The night would never end. Every previous Warrior’s Ceremony had flown by in drunken revelry as Kindra celebrated the feast that would someday come for her. Now she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep forever. Her back ached, her head pounded with the drums, and her pride was shattered like sand against the tide.

Everyone was drunk. Kaye was busy pouring wine, and Kindra fell into silence as Gar and his friends talked around her. She ignored them, but raised voices a few tables down caught her attention. It was Gull Campbell, one of her father’s old friends, and he was quite drunk.

“We have a new Odion warrior. We should attack now, before the snows come and the deer starve.”

“She doesn’t have a name,” Oak said. His voice was calm, but his face was red with wine and annoyance.

Kindra groaned and buried her face in her hands. Petoskey and Wolf were trying to hush Gull, but the damage was done. The glances and whispers began again.

“Sorry,” Gull’s son, Alder, said. Kindra shrugged. Someone was bound to say something, but she thought it would be Jorsen.

“Oak’s a coward,” Gull’s words slurred and the crowd around him hushed. “He’s too scared to fight the Obsidians. Too scared he’ll end up like Fennec.”

The annoyance on Oak’s face turned to barely concealed rage. “Get him home,” he growled at Petoskey.

Gull kept talking, even as Petoskey and Wolf dragged him away. “Too scared to give an Odion warrior a name, lest she take her rightful place as chief.”

Petoskey slapped a hand over Gull’s mouth and almost every pair of eyes in the tribe turned to Kindra. The chief refused to look at her, for which she was grateful. Kindra put her forehead in her hands to hide her face. What was Gull thinking, to say something so stupid? Now everyone would think she wanted to be chief, and that wasn’t true. She just wanted to avenge her father so he wouldn’t die the last Odion warrior.

She remained hidden until the people around them began speaking again. Some made jokes of the drunken warrior. A few brave souls made jokes of the coward chief. Somewhere nearby, Pike’s grating voice made jokes of Kindra becoming a nameless chief.

“I’m done.” She left her wine on the table and wove through the crowd toward the tents.

“I’d support you as chief.” Cameron—now Kingfisher—said as she passed. His eyes were glassy with wine.

There were people in the center of the village, so she turned toward the calm silence of the river instead. She was almost to the bank when someone grabbed her arm. She turned, ready to fight, but it was Gar. Her shoulders sagged as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Shh,” he whispered and smoothed her hair. She wasn’t crying, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest as she watched the river rush by them. The beat of his heart was steady and slow, calm compared to the drums of the ceremony.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, still watching the river. The moon was a sliver, but the plentiful stars made the water silvery where it crested against the blackness.

Gar pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I wasted your time and made you look a fool for training me.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not true.”

“I should have never let them whip me. As soon as I had that stupid dream I should have stopped. Instead, I put Kaye through all that pain for nothing.” She pressed her lips together before she started crying. Gar wrapped his arms around her again, chin resting on top of her head.

“It’s not for nothing. Eoin’s going to teach you to fly.”

Kindra’s laugh was bitter. “That’s the stupidest vision I’ve ever heard. I don’t have wings.”

“If it makes you feel better, my vision was worse.”

She pulled away to look at him. In the moonlight his hair was nearly as dark as an Obsidian’s, held neatly back in a leather thong, but his eyes were unmistakably Aledan. “What was it?”

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I don’t think anything could make me laugh tonight.”

He took a deep breath. “I killed a goddess, and became chief of the Seven Tribes.”

She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for a wink or a smile, or some other indication that he was joking. “Which goddess? Aleda or Trina?”

His hands fell from her arms and he looked away. “Neither. She rode a horse, and I knocked her off with a rock, then stabbed her. And the Seven Tribes made me chief.”

Kindra didn’t know what to say. He was completely serious. It was the strangest thing she’d ever heard. “That’s almost as absurd as your brother becoming chief of the Obsidian Nation. Do you know how many people would have to die for you to become chief?”

Gar swallowed. “All of the Conal warriors. All of the Preston warriors…the last Odion warrior.” He looked at her again, troubled.

“Not to mention you’d have to marry one of Monk’s sisters,” Kindra said. The Bayn family had too much Obsidian blood to ever be allowed to rule the tribe. Unless he married into one of the ruling families and all the Faye-blooded warriors died.

