Physician of Simot: Tribes of Chalent Book 3

By Judy Lynn

Tribes of Chalent
Book 3

Kalani grew up knowing that her tribe would not allow her to become a physician, but she never let that stop her from studying hard and sneaking into the infirmary to help. A desperate desire to get out of Simot leads the chief's daughter to act drastically. When her cousin offers her a position in Barnet that will allow h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infinitely Wandering Books LLC
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986059853

Judy Lynn

Writing stories has always been a favorite pastime. Writing novels has always been a dream, which has now come to fruition. My favorite place to write is near the ocean in Northern California or in the middle of the woods. Nature calls to me and I love combining my love for it and my love for writing into the same pastime. Currently, I live in Northern California where I am the Circulation and Technical Services Manager for the library of a small college. I'm not fond of the city, but if you must live in one, this is perfectly situated halfway between the mountains and the ocean.Three boys keep me busy, so finding time to write can be a challenge, but it's all worth it.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Day 2, Equin 531 AC

Portdill

Oblam finished tying off the splint on the warrior’s arm.

There you are. He patted his good shoulder. You’re not getting back into today’s competition, but it’ll heal.

The warrior winced as he put on his orange-trimmed vest and left the tent without so much as a thank you. Oblam should have expected the ingratitude. Not all tribes respected non-warriors the way his did. Oh well. He had been the one who wanted to take a shift in the physician’s tent during the Equin festival, so he had to deal with injured people from all tribes.

Oblam stepped outside into the afternoon light. He pulled his purple-trimmed physician’s jacket closer around him. Storm clouds threatened the remaining day and a half of the festival, but it didn’t stop the celebration. Music drifted from one direction, shouts and bawdy laughter from another. Here, in the bare hills of Portdill’s coast, sound traveled well.

Along the Portdill garrison’s outer wall, stalls were set up to sell anything from weapons to jewelry to new foods. Inside the garrison, the hand-to-hand tournament would be starting.

Oblam had little doubt that Commander Asher would take the championship again. A part of him wished he could watch. Then again, by taking the earlier shift in the physician’s tent, he’d treat some injuries resulting from honorable competition. If he hadn’t traded shifts with the Simoten physician, the only people he’d be likely to treat later tonight would have been drunken men with nothing better to do than hurt themselves and each other.

His thoughts were interrupted by three men running toward him from the camps. Two, wearing purple-trimmed vests, continued into the Portdill garrison. One, in a green vest, raced toward the tent.

Someone got hit… the man said, out of breath. With an arrow! I need a…stretcher.

Oblam hurried inside with the man right behind him. A piece of canvas draped between two poles leaned against the wall. Oblam thrust it at the man.

Who was shot?

I don’t know her, the Kelvian warrior said. But she’s in the middle of the Acoran camp. He hurried away, stretcher over his shoulder.

Oblam shoved extra logs into the clay oven. His tools were sanitized and ready, but he would need more hot water. The ceramic pot was full but had gone cold.

A woman in the Acoran camp? His mother and sisters were likely watching the competition. They wouldn’t be in the camp. Probably.

Of course, with the peace between the tribes, plenty of Kelvians and Timenders camped among them. It could just as easily be a woman from either of those tribes.

A crowd emerged from the camp. Two men in purple-trimmed vests carried the stretcher between them.

A young woman barked orders at them not to jostle the one on the stretcher. Despite her small size, the woman held her head high. Behind them, Oblam’s older sister carried a small, screaming child. Oblam’s heart sank. If Maleen had been in the camp, the younger girls and their mother could have been, too.

The child in Maleen’s arms was Brice. Where was his mother? Denetra never let anyone close to him when he was upset.

He froze as the stretcher neared the tent. The mess of brown curls was unmistakable even before he could see Denetra’s face.

Let go! I want Mama! Brice screamed. Mama, Mama, Mama!

Get that child out of here! the young woman yelled at Maleen.

At first, Maleen looked indignant. She opened her mouth to say something then seemed to think better than to argue. Despite Brice’s protest, she hurried away with him squirming in her arms and screaming for his mother.

Oblam held the flap of the tent open, and the men carried Denetra in and laid the stretcher on a bed. The strange woman followed before Oblam had a chance to ask who she was.

Find Phillip! Oblam ordered one of the bystanders.

The man nodded and hurried away.

