Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,1
charming smile, his eyes alert as he studied Whelan. “It is a trait that has served me well in the past.”
Whelan made his way up the steps, holding tight to the railing and cursing the coming climb. “I’m sure it will again in the coming weeks. I wouldn’t go too far if I were you. I’m sure she will call for you shortly.”
“Oh, why’s that?” Reece asked.
“A pathfinder missed roll call—one that has a special tie to you.”
Reece’s head tilted and then understanding dawned. “Shea.”
Whelan cackled. “That’s the one. I’ve no doubt that they’ll pull you into a special assignment before too long.”
Leaving the other pathfinder behind, Whelan continued up the long steps. For the amount of trouble this was going to generate, that girl had better be involved in something dire or he’d have her head.
CHAPTER ONE
“WE’RE AGREED then. What says the Telroi?”
Shea tuned back into the conversation to find twelve sets of eyes on her. She blinked at them and looked around with unease as she fought the urge to shift. The Trateri favored pillows instead of chairs. It made sitting for long periods painful for those not used to it. Shea had chosen to kneel since she’d assumed this meeting wouldn’t last long. Her mistake. It was an assumption she really should have known better than to make.
“Do you have an opinion on this?” Gala asked, giving Shea an expectant look—one shared by many at the table. It was unfortunate Shea didn’t have an opinion one way or another. Mostly because she’d stopped paying attention fifteen minutes into the meeting when it became clear that she had little to contribute.
Gala was a middle-aged woman, plump and soft with curves. Her brown hair, threaded through with grey, had been bound back in a smooth bun that Shea couldn’t hope to ever replicate, even before she had chopped off all her hair in an attempt to disguise herself as a boy. Though that subterfuge had been uncovered several months prior, Shea’s hair was at that weird length where it was considered neither long nor short. It had been unruly at both lengths, but at the in-between stage it was a mess of curls that refused to be tamed.
Youngest at the table by a few decades, Shea’s presence would normally not be required nor appreciated among the elders of the Trateri clans. Her status as the Telroi, beloved of Fallon Hawkvale, warlord of the Trateri and conqueror of the Lowlands, had afforded her certain responsibilities—uncomfortable and outside her normal skill set though they might be.
Daere, a woman several years older than Shea though still much younger than the rest, leaned forward from where she sat behind Shea. Since she wasn’t a clan elder, she didn’t have a seat at the table and was forced into the role of observer. In a low voice, one only meant for Shea’s ears, she said, “They’re discussing where to house the new clans that have joined us.”
Shea gave a slight nod, her face creased in a thoughtful frown. Or at least she hoped it was thoughtful. This was the third such meeting she’d been forced to attend, and she felt no more comfortable than she had at the first one.
Unfortunately, she’d also been unable to convince Daere of the uselessness of her presence. Daere was Fallon’s cousin on his father’s side and had been assigned to be Shea’s shadow. Well, technically she’d been assigned to mentor and guide Shea in her new role in Trateri society.
The woman saw Shea’s lack of social graces as a personal affront and had set about trying to integrate Shea into their way of life. She’d started with these meetings, and Shea was already trying to think of several ways to avoid Daere for the foreseeable future. It was difficult, since the woman evidently had eyes in the back of her head.
Daere was a tall woman, even taller than Shea who towered over most Lowlanders. Since the Trateri people as a whole grew tall and muscular, this wasn’t unusual. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back from her face, setting off her sharp features and giving her no-nonsense glare an extra push as she aimed it Shea’s way, telling her without words to pay attention.
Shea turned back to the assembled elders. Though mostly women, there were a few men scattered into the mix. Shea heaved an internal sigh. She missed the days when she was a pathfinder and scout, one who wasn’t expected to comment on anything but the possible