Daere’s lips tightened before she aimed a serene expression at the rest of the group. “How about we give them a choice?” Daere said, stepping into the blossoming argument. “Let them decide which of the two areas would fit their needs best.”
Gala and Calvin listened with attentive expressions before sharing a look with the rest of the group. They both nodded as a chorus of agreement came from the other elders.
Shea kept her heartfelt thanks that the meeting was over inside. She placed her hands on the table to begin leveraging her way to her feet.
“On to the next issue,” Calvin said.
Shea froze. No. They were done. How could there be more?
Her eyes swung to Daere’s, who gave her a meaningful stare combined with the barest hint of a victorious smirk before turning her attention back to the conversation. Shea’s shoulders drooped, and she settled back into place. Her chance to escape the tedium had disappeared.
*
Shea strode down the small path sandwiched between several tents as she tried to ignore the woman pacing by her side. Daere was the epitome of the perfect Trateri woman—graceful with just a hint of that ferocious fire that said she would eviscerate any who got in her way. Adorned in the abundance of jewelry preferred by those Trateri not of the warrior caste, Daere’s clothes were complex and yet simple, speaking of the highest craftsmanship.
Next to her, Shea felt like a homely usurper, wearing the pants and blouse she normally wore when on the trail. She’d had a much different plan for the day before Daere forced her into that meeting using placid smiles and artful words.
“We have time for a quick break for the midday meal and then we’ll need to meet with the blacksmiths and armorers,” Daere said as she smiled and nodded when three women greeted her in passing.
Shea stopped and turned to Daere. “What are you talking about?”
Daere was too refined to huff, but Shea was beginning to learn her expressions. The other woman was frustrated with her.
“The blacksmiths and armorers,” she said in a patient voice even as the pleasant expression on her face grew strained. “There is a dispute that you will need to mediate.”
Shea tilted her head. “I know nothing of either discipline. How do you expect me to mediate when I don’t know any of the particulars?”
This time Daere’s sigh was long suffering. “You just need to listen and then offer your best opinion.”
“But if I don’t know what I’m talking about, how can my opinion matter?”
Daere’s smile dropped from her face. “I will be there to guide you.”
That’s what Shea was afraid of.
Daere gave her another smile, this one a thin stretching of lips that in no way reached her eyes. “Now, I suggest we visit the cooks’ tents to grab something to sustain us for the afternoon.”
Daere turned to set off but didn’t get far before a man called her over to look at a tool in his hand. Shea glanced at Trenton, the ever-present shadow that Fallon had assigned as her guard. Trenton’s lean frame and pretty hazel eyes belied the lethal swordsman who had tried to hammer some of those same skills into Shea’s stubborn head. He had a thin face and pointed chin. Right now, he seemed preoccupied with scanning their surroundings for potential threats.
Seeing both of her keepers distracted, Shea slipped away, quickly merging into a stream of people heading in the opposite direction. Daere had claimed her morning; she wasn’t getting her afternoon too.
An hour later, Shea leaned back on one arm, her legs swinging over the edge of her perch. High above in a soul tree, Shea allowed herself to relax. Daere wouldn’t think to look for her up here. The Trateri weren’t big on heights, being from the grass plains to the southwest where trees weren’t common, and trees of this height were nothing but a myth.
Shea bent forward, cocking her head as she peered down. It was just a guess, but a fall from this height would probably result in her death. Not a cheery thought, but Shea counted the risk as acceptable. Solitude in the Trateri camp came at a high price—one Shea was willing to pay for an afternoon free from unwanted responsibilities.
Her perch was a knob of growth the Airabel villagers had turned into a resting place for travelers journeying to the crown. Even as high as she’d climbed, she was still only a third of the way up, and Airabel was barely visible through the branches of the soul tree it called home. A hundred men standing shoulder to shoulder wouldn’t be able to surround the trunk of the tree completely. In a world filled with many odd and wondrous beings, it and its brethren were totally unique.
Fallon had marched his army halfway across the Lowlands to this Forest of the Giants after Shea had told him the story of this place. He’d decided that he needed to see the truth of her words for himself. She still hadn’t gotten quite used to the power she held, but that was what she got for claiming the love of the most powerful man in the Broken Lands. She needed to be careful with what words she shared in the future.
If she could take the man and leave the warlord she would, but that was as likely as the sky falling to the ground. He’d poured his heart into the Trateri people, united the clans, and forged them into a unit capable of not only surviving the dangers of the Broken Lands but thriving in them. Getting him to walk away would be impossible.
Shea leaned back and sighed. She was bored. Bored and stifled. Of all complaints, she hated that one the most. It made her sound like some ungrateful child who needed to be entertained.
She would have settled for any small excuse to scout. A resupply mission. Maybe even something to do with reconnaissance. She’d even accept ferrying a letter to one of the Trateri squads on the outer perimeter of camp.
She’d tried. She’d been denied. Oh, they were polite enough—she was the telroi after all—but they made it clear in only the ways a fellow soldier could that her presence was a hindrance rather than a help. It had taken only one debacle of a mission to bring that point home.
As the telroi of the Trateri warlord, her position in this society had changed from that of a highly respected scout to someone tied to the most powerful man in the Lowlands. She still wasn’t sure what place a telroi held. Somewhere between a wife and a mistress from what she could tell.
She couldn’t even take her complaints to Fallon. He’d snuck off into the night after their last conversation—fight really—about her place and had been gone for a month and a half visiting his strongholds throughout the Lowlands and doing who knew what.
Shea certainly didn’t—because he’d left her behind.
There was a commotion below. She leaned over the edge of her perch and frowned at the sight of two Trateri men hacking at a series of vines hanging from one of the giant, upraised roots. The vines were a deep verdant green and the smallest tracery of pale violet ran along the edges.
They really shouldn’t be doing that. The vegetation in this forest was unpredictable and deadly if handled wrong. Those could be normal vines or they could be sleeper vines, whose purpose was to hunt and capture prey before dragging it back to the carnivorous flower at the vines’ heart. The flower’s pollen would sedate the prey as it slowly digested the animal while it was still alive.
“Oy, down below,” Shea shouted. “You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s dangerous.”