Kindra smoothed her hands over her warrior shirt. It was the same shirt she’d worn to the Festival, the top hem stained with blood where Osprey’s blade pierced her neck. She carried her father’s spear though she wouldn’t be allowed to enter with it. But as she walked across the fire circle to Oak’s tent, at least she looked like a warrior.

Her Honor Guard walked with her, for all the good it would do once she was inside, and she handed her spear and dagger to Gar as Oak’s guards watched.

“Come out alive,” Gar said.

She smiled, and kept it plastered on her face as she turned and walked into the chief’s tent. Oak was sitting at a table with a small amount of food laid out, as if he were expecting some friendly company. His smile was as fake as hers.

He eyed the beadwork on her shirt. “I suppose it’s a celebration then. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your flute.”

Kindra bit her tongue to keep from saying something smart and nodded.

“And I see betrothed life agrees with you. Already it tempers that tongue.”

“If you called me in to congratulate me, I’ll go now.” She began to turn, but his guard stepped in front of the door.

“Not so fast. If you concede and will be married, I want you to call off your men. We’ll put this nonsense behind us.”

Kindra held up her bandaged hand. “I didn’t realize it was my men who were attacking you.”

Oak glared at her. “I’ve punished my son for that vile act.”

“Oh yes, sent him all the way to Fie Obsid from what I hear.” She crossed her arms as brief shock registered on Oak’s face. He hid it quickly, but she went on the attack. “Has he gone to sell me, or because he’s too cowardly to face me again?”

“My son is not a coward.”

“No more than his father.”

Oak stood and jabbed the table with his finger. “You need to stop this now, before you tear this tribe apart.”

“You’ve already torn it apart.” Her hands dropped to her sides, itching for a weapon. “Those warriors you call mine? They’ve been planning this for summers. I was as surprised as you were.”

“And you expect me to believe you knew nothing of their plans?”

“You were the one who told me about Gar—why would they tell me more?”

He sat again and motioned for her to do the same. When she didn’t, he spoke anyways. “Why would you become a warrior if you didn’t know their plans?”

Kindra almost laughed. “Did you not meet me as a child? I’ve always wanted to be a warrior. When my father asked me to train it wasn’t because he feared being the last Odion warrior.”

Oak thought about that, frowning, while Kindra sat. She wanted to ask about her father, but didn’t want to be kicked out yet. There was still too much to find out.

“You do know,” she said as she leaned back in the chair, “that if you sell me to the Obsidians the tribe will rise up against you. As a man desperate for peace that seems like a bad idea.”

Oak leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “We have nothing else, and you know we can’t beat them in a war. Not even with a horse.”

“What about food?”

“They were going to share Deer Valley with us. They must have enough food.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He wasn’t going to admit he was sending the Obsidians food, then. “Weapons? They’ve always wanted our iron.”

“We can’t give them weapons—the warriors would rise up against me then too.”

Kindra crossed her arms. “Then we do it in secret.”

Oak stared at her and rubbed his chin. “You would never agree to that. It’s not in your nature.”

“And handing myself over to the enemy to be bred is? I’d rather sneak weapons to Chief Obsid than bear his child.”

“But we can’t.”

“Why?”

“He won’t accept it.”

“Why?”

Oak tented his fingers and rested them on his chin as he studied her.

“How do you know?” Kindra pushed.

“How did you know?” He asked.

She dropped her hands into her lap and smiled. “The Wains are becoming suspicious. You can only ask them for more weapons for so long before they start to wonder what’s happening to all those weapons.”

“Eoin damn you, girl.” Oak stood and began to pace.

Kindra was pretty sure Eoin had already damned her. “So you’ve been feeding and arming our enemies, and now there really is no way we can defeat them unless we gather allies.” She shook her head. “That’s quite the hole you’ve dug, and you expect to fill it with me? Once Obsid has his son and heir he’ll put me aside and attack us anyways. Once he’s sure his line will continue, he won’t need you anymore.”

“Shut up.”

“It must have done something to his head, watching the most powerful family in Fie Eoin fall to a coward like you.”

“I said shut up.” Oak stopped pacing and faced her.

“After all,” Kindra said. “If someone like you could kill someone like my father, what could a coward do to old Chief Obsid?”

Oak threw the table over and put the tip of his sword to Kindra’s throat. “I said…Shut. Up.”

Outside Gar’s voice leaked through the door flap as he yelled at the guard to let him in. Kindra eyed Oak’s sword, her heart beating so hard the fabric of her shirt moved. “If you kill me, you have nothing to give Obsid.”

“Kindra?” Gar yelled outside. “Are you ok?”

She glared at Oak. “Well? Am I?”

His hand was steady, the tip scratching the scab on her neck from his son’s blade. The hateful sneer on his face didn’t match the look in his eye—a look of terror that all his plans were falling apart. That she was the one who was going to unravel them.

“Obsid,” she mouthed.

With a growl, he sheathed his sword and she called to Gar, “I’m fine.”

Oak stood over her. “What do you want?”

“I want the truth. When did you make your truce with Obsid?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

It was the same thing Corbin said when she asked which chief he killed, so Kindra replied the same way. “It does to me. You offered them food, weapons, my sister, and the last Odion warrior. When? Was it before or after my father died?”

Oak didn’t reply and she thought back to the day her sister was taken, when Corbin said they didn’t want Kindra, and Obsid’s later surprise when she said she was an Odion warrior. She dropped her head into her hands. Petoskey was right about Oak.

“You killed my father.”

“Obsidians killed your father.”

She covered her eyes with her hand, not caring if Oak stabbed her now. Her father’s death had always held meaning before. He’d died bravely, protecting the Seven Tribes alongside his fellow warriors. But now she knew he died because a fellow warrior wanted him dead.

“You abandoned him on the battlefield. You told the Obsidians where he’d be and then you led the men protecting him away.” She looked up. “You didn’t expect him to survive the battle, did you?”

“Everyone knew we would lose. I kept the Obsidians from killing us all. A sacrifice of one man, so the rest of the tribe would live.”

Kindra’s voice caught. “And here he thought he’d only saved one boy.”

Oak righted his chair and sat. “Fennec knew. I could see it in his eyes when he sent Petoskey and me to make the official treaty. He knew I’d abandoned him, and he knew the Obsidians wouldn’t attack further once he was gone.”

Tears burned the back of her throat. That was too much. Her father wouldn’t have given up so easily. “Then why didn’t he say anything?”

“He was a beaten man, Kindra. He’d rallied the warriors and lost. In the end he accepted death so that we might have peace.” Oak crossed his arms and looked away. “I told you everyone loved your father for their own reason, and that was mine.”

Everything she’d ever thought about her father’s death was upended. There had been days near the end when her father couldn’t tell the twins apart. Days when she would have given up her own life just to have him turn to her, eyes clear, and say “Kindra”. It only happened once, the day he asked her to become a warrior, and she had promised with every part of her being that she would. The next morning, he was gone, and Oak Conal became the chief.

“So now you have the same choice to make,” Oak said. “You can rally the warriors to a battle you know you will lose, or you can become their sacrifice and save the Seven Tribes.”

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I want my cloak back.”

Oak straightened. “You chose war, then?”

“I chose my cloak. If Obsid wants the last Odion warrior, I’ll need to look the part. And if I go to war, I’ll need it all the same.”

He dug the cloak out of a chest and handed it to her. She traced the nameless mark with a finger as she draped it over her arm. “You’ll have my answer soon.”