Dane led them past the second curtain wall and through the bailey into the main part of the Keep. They ascended several stone steps to a large, arched wooden door.
“Whoever built this place took their security very seriously,” Caden said, a faint note of approval in his voice. His sharp eyes took in some of the many defenses that riddled the Keep, a remnant of a time when it faced serious and constant threat of invasion.
On either side of the door were small loopholes, slits in the stone that allowed archers to harry an advancing enemy. Above them were stone protrusions, little more than boxes with holes cut in the bottom. In a previous age, boiling tar could be poured onto invaders massing below. These same features were on the gatehouse at the entrance of the Keep as well. To Shea’s knowledge, the defense had never been used in her people’s time residing here.
The wooden door was several inches thick, heavy and hard to move. It had metal strips running throughout to protect the door in the event someone took a battering ram to it.
The entryway of the Keep was austere and majestic with little in the way of comfort. Stone dominated the space without even a brightly covered rug or tapestry to soften the place up. It fit the Highland’s image—strong, severe, and just a little bit cold.
Dane kept up a running patter of conversation as he led them deeper into the Keep, bypassing the towers and the great hall in favor of leading them up several flights of stairs. Despite narrow windows and an abundance of stone, the Keep managed to escape being dark or gloomy. That was something most Highlanders couldn’t boast of in their own castles, those villages lucky enough to have them.
A door opened as they passed, giving them a glimpse of the lower battlements and several pathfinders, dressed in their distinctive drab greens and browns as they patrolled.
Shea noted that fact with interest. In all her childhood, she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone set to guard the battlements. The gatehouse, yes. Maybe once in a while people were assigned as lookouts in a tower as punishment, but never the lower battlements.
It appeared they were taking the threat of beasts seriously—or else, the pathfinders knew something they just weren’t telling them.
“This is yours,” Dane said, stopping in front of a wooden door with a curlicue of metal worked into the panels.
Fallon’s face was impassive as Dane opened the door then stepped aside. Fallon barely glanced into the room before he asked, “And where are the rest of my people staying?”
“Several of your clan leaders will be on this hall. The rest will be on the floor below you. The bulk of your men will be staying in one of the minor great halls,” Dane said.
Fallon was quiet for several moments. “That does not work for us. There was plenty of space between the curtain walls. We can set up camp there.”
Dane shook his head. “I would suggest against that course. They won’t tell you this, but something’s going on. They’re way jumpier than normal.”
“What do you mean?” Shea asked, curious.
Dane frowned and looked away, appearing torn. Shea could sympathize. The pathfinders had given him a home, a place to go after everything had been ripped from him, but Shea and Witt were part of what he’d lost. It put him in a difficult position.
“The rest of the survivors and I stayed outside when we first got here,” Dane told her.
“Why? There seems to be plenty of room inside the Keep,” Fallon said, his eyes sharp.
Dane’s expression was slightly bitter. “Let’s just say our hosts weren’t exactly keen to have us here. I got the feeling that they would have preferred we’d gone the way of the rest of the village.”
Shea winced and shared a look with Witt. Dane was probably not too far off. Worse, it didn’t surprise her. What was more surprising was that the pathfinders had let them inside the curtain wall at all.
“Has that changed?” Fallon asked.
Dane shook his head. “They’ve moved us inside, but still regard us with that same suspicion. We’re kept separated from the rest of the Keep’s occupants and told not to explore. If we had anywhere to go and any way to get there, most of us would have been gone by now.”
“You think it’s dangerous to stay out of doors,” Fallon said, following Dane’s logic.
Dane nodded, his face grim. “Only reason I can think of for why they moved us.”
Fallon and Shea shared a look. He wasn’t happy about this revelation. Neither was she, if she was telling the truth. For this amount of heightened paranoia when the Keep’s walls hadn’t been breached by anything in centuries, it meant something was going on—something beyond what they’d been told. That something was the reason for all the changes, and the reason her warlord and his army had been summoned.
“My Anateri will take the rooms near here,” Fallon said, his words a decree. Dane opened his mouth and then closed it, evidently deciding not to argue. To his people, Fallon said, “Find where you’re staying and then report back.”
Shea stepped into the room as he was handing out orders. She’d never stayed on this side of the Keep. Her room had always been in one of the towers on the other end, where few people would bother her, and she had an impressive view of a mountain glen.
