Page 4 of The Enemy's Daughter

“Be calm,” I whisper. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Liam! Isadora!” Father yells. “Open this door before I break it down.”

Raging heat floods my cheeks.

Farron’s eyes flick to the noise, then close again. His breaths become quick. Blue tinges his lips. I bet his lung has collapsed, among other things... all of which are beyond my ability to help.

“Come here and take my place,” I whisper to Liam.

He obeys, and I guide his hand to where mine was over the wound. With my blood-covered fingers free, I dump out the contents of my small medical bag. Rolls of cloth bandages hit my leg. Stars. He needs a vein infusion. Blood. A life-extenuating machine. A team of doctors and nurses to operate on him and drain the blood from his chest. All things I’ve only read about. Dreamed about. But there’s nothing I can do, except—

My eyes catch on the small white bag of poppy extract. We’re nearly out. It’s been a long time since the traders have found any more to sell. “Keep the pressure on,” I say to Liam as I open Farron’s mouth and sprinkle just enough powder under his tongue to alleviate the pain. It takes a moment, but his breathing changes, slows, and his face relaxes, but not the tension in his eyes. He looks so vulnerable that I grab his hand. No one deserves to die alone.

Not even the leader of the Kingsland.

Then, after a couple of half breaths, his chest ceases to move.

Liam sits back on his heels, his hands falling from Farron’s body. He watches me, but I can’t move. Farron’s blood runs between our clasped hands. The only thing I have in common with this man is that despite the size of the Federated States of the Republic, we’ve been forced to share the same small, unpolluted section of land. And yet something about this moment feels binding between us. It’s as if his death is a mark on my soul.

Father’s fist pounds against the wood once more. He yells for someone to grab an ax.

Liam bites his lip. Sucks in a breath. Then rises to remove the beam holding the barn doors shut. He waits for my approval.

I nod even though I’m not ready. Now that Farron’s dead, the men have to prepare for the inevitable—the coming war.

2

“What’s going on in here?” Father barks, shoving through the doors of the barn.

I step back into the shadows outside the halo of torch light, my bloody hands clasped behind me, out of view.

“We were getting the body off my horse,” Liam says gruffly. Which doesn’t explain why we barred the door.

Thankfully, Father doesn’t push for more information as he crouches near Farron’s waxen face. He examines him with a sneer.

A terrifying thought hits me.What if he touches him?Farron’s still-warm skin would be proof that he wasn’t dead when Liam arrived. It would beg more questions—which could lead to the discovery of the worst secret of all.

I tried to save Farron.

Little burrs of anxiety barb and hook under my skin. In the heat of the moment, I couldn’t see past saving a life or preventing a war. But I realize now how our actions will be perceived: treason—a crime punishable by death. A very painful death.

My gaze slides back to Farron. Not only is his shirt ripped openbut rolls of bandages lie on the ground beside his chest. Not far away is the small bag of poppy extract. Sweat breaks out above my upper lip.

Father seems to stare for an eternity, something I can’t read written on his face. “Excellent,” he whispers.

“This him?” Gerald asks, kicking up pieces of hay as he strides into the barn. With a bow and quiver of arrows, and multiple knives strapped to his thick chest, the leader of the Maska clan looks every bit our fiercest fighter. But despite his capabilities, a stench of neglect follows him, wafting into the small space. A common symptom of the clansmen forced to raise themselves as children. He scowls at the lifeless man he had hoped to murder tonight. “He doesn’t look dead to me.” Drawing his blade, he stabs Farron precisely through the heart.

“Stop!” I cry, unable to hold back.

Gerald chuckles under his breath but complies, giving me his attention. He stands, eyes sliding over me with a deep curiosity. It’s most unpleasant.

Wiping his knife on his pants, he turns to Father. “You know there’s no way this wood-whittling boy-child killed Farron. His voice goes hard. “We need another—”

“No. It’s done,” Father says with the ghost of a smile on his lips, as if he still can’t believe Farron is dead. “Bring the body. I’ll meet you at the house.”

I refuse to look anywhere but at the ground as Liam and Gerald do as they’re told. But the moment their footsteps disappear, I scurry to get the bandages back into my medical bag, hiding my crimes. It leaves me breathless. A tear drips down my cheek. But more than the sadness welling up inside me, I’m angry. Overwhelmed. Everypart of what happened tonight was senseless.

And now, we’re all going to pay.

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