Inside, Oblam knelt by Denetra. Whoever had dressed the wound had done well. With the position of the arrow, it was smarter not to try to pull it out. It had likely damaged internal organs. A delicate surgery. His heart fell. I can’t do this.

What do you mean you can’t do this? The young woman tied the dark brown waves of her hair back. Her brown cheeks took on a red hue, and her deep brown eyes flashed anger as strong as the emotions revolving around her. She can’t wait for another physician!

Who was this girl? She didn’t even have a healer’s sash. What was she doing here? Denetra is a member of my family. I can’t do the surgery. Oblam felt sick to his stomach—a reaction he’d never had toward an injured patient. If anything went wrong, it shouldn’t be a family member responsible for it. Any physician knew that. Relationally, Denetra hardly qualified as family, but she was dear to Oblam’s heart. Like a favorite aunt, or older cousin.

Denetra moaned, sweat beading on her forehead. Any delay could cost the life of his friend, and there was no telling how long it would take for Phillip to arrive.

Denetra’s husband, Asher, a slender but muscular Acoran warrior with sandy blond hair stepped into the tent and dropped to his knees next to the bed. Commander Asher’s eyes were wide, brows drawn together. Denetra? He grabbed her hand and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Oblam sensed a swirl of emotion within him. Asher was worried, to the point of fear, but under the anxiety was the heat of rage burning within him. Oblam wished he could shut out the voyancey, even for a moment. Sometimes it was better not to know what his patient’s family was feeling. Even worse, was not being able to block out what his friends were feeling.

I’m right here, love, Asher said. Oblam is going to take good care of you.

I-I can’t, Commander, Oblam said. Sol went out to find Phillip.

There’s no telling how long it’ll take to find him. You have to do this, Oblam. You’ve assisted in surgeries like this plenty of times.

Not on a family member. Oblam’s voice was quiet—almost inaudible.

Did you earn that jacket? The strange, sashless girl—or woman, Oblam couldn’t tell her age in the shadow of the tent—went to the basin to scrub her hands. That jacket comes with an oath, doesn’t it? Without you, she’s going to die. We don’t have time to wait for anyone else.

Oblam? Denetra whispered. Oblam leaned in close to hear her. She laid a hand on his cheek, rough with the start of an auburn-colored beard that would match his short hair. Do your best. It’ll be enough.

Oblam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Commander, I need the tent clear. He put a hand on Asher’s shoulder. Send in some extra lamps. We’ll need more light as the sun gets lower.

Asher kissed his wife’s forehead, cleared his throat, and stood. His eyes were red, and he released a slow breath. Finally, he stepped outside.

Outside, someone said something about not finding clues. Someone else spoke up about forming a guard around the tent. Oblam blocked out their voices. He needed to concentrate.

Oblam went to the basin and scrubbed his hands. Men walked in with lit lamps and hurried back out empty-handed. As he washed, the girl went to the supply chest. She pulled out a dart and opened the jar of thessel extract. Nothing she touched was sanitized. She’d have to wash again if she were going to assist him.

Not that one. Oblam pointed to another trunk. I bring my own supplies. He paused. Miss…?

Kalani, the woman said simply and went to the second trunk.

He thought about asking Kalani what kind of training she had, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. Until Phillip got here, they were the only chance Denetra had. If the girl knew her way around medical tools, it would be good enough. It had to be.

Kalani opened the second trunk and grabbed a dart without touching the tip or the others in the case—or anything else which might be contaminated by her hands—and found the thessel extract.

Good. She knew what she was doing.

Two doses? Kalani asked.

No. If this takes too long, we’ll give her another dose, but I want her awake as soon after the surgery as possible.

Kalani stuck the dart once in Denetra’s arm. Denetra moaned softly and lay still. It would only be a moment before she’d be in a deep sleep.

Kalani scrubbed her hands at the basin again and shook them dry. As they began to work, she handed instruments to Oblam. She was good at anticipating what he’d need. Only once did she have to trade out the tool in her hand for the one Oblam asked for. Despite his initial hesitation, Oblam’s hands were steady and sure. He could do this. Phillip had taught him well.

Sol poked his head into the tent about half an hour after they started. Phillip’s here.

He’ll need fresh water to scrub, Oblam said without glancing up.

I’ve got it, another voice said.

Phillip entered the tent, carrying a fresh basin of water. He was older than Oblam, but still not much over thirty. He was tall and yet somehow still hefty. He scrubbed his hands and studied Oblam’s work. His jacket had no colored trim, though purple and green outlined his family crest.

