Going home turned out to be easier said than done.
Shea and Trenton were still trapped near the heart of the Badlands with little in the way of supplies. The confrontation in the butte had left her wounded. Granted the wounds were small, the grass hadn’t been long enough to do serious damage, but there were many cuts. The blood loss left her woozy and tired.
Trenton lent a supporting hand more than once, keeping her upright and moving in a straight line when she would have stumbled around like a drunken bee.
To her surprise, Ajari hadn’t wandered off. Whether that was because of some sense of duty or he was waiting until he got hungry to eat them, she couldn’t guess.
Either way, his presence at their side meant many of the beasts inhabiting the Badlands gave them a wide berth—a fact she was grateful for. She wasn’t sure she had enough strength to help fend off any attacks had it just been Trenton and her.
For the most part, the trip passed in a haze. Shea preoccupied herself with simply setting one foot in front of the other as they made the arduous journey away from the heart.
Their walk lasted an eternity, the breaks few and far between. Shea knew if she sat, if she rested, she wasn’t getting back up. For that reason, she pushed on. Trenton trailed after her, the ever, diligent guard. It was for his sake as well as hers that she eventually stopped long enough to sleep and replenish her water.
She made a small sound of protestation when Trenton took the water Ajari found for them.
“It’s not the first water here I’ve drunk,” he assured her. “It’s already done its damage.”
Shea’s half-hearted protest remained locked behind her lips. They really had no choice. The water Ajari brought her soothed her throat and filled her with a brief warmth. Even with the coldness that gripped her, it was hard not to demand more, to not find the nearest source and bury her head in it.
It was near nightfall when Covath landed on a tall rock formation near them.
Shea knew she should feel surprise, fear or any array of emotions, but she didn’t. His appearance seemed somewhat appropriate.
Trenton stood from where he’d been crouched examining something, his gaze watchful as Covath leapt down in a graceful move, landing not far from them.
Ajari straightened, his shoulders stiff as his gaze locked on the dark wings that flared behind Covath before he folded them, holding them tightly to his back.
Covath’s gaze was dismissive as his attention moved between Shea and Trenton before being caught by the mythological at her side.
There was a relationship there. Though neither showed any emotion at the sight of the other, there was the slightest softening in Covath that spoke of relief. Or maybe he just had gas.
At least someone in this motley band was happy, Shea thought.
“You kept part of the bargain, human,” Covath said. “Now for the rest. Where is the controller?”
Shea just stared at him.
“It’s broken,” she told him. “It snapped in the fight.”
She opened her hand to show him the two pieces Ajari had handed back to her. She ignored Ajari’s gaze, too busy staring Covath down.
His lips pulled back in a sneer that flashed his sharp fangs. “That was not part of the deal.”
She shrugged, the motion careless. “You never said it had to be in one piece.”
Covath gave her a look of disgust. She watched with emotionless eyes as he walked over to the mythological. “Let’s go.”
Ajari looked at her, for the first time his face unsure.
Shea gave him a tired wave. The dark at the center of the heart had burned out much of her self-preservation, taking fear with it. If he wanted to leave, she wouldn’t stop him. He’d stayed with her far longer than she had any right to expect. It wasn’t like she’d be alone anyway. Trenton wouldn’t abandon her.
It was clear, now that their common enemy had been slain, Covath was more than willing to return them to the way things had always been. Humans, mythologicals, and beasts— enemies only. If he wanted to remain mired in the past, doomed to repeat its mistakes, Shea wasn’t going to argue. She simply didn’t have the energy to tell him what a short-sighted nincompoop he was being.
Maybe he would figure it out on his own. Maybe not.
Orion landed a fair distance away, his hooves making a clopping sound as he pranced across the hard ground.
Covath looked at him in surprise. “Orion, I did not summon you.”
The horse shook its head, his mane flying everywhere, before he reared onto his back legs.
