Page 18 of The Enemy's Daughter

“Isadora, listen to me.” Tristan’s voice is a whisper. “You won’t leave here alive if you do this. Surrender and—”

No. They know who I am, and they won’t hesitate to use me against Father. I have to try. “Don’t fight me,” I snap, then increase the pressure on the blade. Tristan hisses as I break through his skin.

Suddenly, my elbow jerks back. The knife goes flying from my hand. Pain rockets through my arm as I lose my balance and fall to the ground.

“Cease fire!” Tristan screams.

His face appears above me, the most vibrant shade of emerald green shining in his panicked eyes. They scan my upper body and stop on my arm. “You’re okay. The arrow didn’t hit anything important.” His hands land on either side of my head as he exhales in relief.

I can’t imagine why he cares.

“Sam, get the horses,” Tristan calls. “We need to get her back to Henshaw.”

I consider throwing a punch, but I’d be lucky if I could even reach his face. My fight, my strength feels weirdly gone. A shadow falls over me. Then another.

“Tristan,” Vador says, his deep voice apologetic. “That was Sam’s arrow.”

Huh.Sohis name really is Tristan.

“What? No.” Tristan’s hands slide to my elbow where a hot poker must be burning a hole through my bone. The pain abruptly turns to agony, and I scream. It takes me a second to understand that he’s ripped the arrow from my arm.

“There,” Tristan says, breathless.

I suppose I deserved that. Eye for an eye and all.

“That won’t be enough,” Vador says.

A stinging heat climbs up my arm. It bites me every direction it goes, turning to ice as it spreads across my ribs.

Poison. I’ve been poisoned.

Tristan curses so loudly I flinch. “I told you not to shoot!”

“She was about to slit your throat,” says the large, muscular man. “I had to take the shot.”

The men argue as the cold inside me splinters off into fingers that dive deep into my chest. My heart skips a beat. Sun above. It’s spreading so fast.

Panic claws at my lungs. I grab Tristan’s forearm and squeeze. I don’t deserve his mercy, but I don’t want to die alone.

“She won’t make it all the way back,” says Vador. “The poison’s already taking hold.”

Tristan’s face is nothing short of violence. “Stop talking and bring me a horse!”

7

It’s like I blinked and found myself slumped in a saddle. Everything hurts. Tristan’s arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me tight against his chest as he rides. Riding hurts. I want to get down. I want to throw up. I’m so dizz—

Darkness swallows me whole. But even in oblivion there’s pain. It traps me like a nightmare and bites like a snake. Over and over, unrelenting. Time becomes a torture device, refusing to pass, suspending me in a prison of agony.

My parents flash in my head, and I relive the most senseless conversations. Reminders of chores. Reprimands over my books. A rare moment of approval.

“You’re not playing soldiers and generals with Percy, are you?” Mum asks, concerned.

“I’m his healer,” my eight-year-oldself answersproudly. “Just like you.”

Mum’s stern face cracks into a grin. “That’s good. Only the smartest girls get to be healers.”

I’m yanked from my dream-like state when my body fallsfrom the horse into someone’s arms.

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