“Just a feeling. But think about it. Who benefits most from destabilizing our hold on Karra? Who gains if Roland’s power is threatened?”
“Most of the tribes would love to see Roland fall,” Gabriel says, his voice colder than a glacier in the mountains.
“Exactly,” I say.
As we continue to discuss strategy, my thoughts drift back to Everly. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s connected to all of this.
But how is it connected?
Chapter
Twelve
EVERLY
The bed creaksas I roll onto my side, trying to find a comfortable position. As if anything could be comfortable with the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut.
I close my eyes and will sleep to come, but my mind keeps spinning. On one side, there’s Hawke and his band of rat-smelling brutes. On the other, there’s Cenric—brave, handsome Cenric. Here I am, stuck in the middle like a rabbit caught between two hungry foxes.
Some spy I’m turning out to be. I couldn’t even make it to the camp without taking a bath in mud. At this rate, I’ll probably trip and impale myself on Cenric’s sword before I can gather any useful information.
Everything in me wants to tell Cenric exactly what Hawke is up to, but I don’t know how wide Hawke’s reach is. What if he really does have spies in Astarobane? What if the moment Iunveil his intentions, he silences my family forever? Icy dread tightens around my heart like a fist.
No!
I will not allow that to happen!
Chapter
Thirteen
CENRIC
The sun peeksover the horizon the next morning, its golden rays bathing the training grounds in a warm glow as I square off against Liam. He has been my closest friend for many summers, ever since the day we marched off to war together. We stood side by side on that battlefield, and we’ve been fighting together ever since.
His dark eyes narrow in concentration as he circles me. Sweat glistens on his brow, matting his light brown hair to his forehead. His short beard can’t hide the scar on his chin, a reminder of our first battle together.
“Come on, Cen.” A grin spreads across his face as he taunts me. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
I grunt and adjust my grip on my sword. The familiar weight of it grounds me, yet my mind keeps drifting to Everly.
Liam lunges forward, and I parry just in time. He’s quickdespite his stocky build. Where I’m tall and lean, Liam is compact muscle, built like a battering ram.
“Your head’s not in it today,” he says as he dances out of reach. “What’s got you so distracted? Or should I say, who?”
I refuse to take the bait. Instead, I push forward, and he blocks me.
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” he presses. “The one you brought into camp yesterday. Everly, right?”
I ignore his jabs and channel my frustration into my attacks. The muscles in my arms burn with exertion, but I push harder, each strike carrying more force than the last and driving Liam back.
“Whoa there, Cen.” He laughs. “Touched a nerve, didn’t I?”
His left hand, missing its pinky finger, fumbles with the hilt of his sword as he attempts to adjust his grip. I seize the opportunity, twisting my blade to send his weapon flying.
His chest heaves as he raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I yield.”
I lower my sword and draw in a quick, ragged breath.
