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Story: The Enemy’s Daughter
After saddling my horse, Midas, I ride hard past the boundary of my yard on a beaten path into the trees. It opens to a small clearing with a large metal post staked in the ground—a place I go out of my way to avoid. Bile rises in my throat at the ashes and black scorched grass at the base of it, all that remains of the traitors who’ve been burned alive. Though I’ve never watched a trial and punishment of a clansman, I’ve heard the screams of the guilty when a clan leader, almost always Gerald, lights the fire. Yet another reason Gerald haunts my dreams. Gripping the reins tighter, I push Midas faster through the clearing.
Before long, Freddy is within sight, and I pull back, allowing more distance between us. I’m not giving him a chance to tell me to turn around. Unfortunately, the swift pace of our horses isn’t sustainable for long, and too soon we slow to an infuriating trot.
Reducing our speed makes it more likely I’ll be stopped by a patrolling clansman, and I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens—maybe lie that I have permission to leave? But as we ride past our boundary lines without an issue, I realize there will be no patrol: all of our soldiers have been moved to the front line.
After more than an hour of traveling, my body is a strung bow of tension. Liam said it’s a two- to three-hour ride to the Kingsland, but the fighting is happening somewhere in between. We must be getting close.
The spring air has a cold heaviness to it that matches the overcast sky. Since I’ve never been out this way before, I study the expanse of trees as if I’ve entered a foreign land. I find nothing but familiar northwestern forest that looks the same as home. I suppose even the badlands, a name we gave to any place poisoned or laid waste by the bombs, wouldn’t look much different, especially now that nature has had time to regrow and conceal some of the devastation. Only the rubble of the soaring buildings and skeletons of their looted cities remain.
That is, if you survive having your throat slit to see it.
A chill sweeps over my skin at the reminder that violent vagabonds often wander between our lands in search of people to rob or kill. It’s a good thing I’m not alone. I look up to relocate Freddy ahead but find only trees. My spine straightens. I strain to see farther as painful seconds pass. Though I’ve lost sight of him repeatedly by trying to keep my distance, this time feels different. With a click of my tongue, I push Midas to gain some speed, but then slow. I don’t know which way to go.
The breeze rattles the branches like dry bones clinking together, and when a twig snags my long braid, I jump.
Suddenly, a man’s scream cuts through the forest, and every hair on my body stands on end. My head spins to the left, then right, as Midas spooks underneath me, skittering sideways. Her ribs crush my leg against a tree. Gritting my teeth, I press on, my knuckles white on the reins. “Shhh,”
I soothe, though I’m far from calm myself.
Every stripped limb and broken stump looks like a man. The enemy. My breath comes faster as I guide Midas around a fallen log, and then I see something. A body. It’s there at the base of a small hill, some fifty feet away.
It’s a miracle I don’t cry out.
Is it Liam? Father? After a scan of my surroundings, I jump down and tie Midas to a tree. Cautiously, I inch closer until I notice the man’s red hair. My lungs start to work again. I shouldn’t be relieved that no one I care about has that color, but I am. Then my eye is drawn to the gaping slash that spans the width of his belly. He lies in a puddle of blood. I don’t need to touch him to know he’s dead. There’s a lightning symbol carved into his bow, and he’s wearing a vest covered with weapons. He’s from the Maska clan.
I bow my head, not sure what to do. Do I leave him for the wild animals? Do I even have a choice? I can’t imagine a way to get him on my horse. Perhaps I just need to find another clansman and tell them—
Something moves in my peripheral vision. I crouch. It’s a man in all black. Brown hair. Unfamiliar face. I’m lucky I saw him, because I certainly didn’t hear him. The stealth of his movements as he slips through the forest sends a shiver up my spine. His jacket gives him away: a dark, almost shiny fabric instead of worn flannel, denim, or leather.
Kingsland.
He could be looking for a clansman to fight, but there’s something about his pace that makes me question that. He’s not searching for anyone. His focus is on what’s in front of him.
And he’s headed toward Hanook.
Oh, blazing sun, no. I quietly pull my knife and slink along in his wake, Freia’s words on repeat in my head. Don’t get murdered. Don’t get murdered. But three steps in, my foot hits a patch of dried pine needles with a crunch. His head swivels in my direction. I’m forced to make my move.
“Stop! Or I’ll . . . throw this at you,” I shout.
