Rina’s words—“Join me”—echoed from last night, a haunting refrain. Her fire had ensnared me, and I’d fallen deeper than I dared admit. Yet Keiya’s oath gnawed at me. Could I find solace with Rina while Dakor, her killer, walked free? It felt like betrayal.
We rode in silence, my lips sealed since the night’s intimacy. Rina’s defiance, that indignant spark I craved, broke through. “We’re dragging,” she snapped, her voice cutting my thoughts.

“I don’t know these southern trails,” I said, smirking. “I could guess routes—some to your home, others to doom.”
She huffed. “Two paths lie ahead. South through wilderness and mountains to a main road, or through Anthera’s lands.”
“Anthera?” I asked.
“A southern tribe,” she said, her face grim. “Wilderness means starvation or cold—we’ve two days of food and kindling left. Anthera’s safer, but not without risk.”
“Risk?” I scoffed. “We’ll slip through like shadows.”
I regretted those words the moment they left my lips. Shadows? Anthera’s defenses were no myth. Eight mounted warriors awaited us, their line rigid as we approached. Rina shot me a sidelong glance, her eyes sharp with warning.
“Greetings,” I called, reining in my stallion.
An older warrior, clean-shaven but weathered, broke from the line, his horse stepping forward. “Who are you? What do you seek?” His gaze pierced me, judging.
“Sojourners seeking passage,” I said, keeping my tone even.
“Passage?” He laughed, his companions scowling. “You’ve entered Anthera without consent. You’re intruders.”
“Intruders?” Rina’s voice boomed. “Since when does Anthera imprison travelers? If an unarmed woman and her escort threaten you, your tribe’s weaker than I thought.”
The warrior’s face soured, his forehead creasing. His men shifted, hands twitching toward weapons, but a raised finger stilled them. “Ignore her,” I said, forcing a tense smile.
“I know you,” the warrior said, his eyes locking on Rina.
“I’ve a proposal,” I cut in. “Escort us through—fifty warriors, a hundred even. We’ll be gone by nightfall.”
No one heeded me. The warrior’s gaze held Rina’s, unyielding. “Of course you know me, Darka,” she said, her voice steady. He grinned.
“I knew it,” Darka said, his smile widening. I shot Rina a confused look, but she waved it off.
“My proposal stands,” I said, eyeing Darka. “Right, mate?”
“What proposal?” he smirked. “I’m taking the woman to my lord.”
My Kris flashed from its sheath, my heart surging with a thirst for blood. “Disarm him,” Darka ordered his men. “If he resists, this earth’s done with him.”
I reached for a shorter blade, bracing for a fight. Eight men—I’d faced worse. Their hands moved to arrows, nocking them with deadly precision.
“No!” Rina’s voice cut through. “Lord Gurtive would be furious if you harmed me or my man.”
Darka froze, then raised a hand. His men lowered their bows. “I’ll go quietly,” Rina said. “My man’s a warrior—let him keep his blade for pride.”
Darka frowned, then nodded faintly. His warriors encircled us, their horses closing in as he led the way. “Lady Rina,” he said, smiling to himself. “What a day.”

Confusion churned in me. Who was Rina to Anthera? To Gurtive? The steppe stretched around us, its silence mocking my ignorance. Dakor’s shadow loomed north, but Rina’s mystery bound me south, a tangled snare of fate I couldn’t escape.