Page 30 of The Enemy's Daughter

Time for what?

Once again, I can’t help but wonder who Tristan is. I know he’s important enough that they would send a rescue mission for him. And the other soldiers called him sir. Could Tristan be the leader of their army or in charge of Vador and that small band of soldiers? Although, if he is, why didn’t they listen to him when he told them not to shoot me?

“The clans will...”

I look back over my shoulder, straining to hear. What about the clans? What is Tristan planning? I retrace my steps until I’m closeenough to listen—except I’m shaking like a day-old kitten and my hip bumps a small decorative table. The colorful canister on top tips. By some miracle, I catch it before it smashes to the floor.

“There isn’t...” Tristan’s words cut off, as if he’s heard me.

I hold my breath until my lungs catch fire. Shadows of black encroach on my vision.

“They killed him,” Vador says, in his distinctly deep voice. “Their intent was never to let him survive. I’m sorry, Tristan, but what your father needs is a funeral.”

Hisfather? No...

Isadora. I’ve always known your name.

Farron is Tristan’s father. His hatred of me in the forest suddenly makes so much sense. He wasn’t headed to Hanook to avenge the death of his leader. He was avenging hisblood, and I, the daughter of the very man he came to kill, stood in his way.

But then why save me?

It must be his twisted attempt at revenge. Even if he hasn’t fully figured it out, he’s smart enough to know keeping me alive gives him the upper hand. If I’m not bait to draw my father out, Tristan can use me for information—although he’ll be sorely disappointed by how little I know. At the very least, what better way to hurt your enemy than to take away their family?

An eye for an eye.

I move closer, needing to hear more.

“No,” Tristan says. His voice is angry.

“Okay, thepeopleneed a funeral, then.” Is that Samuel? He sounds tired. Frustrated.

“Why?” demands Tristan. “We don’tknowthat he’s dead.”

My head snaps up. He doesn’t?

Samuel scoffs. “You were pretty sure when you tore off with hellfire in your veins.”

“I knew he was hurt, then dragged away,” Tristan says. “I know survival’s unlikely, but it’s possible. I waited all night for you to come up with a better plan than mine before I gave up and did it on my own. It’s been three days, and we still haven’t done anything beyond scouring outside our land. We’ve failed him.”

“You know why that is,” Samuel says.

“You could be wrong,” Tristan says, his voice growing louder. “They might be torturing him right now.”

“Has the girl said anything?” asks Vador.

I startle at the mention of me, then wonder if I have. In the forest Tristan demanded information on Farron, but I assumed from his anger that he knew Farron was dead.

“No.” Tristan exhales hard. “But I’m not talking about a funeral until we have answers. Until we know for sure that he’s not alive. And we would have known by now if you hadn’t come after me.”

There’s a snort. “You’re kidding, right?” asks a younger voice—Ryland. “Sir,” he adds as an afterthought.

Why are these men, especially Vador, a man nearly three times Tristan’s age, addressing Tristan as sir? Is it possible the Kingsland passes on leadership like an inheritance? Like the old monarchs I’ve read about?

“I freed myself more than once.”

My eyes widen. He did set himself free when his soldiers arrived, but what other time is he talking about? My mind jumps to when I tied him to the tree to relieve himself. There was something different about the bandages binding his hands when I returned.

It’s kind of a hands-on job.

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