*
Shea’s mother unlocked a door at the base of the westernmost tower, stepping through with only a single glance behind her. Shea’s father followed, leaving Shea and Fallon standing in the doorway.
This tower had been the home of the pathfinders’ guildmaster for as long as there had been a guild. Facing the Badlands, it was meant to symbolize that the pathfinders always kept one eye on that border. Shea had always thought it was a bit of nonsense. Even on the clearest of days, there was no way to see the border from this tower. They were hundreds of miles from it. But, tradition said this was where the guildmaster reigned from, so that’s where they stayed.
The door shut behind Shea and Fallon.
The bottom level of the tower was bare of any decoration. In braziers on the wall, oil lamps burned, illuminating the space.
Fallon stopped her before she could head for the stairs, picking up the wrist she’d been favoring and pushing back her sleeve. A mark wrapped around her wrist. Bleached bone white, it was a reminder of where the ballyhoo had grabbed her and stood out in stark relief.
Shea winced when he touched it. The mark throbbed and pulsed.
Pain crossed Fallon’s face as he lifted her arm and placed a kiss on the skin next to the wound.
She touched his jaw. “I survived. That’s all that matters.”
“I want Chirron to look at it as soon as we’re done here,” Fallon said.
She nodded.
Together they turned to the stairs and climbed in silence, not stopping until they’d reached the highest floor where her mother waited. She opened a door and stepped out onto the balcony. Shea followed her without a thought.
Her father closed the door behind her, ensuring the two of them had privacy.
Shea kept her growl silent. As ever, her father was a meddler, fiddling and conspiring until the women in his life did as he wanted.
What was more surprising, was that Fallon had let him get away with this carefully orchestrated attempt at forcing Shea and her mother to spend time alone.
She hesitated, listening carefully. Yup, no signs of a scuffle on the other side, no pounding on the wood that might suggest an angry warlord.
She sighed as she turned to face her mother, who stared out into the night, her hands resting on the stone balustrade.
She assumed Fallon sensed no danger to her, and that was why he made no attempt to barge in. Well, not a physical threat at least. Her mother was perfectly capable of tearing strips off her without ever laying a hand on her.
“It is interesting to me that you would go down there without backup in these trying times,” her mother said, her voice perfectly calm.
The apparent mildness of her voice didn’t fool Shea.
“Thought I might investigate some of my old haunts,” Shea said, after carefully studying her mother.
Shea’s hands were tense where she clasped them behind her back.
Her mother slid her a scathing look out of the side of her eye. “Your little antics have made my job infinitely harder. I could have done without the extra work.”
Shea’s mouth quirked. “Good thing I’m no longer one of yours then.”
Lainey’s sigh was long-suffering. “You’re my daughter. You will always be mine.”
Shea looked out over the Keep, fighting to keep doubt off her face.
“What? You think I’m lying?” her mother asked, tilting her head so she could see Shea’s face better. “My dear, I carried you in my body for nine months and then suffered through two days of labor. You’re mine. Even that stubborn, hardheadedness of yours. More importantly, I can tell when you’re lying.”
Shea didn’t respond.
“You get that from your father, you know,” Lainey said, her smile faint.
Shea snorted. “I doubt it. You’re the most stubborn person I know.”
