I pulled my hand away. His comfort, his affection, was too much to bear when the only touch I wanted to feel was Reyker’s. Careless words rushed from that pit of despair inside me. “I don’t need to be saved. I survived on my own.”
Hurt flashed in Quinlan’s eyes. “I know you’re not weak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fear for you. You’re my friend, Lira.”
It was unfair of me to snap at him, to let my misery turn into callousness. I’ve not been myself lately, I started to say. No, that was an understatement. I am a wreck, I am drowning, I need to be saved from myself. But I couldn’t say those things, not to anyone.
There was a clamor behind me as Garreth entered the cave and rushed over. “Quinlan. Gods, what a fright you gave us.”
“You two should talk,” I said. Garreth would need to know all the details of the attack on Houndsford, things I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.
And with Garreth occupied, I had somewhere else to be.
Outside the cave, tents and makeshift shelters stretched into the distance. While I was still in Stony Harbor, Garreth had been riding across Glasnith, visiting refugees from sacked villages, offering the dispossessed a new clan. Promising that with their help, he would raise an army that could banish the Dragon and his minions from our lands. Only a few refugees had accepted then, but over the last weeks, more had trickled in every day—from Stalwart Bay, Ballygriff, and Taloorah, villages that had been turned into graveyards. They had lost faith in their traditional clans. They had put their faith in Garreth’s promise.
They were ghosts, in need of a prince.
I headed to where several nomad women were making flatbread—one rolling the dough, another cooking them over the open flame, a third stacking the warm bread into piles. Ignoring their clucks of annoyance, I plucked a few slices from a pile and made my way up the hill.
Andrithur was tied to a stake. Two guards were on duty, and they sat by a small fire, watching him from a few paces away. The Dragonman snarled as I crouched in front of him. “Get away from me, witch.”
My handprint was scorched into his skin, swirls of pink and red and black. I jerked my chin at the burn. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Perhaps I won’t mean it when I snap your neck. Will that make it easier to bear?”
I took a bite of bread. “You must be hungry. Would you like some?”
“Keep your rotten food. I will tell you nothing.” He turned his head away, but I saw the gleam in his eye. The invader hadn’t eaten in days. Under his breath he murmured, “I am Sjaf’s disciple, servant of Iseneld, a blade to be wielded for the glory of my gods and homeland.”
The Dragonmen’s code. Reyker had taught it to me.
I knew the fierce pride and undying loyalty Draki inspired in his men. I also knew the brutal ways he corralled them when they didn’t follow his orders. I knew the threats he made, the fear he used to bind the Dragonmen to his will. I had to be the opposite of that. I had to be the brave deer who earned the trust of a wolf by appealing to the kindness in his heart.
“Eat.” I waved the bread in his face. “I’m not going to let you starve.”
“I told you, I don’t want it. Probably poisoned anyway.”
“I’ll let the birds have it, then.” I drew my arm back as if to throw it, calling his bluff.
“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll eat your garbage if you’ll stop yammering and leave me alone.” I held the bread out so he could take a bite. “It’s overdone.”
“Take it up with the cook. Andrithur, why do you hate my people so much?”
“Because you’re weak, pathetic dogs,” he said around a mouthful of bread.
“Not too weak to capture you.”
“The brown-skinned woman captured me. She’s not one of you. She’s a true warrior. I’d take her back to Iseneld if I didn’t already have—” He stopped.
“If you didn’t already have what? A woman? A wife?” He answered with a scowl. “You must miss her. And the rest of your family.”
I’d built trust between myself and Reyker by telling him of my mother’s death. Maybe I could reach this invader in a similar way.
“Let me tell you why I should hate your people,” I began.
As he ate, I told him about the first invasion of Stony Harbor, about Rhys, and how he died defending me. I didn’t look at Andrithur until I’d finished. “Fighting and dying to protect those you love is the opposite of weak. I don’t hate you, Andrithur. I hate that you brought war to these lands. I hate that you kill my people. But I believe your people and mine are not so different. That one day there could be peace between us.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Perhaps. But I found a good man among your kind. I have hope that he wasn’t the only one. I owe it to him to try and help his people understand, to try and find others who are as honorable as he was. I’ll bring you more food in the morning, but next time, it’s your turn to talk.” I stood, heading back toward the cave.
“Witch-girl.”
I paused.
“I see why he chose you. Your lordling bastard. You’re as stupid as he was.”
“Aye.” I smiled at the Dragonman, taking his words as an offering given in empathy, whether they were meant that way or not. “I am.”
It took days, but slowly, hesitantly, Andrithur began to speak.
Never of Draki or the Dragonmen, but of Iseneld. His home. His family. He still snarled and cursed me, but he ate everything I brought him, and there was a change in him—a desire to live, so that he might see his wife and daughter again.
Garreth didn’t ask me what the invader said, knowing I’d share information if I had it. My brother was busy planning the nomads’ exodus across the desert, sending scouts ahead in search of secure places to set up a new camp, dispatching envoys to meet with the clans of Glasnith and propose alliances.
“They’ll refuse,” I told Quinlan, because Garreth wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him. “The clans see the nomads as foreigners like the ones invading their shores, exiles with no loyalty.”
“Maybe.” Quinlan’s injury hadn’t hindered him long. He was back on his feet, acting like his old self, full of bad jokes and easy smiles. He’d be well enough to ride soon. “But the desert is no longer safe. Garreth has to try.”
Through the mouth of the cave, I watched my brother stalk from warriors to cooks, blacksmiths to seamstresses, ensuring there was enough food, weapons, and tents for the upcoming journey. Though it wasn’t the clan he was born to, it was clear he felt responsible for their safety. Their future.