Page 168 of Seasons of War
“You were too far away,” Luke said, his arm in a sling. “We lost good soldiers.”
Now wasn't the time to let guilt distract him. “Did you get anything?”
“No.” Then with a great sigh, his brother looked at him. “I should have put you in the room with me. I let our personal issues cloud my judgment, and I left our team's best combatant monitoring cameras.” As much pain squeezed his expression from this admission as when Zayne stabbed him. “I take responsibility for what happened back there.”
“I would have done the same to you. And I'd be the one nursing a wound just like you. I seem to remember us being pretty evenly matched last time we sparred.”
Which had been about twenty minutes ago.
Luke smirked at that. Something he hadn't done in three years. “You're getting soft, trying to make me feel better. You used to rub it in.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Father ordered us to get along.”
A serious look came over Luke. “Those attackers were skilled, and they weren't from the United. We think they wanted to steal our target from under us to gain leverage. My team already found a tracker on Christopher's car.” His nose wrinkled with disgust. “I met with him right before we came. That fool doesn't even know how to keep from being followed.”
Zayne's plan worked. It surprised him how quickly they found the tracker Ashantae planted. He liked sabotaging Christopher. He hoped he'd have the chance to do it again one day.
For the rest of the ride, Luke stared out the window, looking burdened and heavy. And Zayne was thankful for his sharp attention to finally be off him, because the more the adrenaline faded, the more his back screamed with pain. He just needed to make it somewhere private so Brock could help him with bandages and make sure he didn't bleed through his shirt.
If Luke saw blood spots right where he'd stabbed his attacker, then everything would be over.
CHAPTER 39
Miya
The Territories
The True Follower's Villa, Caspador
833 P.C. [Post-Collapse]
Miya emerged from the basement of the cathedral, following the smell of food. She’d spent hours searching for records of her mother in Hakym’s stories, reading about the treaty and how Mom faithfully returned home each month to help her people. Nothing new, but it made her mother feel alive again, and it'd been a long time since Miya felt so close to her.
She walked along the fire pits at the town center, looking for Lance. He sat beside a steaming pot resting atop the fire, with Hakym and a blonde woman beside him.
“That tractor didn’t have to be fixed until you came back,” the woman said. “Why are you acting weird?”
“Fine.” Lance tossed a stick into the fire beneath the pot. “It's true. I avoided you all. Bale’s pissed. It’s better for me to keep my distance.”
Hakym looked between the two. “Might I—?”
“No,” Lance and the woman said at once.
The Takja huffed. “Bicker then.”
“Nothing to bicker about,” Lance said. “Amelia should stop worrying so much.”
“You need to grow up and stop picking fights with Bale,” she said. “Then there’ll be nothing to bicker about.”
She groaned and stood up with her hand pressed into the small of her back. Dark blonde hair had broken free from a bun and fell down her neck. The flames of the fire highlighted her swollen midsection as she turned to walk by Lance. Miya approached, watching Amelia walk a few fires down to where Charlotte and Gabe played with other children.
“You’ve joined us,” Hakym said, sitting up. “I hope you’re hungry, my dear.”
“Starving.” Miya glanced down at Lance’s dirtied clothes covered in grease stains and to the black beneath his nails. “Been busy?”
“Had to fix things so they can break again when I get back.”
Amelia rejoined them, holding the hands of the children Miya had met earlier. Both kids craned their necks, reaching back for the group they'd been playing with. Miya eyed her pregnant belly and then nudged Lance’s leg. “You dog.”