The room was big at least, a wide-open space that seemed empty and unfinished despite the furniture. Someone had attempted to make it a little nicer with a few rugs thrown on the cold stone floor, but after months with the Trateri whose weavings were among the best she’d ever seen, the rugs looked worn and drab. Everything seemed colorless and boring, from the stark gray stone to the heavy wooden furniture.
She hadn’t thought it possible, but she yearned for the airy tents of Fallon’s people with their strange ability to turn a grassy meadow into an oasis of home in just a few short hours.
Shea crossed her arms, holding her elbows as she gazed around with a pensive expression. Her people had lived in this place for several generations and it still felt cold and unwelcoming.
Fallon came up behind her and cupped her shoulders, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her head. Her eyes slid close, and she leaned back against him, enjoying the warmth of him at her back and the solid feel of his frame behind hers.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a quiet rumble.
“This isn’t home anymore.” There was an ache in her voice and a sense of loss.
His grip tightened and then loosened, his arms coming around to wrap her in a hug as he set his chin on top of her head. “Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”
“I don’t know.” She turned in his arms so that they were pressed front to front. That familiar wicked heat sparked in his gaze, and she felt an answering flush. She ignored it, knowing they didn’t have time to indulge.
“You don’t like the fact that we’ve been separated,” she stated.
His big hands flexed against her back, his whiskey colored eyes watching her intently. “No, it leaves us vulnerable to attack.”
True, but if the pathfinders really wanted to kill them, it wouldn’t matter where the clan members were located. This was their stronghold. They knew all its tricks and hidden passageways. They had weapons at their fingertips that put the boomer to shame. Separate or together, it would make no difference.
“That’s why you instructed Caden to put three to a room,” Shea said slowly.
He grunted, one hand slipping under her shirt to touch skin, his thumb stroking along the bumps of her spine in absent thought.
“If it were possible, I’d have some of the clan leaders stay with the men,” Fallon said with a scowl. He didn’t need to explain why there was little chance of that happening.
The men who made up Fallon’s council had once been the leaders of their clans until Fallon united them under his banner. While they weren’t the ultimate authority they once were, they were still powerful and responsible for the wellbeing of the people they considered theirs.
Unfortunately, the leaders were a fractious bunch, as prone to arguing as working together. If Fallon instructed one or even a few to stay with the majority of the men, they might refuse just on principle, no matter how sound Fallon’s argument.
Shea snorted. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you tell them.”
“You wouldn’t do it for me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She scoffed. “No, Warlord. That’s your job. You wanted the responsibility; now, you’ve got it. Besides, I doubt they’d listen to me.”
His lips tilted up in a half smile, his eyes lightening. “I don’t know. Caden and Braden tell me you handled their grab for power after my disappearance beautifully.”
Her hands flexed against his chest, reminded of a time when he’d almost died. Had he been a second slower or hesitated for even a moment, he would have been lost to her. It was the first real glimpse she’d had into how he must feel every time she risked her life. It had given her something to think about.
“That was more blind luck than anything, and if you hadn’t turned up as promptly as you did, I’m sure I would have lost that battle very quickly,” she said in a light voice, trying to gloss over the negative feelings the reminder engendered.
The soft look on his face said she didn’t fool him, but he was willing to humor her.
“I think you’re too critical of yourself.” In a swift change of subject, he released her and gave her a teasing smile. “Your pathfinders don’t seem so very scary so far.”
“You think so?” she asked, grabbing the small bag she’d dropped at the foot of the bed and setting it on a small table in the corner of the room. There wasn’t much in it, just a few changes of clothes and various small weapons such as daggers.
She pulled out a clean pair of pants and shirt and set them aside. Next, she pulled out the book of beasts she carried with her everywhere. She made a mental note to jot down a few of her observations about the bashe before she forgot them. If her father was right and mythologicals were really back, it meant they would need every scrap of information they could get their hands on.
Last, she drew out a palm-sized compass. It wasn’t much to look at, small and beaten, dents and nicks in the metal. It was old, very old, and a memento given to her by her father when she’d passed the final test and joined the ranks of the pathfinders. She’d carried it with her on missions ever since. Even after her fall from grace.
As she placed it on the table, the sight of it made her heart hurt. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before she straightened.
