Page 111 of The Enemy's Daughter

The closer I am to anyone from my clan—Father, Percy—the more likely someone can intervene. This is a good thing. Tristan sends me his thoughts, agreeing.

At the edge of my yard a handful of soldiers spot us and go on alert.

Gerald raises his voice loudly. “What’s the punishment for treason, boys?”

“Death!” his men shout almost gleefully, as if they’ve rehearsed it.

Terror explodes in my chest as I realize they probably have. I was wrong. This isn’t only Gerald’s revenge for spitting on him. All along, he’s been looking to start a confrontation because he plans to stage a coup.

He needs chaos to take Father down, and now that he’s caught us, he’s going to use burning me and Liam to death to do it.

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“Burn them!” Gerald’s men shout, startling the breath out of me.

It becomes a chant that spreads. More Maska covered in weapons stream into the yard. They surround the men stunned by the spectacle who were already there from Hanook. As the crowd grows, neighbors run over to see what’s going on.

A grunt sounds from behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, the man with the sword is on the ground, clutching his knee. Tristan stands over him, his bare foot a blur as it slams down over the man’s ribs in a crushing blow.

Another of Gerald’s men rushes to attack, swinging a knife at Tristan’s neck. I scream, but Tristan is already diving back. When the man follows, Tristan kicks out, hitting him in the stomach. He chases it with a punch to the head. The man goes down. His weapon lands several feet away.

Liam and I lurch forward to join Tristan, but viselike arms wrap around me. Desperately, I wiggle an elbow free, then slam it into the belly of the foul-smelling man imprisoning me. With a stomp, Ismash his foot. He howls but doesn’t release his hold.

Liam charges the Maska man in front of him but is struck in the shin with a bat-like weapon that has spikes on the end. It drops Liam to his knees. A second strike rains down on his shoulder. The sound of his bones snapping reaches me, and I scream.

Tristan quickly glances at me before he throws a vicious head butt, knocking a third Maska soldier to the ground. Henshaw cowers, his hands covering his head.

“Enough of this,” Gerald snaps. He aims his arrow at Tristan’s back.

Time slows down.

“Tristan!” I yell, flashing all that he can’t see into his mind. The arms around me wrench tighter, choking off my voice.

Tristan stops, then his hands raise high in the air as he slowly turns around.

The Maska he was fighting punches him in the gut. It drops Tristan to one knee. An elbow follows, then he’s pushed to the ground and held there with a knife at his throat.

“Fighting back was very stupid,” Gerald says, lowering his bow. “Tie her to the arch.”

There are shouts of “no,” but I can’t tell who they’re from. A numbness enters my body as I’m dragged to the makeshift altar where I was to be married.

The crowd has grown, but the Maska outnumber them all. Some even line the front porch of my house. Hanook men stand with concerned faces and hands on their weapons, but they don’t move. Where is Father? Or Percy? Or any of Father’s most trusted men? Where is my mother? Freia? My gaze lands on Elise, the neighbor who came looking for information on her husband the day I followed Freddy.She covers her mouth as she huddles her six-year-old daughter, Polly, under her arm. Her face is desperate, like she wants to help me, but she can’t. Everyone knows not to intervene. A clan leader is judge and jury, and even if they weren’t, the Maska are now fifty, maybe seventy-five strong.

They came ready for battle.

Finally, I spot an older man I recognize—Leroy. He shoves his way forward, his knife drawn. “What’s the meaning of this, Gerald?”

“Justice,” Gerald calls back.

“He’s lying. Stop him,” I call. “Get my father!”

At my alarm, Leroy raises his knife, but his eyes dart to the side as Maska soldiers box him in.

Tristan kicks out at his captors, fighting back again. It takes two men to hold him down. “Fight, Isadora! Don’t let them do it!”

The urgency of his shouts causes more people to draw their weapons. But nobody makes a move.

I thrash against my captor. It hurts. My neck feels like it could burst open, and my body is disturbingly weak despite all the adrenaline. Still, I kick and claw with everything I have.

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