He halts, keeping his back to me, hands open at his sides. His head drops a little and shakes, almost like he’s laughing to himself. There’s a bow and a fancy strap full of arrows for a quiver fastened to his back.
I move closer as my heart crashes with bruising force against my ribs. “Drop to your knees and toss me your bow.”
His fingers twitch toward his bulging leg pocket, but he doesn’t make a move.
“Drop to your knees, or I promise you I’ll—”
He jerks to the side, darting for cover.
With a grunt, I send my knife sailing through the air faster and harder than I’ve ever thrown it. Only after it leaves my hand do I comprehend what I’ve done.
I’m about to kill a man.
He lets out a startled cry as the blade strikes him in the shoulder. He stumbles a little, then falls behind a tree.
My mouth works. I almost apologize. I’ve never struck anyone before. “I—I told you not to move.”
Stepping quickly, I round the tree to keep him in my sights and ready another knife.
He glares back at me, his face murderous as he clutches his shoulder.
My relief at not killing him evaporates. “Did you think I wouldn’t try to stop you? I know where you were going.”
Despite the knife still stuck in him, he springs to his feet.
I jump. “What are you doing? Stay down.”
He takes a small step, and his movements remind me of a bobcat, smooth and prowling, just like how he slid through the forest. Two things hit me at once: this man is younger than I thought—closer to my age—and I’m about to break my promise to Freia by being murdered.
“You haven’t stopped me,”
he growls. There’s something fierce and remorseless in his eyes. It’s every story I’ve ever heard about the Kingsland come true. “You can’t stop any of us. We’re just getting started.”
What is he insinuating—that he’s not the only one who may have broken through the lines? Is this a coordinated attack? My gaze snaps to the side, looking for other assailants before returning to him. “Drop to your knees.”
He does the opposite and straightens up. He’s not as tall or brawny as Liam, but that doesn’t make him any less formidable. He’s fit and clearly strong, and based on how he moves and runs, he’s trained. A hand-to-hand fight would be a disaster, unless I could scratch his eyes out. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
Weapons.
“Toss your arrows.”
I scan his body, pausing on his zippered black jacket, which looks new. Traders rarely find things from the old world in this good of a condition. But then again, you can pick from the best when you raid them or sabotage their supplies before they make it to the clans. My gaze stops on his black pants with rectangular, pouch-like pockets. “And empty your pockets.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw; then, like I’m nothing more than a pesky fly bothering him, he takes a step away. “I don’t have time for this.”
My arm twitches at his movement, and I launch my knife. I meant to skim the bulging pocket on his leg that I told him to empty. Scare him into obedience. But I’m nervous and my hands are sweaty. Also, my aim’s not that good. The knife lodges again in his shoulder, beside the other one.
He flinches in pain. “What the hellfire?”
Wild eyes, the shade of spring grass, glare back at me.
I draw my last accessible knife and raise it in the air. “Empty your pockets and toss your arrows, or the next time I throw, I won’t purposely miss an organ.”
My voice is shockingly clear, despite the hurricane of uncertainty inside me. I sound like Father.
Caution finally enters his narrowed eyes.
Good. “And while you’re at it, I believe I asked you to drop to your knees.”
It doesn’t escape me that one pull from that strap-like quiver and I could have an arrow in my heart. I don’t know why he hasn’t tried. Perhaps the pain from the knives lodged in his shoulder is disabling him. That, or I’ve convinced him I’d throw a knife faster than he could nock an arrow.
Lowering himself to the ground with a grimace, he empties his pockets with his uninjured arm. Then peering up at me with unadulterated hatred, he slowly unclips his quiver. It drops to the ground.
“Now back up,”
I say. “Until you’re against the tree.”
He pauses, then reluctantly obeys, eyes never leaving me as I one-handedly swing my backpack to the ground and retrieve the long rolls of bandage from inside.
“Hug the tree. Backward.”
His head tilts as if he’s having second thoughts. He should. I could leave him to be mauled by a wildcat or bear. Tempting—at least the tying-him-up-and-leaving-him part. Then someone who knows what they’re doing could be sent to deal with him. But with an imminent attack, there isn’t time. I exhale in a rush, adrenaline making my voice hard. “Do it so I can fix your shoulder. Unless you’d prefer to bleed out.”
Tentatively, his head turns to examine the wound. There’s an unmistakable sheen of dark liquid coating his black sleeve. It doesn’t appear to be enough to have hit an artery, but I’ll know more after I get a better look.
