Fearless (Nameless #3)(44)

“Stop!” Zo shouted. Then softer, she added, “If you care anything for your clan, you will hear what we’ve come to tell you.” She pushed as much calm into him as she could muster. Peace. Patience. Respite.

Murtog’s nostrils flared as he sucked air into his lungs. His stance relaxed. The angry lines cutting through his face softened. He lifted one of Zo’s hands and examined the raised scars. Then he glanced down at Ikatou, who still lay on the ground with a hand pressed to his swelling cheek. “A blood oath?”

Ikatou nodded. He took his time climbing to his feet. Zo couldn’t blame him. She’d check his pupils later to see if he’d concussed from the blunt attack.

“We have much to discuss,” said Ikatou.





Chapter Sixteen





Eighteen days.

Gryphon stared at the ceiling of his tent, resenting Laden, Ikatou, and Ajax. All three were responsible for his misery. Days wasted without Zo here beside him. His arms literally ached with her absence.

Joshua and Sani sat in the corner of the tent, bickering as usual. They hadn’t intended for their whispered argument to wake him, but he’d been up since they first started their latest contest.

“Ow!” Joshua complained, rubbing the back of his hand. “I wasn’t ready that time.”

Sani placed his hands out in front of him, palms up. Joshua placed his on top of Sani’s, palms down. The person whose hands were on bottom was supposed to lift, flip, and smack the back of the hands of the person on top. It was a game of speed and reflexes many Ram children played. The object was to hit the person on top before they could pull their hands away. If they got a hit, their hands stayed on bottom. If the person on top pulled their hands away before getting struck, then the pair traded places.

Sani’s hand flew through the air the moment they got back into position. Three smacks came in quick succession.

Gryphon bit into his hand to keep from laughing. Poor Joshua had only found one more thing Sani beat him at.

“How are you beating me?” he demanded. “I’m usually good at this game.”

Sani, in his level voice, simply shrugged and said, “I’m faster than you.”

Gryphon didn’t have to see Joshua to know his cheeks and neck were likely as red as the flaming hair atop his head.

First, it had been a foot race. Then a game of riddles. Now, hand slapping. If the poor kid didn’t win at something soon, Gryphon thought he might explode.

Smack, smack. A pause. Smack, smack, smack.

“Enough!” Joshua didn’t even bother whispering anymore. “I have to be better than you at something!”

Gryphon rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as though he’d only just awoken. “Sani is a talented young man, Joshua. That doesn’t mean you’re not.”

As expected, Joshua’s face glowed almost as red as the backs of his hands.

“This coming from the man who taught me that ‘if you’re not the best, you’re dead.’”

Had he really said that?

Probably.

“We’re not on a battlefield, Joshua. Slapping hands is hardly a life-or-death skill.”

Joshua jumped to his feet and launched himself at his pack. He produced a woolen sling and waved it over his head, victorious. “Your bow to my sling. First to kill a rabbit wins!”

Sani inhaled deeply, as though drawing in patience along with air. “Fine. But this is the last game, Joshua.”

Wiggling his brows up and down, Joshua said, “What? Afraid I’m going to win?” Joshua didn’t wait for a response. He bounded out of the tent, red hands and all, prepared for battle.

Sani sighed again. “He’s exhausting.” He picked up his quiver and bow and followed Joshua out of the tent to hunt rabbits.

Gryphon dressed and followed them out to find breakfast. His guard wasn’t waiting outside his door, nor had they followed him from the training fields last night after his talk with Laden. Gryphon could only assume they’d been ordered to watch him from a distance—probably Laden’s way of thanking him for the information. The Commander knew as well as Gryphon that he had an entire army of Wolves milling about the camp who would have been more than happy to report any crime, real or imagined, that Gryphon committed—especially since half of them believed he was responsible for the sudden disappearance of those four guards.

That mystery still bothered him.

The person who had set fire to that tent was still somewhere among the people of the Allies. It had been too targeted an attack to leave any room for doubt. Whoever lit that fire had wanted Gryphon hanged for the deed. This unseen threat was smart, watchful, and patient. Definitely not an enemy to be taken lightly. They would have seen that Gryphon’s guard hadn’t been around him and chosen that moment to act. The plan would have worked, were it not for Laden’s levelheaded leadership and Sani’s testimony.

As he walked through the tents, he was met with either a sneer or a frown as Wolves stoked morning cook fires and went about their chores. Most probably didn’t appreciate that a Ram had been granted the freedom to walk about camp, especially after the fire. In their hate-filled minds, he was guilty. A threat.

Gryphon ducked inside Laden’s tent, surprised to find the Commander not there as usual to take his breakfast.