That reminded her of something she needed to do before they could truly relax in this room. Giving Fallon a darkly significant look, she continued their conversation. “Give it time. They like to lull you into a sense of complacency before they strike. Make it through dinner and then tell me whether you think they’re scary.”
His eyes were watchful as she turned and paced along the edges of the room. He let her take the lead, content to watch from the middle of the room as she checked for drafts that might be a sign of a hidden passage. She held her hand up to the stone, moving carefully along the edge, watching for gaps or holes.
This place was old. Like the kill holes from before, it contained many defenses, not all of them so readily apparent. The walls were riddled with secret passages and spy holes. She’d explored more than a few of them as a child. Some were known by all in the Keep. Others, she’d discovered on her own or with her cousin at her side. She greatly suspected there were still more that only a very select few knew about.
She paused as cold air hit her hand, making a mental note of the placement. It could just be this old place settling. It wasn’t exactly air tight, and the draft could be from a crack in the mortar. Still, it paid to be careful.
“You think so little of me,” he said, noticing where she’d stopped. He dipped his chin down and gave her a sinful smile that would fool anyone who might be watching from a spy hole. “I doubt anything your people can throw at me will be worse than some of the all-clan banquets I’ve had to sit through.”
Shea smirked and continued. “Worse than a sharie?”
She’d never sat through an all-clan before, but she had been forced to listen during the sharies. Sharies were basically town hall meetings where the elders of each clan aired their grievances and tried to come up with solutions. They were long, boring affairs that usually ended with Shea wanting to tear her hair out.
“During those, you rarely have to worry about knives in your back or people coming to blows,” he complained.
“Here, you can expect to wage war with words. If they come at you, it’ll be under the cover of dark while your attention is focused elsewhere,” Shea said with a crooked, humorless grin. “I’d take your all-clans over what we’re about to do any day.”
“Would you care to place a wager on it?” Fallon asked with a taunting smile.
Shea paused and shot him a glare. Last time she’d wagered against him, she’d lost. She wasn’t sure she wished to embark on another bet so soon.
She finished the circuit and met him in the middle of the room. Before she could figure out how to tell him what she suspected without any potential watchers overhearing, he picked her up in an effortless move and tossed her on the bed.
Before she could do much more than let out an undignified squawk, he landed next to her, trapping her with his leg. He grinned down at her, his gaze playful as he twined one hand with hers.
Well, this was one way to ensure they weren’t overheard with no one the wiser. Given how close they were, they could have an entire conversation in whispers with no one suspecting they were doing anything other than canoodling. You could plan an entire war this way as long as you weren’t shy.
One hand slipped under her shirt and skated across the soft, sensitive skin along her waist. She wiggled, a delicious feeling stealing through her body at his soft touch.
“There are at least three spy holes,” she said in a soft voice as she nuzzled Fallon’s neck. Her breath caught as he touched an extra-sensitive spot.
He turned his face into hers and breathed against her lips. To any onlookers, it would look like they were sharing a passionate kiss. In reality, he whispered a question. “Where?”
She slid one leg around his hip and wiggled against him experimentally, feeling a wicked charge as he hardened against her. “One’s in the first spot I stopped; the second is behind the tapestry on the wall. The last is near the floor a few feet to the right of the fireplace.”
He pressed her hard against him, his thigh creating a delicious pressure against her core. She bit down the instinctive groan at the sensation, then failed to keep it contained when he bent his head and nibbled along the tendon between her neck and shoulder.
She pinched his side hard in retaliation. He knew what that spot did to her.
She lifted up, nipping along his chin, her eyes never leaving his. They were locked in a battle of wills, neither one willing to lose. Every sensation was heightened, made more decadent, as temperatures rose and need built under her skin—a need they had no hope of alleviating with the possibility of unfriendly eyes and ears directed their way.
“Minx,” Fallon said through gritted teeth as she teased him.
Her smile widened, moving against his skin. “Takes one to know one.”
He grunted as she hit a sensitive spot and buried his face against her neck. “Anything else?”
She nodded, a slight movement that brushed the stubble from his day-old beard against the soft skin of her cheek. “Yes, there’s probably at least one hidden entrance in this room.”
He stilled against her. “Are you sure?”
“Almost positive.”
He uttered a soft curse. It was a sentiment Shea shared.
He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. “Neither one of us is going to get much sleep tonight.”
