Page 2 of The Enemy's Daughter

What’s coming now is war. Real war. Their raids in the middle of the night and their attacks to scare us from our small portion of untainted land will feel like nothing compared to what’s coming. Now they’ll burn our homes down with us still inside. They’ll take all our animals and supplies. Wewillneed every able-bodied clansman to stand united against their numbers.

Which is where I come in, by bringing unity back to the clans. I grip the handrail tight as devastation sweeps over me that Father’s barbaric contest didn’t fail.I’m getting married.But to who?

The faint sound of hoofbeats draws our attention to the trees. I move along the wraparound porch, straining to see past the torches that mark the edge of our yard.

My brother, Percy, appears first, riding up on his black mare. He jerks her abruptly to a stop. His overgrown blond hair is blown back and tangled by the wind.

“Who’s our winner?” Father demands, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Percy jumps off his horse and tosses the reins to one of the many neighboring children gathering. “How about‘Are you injured? Did everyone make it back okay?’” He shakes his head as he stomps away.

“Percy!” Father shouts. “Get back here.”

I force myself not to react as Father flies down the steps, chasing after him, his towering height eclipsing my brother from view. “Answer me,” he growls.

Percy whirls on him. “You want an answer? Here’s your answer. You should have chosenme, a proper contender, to compete as your proxy for the Hanook clan. Instead, you chose Harris, whosehorsecan handle a weapon better than he does.”

“The winner marries your sister. That disqualifies you.”

“And you disqualified our clan from remaining in power with the Saraf as its leader. But I guess it didn’t serve you. Who cares what happens to the clans after you die, right?”

Blazing fates. Does that mean Gerald won? A strangled sound escapes my throat, and I have the sudden urge to run.

Mum’s bony shoulder presses hard into mine. “Remember your duty,” she whispers. “This marriage is the promise.”

Promise.Or rather, contract.I’mthe guarantee that the winner of the contest will be the next Saraf after Father dies.

My eyes close. Which is worse? An unwanted marriage? Or the clans breaking apart over succession while the Kingsland swoops in and slaughters us all?

The answer is easy. It’s why my feet haven’t moved from these planks of wood. We need to unite as one community with five strengths. There is no other way for the clans to survive what’s coming. Still, my chest burns with dread, so I picture the lives this marriage will protect: my best friend, Freia; our neighbors and their young children; my parents; my brother. Is this not the very reason I became a healer? To help—to save—people?

Father speaks into Percy’s ear, then shoves him in the direction of his log house, a couple of hundred feet from ours.

More hoofbeats rise from the forest. Another figure on a horse trots out of the darkness. There’s something—someone—strapped to the horse’s back behind the rider. Numbness descends over me until the light of the torches finally brushes the rider’s face.

Liam.

A sob of relief knots in my throat.

He scans the people gathered and pauses briefly on Father beforelocking eyes with me. I grip the wooden railing harder. How is this possible?

“Crank the siren,” Father says to Denver gruffly, then he raises his voice to the dozen or so neighbors who have gathered, awaiting news. “Our tormentors have been defeated. The contest has a champion.”

Liam comes to a stop in the middle of the yard as another armless scout brings up the rear. “My horse is injured. Took an arrow,” Liam calls to Father. “I need to attend to him in the barn first.”

“Drop Farron’s body,” Father says.

Liam shakes his head in unusual defiance. “No. He’s dead. My horse isn’t. We’ll deal with the body after.” With a soft bump of his heels, he urges Hemlock forward.

My stomach tumbles as Father’s face tenses. But before he can command otherwise, the attack siren begins to whine, building louder and louder the faster it’s cranked, announcing that the contest is over.

Liam’s gaze meets mine again, and something flashes in his eyes before he disappears around the corner. It looks like panic. Maybe a plea.

His horse must be seriously injured.

“I’ll go and help him,” I mutter, though horses are far from my expertise. I turn back to grab my travel bag of bandages and herbs hanging by the door, then rush down the stairs. The trails leading to each house are filling with people eager for news after hearing the siren. Tears sting my eyes as I slide past my neighbors. I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t have to marry Gerald.

By the time I reach the barn, Liam has Hemlock inside and stands waiting for me by the double doors. He’s lit two torches, giving us a bit of light. As I walk in, I’m hit with the scent of sweatyleather and the distinct, sweet smell of horse.

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