Fallon greatly suspected everything they’d seen so far was just a precursor of what was to come.
He had a feeling whatever was barreling down on them could sweep up all the Broken Lands in its wake, finishing what the cataclysm had started. Only this time, there would be no broken groups of survivors left to carry on.
“We’ll do what needs doing,” Fallon said, his voice steady as he looked each of his people in the eye.
There were grunts of agreement.
“Do you think the men we sent back will make it?” Martin, one of Fallon’s Anateri asked.
It was a good question—one they had no hope of knowing the answer to. They’d done all they could to ensure Buck and the others’ success. It was up to them now. Only time would tell whether they made it or not.
For now, it meant Fallon and those he’d brought with him were on their own. They walked a tightrope where a single mistake could send them crashing to their deaths.
“Stay vigilant. Tonight’s dinner is a good chance to assess our enemy. Keep your wits about you and don’t take stupid chances if you can help it,” Fallon warned.
Each of his men nodded, meeting his eyes with grim determination.
Fallon’s shoulders loosened. “Pass my message along. I’ll see you all at dinner.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
After a long bath and wearing clean clothes, Shea felt almost human again. There was something about washing off the residue of the trail that always left her feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the world. It also helped that the heat from the water had done much to loosen her muscles. For the first time in days, she could move without holding in a wince.
There was nothing like a hot bath to put you in good spirits, despite even the most treacherous of circumstances.
Although her clothes were simple, Fallon had managed to convince her to wear his symbols. A golden torque built to resemble the wings of a hawk clasped around a large sapphire stone. She normally would have worn a cuff around her bicep that matched the one around her neck, but she’d talked him out of that piece of finery, given the long sleeves she wore. The Keep carried a chill in its halls even in the high parts of summer. She didn’t relish the cold so had elected to keep her sleeves, despite his persistence.
She’d thought the torque would look silly with her simple garb but had to admit after admiring it in the mirror, that it seemed appropriate. It made her seem dangerous, yet at ease, as if to say she was secure in who she was and could wear such things without thought. It was a blending of Trateri tradition with Highland simplicity. She liked it, oddly enough.
She slid a glance at the warlord pacing beside her, his face impassive. With the black band of paint from temple to his eyes, he looked intimidating. He was the warrior come to call, fierce and mighty. An enigma wrapped in a lethal package.
His hair had been drawn into a tight braid at the top of his head, creating a small Mohawk before being left to fall loosely down his back.
His Anateri were similarly attired, all with various versions of the face paint. Her months with them had taught her that the Trateri only wore paint during formal occasions or when they planned to go into battle. She had a feeling that this dinner met the latter requirement.
With the Anateri at their back, then Braden and Caden immediately behind them, Shea and Fallon walked into the main hall. The open wooden door gave way to two steps leading down to the main floor.
They paused in the doorway as dozens of eyes turned toward them. Shea raised her chin even higher, meeting stares. There were very few friendly faces out there. Most were inscrutable, but there were a few that were outright hostile, the owners glaring at her with enough heat to start a wild fire.
She straightened her shoulders, stepping down onto the main floor with Fallon at her side. She refused to be intimidated or cowed. These people were her past. Fallon was her future. Whatever they said or thought of her was unimportant. Their judgment and blame couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Fallon’s hand brushed against hers and she looked up. There was silent support in his eyes. She nodded and took a deep breath. She could do this. This time was different. She wasn’t alone anymore.
They paused in the wide space before the tables. The pathfinders’ dining hall was different than others she’d seen in the villages she’d visited and lived in. There wasn’t a head table where only a select few ever sat. Instead the tables were arranged so it wasn’t clear who carried the highest status in the Keep.
She’d always liked that way of doing things. It forced those in charge to mingle with a wide range of people, from the lowliest of apprentices to the loftiest of stations. It also meant the conversation was varied and you couldn’t help getting different views as long as your dinner companions rotated.
Today, however, it looked like the dining hall had been cut down the middle. Fallon’s people on one side and the bulk of the pathfinders on the other.
It left her questioning where they should sit. Did they stick to their own people and eat in peace with little concern for pathfinder politics? Or did they venture forth and risk indigestion?
She knew without asking, which Fallon would pursue. They hadn’t come all this way to stick to what was safe. If they were to make this trip worth it, they would have to brave the verbal barbs of their hosts.
Shea and Fallon headed for a table in the middle that had been left empty. They stood with backs to their people while they faced the pathfinders. Caden and Braden flanked them. The rest of the clan leaders met them at the table moments later.
Several pathfinders stepped up to join Shea’s group, taking their places opposite the Trateri. Their speed and the flawless way they settled into position suggested they’d simply been waiting to see what the Trateri did.
It was a test, pure and simple. One they had passed—she hoped.
