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She touched her hand to the dog’s head, quieting the howl. “Answer me!”
Graham and I looked at each other. I started to reach for my knives on instinct, but the truth was that I had no desire to hurt this force of a woman. I just didn’t have a clue what to say.
“This is Bryn Yarrow, ambassador of Tramore,” said Graham, finding his words when I couldn’t. “And my name is Graham Brennin. We’re here to offer you peace.”
I cringed, wishing he weren’t so damn honest.
The woman’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Graham Brennin? The heir of Cambria?“
He nodded. “Yes.”
“What an unexpected surprise.” Her face remained firm and distrusting. “Come with me, then. I want the rest of the village to hear whatever it is you have to say.”
“Thank you,” said Graham, stepping forward into the shallow river.
I grabbed him by the shoulder. “What are you doing? We don’t have time for this. Let’s go!”
“It’s too late now,” he mumbled, glancing at the woman and the dog, then back at me. “We can’t say ‘never mind’ and run away.”
“Then let’s not say anything. Let’s just run away.”
“Are you coming or not?” asked the woman.
We both looked at her. I nodded, intimidated by her power. Something about this woman demanded respect. Not in Maeve Brennin’s style, but in a way that made me believe she deserved it.
“Leave your weapons behind,” she pointed at my bag.
“What makes you think I have—”
“Leave them,” she said, lifting the axe and resting it over her shoulder. “I saw the way your hand hovered over that bag.”
I stepped back to the bank and hid my bag in a bush and set down our water barrels, taking note of every detail of our surroundings so I could find it on the way out. Then we crossed the river.
* * *
The forest openedup to fields and cottages appeared up ahead. They’d been roughly built with stacked stone bases, timber frames, and thatched roofs. We stepped onto a dirt path that led to the cluster of tiny houses. The dog ran on ahead of us.
Figures moved around outside, going busily about their lives. Graham sped up as if the mere sight of humans energized him. I lagged behind, uneasy about strolling in pretending we had something to offer these people.
We passed the first home. The first villagers looked our way, abandoning their work to stare.
I forced my mouth to lift so I might pass for a real ambassador, as Graham claimed I was, but I wasn’t sure it looked like a real smile.Be charming, I thought, trying to put sincerity into my expression.
Graham’s smile was as natural as any I’d seen. His back was straight, but somehow the stiffness had dissolved, leaving confidence in its place. His jaw was shadowed, and his dark hair was anything but the perfectly combed style it once was, but it only added an air of boldness. He looked comfortable, approachable, and even a little bit regal.
A group of children sat in rows on the ground, writing in the dirt with sticks. When we came closer, a few dropped their sticks and gaped. I smiled at a little girl with sun-browned skin and white-blonde hair.
“Keep writing, please!” a young man with shaggy red hair ordered. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
“But, look,” said the blonde girl, without taking her eyes from me. “There’s someonenewhere.”
The other children spun around, jumping to their feet to get a better look.
The teacher’s head shot up and he narrowed his eyes. “Who are these two, Rowan?” he asked the woman we followed.
“Come to the square,” she said. “You’ll see.”
I followed Rowan away from the children, with Graham close behind. The red-headed teacher stayed behind us both, his suspicious glare making it clear we weren’t welcome.