I need you here, Phillip, Oblam said as he worked. "You taught me never to do surgery on a family member."

You’re doing fine, Phillip reassured him, peering over his shoulder. You need a steady hand. After last night, mine’s not too stable. You’ll have to finish.

What happened last night? Kalani handed Oblam his next instrument and took the one he’d finished with.

An old acquaintance from Kelvia had too much to drink, Phillip said. He tried to settle a grudge. Bruised a bone in my arm.

Isn’t there a law against hitting a physician?

Only on the battlefield. Phillip leaned closer to see what Oblam was doing. You’re doing well. Exactly what I would have done.

Oblam knew what he was doing, but the reassurance from his former teacher calmed him. He worked in silence a little longer.

How are you related? Kalani asked.

That’s long and complicated, Oblam said without looking up. She’s my sister’s first husband’s cousin’s wife.

Phillip snickered.

Not complicated at all. Kalani handed Oblam the next tool and chuckled.

Though they talked while they worked, Oblam paid close attention to the task at hand. I think I’m ready to close up. He took the needle Kalani handed him. She had already threaded it. She was quick.

Don’t second guess yourself. Are you ready or not? Phillip asked.

Yes, I’m ready, Oblam said. If he weren’t, there was no way Phillip would allow him to proceed.

You don’t need your teacher watching over your shoulder anymore. Phillip patted him on the back. I’m going home.

You’re going that close to Kelvia after dark?

Phillip peered outside between the tent flaps. I should wait until tomorrow. He sighed. But Theon is ill. I want to beat the crowds at the dock and get him home.

He had too many sweets. Oblam chuckled. He’ll feel better in the morning.

An official diagnosis?

Oblam didn’t look up from his stitching, Nope. I know he had too many sweets because Uncle Oblam can’t tell any of those little ones ‘no’. The other four probably all have the same stomachache.

Your sister is going to have your head. So are Mattie and Brendla.

Not if you don’t tell them. Spoiling the children was Oblam’s favorite part of being an uncle.

Phillip grunted. Well, I’m no use to you here. You did well. I’ll see you later. He ducked out of the tent.

The conversation had helped distract Oblam from the fact it was Denetra lying in front of him. Momentarily. She had been so kind to him when he first moved to the Acoran garrison at ten years old.

When most boys his age were engaged in warriors’ training, he’d refused to participate and studied with Phillip instead. Denetra had been a friend when he’d had none his age. Many people were put off by young voyants who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Denetra, however, was an unreadable, so Oblam’s voyant abilities didn’t bother her one bit—even before he learned to use tact about what emotions he sensed from others.

If Denetra died, he would lose a good friend. He pushed the thought aside. Phillip had taught him everything he needed to know to save Denetra. At the moment, that was what he needed to concentrate on. Dwelling on what could happen would only distract him from the here and now.

As he finished the last stitch, Kalani was ready with the tiny blade needed to cut the remaining string.

You assist physicians often? Oblam asked.

Only when I can sneak in without my father knowing. She sighed, taking the needle from him. He’d have a complete meltdown if he knew I was here. I’m supposed to be having supper with some high-ranking fellow right now.

Oblam chuckled. But you’d rather be here?

She took the needle and tools to the basin, pouring boiling water over them. Any day of the week.

***

Relief at having finished the surgery, let the tension fade from Kalani’s shoulders. Her father would be appalled when he found out she was here, but any delay could have cost the woman her life. Oblam had needed someone to assist, and Kalani was the nearest one available with any training. Unofficial training, of course. While the Simoten garrison physician allowed her to help in the infirmary as often as she could sneak in, most of her knowledge came from books. Books her father would take from her if he ever caught her with them.

The only books she let him see her read were ones on economics and leadership. As long as she was under his thumb, she’d never be able to use the knowledge, but he’d grown weary of trying to tame her appetite for learning. At least those subjects could someday benefit whatever husband he chose for her.

Kalani put another pot of water on the small stove. Judging from the immaculately clean trunk he’d instructed her to use, she could guess Oblam would want everything sanitized immediately and perfectly. Ringly had taught her to do it, even if he wasn’t as thorough as she thought he should be.

Oblam washed his hands in a second basin, using an overabundance of soap. It must be difficult not to think about the fact that it was his friend’s blood he tried to expunge.

