Of Exile and Song (Wanderers of Ruin Book 1) by Tiffany Hunt

Author:Tiffany Hunt [Hunt, Tiffany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Ink Publishing
Published: 2023-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

The next day, we caught our first glimpse of the soldiers since we’d left the mountains.

Col dropped back. “If we can see them, they can see us. We’ll close more distance between us at nightfall.”

“And you’re really going to try to catch one of them?”

“Not just me,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You are an integral part of my plan. Unless you’re afraid?”

“What’s to be afraid of? Only more soldiers than we can count, armed to the teeth and with blood on their minds. Against the two of us—an injured warrior and a half-breed siren. Though I suppose now that you’ve taught me those moves, I can fight anybody.”

“I would like to see that.”

“See me get killed, you mean? Because my songs are not powerful enough to subdue that many at once.”

Col glanced at me. “Why do you call yourself that word?”

“What, a half-breed?” I shrugged.

“An ugly term. Words have power, Samara.”

“I know that,” I said, irritated.

“And yet you denigrate yourself with that label, as if you believe you are less than others.”

I didn’t respond. In the eyes of the law and most of the people I’d met, I was less than them. “Why do you care?”

Col halted the horses and looked back at me over his shoulder. “Because it doesn’t matter what your ancestry is, but rather what you do with it. Monsters take many forms, but it has nothing to do with the blood in their veins, and everything to do the condition of their heart.” He spoke firmly, resolutely, and I wondered if we were still talking about the same thing. “There are all sorts of monsters in the world, Samara, but you are not one of them. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“What would you call me, then?”

Col smirked. “By your name, of course. But also… A songbird, maybe. My little songbird. Or my little siren. I’ll have to figure out which one you are.”

Heat traveled through my body, and I hoped Col didn’t notice the hitch in my breathing. “Good luck with that.” I smiled, and he laughed.

We dismounted and walked. It was a relief to see our targets in the distance, but they also filled me with dread.

“Exactly what is the limit of your power?” he asked after a moment. “For future reference.”

“It depends on the people,” I answered. “If they are strong-willed, then twelve at the most. But if they are weak, fifteen to twenty, depending.”

“Depending on?”

“On how I’m feeling that day,” I said exasperatedly. I was leading the pack horse, who, while obviously not wanting to come close to me, resorted to simply tossing his head in protest.

“Have you always had your gift?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “As long as I can remember. My father said it started about the time I began talking. And then, when I found out what I could do… well, let’s just say I was hell as a three-year-old.”

“Still are.”

I narrowed my eyes at Col but let it slide. He said nothing else, as if hoping I would say more. Somehow, I felt easy around him now, and the words spilled out of me of their own accord.

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