Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)

He urges his horse closer. “Better hope Mackay doesn’t cross the border. If their army doesn’t get you, some Channeler will hear your sharp tongue and end you.”


I fist my hands. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll be the one they find offensive.”

“Watch it. The border’s dangerous. Anything can happen.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to her,” Leif interjects.

“Not like it’d matter.” Tomas smirks. “Nobody’ll miss her.”

It’s a struggle not to react—?I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing his words have pierced me through. He has uttered one of my greatest fears—?that I’ll die alone.

The captain shouts a command that ends our conversation. When the captain’s horse canters ahead, Tomas follows.

Leif’s thick hand squeezes my arm. “It’s not true about no one missing you.”

But he’s wrong.

Tomas’s comment is the truest thing in my life. If I died, nobody would miss me.

Leif faces front again, and I feel bad for not speaking. Just like I’m guilt-ridden for not having mentioned Cohen’s visit. His arrow is all I’ve thought about today. It’s planted a grain of hope inside, whispering that there’s something to Cohen’s message. A guilty man would not act so.

It’s nothing but a speck of doubt compared to Lord Jamis’s truth.

Still, doubt has a way of making quicksand of stable ground.



We enter the first tavern we find in Fennit and chat with the local drunkards.

“Yep. I’ve seen him.” The man’s belly rests on the bar like a sack of potatoes. A belch bursts from the man’s mouth. I squelch the need to gag. “Told me he’d give me two silvers for information about a woman named Enat.”

I advise the captain to visit the clergy first, since they have the best records. If that doesn’t pan out, then the merchants might know something. The captain sends Tomas and Leif to inquire with the local lord. Then he accompanies me to the church.

“I don’t know where she is.” The clergyman folds his hands over his book of Scripture. “Told the same thing to your friend earlier.”

“Do you happen to know which way my friend went?” The captain grimaces.

“To Barton, the stonecutter. He did business with the old woman.”

The captain snaps a brusque goodbye and leaves.

My eyes dart to the door, and I hesitate. “Was Enat a member of your congregation?”

“No.” The clergyman gives me a strange look. “She wouldn’t have been. She’s a Spiriter.” My face must show my confusion because his lip curls as he adds, “One of their Channelers.”

“I’ve never heard of a Spiriter.” I talk quickly, mindful of the captain’s lack of patience.

The clergyman’s eyes dart nervously to the door. “A Spiriter is rare. One or two are born to a generation. It’s dark magic,” his voice warns. “That’s all I know.”

The clergyman, face pale and with rigid shoulders, stands and ushers me toward the door.

“Can you at least tell me why Cohen is searching for Enat?” Before he pushes me out, a need for answers burns through me. “What does he want from a Spiriter?” I sound desperate now. I don’t care.

“I don’t know. But there aren’t many reasons a man would go looking for a Spiriter.”

Before I can ask him to explain, he swings the entry open and shoves me out. The sun is low in the sky, painting the stones of the church a weak shade of ocher. Another day on the way out, and we’ve not found Cohen. I twist around and breathe a sigh of relief when I find the captain interrogating a stranger on the road.

The moment I reach his side, he turns to me and arches a stern sable brow. “Did you learn anything of value?”

I contemplate keeping the information a secret, but something tells me the captain will see through my lie. “He thought Enat might be a Channeler.”

The captain considers my answer, though he doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s as confused as me about why Cohen would be after a woman from Shaerdan.

We follow Cohen’s trail to the stonecutter, to the healer, and to an oiler, who tells us that Cohen is at a local inn. Lightning fast, we’re on the captain’s horse and galloping through Fennit.

When the thatched-roof two-story building comes into view, an awareness of something tugs inside. The back of my neck tingles.

Cohen’s here.

The captain’s gaze whips around, and I realize I’ve spoken aloud again. I want to smack myself. Cohen may not even be inside, and the captain will think me a fool.

Captain Omar growls out, “Mackay,” as he drops to the ground with fierce determination in his eyes.

Cohen isn’t in sight, though. Disappointment floods me. I want to see him again. To have one more moment with my old friend before . . . and yet I shouldn’t want such things. I’m a traitor to myself. No matter what we were in the past, we are nothing now.

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