Ajari seemed to find his voice at Orion’s arrival, stepping forward and lifting his chin in a challenging manner. “I owe her a life debt. Transport out of here would make a start in its discharge.”
Covath didn’t look happy with Ajari’s statement, his face resigned. “Fine.” He turned his gaze on Shea. “We’ll give you a ride out of here in thanks for your services.”
“And Trenton?” she asked.
Covath curled his lip. “That is up to Orion.”
The horse tossed his head and reared, pawing the air with his hooves. A loud nicker escaped him. Another whicker answered him as another one of Orion’s herd landed not far from Trenton.
“There are others we left behind as well,” Trenton said, seizing advantage of the seeming goodwill. “One of them has a broken leg.”
Ajari watched Orion before giving Trenton a respectful nod. “They know. Some of their herd have already offered them a ride.”
Trenton’s face reflected surprise. They hadn’t thought to be so fortunate.
“You grow soft in your old age,” Covath told Orion in a dour voice.
Orion let out an ear-splitting neigh. He stomped his front hooves and gave a violent shake of his head, glaring at Shea.
She took it as her cue and trudged toward the horse. If this meant she didn’t have to walk anymore, she wasn’t going to look the gift horse with wings in the mouth or question its motives.
It took some doing, but Shea managed to mount with Trenton’s help, arranging her tired, aching body over Orion’s back.
“We’re not going to speak of this when we get home,” Shea told him in reference to his assistance. The Trateri would never let her live it down if they knew. They believed only invalids and the weak needed help with mounting.
He gave her a thinly hidden smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. “There she is. My prickly battle queen—the one convinced she can survive anything. I have missed her.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
He patted her leg and stepped back. “We all have our secrets. I’ll thank you not to scare me like that again. I saw visions of my death by torture at Caden’s hand when we found your father and he told us what had happened. It is not an experience I wish to repeat.”
Shea could see how that might be. “Thank you for coming for me.”
He gave her a respectful nod. “I will always come for my battle queen, even if my warlord had not commanded me to do so.”
The words touched that spot deep inside Shea that had seemed encased in ice since the confrontation. It warmed her, just barely.
Trenton stepped back and walked over to his horse.
The jolt as they took to the skies barely registered, the fear of falling that had plagued her on the previous journey was gone. She looked behind her to see Covath take Ajari into his arms and leap into the air, his wings beating as he followed.
Shea laid her head against Orion’s neck, his mane brushing her face as she watched the world pass by under her, a tapestry of hills broken by steep canyons, treacherous ravines and wide-open plains.
Every wing beat taking her further from the heart lifted a weight from her, making the darkness shrouding her thoughts just a little bit lighter. The numbness inside still clung to her, but it wasn’t as all-encompassing.
She simply existed in the moment, trying not to think, letting the world drift below her. Worry was impossible. She was grateful to be free of its burden.
*
It was on the morning of the ninth day that they passed the ruins of the first demarcation. It was also the first day that Shea felt something like relief. She wasn’t safe yet, not by a long shot, but things were better than they had been the day before.
Sometimes that was all you could ask for.
It wasn’t until Orion let out a sharp whinny that Shea started paying attention again.
She looked ahead to where he nodded. A miles long line of dust rose into the air.
She sat forward on the winged horse’s back, faint curiosity taking hold.
It took the better part of an hour to get close enough to see what had caused that strange phenomenon. A long line of people on horseback marched in a steady progress toward the border of the first demarcation.
They looked tiny at the moment, but Shea thought their armor and banners looked familiar. It occurred to her she was looking at a warband, riding rapidly for the ruins of the wall.
The horse flew lower, proving her guess correct. Those banners belonged to the clans. She recognized them.
“Fallon,” she said in a soft voice.
She shook her head. Impossible. She’d left him close to death. There was no way he would have recovered quickly enough to lead an army to the Badlands’ doorstep.
Either way, they were Trateri. She should probably stop to let them know their assistance was unnecessary.