His movements couldn’t be more reluctant as he shimmies back against the tree behind him.
Not wasting a second, I drop to my knees and tie his hands together behind the balding pine. He grunts as I tie off the knot a little too tight.
The second he’s secured, I fall back on my heels in relief. Bleeding skies—that actually worked. I’ve never been more thankful for the sturdy fabric Mum insisted we weave ourselves to make our bandages.
After retrieving my bag from the ground, I gather a few supplies in front of me. “What’s your name?”
He turns his head away, ignoring my question, and the removal of his hateful gaze is a welcome release. It allows me to catch my breath and study his profile unhindered. I was right. He is young. His skin also still carries a good color, a sun-kissed glow that isn’t slick with sweat. He’s not in shock—yet.
My gaze catches on his strong jaw. Such a contrast from the soft, bowing curve of his lips. His white teeth surprise me. They lack the rot and stench I’d expect in a barbarian. Thick, dark lashes frame his fierce eyes.
I should spit on his pretty face.
Knowing he was on the verge of hurting my kin makes me livid. It bolsters my confidence to speak to him in a way I never could a clansman. “So, what was the plan? Sneak into Hanook or one of the other clans and kill at random? Or was there a target you had in mind?”
My thoughts flash to Liam. Are they hunting him for Farron’s murder already?
A small smile pulls at his mouth as his eyes slide back to me. Yet he doesn’t speak.
“Not going to answer?”
What would Father do with him? I tuck some loose hair behind my ear, bite my lip, then rip both knives from his shoulder and toss them away. That is definitely not recommended in my medical textbooks.
He cries out, and while he’s distracted, I pat down his jacket pockets to be sure they’re empty. My hands move to his legs and slide down them as he pants for air. The biggest knife of all is strapped to his ankle. I struggle to remove it from its holster, but with a panicked jerk, I finally yank it free. I toss that, too, then back up so he can’t kick me.
“Did you enjoy that?”
he snarls.
It takes every bit of my strength to not look rattled. Scared. I busy myself with examining his wound, which—stars—is really bleeding now. “I’ll need to stitch that up when we get back.”
I could do it now, since I have the supplies in my travel medical bag, but I don’t want to get that close to him.
“You’re taking me to Hanook?”
I can’t tell if he thinks that’s a good thing, but it’s unquestionably not. When Gerald gets his hands on him, this soldier will be tortured for information, then killed. My stomach churns at the thought of delivering him to his death, but what option do I have? He’s hardly remorseful; my people will be slaughtered if I let him go. We also need information, since he’s already confirmed he’s one of many planning an attack.
Hardening my heart, I round up all the weapons, open the skin of water from my pack, take a drink, then dump the remains on his wounded shoulder. He doesn’t move, so I find the pillowcase and grab a handful of yarkow leaves. “This will help stop the bleeding. Try to attack me and I’ll leave you here.”
He inhales sharply as I press the broken leaves against the welling blood, his eyes large and a little repulsed. Huh. As I suspected, they don’t have the upper hand of utilizing herbal medicine. I cover the wound with a cloth, then wrap his shoulder tightly with another long bandage over his jacket. It’s anything but ideal. I snap the last roll of bandages in the air to unroll it. After tying a noose with a constrictor knot on one end, I slide it over his head to his neck.
“What are you doing?”
He bucks, trying to stop me, but it’s of no use with his hands wrapped behind the tree.
I tie his neck restraint tightly to the trunk. “The rope will irreversibly tighten if you move, so I suggest you don’t.”
He stills. Color rises in his cheeks as he makes a frustrated sound in his throat. Already the makeshift rope is digging into his skin. If he shifts any more, he’s going to lose his airway.
“I’m going to untie your hands from the tree and re-tie them behind your back. If you value your breath, you know what to do.”
Quickly, I accomplish what I said, then also untie his noose from the tree and secure it to my belt. The most space I can put between us is six or seven feet. It’s too close, so I make sure to clutch one of his fancy knives in my hand. “Your leash will choke you if you run. I’ll stab you if you come at me. Now, walk. I think you know the direction.”
He hesitates, looking like a knife to the gut might be worth it if he can kill me first. Then slowly he turns and takes that first step.
I’m shaking as I follow him. It’ll be a miracle if this works.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4 (Reading here)
- Page 5
- Page 6
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- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
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- Page 17
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- Page 20
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- Page 22
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- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
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- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39