Page 18 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“Nano-meds,” she supplied from under her hood, keeping her head bowed.

“Aye, a miracle. She’s already improved. But the blessing of the goddesses is what she needs most. Especially a boxing priestess such as yourself.”

Fates.A boxing priestess? She hoped that wouldn’t get around. Still twitching with adrenaline, she circled her thumb over her heart then touched her fingertips to the little girl’s forehead. “May the Goddess heal your child.” She did her best to imitate the old priestess, the words somehow coming naturally.

“Thank you. Thank you. May the Goddess be with you, sister.”

“And also with you. Go in peace.”

More believers tugged on her sleeves, pleading for blessings, expressing bliss when she said, “Go with the Goddess.”

“Move on! Show’s over!” Guards had arrived to disperse the crowd.

Wren left the tray behind in her haste to escape. The trailing fabric of her robe tangled around her ankles. Down she went, landing hard on her stomach, the wind knocked from her. Her glasses fell and were instantly crushed by boots in the throngs of people. Sprawled gracelessly, she opened and closed her mouth like a netted fish.

So much for her years of agility training. Sabra wouldn’t be pleased.

“What’s going on here, sister?” The female voice sounded like a guard’s. She helped Wren to her feet. “Are you all right?

“Yes,” she gasped. “Fine.” She checked for her pouches and the pendant before pulling the hood over her head, bringing it as low as possible over her face.

“So—what happened here, sister?”

“He tried to molest me.”

“Disgusting. Sad that even a priestess isn’t off-limits around here. We’ve had incidents like this all day. Must be the full moons. He looked nice wearing your lunch, though. Good job, sister.” She helped Wren stand and reached for her arm. “I need to scan your locator.”

Her mouth dry, Wren pulled up her billowing sleeve and tried to keep her arm steady as her heart continued to bang away. The guard would see she wasn’t really a priestess. What then? Would saying she was an apprentice be enough? Her mind whirred, trying to come up with excuses to shore up her lie.

“Thanks. You’re good, sister.”

Her breath gusted out. A catch and release. The guard had just spilled her from the net and set her free.

“Oh, wait! Actually, there’s a problem with your data.”

Wren froze. “A problem?”

“Well, your ID’s been flagged by Borderlands Security.”

Borderlands Security meant it wasn’t a camp matter but an outside one. Had they discovered the bodies on Barokk? Was she about to be arrested for murder? She imagined a cell with no way out but an executioner. “What, uh, does that mean?”

More typing. “Hard to say, sister. It could be an administrative issue, or maybe they want to ask a few questions.”

“I’ll take it from here,” said a male voice, the inflection hinting at Drakken nobility. Wren saw the blurry form of a well-built man—then a black uniform, trimmed with blue and red, when he came closer.

One of the two officers she’d seen at the docks.

The battlelord look-alike.

A jolt of adrenalin urged her to flee, but she willed herself to stand her ground.Wait for the danger to reveal itself.It was one thing she knew how to do well—waiting. She’d spent her entire life waiting—for fish to bite, for springtime to come. For someone to force her to submit to a marriage she didn’t want.

For a kind and handsome young cadet to return for her and say,“We’ll find a way out.”

The officer’s chest was at eye level, where she studiously caged her gaze. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, in her ears, a hollow, whooshing thump.

“I believe these are yours, Miss Senderin,” he said.

Her alias. Did he know her true identity too?

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