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Nearby, a distinctly male snort of derision
sounded.
“Go eavesdrop on someone else, Yeran,”
Borte snapped toward her betrothed.
But the Berlad captain only answered back,
“A fine commander you are, mooning over the
Fae like a doe-eyed girl.”
Borte rolled her eyes. “When they teach me
their killing techniques and I use them to wipe
you off the map at our next Gathering, you
can tell me all about my mooning.”
The handsome captain stormed over from
his own ruk, and Nesryn ducked her head to
hide her smile, finding herself immensely
interested in brushing Salkhi’s brown
feathers. “You’ll be my wife then, according
to your bargain with my hearth-mother,” he
said, crossing his arms. “It would be unseemly
for you to kill your own husband in the
Gathering.”