Chapter 4
We reached the ridge above the old mission near midnight.
The ruins sat below us like broken teeth against the dark.
A chapel wall still stood.
Half a bell tower leaned toward the stars.
Mesquite trees crowded the courtyard, their shadows tangled across the ground.
A small fire burned near the back wall.
Three men sat around it.
One wore a blue shirt with a torn sleeve.
My hands curled around the reins.
Silas.
Even after seven years, I knew the shape of him.
Broad shoulders.
Restless hands.
Head tilted like the world had offended him.
Aiyana crouched beside me on the ridge.
“Where is Nalin?”
I searched the ruins.
Then I saw movement near the chapel doorway.
A boy sat with his back against a stone pillar.
His hands were tied.
A cloth was bound around his mouth.
Aiyana made a sound so soft it almost broke me.
Her father lowered beside us.
His face became stone.
“Alive,” I whispered.
Aiyana looked at me sharply.
“Yes,” she said. “Alive.”
We watched.
Silas stood and kicked dirt over the fire.
One of his men laughed.
The sound carried faintly up the ridge.
I recognized the other two after a moment.
Caleb Marr and Jory Pike.
Cattle thieves.
Drinkers.
Men who followed whoever promised coin and cruelty.
Aiyana’s father signaled to his warriors.
They spread into the dark without a word.
I reached for the old knife at my belt.
Aiyana caught my wrist.
“No.”
“He is my brother.”
“He is armed.”
“I know how he thinks.”
“That may not save you.”
“No,” I said. “But it may save Nalin.”
She released me slowly.
“What will you do?”
“Talk.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Words?”
“He wants something. If he only wanted the boy dead, Nalin would be dead.”
That hurt her.
I saw it.
I hated myself for saying it.
But truth is sometimes a blade you use because the lie is worse.
Her father watched me.
“You go down. If this is trick, you die first.”
“Fair.”
I walked down the ridge alone.
Every step felt loud.
Halfway to the ruins, Silas turned.
He lifted his rifle.
“Don’t shoot,” I called.
His laugh came back cold.
“Well, well. Little Corvin.”
My stomach twisted at the old name.
Little Corvin.
The boy who hid.
The boy who learned silence.
The boy Silas thought still lived inside me.
I walked into the courtyard with my hands raised.
Silas stepped into the moonlight.
He looked older.
Meaner.
But his eyes were the same.
“Brother,” he said. “You look surprised.”
“I wish I were.”
Caleb lifted his pistol.
Silas waved him down.
“Not yet.”
My eyes flicked to Nalin.
The boy stared at me over the gag, eyes wide but steady.
Brave child.
Aiyana’s blood, surely.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Silas grinned.
“Getting paid.”
“By whom?”
“Men with money and no stomach for dirty work.”
“Why use my brand?”
His grin widened.
“Because you always wanted peace with everyone. I thought I would give everyone a reason to visit.”
Anger rose so fast I almost stepped forward.
I forced myself still.
“You brought three hundred Apache to my ranch.”
“Did they burn it?”
“No.”
“Pity.”
Jory laughed.
I ignored him.
“What do you want for the boy?”
Silas’s eyes sharpened.
“There he is. Always bargaining. Always trying to make ugly things polite.”
“What do you want?”
“The deed.”
I stared.
“My ranch?”
“Our ranch,” he snapped.
“There is no our.”
“Father should have left it to me.”
“Father left it to the son who stayed sober long enough to read the will.”
His face darkened.
For one dangerous second, I saw the old Silas. The one who broke chairs and called it discipline.
Then he smiled again.
“You sign it over, I let the boy go. You refuse, I leave him for the Apache to find in pieces. Then I tell them you helped.”
Nalin made a muffled sound.
I looked at him.
Then back at Silas.
“You think they will believe you?”
“They believed your brand.”
I heard movement in the dark behind the walls.
Soft.
Controlled.
The Apache were close.
Silas did not hear.
He was too busy enjoying himself.
“You were always weak,” he said. “Even as a boy. Couldn’t take what was yours. Couldn’t keep Father proud.”
I lowered my hands.
“Father was a cruel man.”
His jaw tightened.
“He made us strong.”
“No,” I said. “He made you cruel and me quiet. Neither was strength.”
Silas raised his rifle.
“You always did talk too much when scared.”
“I am scared.”
That surprised him.
I stepped closer.
“But not of you anymore.”
Aiyana appeared behind Caleb like a shadow.
Her knife touched his throat.
At the same time, two warriors seized Jory.
Silas spun.
I moved.
The rifle fired into the air as I slammed into him.
We hit the dirt hard.
For a moment, I was sixteen again, fighting my brother in the barn while our father shouted.
Then Nalin screamed through the gag.
Silas had drawn a second pistol.
May you like
Not at me.
At the boy.
