Chapter 11. Unpredictable Behavior
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, Father?”
“Sanso’s voice.”
“No. I only heard pounding on the back window.” Duana was scrubbing the already-clean tables in the large receiving room.
Eachan walked to the window and looked out. Nothing was there. But wait . . . “Oh, there he goes—he is out there. Looks like he got into some trouble with the villagers. Serves him right.” Eachan watched the Fire Turner for a few moments. Sanso walked with one shoulder lower than the other, and held a hand to it. His facial expression showed he was in pain.
Eachan turned when Aloren entered the room, carrying a basket of clean clothing, which she plopped on the table and started folding. She and Duana conversed, and Eachan leaned against the wall to watch them. It was good to see Duana this happy again. She hadn’t had someone close to her age to talk to in such a long time.
His forehead creased as the argument he’d been going over and over again in his mind came back to him.
Aloren.
What was he to do with her? He knew his job—turn her over to the Lorkon. He needed to do it—he needed to keep his daughter safe. But by protecting Duana, he’d be taking away someone who was now becoming a sister to her.
He walked to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel. If he turned Aloren in, he knew the Lorkon would reward him. They always had. He’d be elevated in their eyes, especially if he could get important information out of the girl first. Knowing how much she cared for Jacob, they’d certainly want her now, to use as bait. And by handing her over, he wouldn’t have to worry as much about the safety of the town hall—the villagers wouldn’t try so hard to attack if they knew Aloren was gone.
On the other hand, if he presented her to the Lorkon, it would surely hurt Duana. He turned to watch her for a moment. Such happiness on her face. Could he really do that to her? She’d never forgive him.
But then again, if he didn’t turn Aloren in, the Lorkon would remove him from his status in the community, and would either order a public execution, or worse—turn him and his daughter over to the villagers.
He rubbed his face, recognizing the circular pattern his arguments were taking.
Duana laughed at something Aloren said, and Eachan was surprised to see a smile on Aloren’s face—a first. She had a dimple in her cheek, and he frowned. There was something familiar about her—she brought to mind a woman he’d worked with years and years ago.
He walked to the window again. The Fire Turner was wandering the streets. Eachan watched him for several moments, wondering how much time he had until the Turners figured out he was withholding information from them.
A group of four or five villagers came out of one of the buildings, ignored the Fire Turner, and limped toward the town hall. They stopped several yards away, and Eachan let the curtain fall until there was just a slit to peer through. The villagers were arguing, passing something back and forth between them. An old woman caught up with the group and took the object, putting it in her pocket. The group turned to face the town hall and Eachan stepped back, quickly shutting the curtain. Something on their faces made him afraid—something had happened tonight, when he heard Sanso’s voice. He was sure of it. Something bad.
He walked to the table where Duana and Aloren had finished folding the clothes.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” he said. “We can do the dishes.”
The girls walked ahead of him, talking animatedly about something. They didn’t hear the bang on the door—a noise which frightened the wits out of Eachan.
The villagers had never, ever hit the door of the town hall. And they rarely returned this soon after feeding time. What was going on? Eachan couldn’t ignore this unpredictable behavior. He closed the door to the kitchen, putting his back against it.
The girls didn’t notice his nervousness, and he ignored them, straining to listen through the door. Hoping the villagers would leave. Give up their objective.
Eachan found himself again thinking over what would happen if the Lorkon discovered his secret. He straightened. He would do his job—his duty—where his family was concerned.
But when it came to handing off innocent girls to be used as bait, then brutally tortured and killed—that wasn’t something he could stomach.
He realized he’d have to make a decision eventually. He couldn’t wait for it to be made for him.
Another bang at the front door—much stronger this time. Eachan looked up at the ceiling, offering a prayer to keep his family safe.