Outside the tent, a commotion started with a familiar voice. What do you wood-heads think this jacket means? a man rumbled. I don’t care who the patient is or why security needs to be here. I’ve never been late for a shift, and I don’t intend to let some purple-vested hollow skulls change that.

I take it that would be the Simoten physician. Oblam looked relieved to have someone ready to take over.

Kalani held the tent flap open. Ringly!

Outside, an older man in a red-trimmed physician’s jacket pushed through the Acoran warriors into the tent. His barking voice instantly became charming and pleasant. Hello, my dear. What brings you here this evening?

I helped with a surgery. Kalani turned to Ringly with a wide grin.

Did you, now? He shuffled to the side of the bed, glancing at Denetra then nodding toward Oblam. Well, there are few people who could give you a better education than this young man. And he won’t care that you’re a Simoten girl.

Thank you, sir. Oblam sounded amused. He looked at Kalani. I thought Simoten girls never trained to be physician’s assistants.

Physician’s assistants or anything else other than wives and mothers. Kalani huffed. Never is too strong a word.

Ha! Ringly snickered. "You are the only exception I know of. I suppose I’m not allowed to tell your father you’re here?"

Please don’t. She laughed. She knew he wouldn’t tell. The only reason he got away with the little bits he was able to teach her was by keeping it secret.

I heard about the hubbub. Ringly stood over Denetra. Do I need to do anything?

No, Oblam said. Only time can help.

Ringly nodded. Who is she?

Commander Asher’s wife. Oblam cleared his throat.

That explains the security outside. He peeked under the bandage. Appears to have been a sikma shell arrowhead.

Oblam nodded. I would say that puts a Portdillian or a Timender high up in suspicion, but there must be a dozen or more merchants at the festival selling them to people from all over the continent.

Kalani hated that every tribe insisted on using arrowheads. A simple sharpened point was sufficient to stop prey or criminals. Yet warriors and hunters alike seemed determined to cause as much injury as possible, and sikma shells were as bad as they got, unless someone ignored the Code of Conduct and used barbs.

I hope you got all the fragments out. They can cause nasty infections when they break in the wound, Ringly said.

I know.

Apologies, Ringly said. Of course you do. Phillip never would have awarded you the jacket if you didn’t. And your current head physician certainly wouldn’t be keeping you around.

Kalani looked back and forth between the two. It made sense that Ringly would know Oblam and his former teacher. As close as the Simoten and Acoran garrisons were, it was natural they’d consult with each other when a second opinion was needed.

Kalani poured disinfectant into the basin with the tools, washed them thoroughly, then dumped the clean, now boiling water over them.

Both Oblam and Ringly watched her put each tool back in the case, exactly where they’d come from. What was with them? Did they think she hadn’t been paying attention?

What you need, my dear, Ringly said as she closed the lid, is to get out of Simot. Marry a man who will carry you off to a tribe where you can do whatever you want. Ringly winked at her, then looked at Oblam.

An Acoran? There wasn’t a fire beetle’s chance in the arctic her father would approve of an Acoran courting her. Especially not a physician—unless he had trained as a warrior. But in Acora, as far as she knew, it wasn’t required. And the young man’s quiet mannerisms didn’t seem to suit someone trained to shed blood.

Or… Kalani handed Oblam his box of tools and spun around to Ringly. …I can reject every man my father throws at me and keep sneaking off to help you.

I am retiring soon, Ringly said. Then what will you do?

You’ve been threatening to retire for years.

One of these days, I’m going to carry through. So, what was wrong with the young man you met this afternoon?

I don’t know. She shrugged. I didn’t meet him.

Oblam chuckled, barely covering it with a cough, busying himself with checking his supplies. He wrote down what they’d used. Sure, he could get a laugh out of it. He wasn’t the one being forced to have dinners with strange men, some old enough to be her father, knowing if she didn’t accept the attention of one of them soon, her father was going to choose which of them she was stuck with for the rest of her life.

You didn’t even take the time to meet him? Ringly lightly smacked her forehead and put a finger in her face. Your father is going to hit the roof this time.

This afternoon, I took a walk, Kalani said. I saw a couple of women arguing.

Oh?

I was curious. One was a warrior, yet the other, she indicated Denetra, had no fear at all.

And where was this argument taking place? Ringly asked.

