Anger was the wrong word. Hurt was a better one—the type of hurt that wouldn’t be soothed with false platitudes.
There was much left unsaid between them. Hard feelings on both sides. She didn’t know how to fix that.
She’d grown up with the unshakable belief her parents would be behind her no matter what might come. That they would protect her even if whatever hid in the Badlands rose up out of its sleep and destroyed the rest of the world. Barring that, she’d had confidence they would love her and stand beside her when she screwed up. Not protect her from her mistakes, but not abandon her either.
The Badlands had changed all that. She didn’t know who she was more upset with. Them, for taking away a child’s bone-deep belief that her parents’ love was unconditional, or herself, for losing their faith in the first place.
“Would you really have brought me to trial for the Badlands if Fallon hadn’t agreed to come with you to Wayfarer’s Keep?” she asked.
There was a heavy silence. “Yes.”
Her breath left her in a shaky exhale. So, Fallon had been wrong.
She sat up and slid to the end of the rock.
“I knew it wouldn’t come to that.” His voice drifted through the night air.
Shea hesitated, wanting to cling to some shred of that child’s belief.
“You couldn’t have known,” she said, after a long pause where she considered the logic behind that statement. “I am very much aware of his reputation. The Lowlanders call him the scourge. No sane person would think such a man is going to willingly walk into an uncertain situation.”
“His presence here suggests otherwise,” her father observed.
“Yes, because Fallon is more than he appears, but you wouldn’t have known that, which means you’re lying.” She clicked her tongue at him. “Tsk, tsk, Father. I expected better of you.”
His head tilted and she could picture his crooked grin in her mind’s eye. “And yet, daughter, you’re not one to give your loyalty to a monster. The simple fact you haven’t led him or his men to their deaths reveals there is more to him than the stories portray.”
Shea narrowed her eyes at the shadows obscuring her father’s face. She wished they were having this conversation somewhere she could see him, analyze his expressions. Her father was a very smart man, apt to fence with words. He’d taught her how to read people, simply by having her observe him. He was the reason she preferred to stand back and watch rather than always be in the front talking. You learned so much more when you paid attention and listened.
He could be telling the truth—that he’d believed there was more to Fallon than others guessed. Then again, did she want to risk the heartbreak if he wasn’t?
Did she have a choice? She didn’t see good things for her warlord and his warriors if her father truly had ill intentions toward them. There was no easy way to extract Fallon and his men if she judged the situation too dangerous.
Firstly, because the pathfinders with her father were all very good at their job. As good as Shea anyway. Slipping away unseen would be next to impossible. She might be able to take one or two with her, but the rest would fall.
And secondly, because Fallon wouldn’t be easily turned from this course. Her father had offered him everything he had ever wanted—an alliance that would bring the Highlands under Fallon’s rule, and weapons to hold what he gained.
No, they were going to the Keep whether her father was lying or not. She just needed to make sure they stepped softly.
“Are you still having the nightmares?” he asked in an idle voice.
Shea stiffened and glanced back at him, her shoulders tense. “What makes you ask that?”
“This is the third night you’ve gotten up to watch the stars. I know you, daughter. You wouldn’t be missing out on precious rest to watch a few twinkling lights.”
Shea pressed her lips together.
“How long have you been having them?” he asked. “Are they the same ones you had after the Badlands?”
She shook her head. No. Nope. She wasn’t doing this.
“You don’t get to ask me that,” she said, the squeeze around her heart making her voice shaky and husky. “We’re no longer on the same side. That kind of information is no longer yours to know.”
“I’m your father.”
“You’re with them.” She flung a hand out to the pathfinder side of the camp. “I’m Trateri now. What I dream or don’t dream is none of your business.”
She started to slide down the boulder when a harsh sound reached her ears. Her father went alert beside her.