“We could always have a few of your men stay in here with us,” she told him.
He shook his head, the movement almost undetectable. “That’ll give up our advantage.”
Battle was as much about communication as anything. If you could control the information your enemy had, or twist it to your advantage, you had a greater chance of coming out victorious.
Knowing there were potential watchers meant they could control what their spies learned. They could give out disinformation, forcing their spies to act in such a way that benefited them.
Shea relaxed back into the bed. Fallon was right. Sleep was going to be very scarce over the next few days if one of them had to be constantly on guard against anybody taking advantage of the hidden entrance to carry out an assassination.
He dropped a light kiss on her lips in apology and rolled away, leaving her to frown grumpily at the ceiling. If there was one thing she prized above all else, it was sleep—especially given the lack of it lately.
She propped herself up on her elbows, watching Fallon move purposely through the room. With a sigh, she sat up and scooted to the end of the bed. Might as well get cleaned up while they had time. Showing up at the evening meal wearing the dirt and sweat accumulated over several weeks on the trail, would not go over well. Dane hadn’t been kidding when he said their hosts were sticklers for punctuality, especially in guests.
“What can we expect tonight?” Fallon asked as she climbed off the bed.
She walked over to a small screen that had been set up to shield the bathing chamber from the rest of the room. It would offer some privacy. She scanned the walls for any indication of spy holes and checked her sightlines to make sure none of the spots she’d noted would get a good look at the bathing area.
She raised her voice as she turned on the faucet, checking the water temperature with the back of one hand as the tub began to fill. “We’ll be watched and tested. We’ll have to go lightly armed; swords and the like aren’t permitted in the banquet hall.”
Fallon came over to lean against the stone wall, watching Shea’s actions with fascination as she threw a scented ball into the water. It hit the liquid and started to fizz, releasing a lavender scent that rose with the steam.
“Running water?” he asked.
She nodded. “The entire Keep is set up for it. It’s a remnant of the time before.”
It was also one of the few places she knew of with the luxury. There was also a city far to the north that had running water in all its old buildings, but it was the only other one she knew of.
“Where do they get the water?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled as he aimed a thoughtful look at the tub.
“Several places.” Shea whipped her shirt over her head and placed her hands on the waistband of her pants. “There are aqueducts that feed the Keep with snow melt and mountain springs. There are also cisterns located on top of the Keep and a spring deep below it.”
“So, if the aqueducts are ever destroyed, they still have enough water to survive in times of siege.” Fallon sounded impressed. As a conqueror, he could appreciate the time and thought put into making sure the residents of the Keep could survive in the event anyone ever laid siege to them, even as he considered how he might break the back of such a place.
Shea nodded as she finished disrobing, standing in nothing but her breast band and a thin piece of underwear. The look on Fallon’s face changed from the warlord bent on domination to that of a man looking at conquering his woman.
A familiar heat entered his eyes. One that was echoed in Shea. It always startled her, this need. So strange to know that there was another person out there who was almost as vital to her as breathing.
“Can they see us here?” he asked softly.
She checked again and shook her head, her skin flushed with anticipation.
Before he could do more than take a single step toward her, a knock on the door sounded. His face tightened even as his body tensed, a visible struggle taking place.
“Go, it’s probably your people,” Shea said in a soft voice. There were plans to be made and plots to be hatched. This could wait. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He sighed, his exhale gruff as he reached out to run a rough touch down her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Shea shivered at the sensation.
His expression still showing that raging battle, he stepped back and stalked toward the door. Shea’s lips tilted up in a smile as she reached out and twitched the screen closed, veiling her from view of the rest of the room. It wouldn’t do much to hide the sound, but it would have to do. As someone used to the lack of privacy on the trail, this was much better than some of the bird baths she’d resorted to where she was constantly on guard against interruptions.
Shea stepped into the steaming water, containing her hiss at the luxurious warmth. She sank into it with a grateful sigh, letting the heat and lavender ease muscles that ached from the abuse she’d put them through over the journey. Resting her head against the back of the tub, she relaxed and listened to the conversation taking place on the other side of the screen.
Irritated, but resigned to the interruption, Fallon yanked the door open, using it to shield his body even as he reached for the dagger he kept on his person at all times. Seeing Caden and several other of his men, he sheathed the dagger and stepped aside to let them into his room.