In the Acoran camp, she said quietly. The least likely place any of her father’s men would look for her.

The opposite direction from where you were supposed to be.

Really, Ringly! You can’t expect me to— She cut off her complaint. Well, I couldn’t get back to where I was supposed to be because while the women were arguing, one of them fell. At first, Kalani had wondered if the other woman had hit her, but when the child started screaming, Kalani moved closer and saw the arrow. Everyone nearby had scattered to find out who had fired, with a couple kneeling by the woman. But none of them had physician’s jackets or healer’s sashes. They had needed someone who knew what she was doing to take charge. Saving a woman’s life is more important than supper.

Certainly. And I’m sure there were no other physician’s assistants available who could have helped? Maybe someone who had formal training? His words were scolding, but the spark in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

You have no formal training? Oblam regarded her curiously.

Just what I can learn from books and from helping my friend here. She nodded at Ringly.

So, tell me about this young man your father chose this time. Ringly started to put his hands in the basin and stopped, glaring at Oblam.

What was that look for? He’d just washed and hadn’t had time to get clean water.

He’s the son of a chief, Kalani scoffed.

Oh? Heir, or another second son?

Doesn’t matter. Second sons are usually worse. They’ve always got something to prove.

Hey! Oblam closed his trunk of supplies. I’m a second son.

Not of a chief, Ringly pointed out. And you’re Acoran.

What did that have to do with anything? Kalani wondered. Men were men, no matter what tribe they were from, and for the time being, she wanted nothing to do with them. Especially if they were related to their chiefs.

Sure, Oblam said. But you try being the middle brother in my family. Not to mention my sister outshines my older brother in everything, but people expect me to be as good as he is. Then they find out I’m not a warrior, and it’s a bitter disappointment.

We’re not all cut out for the battlefield, Ringly said. I certainly wasn’t, but Simot requires every man to serve, no matter his chosen profession. You, however, are not Simoten. Ringly wagged a finger in Oblam’s face.

Oblam checked Denetra’s bandage again.

Stop second-guessing your work, Kalani said quietly. All we can do is wait and see if our efforts were enough.

Denetra moaned as the sedative wore off.

Oblam grasped her hand. Careful, he said. Lie still.

Asher? she whispered.

Kalani put a hand on Oblam’s arm. I’ll send someone for him.

Oblam nodded his thanks.

Kalani stepped outside. Four men in purple-trimmed vests stood outside. One of them rushed to her the second she opened the tent flap. What had Oblam called him? Commander Asher?

Come on in, she said.

Asher sat next to Denetra’s bedside and stroked her hand.

Oblam explained the surgery and his concerns. She was awake at the moment, but far from safe. Do we know who fired the arrow? he asked.

No clue. Asher stared at Denetra’s pale face. Whoever it was disappeared. We have no way of knowing why they targeted Denetra.

Someone with a grudge against you? Kalani asked. Or against all Acorans?

That could be any number of people, Asher admitted. A hint of shame covered his face for a second. That was nothing new. Kalani had seen it often when warriors discussed past deeds they’d done to protect their tribe; though Kalani had never known a warrior to admit guilt.

But if it was a grudge against Acorans in general, why would they shoot her when there was a loftier mark standing right beside her? Ringly asked. When Asher looked up at him, he added, I heard your wife was in a heated argument with Oblam’s sister when it happened.

Politically speaking, she’d certainly make a better target. Asher nodded.

Kalani wasn’t sure she agreed. A commander’s wife didn’t make a better target than a Lady Warrior? That didn’t sound right to her, but she didn’t know nearly enough about politics, much less Acoran politics, to voice her thoughts.

CHAPTER 2

Late that night, all around the camps outside the Portdill garrison, boisterous laughter carried into the darkness. Music came from all sides of the Simoten camp. Different styles, tempos, and instruments clashing.

Shataren tossed the contents of his cup into the bushes. Nasty stuff. He couldn’t understand how anyone could drink enough of it to get drunk. He handed his dishes to the cook and thanked her for having saved him a plate, then ducked into the tent he shared with his sister. Kalani still wasn’t back from…wherever she’d gone off to. He sat on his bed and rummaged through his pack, finding a handkerchief to wrap his wife’s gift in. The necklace was made from shells, harvested from the Gulf of Portdill. He hoped she’d like it. He was still trying to figure out her tastes and preferences. One thing he’d learned was that she didn’t like traveling to Portdill, even for the Equin festival, because it meant taking a four-hour ferry ride. Next year, the festival would be in Kelvia. Hopefully, she’d join him then.

