Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(16)

“Do you also have an eye for craftsmanship? Because those weapons look like they were made by a similar artist.”

She did have an eye for craftsmanship. And now she knew he did, too. He wasn’t making this easy. “I got lucky—they were together, so it stands to reason that they’d be similar.”

“I see.” It was clear he didn’t.

Adrenaline started to fill her body slowly, knowing this was all starting to unravel. He reached into a small pocket on his breast and extracted her gold amulet. “There is scripted language on here that we don’t recognize. It’s made of gold. It would fetch a nice price. Your weapons would fetch remarkably more, but instead of trading the items for food or transportation, you carried them nearly to your death. Why?”

“You’re really concerned about this money issue. If I did have money, to whom would I give it to for food or shelter? Were there fairies in the dead trees that I missed as I walked through?” she said with a flash of anger.

Surprise lit his face before fire crackled in those cold blue eyes. The fighting men, already still, went rigid. More than one boy squeezed his thighs together, trying not to piss himself, probably. She was nearing the Captain’s patience threshold but there wasn’t a bloody thing she could do about it.

The Captain stared at her with an uncanny intensity. The strange flutter tickled her stomach again, only this time, it carried a tingle of fear. After a lengthy pause, he slowly lifted his right hand to his breast and extracted her father’s ring. He held it by the chain it was attached to, and lifted it so it was level with his eyes. He looked at it for a moment, making a show of analyzing it, and then flicked his eyes to hers. “A man’s ring?”

A pulse of adrenaline rocked her body. Sweat started to dribble down the crease of her back. She yearned to rush forward and yank the precious heirloom out of his hand. Instead, she stilled the tremors and focused on the present. She didn’t have any weapons, nor any strength. Unlike the last person who had handled that ring and questioned her, this large man wouldn’t get a fork in the eye. Not yet. Not until Shanti had a weapon. Or a fork.

“I’m not sure what there is to explain,” she said in an even tone, easily hiding the lie. “One of the men I traveled with was lost. I kept his ring for the sake of memory…”

A moment rumbled by in the silent room. Another. The boys began to fidget, uncomfortable and not experienced enough to hide it. The army men held firm, but uncertainty rolled off them.

The Captain continued to analyze her as she pretended to stand strong. Her legs were quivering ever so slightly, however, exhausted from the stress and strain. She thought about inching closer, trying to get a reading on this stoic man. That she hadn’t already was beyond her—everyone else seemed in range, why not him?

The Captain finally said, “Tell me about these weapons.”

“What can I tell you?” She spread out her hands in a plea. “I found them along the way, I picked them up—“

A monsoon of power blasted out from the Captain, rocking her back a step and causing her to throw up her shields in panic. Raw, brute strength scrubbed at her barriers like sand paper. Her teeth clenched like her fists, fighting the assault. Her startled gaze retrained on the Captain. He sat as faux calmly as ever, eyes on fire, no intent to further use what could only be his own Gift.

A lifetime of training pushed past her soggy head and tired body. Survival mode regained control. She stood still and assessed. This was impossible. Wasn’t it? The bloodlines in this part of the world were all wrong for the Gift.

Confused, at a loss, she opened her shields a fraction, letting in the tiniest sliver of power. Assessing. And then her fingers started to tingle with implications.

He was untrained. His power, nearly enough to rival her own, had no direction. No intent. It pushed against her skull like a gale-force wind, but had no fingers with which to pry open her defenses, or slip past her barriers. He was simply in a temper and blasting outward with a fifth sense so powerful it had the ability to kill… if he knew how. Instead, he used it like a child just learning.

What’s more, his people had no idea why they were unsettled. They knew their Captain was lost in anger, close to rage, but no one questioned how they knew. It spoke of complete, utter ignorance on what the Gift even was.

Her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t help it.

She had been told she was the only one with this much power. Had been for a hundred years. But here she stood, shaking with the effort to combat the force from another talent out of the legends. Words could not describe how utterly floored she was.

Her inactivity and silence must have signaled some quiet victory for him, because he leaned back in his chair, the force of his power abating. He’d gotten his way, and now he could relax.

If she had any sort of strength, she’d show him what that power could do with a little experience.

The next horrible thought that forced its way into her churning mind was: The Graygual would be tickled that there was another—that she wasn’t the only one. Another killing monster for their war vessel. Another breeder for the race of super fighter. And maybe he was worse. He could easily impregnate a horde of women. If even one of those offspring had the Gift, the Graygual would have more weapons in their arsenal to blow through the land, conquering as they went.

The large, muscular man, with lightning speed, and the power of a city and army both, had to be killed.