She leaned forward and tapped Orion on the shoulder and pointed down. He let out a snort before changing course. Trenton’s horse did the same.
Orion flew in a wide circle over the army, letting Shea get a glimpse of those who’d followed her. They saw her too, pointing and gesturing. Weapons were drawn, though no one released any arrows.
Orion finished his flyover, ending at the frontline of the army. He landed a short distance away, before trotting toward the banner that flew higher than any others—a hawk on the bluest of backgrounds.
It followed Fallon into every battle. She’d never seen it fly when he wasn’t present. That hope deep inside strengthened.
As she drew near, a horse broke from the rest, slowly cantering towards her. The man on its back was as familiar to Shea as her own face.
A few more emotions broke through the dam in her heart—relief, happiness, joy, touching her before sliding away.
His face was a hard mask as he neared, fire and lightning in his eyes. His gaze traveled over her, noting the blood-stained clothes, the gaunt look of her form—she’d lost weight. Her eyes were haunted, and she looked like she might topple over at any second.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Shea found her eyes drawn to his chest, her mind throwing up images of the way he’d looked lying on the floor of their home, blood pouring from him, his face as pale as the clouds above.
“I’m surprised you’re upright,” she finally said.
Fallon shifted in his seat. “Yes, well, when one’s battle queen jaunts off to take on the entirety of the Badlands alone, you’re not given the luxury of remaining behind to nurse your wounds.”
Shea flinched. Her eyes rose to his. Those words felt like an accusation—one she probably deserved. He had every right to be angry. She’d left him hurt and alone. Maybe her reasons were good, but that brought cold comfort.
His lips parted and he looked like he might speak, his face softening slightly. His gaze turned to Trenton as her guard dismounted from his winged horse and approached the two of them with trepidation.
“I should have you killed, right after thanking you for bringing her back safe,” Fallon rumbled, his voice a dark threat.
Trenton inclined his head, his expression resigned as he accepted his warlord’s judgement.
“You won’t do anything of the kind,” Shea responded in a strong voice. “He did as his battle queen ordered. By your own words when you offered me this title, you cannot challenge that.”
Fallon’s gaze returned to her. He didn’t look happy to have his orders challenged. Before he could say anything, Covath landed beside her. He was alone and she assumed he’d found a spot to set down Ajari before coming here.
He looked between the two of them, his lip curling at the sight of Fallon. “You reek of weakness.”
Fallon observed Covath with an expressionless face, not reacting to the words, ones that would sting the proud man he was. “And you stink of desperation,” Fallon said in a remote voice. He looked the mythological over and arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I have you to blame for my battle queen’s involvement in this mad scheme.”
Shea smothered a sigh.
“Fallon, this is Covath, the leader of his people. Covath, this is Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord of the Trateri, conqueror of the Lowlands.” To Fallon she said, “Play nice. He’s considering an alliance.”
Covath’s shoulders lifted at that statement, his wings rustling behind him.
Fallon gave him a once over, his gaze assessing. “Are you now? Strange way of showing it.”
Covath gave him a sneer before flicking a gaze Shea’s way. He stared at her for a long moment before his chest expanded. “We had thought your kind useless, prone to treachery and subterfuge. Your battle queen has forced us to reconsider that assumption.”
Fallon lifted an eyebrow, seeming unsurprised as his hands firmed on his reins pulling his warhorse up short when it would have tried to bite Covath. “Shea has that effect on people.”
“I am beginning to see that.” Covath didn’t sound pleased about it. He studied the two of them before gazing at the army stretched out behind Fallon. “My flock has had treaties with humans in the past. They’ve never held.”
“The world has changed in the centuries your kind have been gone,” Shea said. “It’s not what it once was.”
Covath stared off into the distance, his thoughts locked behind an inscrutable expression. “Ajari says you’re different. He has been quite insistent on it,” he told Shea. “He’s interested in seeing what else you’re capable of. He seems to think if it’s with you, then an alliance might benefit us both.”