It didn’t take long for Kalani to enter the tent. She crept silently to her side without looking in his direction. When she opened her pack, she cringed at the slightest noise.

Father’s looking for you. Shataren laughed at how high his sister jumped, spinning around to glare at him.

Her glare turned into a grin, giving away her lack of remorse. I don’t suppose he’s very happy?

Unbelievable. Why do you do that to him? Shataren pinched the bridge of his nose. This holiday was supposed to be special. The Chiefs’ Council had officially confirmed him as Chief Heir of Simot, but dealing with Kalani put a damper on it. You realize another year and he can toss you out on your ear.

She pulled her hair loose from a sloppy bun and ran a brush through her thick waves. Simoten law is backward and unfair.

Why? Because fathers don’t have to be responsible for their daughters once they reach the age of maturity? What’s wrong with that?

Because daughters can’t train in any profession or get any job no matter how old we are without our fathers’ say-so. So, a father doesn’t have to take care of his twenty-year-old daughter, yet he doesn’t have to allow her the means of caring for herself.

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. She knew exactly what he would say. Mostly because it was the same thing he always said. Unfortunately, it made him sound more like his father than he cared to admit. The law was in place to keep young ladies in line until husbands took over from fathers. There was no point in reminding her of it.

Grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew how you’re behaving, he said instead. He took the brush she set down and brushed his braid out.

If I wait long enough, maybe Father will give up forcing me to marry. Kalani grabbed her nightclothes.

Not likely. Shataren stepped outside, around the back of the tent. He removed his fairly new, red-trimmed vest and his tunic. You realize I’m stuck playing nursemaid until you do? he asked.

No one asked you to, she called back.

Shataren dipped a cloth into a bowl of water that had gone cold—his own fault for getting back to the camp so late. No. He scrubbed the day’s dirt off his light brown skin, careful not to get soap in his brown eyes as he washed his face. "No one asked me to. Father told me to." He was finally accompanying his father to the Council meeting this year. He should have been enjoying the hospitality of the garrison. A warm tub someone else filled. A soft bed to sleep in. Meals cooked in a real kitchen by cooks trying to impress their guests. Instead, he was stuck in the camp outside the garrison because their father insisted no one else was to be trusted around Kalani at night.

Shataren finished his cleaning, wishing he had time and a tub to wash his unruly dark brown, curly hair. Oh well, he’d have to settle for taming it with a braid tomorrow. He came around the front of the tent in time to see Chief Abrin approaching, a mirror image of himself in thirty years.

Hello, Father, Shataren said, loud enough for Kalani to be warned before she said something stupid. Kalani got back to the camp a few minutes ago.

Kalani, Abrin said, come out here.

I’m in my nightclothes, she called back.

Fine. Nearly as tall as his six-foot-three son, he ducked through the entrance. Where were you at supper?

Not having supper, Kalani said.

Shataren cringed, waiting for the slap. To his surprise, none came. She was too old to be treated as a child, but she was still Abrin’s responsibility—not Shataren’s. She’d be married long before he’d be saddled with responsibility for her. Hopefully.

I made a huge concession in letting you choose a husband, yet you’re not even making an effort. Now you dodge the meetings I set up. You weren’t negotiating in good faith. We had an agreement, the chief said.

"No. You had an agreement, Kalani argued. And you said I had a year."

Just let him lecture and keep quiet. She should have known how to handle their father’s reprimands. She received them often enough. Abrin was hard on Shataren because he expected so much from the next Chief of Simot, but he was even harder on Kalani.

Abrin’s voice was close to a growl. I also said you would continue to meet men of importance until you choose one.

Let me go to the competitions. Let me meet regular, average men.

Shataren could predict what Abrin was going to say before he said it.

You’re a chief’s daughter. Your position is higher than a ‘regular, average’ woman. It’s your duty to marry for Simot’s benefit.

Shataren couldn’t fault his father for wanting security for their people. Still…it was a shame Kalani’s happiness meant so little to him. Shataren was thankful the choice of priorities wasn’t up to him. He wasn’t sure he could make it.

You could always make an alliance with Acora by being nice to their chieftess. Then we’d be completely surrounded by allies. Kalani’s voice held a bit of cockiness at what she considered to be a witty remark that would do nothing but make their father angrier.

