Page 90 of The Enemy's Daughter

Tristan took some of it back, probably when I was loopy on medicine. It means he’s injured while stuck in a filthy prison. “I’m fine, and I want to leave now.” Ripping open the top drawer of my dresser, I toss a clean set of clothes onto my bed. I also snag the freshroll of bandages Mum must have left for me on the table.

Liam doesn’t move.

I fight to keep the edge of annoyance out of my voice. “Is that going to be a problem?”

He looks taken aback at my urgency. “I guess not. What about your parents?”

Right. Father will be eager for information on Kingsland, and there’s no way Mum will let me walk out the door. “The window.” I cross the room and thrust the wooden shutters wider open. “Leave the way you came, then meet me here. You can help me climb out.”

30

Liam weaves his calloused fingers with mine as he leads me through the root-filled path to where he left his horse. Chickens cluck and grumble from the coop not far away. I glance down at our entwined hands, and my head fills with a strange mix of fuzziness and shame.

This feels like a betrayal to some deep part of myself. But I can’t pull away from him. Not without derailing my chance to find Tristan.

If only Liam had listened to me when I said I was staying in Kingsland. By now there probably isn’t a person who hasn’t heard Annette accuse me of stabbing her and assaulting Enola. My disappearance only solidifies my guilt. Add to that Tristan and Henshaw being taken captive by clansmen, and the town probably thinks I planned this all along. It’s a treachery of unforgivable proportions, far greater than Annette could have dreamed of.

My stomach twists in worry for Enola, but all I can do is pray she’s okay.

Liam smiles at me, eyes flashing with a combination of excitementand affection. It’s like he’s back to being the old Liam. The one who preferred carpentry to fighting. My source for clan news.

He didn’t tell me Kingsland had a fence.

It makes me wonder what else he’s left out. Maybe I never really knew him at all.

“How’s your neck?” Liam asks as we approach the hitching post, where four horses stand, grazing.

His words conjure up a sharp ache in that very region. Or maybe it’s always been there, and I’ve been too upset, too focused on Tristan to acknowledge it. There’s also a looming dizziness, likely from blood loss or whatever Henshaw gave me to make me sleep, that occasionally churns my stomach. “I’m fine,” I say, refusing to give him a reason to back out of taking me to Tristan.

I try to mount my horse, taking care not to rip open my sutures since that would seriously derail my plans, but my leg doesn’t make it all the way over the saddle. Wordlessly, Liam’s large hands find my hips, then he lifts me. I slide gently into my seat. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I’m sure I could do it, I’m just—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy to help you.” One of his hands slides from my hip to my thigh. It stays there.

I grin, like it’s a compliment. Like on the inside I’m not consumed with rage. I shouldn’t let him touch me like that. I’m not his.

But there was a time when I considered it.

Liam’s face looks like it’s been carved with long strokes of a chisel, the opposite of his shoulders, which are as rounded as the moon under his blue T-shirt. Freia has never failed in pointing out his desirability, and I can concede that there was a spark that could have grown into a flame if given the chance. Marriage to Liam would have been adequate—if I had never met Tristan anddiscovered what it’s like to trulyfallin love.

We take off at a slow trot side by side. There’s much to say now that I have Liam as a captive audience, but I also know that the roots of what we’ve been taught run miles deep. Convincing Liam that Kingsland is not responsible for attacking us will not be easy. I sneak glances at him as if that might give me a clue on how to start.

There’s something regal about him in the saddle. It could be his straight posture, or the way he commands his horse as if it were an extension of him. He may be one of the quieter clan leaders, but he has an air of strength and authority about him. He could influence a lot of people for change if he put his mind to it. I can’t mess this up.

“Your father revoked our betrothal,” Liam says.

It’s a miracle I don’t fall off my horse. “What?”

He watches a few clan soldiers pass us on a parallel trail, patrolling. “You can thank the Maska clan leader for that.”

“Gerald?”

He nods. “I’ve known for a while that he’s been a thorn in the Saraf’s side, but it’s only in the last few days that I’ve learned to what extent. Turns out the reason he’s been your father’s henchman of sorts, doing all the dirty work, was because he was banking a favor—and a few months ago he tried to cash it in. He asked to be the next Saraf, and since no woman will go near him, he also asked if he could have you.”

My tongue has gone missing.

“Like I said, most of it’s new to me, but it explains the uprising, the infighting. Your father said no to both those requests. So Gerald stirred things up. Suddenly the clans aren’t getting along, and the Maska are making threats about going off on their own,meaning the loss of most of our soldiers and hunters. That’s why your father announced the contest to decide his succession. And to ensure Gerald took the bait, he added something else Gerald had been salivating over: you.

“It worked to preserve the peace and gave your father back some control... for a little while. The clans calmed down because they now all had an equal chance at becoming Saraf, and your father came out on top. There’d be no transition until he died, and he finally got something he’s always wanted in return—Farron Banks’s head.”

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