Page 64 of The Enemy's Daughter

Vadorswings up onto his horse. “Everyone know your positions?”

A chorus of agreement rises from the five of us.

I sweep the perimeter with a quick scan of the trees. “Back at the cubby by one. Be safe, and don’t make anyone have to come after you.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sam mumbles. Muffled laughter follows.

The memory blinks to daylight. Wherever Tristan is, his view is mostly obscured by long grass. His head moves, angling to see between the green blades. He’s looking at the land down below. Specifically, a log house.

Mine.

Anxiety grips my chest with icy talons. He must have been spying on Father. “What did you find?”

“Nothing. I lay there for hours. The Saraf wasn’t home.” He shows me a memory of him thinking about his aching back as he lay on the hard ground.

Relief wars with my pounding heart—that’s not so bad. I’m about to ask him to show me what happened next when I pause. That section of the hill he’s hidden in is steep and difficult to get to. So much so, I’ve never been up there. But also, the grass directly where he was lying was gone, like it had been worn away.

“This is your spot,” I say with amazement.

He stares at me, a debate shining in his eyes. “I’ve been there before.”

There’s more to dig into with that, but I want to see what went wrong today first. “Show me who you encountered.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Once again, I’m Tristan, looking out through his eyes and hearing his thoughts.

The pile of dead and decaying trees is thirty paces away. Twenty-five. Ten. With a final scan of the area, I reach for the knobby branch, and a stack of tied branches go with it—our hidden door.

I blink. It’s dark in the cubby as I count the heads. Wedging past Ryland, I whisper intoVador’sear, “Samuel not back yet?”

Vadorshrugs. “He’s been late before.”

I inhale sharply. Not only is their hideout in Hanook territory, but the entire elite guard has been spying. There’s so much Father and the leaders of the other clans don’t know.

“What’s up, comrades?” Samuel says, holding wide the door. Light floods the small space for a second.

“You’re late,” I say. You’re supposed to be here first to stand guard.”

Samuel reaches into his back pocket. “Trust me, it was worth it. I know exactly where their—”

An arrow pierces Sam’s shoulder.

There’s a moment of stillness as Samuel lifts his arm to look at it. Then, chaos breaks out.

“We’re under attack,” I shout.

Light fills our dugout as Ryland tosses branches aside, creating a second exit. Sam rolls for cover. I follow him, my bow already in my hands.

“How many?” I call.

Sam peeks around a tree, then drops his head back in pain. The arrow is still lodged in his arm. “One at ten o’clock, but he’s on the move.”

An arrow lands just inches from my head. With a curse, I drop to the ground and roll, aiming my bow. “I’ll cover us. Get to the horses.”

Who is firing at them? I hold my breath, waiting.

Samuel withdraws, and sensing it, the shooter pops his head out to steal a look.

My world stops spinning.

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