Free The Bloodsworn by Erin Lindsey

harrow.
Maybe we should find a place to hole up for a few days
, she thought.
That might make us easier to find.
For the Resistance, but also, she realised, for the Warlord. Sadik would have spies out here as well as soldiers, and in the land of the white-hairs, Alix could hardly be more conspicuous. Even if she managed to keep her flaming red locks tucked under her hood, two of her party were Onnani, a rare enough sight in Andithyri to draw unwanted attention.
No getting around it
, she thought grimly.
Spotted is branded, and branded is most likely dead.
    Such were her thoughts when the soldiers appeared.
    She knew them for Oridians the moment she saw them, even from clear across the field. They were on horseback, and in occupied country, only soldiers got to keep their horses.
    â€œDain,” she hissed, but he didn’t need to be told; he was peering down the longlens already.
    â€œFive—no, six. They’ve definitely seen us. They’re headed this way.”
    Alix reeled under a sickening wave of fear. Not for herself, but for the mission. She could not afford to fail.
    Dain still had the longlens to his eye. “Can you take them, Ide?”
    â€œNot at this range. Most I’d get is one or two before the rest found cover and started shooting back.”
    â€œToo risky,” Alix said. “They won’t assume we’re a threat straightaway. Let them get close. It’ll be easier to take them if we have to.”
    â€œBetter let me bring up the rear, then,” Ide said, “and keep a tight ring around me so they can’t see my bow.”
    â€œHide your packs in the wheat,” Alix said. “We may yet talk our way out of this.” The enemy soldiers didn’t have a longlens, or if they did, they hadn’t used it—their leisurely pace was proof enough of that.
Looking for some peasants to bully, no doubt. Well, let them try to bully us.
The thought brought a welcome fire to her belly.
    They were drunk, Alix saw as the riders drew near; she could tell by the lazy way they sat their horses. A mixed blessing, that. Six to three was poor odds (the priestess didn’t count), but drunkenness might just even things out. On the other hand, there were few things in the world more quarrelsome than a soldier in his cups. Alix slipped a hand under her cloak, felt the reassuring steel at her hip. She ran a thumb over the garnet buried in the hilt that marked her blade as bloodforged. Another advantage, assuming the Oridians didn’t carry bloodblades of their own.
Not very likely
, she told herself. Too rare and valuable, especially now that the Kingswords had slain the Priest, greatest and most prolific of the enemy bloodbinders.
    â€œHo there!” the lead rider called in Erromanian. “What have we here?”
    Alix ducked her head, the better to conceal her features. “Just humble farmers, my lord.”
    â€œMy lord! I like that!” He swivelled in his saddle to look at his comrades. “You all can call me
my lord
from now on,” he said, eliciting jeers and sloppy laughter. Turning back to Alix, he said, “Not afraid of us are you, all huddled up like that?” His accent was heavy, but he spoke the language well, even through his drink. An officer, Alix judged. “What’s this now,” he said, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “Some fishmen, I see.”
    Damn.
It had been too much to hope that the soldiers might overlook the dark skin of the Onnani in the party.
    â€œFishmen farmers? In Andithyri? That doesn’t seem likely, now does it?” The officer’s gaze sharpened; suddenly, he seemed very sober indeed.
    â€œNot farmers,” Vel said, throwing off her cloak to reveal her priestess’s robes. “Missionaries, here to pray with our Andithyrian brothers in these dark times of war.”
    It was a good ploy, and it might have worked had Vel not shown a little too much skin in those robes. But