Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,175

She just didn’t know how to explain that to Fallon.

“I’m not here to make war on you,” her father told Fallon. “I’m here for my daughter.”

Fallon’s body tensed. “No.”

Her father continued as if he hadn’t spoken. He spread his hands to indicate the village around them. “You’ve seen what is happening. This village is not unique. We’ve lost several others over the past few months, some much bigger than this. The Lowlands are suffering as well. I’ve come to take her to stand trial before her people.”

Shea sucked in a breath. Of all the things she thought he’d say, that had been nowhere on the list. The kernel of hurt that had taken root—after he had failed to stand up for her before her demotion—grew.

She knew he loved her, but she also knew that in many ways, she was a disappointment. Someone who had failed, broken faith, and since meeting Fallon, severely compromised her vows. Yes, he loved her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make her pay the price of what he considered justice.

Fallon snarled, the sound angry and brutal in the desolated village. “That will not happen.”

He held one arm out, pushing Shea behind him. She couldn’t take her eyes off her father. She knew she needed to speak up, if only to warn Fallon to be careful that he had something up his sleeve, but she couldn’t. Hurt had stolen her voice.

Family could raise you up, but they could also damage you worse than any force out there. She would rather fight a thousand beasts, lead hundreds of missions for ungrateful, obtuse villagers, than listen to her father once again tell her how she had failed, that she would stand trial.

“Fallon,” she said in soft voice, raising a hand to touch his back. She tried to step around him, to come up to his side, and then had to grit her teeth as he forced her back behind him. She thumped him on the back before stepping out from behind him. She wasn’t the kind of person who would hide, even if it felt like someone had just come up and sucker-punched her.

“It’s not happening,” he told her in a no-nonsense voice. As if by giving her an order, he could make it come true. He turned on her father, “You won’t be taking her.”

Her father studied him, his expression curious even as his eyes were remote as if he calculated a hundred different scenarios. He gave a sharp whistle.

Around them, in the buildings and on top of them, figures moved. They had been well camouflaged before, using the structures to hide their presence.

Fallon again shoved Shea behind him, even as half of his men pivoted to face these strangers, many of whom were clad in clothes designed to blend in with the forest and mountain terrain. The pathfinders held boomers, all trained on Fallon’s men.

Fallon observed them with a sardonic arch to his eyebrow before giving them a mad grin, his teeth on full display and his eyes alight with challenge. “Your men are good. I’ll give you that. My scouts saw no evidence of their presence.”

Shea’s dad watched him with curious eyes.

Fallon’s expression turned crafty, like a wolf when its quarry had just fallen into its trap. “I’ve known your daughter for a while now and have gotten used to the unexpected. I haven’t gotten this far without being prepared.”

He let out a war cry. There was a rustle of sound as men appeared behind the pathfinders, some with knives held at their back, others with arrows nocked and drawn and pointing at Shea’s father’s men.

Shea’s father watched with a slight smile on his face. “You’ll still die,” her father warned.

“We won’t be the only ones. I can promise you that. We number many. Should we fall, there will be those who can replace us. Can you say the same?”

Shea’s father studied him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Enough,” Shea barked before anyone could do anything stupid and start something that would end in needless bloodshed. “I’ll go with you. There’s no need for any of this.”

“You won’t,” Fallon snapped back. He didn’t budge as she tried to step around him. “That’s final.”

This time she did slap him on the back of his head, dodging out of his arms to stand glaring at him a few feet away.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she snarled. “You ask nicely, and if I feel like it, I’ll listen.”

Fallon glared at her, his whiskey eyes molten with