“Or you.”

That actually did make her laugh a little. “Or Kaye.”

A shadow of hurt passed over his face and she took a step back, shaking her head.

“Kindra.” He reached out but she took another step.

“We’ve already had this conversation. I’m going to be a warrior, not a wife.”

“You can be both.”

“No.” She crossed her arms and stared at the water again. “As soon as I get married the tribe will think I wasn’t serious about becoming a warrior. And Aleda forbid I should ever become pregnant. I can’t be a warrior with a round belly or a child at my breast.”

He took a step forward and she backed away again. His frown twitched. “What would you do if I married one of Monk’s sisters?”

“I would congratulate you and be happy.”

“I wouldn’t be happy.”

“You would learn to be happy.”

He took another step forward, but she didn’t back away this time. “And you would learn to be happy as a warrior and a wife.”

This was ridiculous. They’d had this talk after Trina’s Day, and she thought he understood. “I’m not going to rehash this with you tonight. I’m not going to sit at home during the next battle and wait for my husband to return beaten and bloody.” She was almost yelling, but she didn’t care. No one could hear them over the celebration. “I’m not watching another man I love waste away until he can’t tell me from my sister.”

“And you think being a warrior will solve that? You’ll go to battle and watch the men you love die next to you, and you’ll be just as helpless as if you were home safe.” Gar’s voice caught and he covered his eyes with a hand. “You aren’t the only person who lost someone at the battle for Deer Valley.”

“No. But I won’t lose any at the next one.”

His hand fell away and he stared at her in disbelief. “Do you not love Monk, or Cougar, or Al? Your uncle Pine, or Petoskey who has treated you as a daughter? How will you feel when any of them falls at the next battle?”

“I’ll feel like I’ve failed them because I’m not a true warrior!” She faced the river and wiped at her eyes with angry strokes.

Gar stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You are a true warrior.” His grip tightened when she tried to turn. “Losing someone you love is going to hurt…and no matter what you choose, it will hurt me to lose you.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her aching back to his warm chest. She was going to stain the beads of his tunic with blood, but he didn’t seem to mind. Kindra closed her eyes and listened to the river rush past, always on its way, never stopping to care about those beside it. She wanted to be the river.

“You are one of my best friends.” Gar spoke softly as he held her. “It would devastate me to lose you. All these summers of training and I dread the day we see battle together. Not because I don’t trust you,” He tightened his arms around her so she couldn’t break free. “I trust you with my life—but I don’t want to see you fall in battle.” He tucked his head into her neck. “I swear the first man who hurts you will have me to answer to.”

Kindra watched the river rush past and put her hands on his arms. She wished she could be what he needed, but there was no room in her life for a husband or lover. “You’re my best friend, Gar, and I love you as such, but nothing more.” She patted his arm as he lifted his head. “The first man who hurt me has me to answer to—no one else. I will tear apart the Obsidian Nation to find him. Named or not, I will avenge my father.”

Gar kissed the side of her head. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can.” The tension in his arms proved he wanted to say more, and she wanted to give more, but they stood frozen and silent. Eventually she pulled away.

“You should celebrate with your brother.”

“It’s your night too.”

“It’s not.” She shook her head. “I’d rather be alone.”

“Do you want me to find Kaye?”

She thought about it a moment, but she didn’t want the pity. “I want to be alone.”

“Kindra.”

She turned and Gar put a hand to her cheek to wipe away tears that hadn’t yet spilled. “You’re a true warrior. Oak’s a coward—Gull’s right in that. And I plan to be here when you learn how to fly.”

Her mouth lifted briefly in a smile. “Good luck becoming chief.”

He planted a warm, soft kiss on her lips. It reminded her of Trina’s Day, when his kisses tasted of wine and his hands sent little jolts of pleasure through her bare skin. She almost called him back as he left, but instead walked upriver to the stone carved with her father’s mark. It jutted over the river and she lay on top of it and traced the pattern of Fennec’s long-eared fox mark that she’d carved into the stone after his death.

“I’m sorry I failed you, father,” she whispered. “I’ll get my name and avenge you still. I promise.” After the long, terrible night she finally allowed herself to cry.