Shea didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m honored to have his regard.”
Covath gave a small grunt. “Ajari is our guiding light. If he thinks this is possible, we will consider a temporary alliance. Be aware, we will judge you harshly, and at the first sign you’re not to be trusted, we will return to being enemies.”
Fallon inclined his head. “We would expect nothing less.”
Fallon lifted his leg over the horse, dismounting with a stiff gait. Shea noticed the pain he was masking, the tentative way he moved. Her gaze went to where she knew his wound was, expecting to see blood. There was nothing, but that didn’t reassure her.
Covath didn’t move, watching as Fallon approached him with slow steps. Fallon held out his dominant hand in the way of the Trateri. Covath looked at it with some confusion before he understood what Fallon wanted. With hesitation, Covath clasped it.
“I should warn you—if you break your word to us, even once, we’ll kill you all,” Fallon said, still clasping Covath’s forearm.
“I was just about to say the same,” Covath returned.
“Then we’re in agreement.” Fallon’s face was serious.
They released each other and stepped back.
Covath’s head tilted as he considered. “We are.” He turned to Shea. “Ajari says to tell you he will see you again. He has named you the Burning One. It is the first time he has bestowed such an honor on a human. Be sure you live up to it.”
Covath didn’t wait for a response, leaping into the air, his powerful wings taking him high within seconds.
Shea watched him go. “Is that it? Don’t you two need to discuss terms.”
Fallon shook his head. “We understand each other. The rest is just details. For a mythological, he is very similar to my generals.”
That was high praise coming from Fallon. Covath must have impressed him in some way, though Shea would have been hard-pressed to say how.
Orion stamped his foot, signaling his impatience.
“I suppose you need to go as well,” she told him.
Orion let out a snort that she guessed meant yes.
She let out a sigh and dismounted, her movements only slightly awkward. She patted him on the shoulder in thanks and stepped back. Orion turned his head to her and lipped her hair before he too galloped away, his wings opening to lift him gracefully into the sky’s embrace
Fallon shifted, turning to face her, his thoughts veiled. “I take it there’s no more need for my army’s presence in the Badlands.”
Her shoulders slumped, a brief touch of grief rising as she shook her head. “No, there’s nothing left there to trouble us. At least for now.”
The dark and the other old things that waited at the heart would eventually grow to be a problem again, but the immediate threat had been addressed.
His face tightened in understanding at what she left unsaid. He stepped closer, his big body oddly tentative as he reached out and brushed her hand with his.
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to do it,” he told her.
Shea looked away as her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes. For all the pain Griffin had caused, she’d loved him once. Perhaps it had been a pale imitation of what she shared with Fallon, but there was a history of shared memories and feelings. He was once a sweet boy, her partner in many of her adventures. She could mourn that person.
“It was unavoidable,” she said in a strong voice, stuffing those emotions back down. It was easier than it should have been, the emptiness inside swallowing them gladly. “He’s responsible for many of the recent betrayals we’ve faced.”
Fallon’s gaze turned thoughtful as he considered that piece of information. “We have much to share, it seems.”
“Yes, but perhaps later,” she said. She didn’t know that she had the energy right now.
He nodded, the movement small. “Much later.”
He stepped forward, finally pulling her into an embrace that was as gentle as it was fierce, his arms wrapping around her like she was finely spun glass, as if he feared he might break her if he squeezed too hard. “I’m glad to have you in my arms again.”
She pressed her forehead into his neck, her arms remaining by her side. “Me too.”
He dropped a brief kiss on the side of her head, relief finally present on his face—relief and something else. He took her hand and turned her toward the army waiting behind them.
“Your Battle Queen has slain our enemy and come out victorious. She returns to us now,” he roared.
Hundreds of voices roared back, letting her know she was home again. These people who’d traveled hundreds of miles, intent on invading one of the most dangerous known lands, they were her home.
