Free Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) by K.F. Breene

got through the others, then he’d tackle her. The Captain was up with throwing knife in hand, poised to throw.
    Great technique.
    Her own reactions were slow and clumsy, her muscles confounded and screaming in protest. She clutched the hilt, she hefted it, couldn’t hold on, then threw it across the room with an uncoordinated jerk. It skidded against the baseboards near the feet of the boys. The young men scattered, throwing themselves out of the way, or diving behind the desk like idiots.
    Two sword blades glinted at her throat, the hands holding them steady and confident. Their feet were shoulder wi dth, ready to move and perfectly balanced. The Captain, seeing she wasn’t planning to rush to her death, sat down confidently and tucked his knife into his belt.
    T wo heads poked up from the side of the desk and Shanti resisted an urge to blind them with an ink bottle.
    “I guess that answers the question of whether it’s your sword,” the Captain said in amusement.
    Shanti ground her teeth in annoyance. Playing along would behoove her, but she hated his smug surety that women could not wield weapons.
    She took a slow step toward him, feeling out the men holding the swords. The more organized commander relented slightly, pulling his sword away to match her advance. The other, the oldest of the army men, did not. Her skin kissed the metal. The metal bit back. A small pearl of blood welled up on the blade.
    The boys hissed.
    “Well, then. Point proven, it seems.” Shanti stepped back. “If you ever go up against the Mardis, which are all women by the way, this man is the one for the front line.” She jerked a thumb at the gray-templed commander.
    And then something else surprised her. The other commander, the one who had pulled away, swung his sword forward again, his mind oozing mistrust and anger.
    Another interesting reaction.
    “Mardis? Is that your people?” the Captain asked lightly. A hard edge had infiltrated his eyes.
    So they’d had a run-in with the Mardis. Not good.
    “No. Sex slaves are not my thing. I prefer my men willing. Now, since I am obviously in over my head, I think I might just try out the couch?”
    “Please.” The Captain stood gracefully and ge stured for her to sit opposite on the couch facing him.
    Shanti crossed the room gratefully, swords falling away as the men stepped back. She surveyed her sword as she passed, making sure it didn’t have any damage. Continuing on, she reached the couch and sank in, sighing gratefully as her body sank into the plush leather.
    “Oh Elders, I thank you for this treat. What workmanship!” Shanti closed her eyes.
    “You aren’t worried about the blade?” the Captain lowered back down.
    “It jumped boat. It can lie on the ground for a while. It needs to go over its life choices.”
    “Jumped ship, yes, I see. Speaking of choices, we need to decide what to do with you. You’ll not be allowed weapons, nor to leave. Not until I have more information. These are difficult times. There are rumors of war and famine coming our way. I want to know what your involvement in that is.”
    She had plenty of involvement in that. Thwarting the Being Supreme, running from him, planning to overthrow his tyranny with the help of a distant relation—yes, she had plenty. The Captain was right be worried about what was coming, but if he knew that the girl he was helping would bring the Graygual to his doorstep immediately, bringing the war with them, he’d probably kill her immediately. She couldn’t say she would blame him, either, were she in his place.
    She said, “I am but a trader who lost her comrades, now just trying to make my way to distant relations.”
    Suspicious b lue eyes delved into her with a corresponding brush against her mind. He might not be trained, but he’d learned enough to be of value. What a sneaky bastard. One day soon she hoped to give him a rude awaking. In the meantime, she let him read emotions that gave her credibility. He