Page 5 of The Enemy's Daughter

I plunge my bloody hands into a barrel of rainwater and wash them, forcefully scrubbing the skin with my nails. It doesn’t make me feel better. Nothing will make this better. My legs ache to run. To weave through the forest until I’m past Hanook’s border. Past the enemy and the violent vagabonds waiting to rob me or stab me through the heart for fun. Past the bomb-tainted badlands. To somewhere, anywhere—

I pause, suddenly knowing where to go.

Carefully, I select four knives from the weapons chest in the corner of the barn, then slip into the darkness and run, following the dirt trails to the edge of the forest. To distract myself. Alone.

After throwing my first blade, I sense something, a presence.

Slowly, I reach for another knife and pause with my ear tilted toward the evergreens just outside the ravine I’m standing in. The tops of the trees sway gently in the spring breeze, nothing but black smudges against the dark, star-speckled sky. New leaves and wild grass rustle around me as my lungs burn from holding my breath.

My hearing picks up nothing out of the ordinary. But if the Kingsland retaliates and breaks through our line of soldiers, what would an assault sound like? Would they come quietly like a creeping fog, methodically slitting the throats of every person they encounter? Or would they arrive in rage, a crashing wave of death for stabbing and taking their leader?

My eyes close as Farron’s face, twisted in the pain of asphyxiation, flashes in my mind. They’ll know he’s dead soon enough.

I tighten my grip on the knife until my knuckles ache, relishingthe strength that comes from brandishing a weapon—even if I can only do this in secret. The need to control something—anything—is palpable. If it can’t be my life, then an inanimate object will have to do.

Two men on horses trot by on the path above me, and I squat lower into the gully. One of them holds a torch to search the shadows, allowing me to see the braided tails of their stallions. Clan soldiers, patrolling.

Minutes pass as I wait for them to amble farther away. Then I unleash my weapon into the air with all my frustration. Anger.

Helplessness.

It lands with a satisfyingthunkin the tree twenty feet ahead. I grab another knife, flip it so the handle is pointed to the sky with the blade out, then throw, letting it whip through the night before I stand back up.Thud.My hand goes to my pocket for the switchblade.

“Do you have night vision like a wolf or something?”

I jump and spin, my hand flying back, ready to throw.

In the faint light of the moon, Liam’s hands rise to show he’s unarmed. “It’s me.” His voice is rich and deep and seems to reverberate too loudly through the forest. He steps down through the tall grass into the ravine. Our spot.

I lower my knife and grab my chest with my free hand. “Sorry. I’m on edge.” A quiet laugh shudders out of me.

“We all are.”

Perhaps I should ask what happened with Father and Farron, but I really don’t want to know.

Liam stops in front of me, but he’s standing closer than ever before.

Right. Everything’s changed.

A thrill as if I’ve tumbled over a bluff zips through my chest.We’re betrothed.

Liam and I met the way all the children in the clans meet—at morning academy. Freia and I remember him as the one who preferred whittling away on a stick with his knife to learning sword fighting with the rest of the boys. As teens, he and my brother grew close, so I saw Liam more, and occasionally he’d give me one of the wooden figurines he was working on. But it wasn’t until his gifts turned from wooden carvings to textbooks he’d get secretly from traders that we became friends. Being around him was easy. We shared a lot of the same hopes and frustrations—mostly, that the violence against our clans would end. Soon, I was dragging him here to explain some of the restricted things my father wouldn’t tell me about, making him my source for clan news. It was his idea to show me how to throw a knife.

His features blur in the dark, but there’s no missing the lock of black hair that perpetually falls over his forehead. I’m tempted to push it back from his blue eyes. He wouldn’t stop me, that much I know. Even as friends, there was always a certain energy between us, and I’ve caught him looking at me more times than I can count. Still, I don’t know how to do this—make the jump from friends to something so much more.

And unfortunately, being forbidden from pursuing a romantic relationship—until minutes ago—has left me severely unprepared for this moment.

I decide to start by looking at him. Studying him the way he so often does me.

The low light doesn’t allow for much discovery, but it highlightsthe boldest parts of Liam. The ledges of his cheekbones. His broad-shouldered frame. He towers over me with strength in every line of his body, honed from long days of logging and building houses by hand.Ruggedis the word I’ve used to describe him to Freia.Ruggedly handsomeis what she’d correct me with.

“I’m sorry. I had to get away,” I say.

“Ah. That’s why you’re here wounding trees in the dark.” Though I can’t see his eyes, I know he’s smiling.

It brings a blush to my cheeks, causing me to dip my head. I tuck a lock of long, blond hair behind my ear. “Well, it’s not like I can do it in the light.” Not without getting an earful for setting a bad example to the other women in the clans.Womanare to be protected. Leave the fighting to the men.

It’s a sentiment I used to stand by. With the extra danger women face of enslavement or unspeakable cruelty if captured by the Kingsland, it made sense we were kept away from the battlefield. Besides, we had our own important work, like doing the healing, cooking, and cleaning, the birthing and raising of the children. But I’ve since realized that this prevents our healers from treating the wounded on the battlefield, and it leaves us women unprepared to defend ourselves if the Kingsland breaks through our boundaries and attacks. Though this has never happened, that could easily change. Especially now.

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