You’re changing the subject, Abrin barked.

Be nice to the chieftess? Really? Did the girl not understand the animosity between Lady Maleen and more than half the chiefs on the Council?

Chief Abrin exited the tent and stopped to talk to Shataren, lowering his voice. He refused another arranged supper with her. I don’t think we’re getting a treaty with Gantin.

That was the third tribe Kalani had effectively alienated by insulting the chief’s family. Who’s next? Shataren asked.

I have no idea.

Shataren waited until their father was out of earshot before he entered the tent. Well, you’ve eliminated another tribe. That’s Gantin, Coland, and Portdill. And we already have alliances in Timend, Kelvia, and Barnet. That leaves Randor and Fleet.

Or Acora, Kalani said.

Sure, Shataren scoffed. I hear Lady Maleen has a brother your age. Father will love that. He didn’t even know where he’d heard the information and had no idea if it was accurate. So, where were you?

I helped save a woman’s life today.

You were in the infirmary tent?

Kalani nodded.

Father’s going to kill you.

Not if he doesn’t find out.

I’ve got to tell him.

Why? Kalani exaggerated her pout. They both knew he wouldn’t. He had covered for her in the past. He often kicked himself for it later, yet if it kept her out of trouble…

He told me to find out where you were, Shataren said.

Then you can tell him I met a man.

You what? Shataren plopped down on his bed, sure he had heard wrong.

I met a physician.

Simoten?

No. Acoran.

Stop right there. Shataren held up a hand. Acoran?

She shrugged and put on a smile he could have sworn was bashfulness if he didn’t know his sister so well.

You have to marry into a chief’s family, Shataren said. "You know that. And Father is not going to approve of that chief’s family."

I don’t know what family he’s from. He was too young to have a crest.

But he’s a physician? Are you sure a missing crest wasn’t because he’s from a no-account family he doesn’t care to publicize?

Maybe, Kalani admitted. But whoever he is—and however old he is—he’s smart enough to earn a physician’s jacket.

Shataren laughed. He had never heard his sister speak positively about any man. At the moment, she sounded like every other single young woman.

I want to see him again. She chewed her lip.

I’m not covering for you. Shataren climbed under his blanket. I’ve got a competition in the morning. I’m going to sleep. He turned his back to her. Do yourself a favor and don’t dream about this Acoran.

Kalani said no more. Shataren wished she would. It was better than lying awake, thinking about how much he sounded like his father. Was he parroting? Or was he adopting his father’s way of thinking? And were the Acorans as bad as his father made them sound? If it were up to him, would he honestly trade his sister’s happiness for the security of the tribe?

Chief Bontel of Timend had when he enforced the agreement his father had made. Shataren didn’t think Joslin was unhappy—Shataren smiled at thoughts of his bride—but Bontel hadn’t known what the outcome of the arranged marriage would be.

According to Joslin, she’d agreed to it. Even insisted on it when Bontel hesitated. She understood how important it was to make alliances by any means necessary. Why couldn’t Kalani do the same? The one time he’d brought the subject up with his wife, she’d pointed out how different the two women were. Joslin could be strong-willed, at least by Simoten standards. But Kalani was a volatile mix of an alchemist’s chemicals. Ready to go off at any time if mishandled.

***

After breakfast the next morning, Kalani looked around to make sure none of her father’s men were near enough to overhear her speaking to her brother. Let’s take a walk, she said to Shataren. You’ve still got an hour before your competition and the Council doesn’t meet until after.

Where is there to walk to? he asked.

We could walk through the Acoran camp.

Why…? he asked slowly.

The woman who was attacked yesterday was Acoran.

She’ll still be in the physician’s tent, Shataren said.

When he grinned, Kalani could tell he saw through her ploy. There was no manipulation between them. He always knew when she was using him, so she could do it without feeling guilty. He could always say no, though he rarely did.

Of course, the physician may be in their camp, Shataren said.

Please. It’s possible he’s from an important family. But for her father to even consider the man, he’d not only have to be from an important family, but also couldn’t be an Acoran. Not to mention he was likely too young to hold any influence within the tribal leadership even if he was connected somehow. Kalani pushed both thoughts from her mind. At the moment, she only wanted to see him again. Surely there was no harm in that.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Shataren stood, his shoulders tense. "But the only thing worse than taking you there