlopers their ignorance, but the same forgiveness would never be extended Shea’s way.
Trenton spun on them, a snarl on his face. “What did you say? Repeat that to our faces.”
None of the pathfinders responded, their expressions blank even as their eyes burned with suppressed emotion.
Trenton took a step toward them, one hand going to the sword at his belt. The pathfinders wouldn’t stand a chance if he drew it. They were like Shea, wise in the ways of the wild, hidden places of the world but not always the best when it came to killing their fellow man. At least not with steel and iron.
Shea stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “That’s enough.”