*
To no one’s surprise, Fallon decreed the journey ended. They settled where Shea had landed on her winged horse, making camp on the plains near the first demarcation.
Her father, Reece and Buck joined them that evening, the winged horses creating a spectacle as the Trateri, released from their battle readiness gathered and admired them from afar. Orion’s companions preened and pranced at the praise before taking off as he had.
Chirron helped her father off his horse and then swept him to the medic’s tent for treatment.
The Trateri celebrated long into the night as they toasted Shea’s return and their enemy’s death, even as their battle queen missed most of it, sleeping like the dead.
The next day they began the long journey back to the Keep, where the majority of their people had remained.
It turned out that Fallon had woken several days after Shea’s departure, the healing by Chirron and the Keep’s medics a near miracle. He hadn’t been whole but was well on his way to mending. When he discovered her missing, he’d been furious, rising from his bed despite healer advice and the arguments from Caden and his general. He’d summoned his light cavalry and taken off before anyone summoned the courage to stop him.
Shea heard the story from multiple people during the long days of travel. The Trateri were impressed and in awe of their warlord’s ability to survive anything, even a coward’s blow. Each retelling of the story included embellishments, at one-point claiming one of their many goddesses had come down to bestow a boon on Fallon so he might pursue his love.
Between listening to those determined to regale her with tales, Shea rested. Sleep became her number one priority, her body finally deciding it was safe to shut down to recover. The second time she almost fell off her horse, Fallon pulled her onto his, cradling her as she drifted.
Occasionally, he asked questions about her time, but except for basic answers, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. He respected that, though she could see by the impatience in his eyes he wouldn’t be content with her half-answers for long.
At night, she listened as the Trateri told stories of the two of them, about how Fallon had been called from death’s embrace when Shea had departed to confront their enemy with only a small team of stalwart companions at her side. The Trateri loved a good story and their leaders’ feats—both real and imagined—were played up and retold again and again until they only had a passing relationship with the truth.
Even Trenton’s heroism at the end was celebrated in song, his blade given magical properties and a sentience the Trateri had never subscribed to inanimate objects before. Shea had a feeling more than one warrior would make a pilgrimage to the silveright when they returned to the Keep. She wasn’t sure how her people would respond to that.
It was on one such night that she noticed Gawain in the shadows. Shea stood, squeezing Fallon’s arm when he made to follow her. He’d been loath to let her out of his sight since her return. It was a sentiment she understood. She sometimes woke frantically searching for him, only to settle when she found Fallon safe beside her.
“I’m just going right over there,” she assured him.
He settled back as she strolled off, her pace slow and measured.
Patrick sat forward on his pillow, his face questioning as she moved past. Her father had weathered his time in the Badlands well. He’d told her, Reece and the rest had only missed her by minutes. They’d arrived too late to do anything but retrieve him.
Trenton had ordered the others to head back while he continued on after her. Buck had argued, stating that he was best qualified to track Shea. It had gotten pretty heated from what Shea was told.
Trenton eventually won after pointing out Shea wouldn’t be happy to learn her father and cousin died because the two of them had gone after her. Good thing too, because Buck and Reece had both been needed on more than one occasion to fend off beasts as they began their return trip.
“Everything alright?” Patrick asked. His canny eyes hadn’t missed Gawain’s departure or Shea’s interest.
She nodded. “Just have a loose end to tie up.”
“Well, hurry up then. Your warlord isn’t going to wait long,” he said, relaxing back onto his pillow with a grimace as he adjusted his leg. The Trateri had made him comfortable, and Chirron had given him the best care. Still, her father was unused to being immobile. It had made him a bit more cranky than usual.
Shea gave him a small smile. “Stall him if need be.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” he yelled after her.
“Use some of that charming personality you say you have,” was her retort.
Most of their people had congregated in the center of the camp, drawn by the fires and food, leaving the edges mostly empty. Shea waited until they’d reached one of those isolated sections before making her presence known.
