Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,12

shadows, but I’ve found happiness doing this. I suppose it’s because there are challenges to be faced and overcome here. I might miss the trail sometimes, but not all the time. Not even most of the time.”

Shea was quiet for a long moment. Eamon, used to her long silences, went back to his papers.

“You think I should give Daere a chance,” Shea stated.

Eamon lifted his head. “I think you should see what she has to offer before you make any decisions. No running and no avoiding.”

Hm.

That would take some effort. Shea didn’t know if she was up to that or if she even wanted to try.

“What are you working on?” Shea asked, shifting the topic.

Eamon gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. That avoiding the conversation would work for now but it wouldn’t work forever. He played along anyway.

“I’m studying a route for tomorrow. I wanted to make sure I familiarized myself with the map before we headed out.”

“Oh?” Eamon was leaving camp? After just spending the last few minutes lecturing her on branching out? “Where are you heading?” She feigned mild interest when what she really wanted to ask was if she could come with him.

Eamon didn’t look fooled. “Fallon’s due back soon. I wanted to take a group out tomorrow and meet him a few days out so we can ride back with him.”

Shea straightened in her seat. “And you didn’t bother to tell me this sooner?”

He shrugged. “I’d planned to tell you this afternoon when you were supposed to be here, but someone decided to go jaunting about camp without a care in the world.”

Shea’s mouth snapped closed on her retort. She narrowed her eyes at him. He looked entirely too satisfied with himself.

“I’m going with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She fought against a wince, knowing Eamon didn’t like being ordered. It would have been better to phrase that as a question.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Please.” There, that was a little better.

His smile was slow in coming. “Fine.” Trenton shifted in his corner. Eamon’s eyes lingered on him. “But you’re bringing your guards.”

“Of course, I am,” Shea agreed immediately. “The best there is.”

“I don’t mean me either. My men and I don’t count.”

“What? Come on. I know you’re taking at least a dozen men. That should be more than enough.”

“Nope.” He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “I’m not the one who’s going to explain to the Warlord why his Telroi is wandering around without the protection of his Anateri.”

The Anateri were Fallon’s personal guard, handpicked by him and trained by a sadistic old man. They were deadly and fiercely loyal to Fallon and by extension Shea. Most didn’t make it through training, but for those that did, it brought honor to their families and clan.

Once upon a time, before her gender was discovered, Fallon had intended to have Shea join their ranks. She’d gotten a small taste of their training and could attest to its difficulties.

Trenton had been merciless trying to teach her the finer points of sword work. She rubbed one thigh in remembered pain.

“I don’t suppose I could get you to change your mind?” Shea asked. She aimed a sour look Trenton’s way, knowing that even if she did the nosy man regarding her with a placid expression would make it his business to ensure she didn’t step foot out of camp without a full complement of guards.

Eamon knew it too and shook his head. He didn’t even have the courtesy to look regretful.

She huffed at him. “I’ll remember this.”

“You do that. As long as the warlord remembers it too.”

She made a rude gesture at him.

“Hello, hello,” a voice called from the entrance of the tent. Seconds later a man popped his head through the door way. Seeing the two of them, he stepped in.

Blond, with a sly look in his eyes that said he got into more than his fair share of trouble, the man crossed the tent towards them. He had a broad forehead, an angled jaw, and moved with a dynamic energy.

“Look who it is. Our prodigal daughter come to visit the small folk.”

“Buck.” Shea greeted him with a smile as he clasped her on the shoulder. Buck’s real name was Gerard, but only his superiors and boring people—his own words—called him that. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know, about. Old slave driver there had me and my team scouting the forest to