Shea stiffened. That would not be good. For the pathfinders or the Trateri.
“I’ve seen Whelan’s village listings and the rate at which they’re declining,” Shea revealed.
Lainey sighed, the sound resigned. “He should not have showed you those.
Shea arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He probably shouldn’t have, but she was glad he had. It gave her a more accurate picture of what they faced.
“You’re facing a critical mass of loss. You suffer many more and there won’t be any recovering from it,” she said. “How can they not want an alliance? The Trateri have the numbers and experience to fight whatever this is.”
The sound Lainey made was ugly. “Because they’re stubborn old fools unable to see the rot on their own noses.”
Shea wouldn’t argue with that.
On one hand the pathfinders were progressive, open to questioning the world around them and finding answers even if it took years of study. Because they had preserved some of the ancients’ knowledge, it meant they were less given to superstition, and devoted themselves to the compilation of learning, passing it down to other pathfinders through the ages. However, they were also bound by tradition and unwilling to make the necessary changes to survive. They also had an extreme distrust of anyone who had not passed their little tests.
It was like this tower. The guildmaster stayed here because of a sentiment that was centuries old, one that didn’t hold much sense anymore, if it ever had.
Two dichotomies with one beginning to win out, the more time passed.
“So, the council doesn’t know about the alliance,” Shea said.
“Oh, they know,” her mother responded. “They even agreed to it. They’re just planning to back out once they’ve gotten a better idea who the Trateri are and what makes them tick.”
Shea straightened. “They can’t do that. Fallon will kill them all.”
“He’ll try,” her mother agreed, her voice dour. Shea sensed she wanted to say ‘and I might let him.’
Shea rubbed her forehead, a headache threatening. Her wrist let out a blaze of pain and she dropped her arm.
It was just as she and Fallon had suspected. They really had no intention of fulfilling the promise of the boomers or helping him unite the Highlands.
She couldn’t even say she was that surprised.
Lainey tapped one finger against the stone, her face pensive as she stared at Shea. She seemed to come to some type of determination because she squared her shoulders and fixed Shea with an intent stare.
“What if I told you we would welcome you back into our ranks, your past transgressions forgiven, you’d be bestowed with the rank of a master pathfinder and allowed to become a gatherer?” Lainey said, her voice casual.
Shea went still. Her head turned toward her mother very slowly, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Emotion had closed off her throat.
Lainey paused but when no response came, she continued, “It would be nice having you back. You always were one of the best, and as a gatherer, you could begin to do those things you always talked about.”
“And I assume you want something in return for this generous opportunity,” Shea said in as neutral a voice as she could manage.
Lainey inclined her head. “Of course.”
Shea nodded and waited.
“Your warlord seems to listen to you. You would just need to put that to good use,” Lainey suggested.
“You mean betray him,” Shea stated flatly.
Lainey didn’t confirm or deny as she watched Shea, her face unreadable and still.
Shea shook her head before she huffed, bending her head as she bit down on the words she wanted to say. Her mother tended to shut people out when they got too emotional.
The two stood beside each other, both lost in whatever thoughts consumed them.
“I won’t do it,” Shea said. “Not for anything in this world, and certainly not anything you have in your power to offer.”