Gawain noticed her and paused, his expression guarded. “Battle Queen,” he said in greeting. He tilted his head. “Oddly, the title suits you.”
Shea didn’t know about that. She didn’t feel particularly queenly, and she was next to useless in real battle, but the title had stuck and seemed to have replaced the old one of Telroi.
Shea wasn’t sure if his statement had been meant to flatter or mock her but ignored it to focus on the reason she’d followed him. “An interesting tidbit came to my attention during my sojourn in the Badlands.”
Gawain seemed unsurprised by her statement. “Oh?”
She nodded. “Evidently, Griffin had been the voice in the ears of many of Fallon’s enemies, inciting them to treason.”
He remained silent. Waiting. Watching.
“I know he got to Charles and Ben. Perhaps even Fallon’s half-brother. Griffin was smart. He went after those whose loyalty to Fallon was already weakened.” She waited as his silence lingered. Smart, but then his father was too. “It strikes me that there is one other who would fit that description.”
Someone who had never wanted to join Fallon in the first place, someone whose jealousy had poisoned the relationship they once had, much as Fallon’s half-brother’s had.
Gawain’s expression was reserved. “Say what you came here to say.”
Shea straightened her shoulders, remaining light on her feet. “You fit what he was looking for. He spoke to you. I’m sure of it. What I’m not sure of, is why you didn’t act.”
Because he could have. He’d had many chances. He could have killed her in the Reaches when it was just the two of them. He could have let Ben finish Fallon rather than stop him, no one would have known the difference.
He hadn’t done any of that. Shea wanted to know why.
Gawain sighed, looking away from her. “He did come to me, promising to make my most tightly held dreams come true if I killed Fallon. Or even you.”
The last part didn’t really surprise her. Shea had gotten the sense that Griffin still felt something for her, but it confused him. He’d wanted her at his side just as much as he wanted her dead.
“Yet you didn’t act. Why?” she asked.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “He couldn’t have given me what I wanted, not with all the power in the world at his disposal.”
Henry’s love and admiration, Shea realized. That’s what Gawain wanted.
Gawain’s smile was twisted, lacking even the facade of humor. “How pathetic is that? I’m a man, leader of my own clan, and yet I still yearn to make my father proud.”
Shea could understand that. Family had a way of twisting you up inside, making you think up was down and vice versa. They could hurt you worse than any external wound.
“Fallon isn’t responsible for my father’s faults,” Gawain said. “And I will not become that which I hate because of an outsider’s manipulations. Does that answer your question?”
Shea hesitated for a moment. “Yes, it does.”
“Are you going to tell Fallon?” he asked.
The question was a dangerous one with far-reaching implications. If she revealed what she knew, Fallon could very well decide to kill Gawain. That would most likely lead to other deaths in Gawain’s clan, many of whom would take his execution hard and want revenge.
Though Gawain hadn’t acted on Griffin’s request, he hadn’t revealed the plot to Fallon either. By rights, that was treason in and of itself.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Shea said.
Gawain’s actions had saved Fallon’s life. She was so tired of death. He was a good leader and had turned out to be more loyal than others. She saw no reason to destroy that. Fallon needed his remaining clan leaders. At least for now.
Gawain blinked, seeming unsure. Her response was unexpected.
He turned to go.
“Gawain,” she said, stopping him. “I’ll be watching you.”
“I’d expect nothing less of the battle queen,” he said without turning around.
She watched him go, waiting until he was out of sight before addressing her guard. “You can come out.”
Trenton stepped from the shadows, his gaze pointed in the direction Gawain had gone.
“That’s an interesting development,” he said. “I would have expected his betrayal the most.”
“Then I’m glad he surprised you,” Shea said. She’d grown to like Gawain.
