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When she looks puzzled, I continue. “My father. Maybe yours. Maybe Ogol. Maybe Tok. Grik may come, or Gruul. It all depends on who is out searching other villages for you, and who needs to protect Solaya. We broke into separate teams to find you and when I got word from Lord Montierge about a rogue clan with a female, I came alone. So, anyone can show up here as my backup. They knew I was headed this way, toward Serenity. When I don’t show up there and let Lord Montierge know what’s going on, his guard will comb the woods.”
She looks frustrated instead of happy to be rescued. What is this? And then I hear a familiar whistle and quick as a whip, she lifts my head and holds the blade at my throat, my back to her chest.
What the—
I hear the rustle of the others as they freeze. “What’s going on?” Brun, my father, asks.
“All of you, step into the light so I may see you,” Shalia says.
“It’s us,” Brun says, holding his hands out.
But she doesn’t drop the knife.
“Name yourselves,” Shalia says.
I see my father’s blink of confusion. “Brun,” he says carefully. “Prince of West Mountain.” He gestures for the next male to step up.
“Azorr.”
“Terk.”
“Gorvan.”
“Tok.”
“Kreele.”
“Gruul.”
And then Shalia’s father steps up, his eyes glittering with wet. So much moisture, I think it is about to break free and run down his scarred cheeks. His voice is growly and broken, a deep guttural whisper. “Latsil.”
But Shalia doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t recognize her own father.
“What is your name?” I ask her softly, my head still throbbing.
She pauses but must think it doesn’t matter if we know what she’s called. But instead of giving us her name, she answers, “Jogug.”
There’s dead silence among the guard.
“And you?” she snarls, her hand in my hair wrenching my head further back against her chest.
“Bakog. His son.” I can’t point to my father but she doesn’t seem to care which male I refer to.
She’s like a different person. Some of our males are expressionless, others confused. Latsil, the biggest of the lot, drops to his knees. It makes no difference to her.
“He is my prisoner,” she says. “Infiltrated my camp with bad intentions. Didn’t expect my clan to be here.” Her blade presses into my skin and the sharply honed edge burns as it slices.
“And where is your clan?” I grit, distracting her.
“Moved on so I could find out how many of you there were.”
“They left you alone with us?” my father asks. “Not knowing how many approach?”
I feel her stiffen; know that she’s aware of their betrayal.
“They know I can handle myself.”
Latsil opens his mouth to speak but my father clasps his hand onto his shoulder, silencing him.