Caden noted the action, a gleam of approval in his eyes. As the leader of Fallon’s Anateri, he took Fallon’s personal protection very seriously.
“Your Anateri are settled in the rooms closest to you,” Caden said as he prowled inside, his eyes noting the dimensions of the room and cataloging them for future reference. “But it would still be best if you allowed a couple to stay in here with you.”
Fallon watched as his first Anateri stalked along the edges of the room, much as Shea had, checking for secret passages and spy bolt holes. He noted with satisfaction as Caden caught all of the ones Shea had.
“That is not possible,” Fallon said after a long pause.
He’d considered the option but discarded it. For one, it would mean admitting fear and weakness in front of their enemy—something he would like to avoid. These pathfinders struck him as every bit as prideful and observant as his own people. In the Trateri ranks, an admission of weakness was an invitation for someone to test your skills. He doubted Shea’s people were any different.
These were not soft Lowlanders, used to an easy life. They’d been honed, hardened, and made tough by the unique challenges of their environment. They were like the hard-backed lizards of his homeland. The meat was tough to get to because of the difficulty in penetrating its armor. Yet hidden inside that difficult shell was the most succulent of delicacies.
Braden’s eyes were sharp as he filed in after Caden. He was content to let Fallon’s Anateri do their jobs, watching as they swarmed through the room.
“If you value your life, you will not touch that screen,” Fallon warned in a lazy voice when one of his men got too close to Shea’s bathing area.
The man nodded and stepped away. Fallon was glad. He didn’t relish the thought of coming to blows with one of his men over their stupidity.
Before Braden could say anything else, Fallon gave him the signal that said they had possible watchers present. Braden’s blink was slow as he acknowledged that he’d seen the slight movement of Fallon’s hands.
Caden circled back to the other two, looking vexed. The lack of security and his inability to adequately protect Fallon would be driving the other man crazy.
“The Lion Clan and Ember Clan leaders have elected to stay with their men,” Braden informed Fallon, his voice as low as he could make it without tipping off any spies that they were onto them.
“That leaves Rain and the healer, Chirron, in a room,” Fallon said, his thoughts already turning to strategy. They’d done better than he could have hoped for. The division of their leadership would mean they were better equipped if someone decided to attack either group.
Braden’s nod was grave. “I’ve also taken a room and slipped some of my men into the rooms surrounding us.”
“It looks like we’re the only ones in this wing,” Caden said. “I had my men scout and none of the other rooms on this floor or the floor beneath us are filled.”
Which meant that the separation was on purpose. Somehow Fallon wasn’t surprised.
Braden frowned, his face thoughtful. “We could move our men into the rooms.”
Fallon shook his head. “No, let’s see what they’re planning first. Of the two options, I’d rather move everyone into the great hall. The rooms leave us too spread out, and given the special situation with them, I’d rather not have my people so exposed.” He tilted his head meaningfully at the walls.
Braden nodded, his face grave. He agreed with Fallon, otherwise he would have mounted an argument.
“I’ll be glad when we can be on our way,” Caden remarked, looking around the room with a dour expression.
“Aye, this place is strange. Like the land itself wants us gone,” Braden said.
Fallon had noticed it too. It was like the weight of eyes followed them everywhere, as if even the hills and rocks noticed their passing.
Fallon greatly suspected everything they’d seen so far was just a precursor of what was to come.
He had a feeling whatever was barreling down on them could sweep up all the Broken Lands in its wake, finishing what the cataclysm had started. Only this time, there would be no broken groups of survivors left to carry on.
“We’ll do what needs doing,” Fallon said, his voice steady as he looked each of his people in the eye.
There were grunts of agreement.
“Do you think the men we sent back will make it?” Martin, one of Fallon’s Anateri asked.
It was a good question—one they had no hope of knowing the answer to. They’d done all they could to ensure Buck and the others’ success. It was up to them now. Only time would tell whether they made it or not.
For now, it meant Fallon and those he’d brought with him were on their own. They walked a tightrope where a single mistake could send them crashing to their deaths.
“Stay vigilant. Tonight’s dinner is a good chance to assess our enemy. Keep your wits about you and don’t take stupid chances if you can help it,” Fallon warned.
Each of his men nodded, meeting his eyes with grim determination.
Fallon’s shoulders loosened. “Pass my message along. I’ll see you all at dinner.”