She turned to study Trenton, noting for the first time the circles under his eyes and the tautness in his face. She’d been so preoccupied with herself over these last few days that she hadn’t taken the time to see how he was faring.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
His startled gaze turned to her. He opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her he was fine, then closed it at her look. There was no reason to pretend with her. There was no way to be fine after what they’d went through. They’d reached the heart. Like it or not, it had affected both of them.
His shoulders slumped and he looked away, his expression uncomfortable. “I’m surviving.”
Shea thought about asking him if he’d noticed any changes, but the rigid way he held himself warned her off. She understood that. There were things she wasn’t yet ready to discuss with Fallon.
She squeezed his arm, letting him know she’d be there when he needed her and turned back toward the center of camp where Fallon waited.
She hadn’t made it far when a whoop drew her attention from rehearsing her excuses to Fallon about where she’d been.
She turned to find herself lifted off her feet in a back-breaking hug, a hulk of a man grinning down at her.
“Eamon!” she cried in surprised delight.
“Lass, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he said.
Shea wrapped him in a hug and held tight.
Buck popped up next to them. “Is this a group hug?” He didn’t wait for a response, wrapping his arms around them both.
“You know, if the warlord sees this, he’s going to kill you both,” Trenton drawled.
Buck leaped back, a cocky grin on his face.
“What? You don’t think he’d make an exception for one of the Badlands’ heroes?” Buck asked, referencing how he and the other’s who’d gone on the mission were now called.
Trenton gave him a wry look. “Considering he’s threatened to kill me at least twice a day since we’ve been back, I’m not sure how much weight your new title will carry with him.”
Trenton wasn’t exaggerating. There’d been tension between her warlord and him since their return. Fallon had made it obvious he grudgingly tolerated Trenton’s continued presence as her guard. Some of that was because she’d made it clear she’d accept nothing less.
She knew deep down—very, very, deep down—he appreciated and respected all Trenton had done. But, he was also protective of Shea, more so now than he’d been in a long time. She wasn’t the only one to carry the scars of the past month’s events. Until they healed, she had a feeling Fallon would continue to be difficult whenever Trenton was present.
“Good point,” Buck said, putting his hands behind his back.
“How did you escape the beasts?” she asked Eamon. “I was afraid you’d been overrun after firing the flares.”
“We have Darius’s scouts to thank for that,” Fiona said, strolling up to Eamon’s side.
She touched his arm. Eamon covered her hand with his, a soft look on his face. The intimacy of their actions wasn’t lost on Shea. She widened her eyes at Fiona in question.
Fiona’s lips turned up in answer. Well, well, it seemed more had happened during that mission and its subsequent events than Shea had ever guessed.
“Thought you were interested in Reece,” Shea said.
Fiona shrugged, ignoring the question on the other’s faces. “The commander has won me over to his side.”
Eamon looked bashful, yet proud. Shea knew his cheeks would be red if it had been daylight.
“I’m glad,” she told the two. “You are some of the best people I know. You’re strong warriors and selfless friends. You deserve whatever makes you happy.”
Fiona gave Shea a small nod.
Eamon finished the explanation. “Fiona’s right. If his scouts hadn’t shown up, we would have been slaughtered. As it was, Phillip damn near lost his arm, and Ghost lost the sight in one eye. We were lucky.”
Buck nodded. “It was a close thing. I talked to some of the team who found you. They couldn’t believe how many beasts your group killed. You should have seen it, Shea. There were piles of bodies around them. We’re not the only ones the Trateri will be telling their children about.”
Eamon’s smile was easy. “My only regret is that we missed you in camp. I would have liked to have gone to the Badlands with you.”
Shea didn’t know about that. Privately, she was glad he’d missed their little adventure.
“Your actions—both of your actions,” Shea said, including Fiona in that, “probably saved everyone in the Keep.”
His nod was sad. For all that, they’d still lost people.
Buck slung his arm around Eamon, pulling him forward. “Come on. Enough sorrow. We’re alive for another day. Let’s celebrate.”