Corvin stared at her.
“You might’ve opened with that.”
“Would you have believed me?”
Another bullet struck stone.
“No!”
“Then I chose correctly.”
Despite himself, Corvin almost smiled.
Almost.
The attackers escaped.
Two horses were found abandoned beyond the ridge.
Blood marked one saddle.
No bodies.
No identities.
Only one object remained.
A brass rifle cartridge.
Stamped with the initials:
B.F.C.
Corvin recognized them.
“Blackstone Freight Company.”
Nalin nodded.
“You know it?”
“Everybody knows it.
Half the territory’s supplies come through Blackstone.”
Yiska spoke sharply.
Nalin’s expression darkened.
“What?”
She translated reluctantly.
“He says your father knows the name.”
That settled it.
Corvin saddled his horse.
Nalin blocked him.
“You cannot leave alone.”
“I’m not leaving alone.”
He glanced at the surrounding warriors.
“You people seem to have me badly outnumbered.”
For the first time, Nalin smiled fully.
It transformed her severe face.
“You make jokes when afraid.”
“I make jokes because screaming annoys the horses.”
She laughed.
Then looked surprised by the sound.
An hour later, Corvin rode north with Nalin, Yiska, and twenty riders.
The remaining warriors stayed behind to guard the ranch and search the property.
Corvin kept his father’s watch inside his shirt.
It seemed to burn against his chest.
For two days they rode through country Corvin thought he knew.
He was wrong.
Nalin led them through hidden canyons, dry washes, and narrow passes invisible from ordinary trails.
During the first day, Corvin asked nothing.
By the second, anger had fermented into questions.
“Did my father have another family?”
Nalin looked over.
“Yes.”
The answer struck him harder than expected.
“Children?”
“One.”
Corvin swallowed.
“A son?”
Nalin shook her head.
“Daughter.”
He stared ahead.
“So I have a sister.”
Nalin was quiet.
“Had.”
Corvin looked at her.
“Had?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nalin’s jaw tightened.
“She was my mother.”
Corvin’s reins slipped through his fingers.
He turned slowly.
Nalin continued riding.
Corvin stared at her profile.
“Your mother was my father’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Which meant—
Corvin nearly laughed from shock.
“You’re my—”
“Niece.”
He stopped his horse.
Nalin rode several yards before turning.
Corvin simply stared.
She was perhaps thirty.
Maybe younger.
His niece.
His father’s granddaughter.
The giant wounded Apache woman he had found half-dead beside his fence was family.
Nalin regarded him carefully.
“You are disappointed?”
“What?”
“That your father had another family.”
Corvin rubbed both hands across his face.
“I don’t know what I am.”
“You are angry.”
“That’s one option.”
“You think he abandoned you.”
“Didn’t he?”
Nalin’s expression sharpened.
“My grandfather spent thirty years carrying your name in a leather pouch around his neck.”
Corvin looked at her.
“He taught my mother to say your name before she could ride.”
Something tightened painfully beneath his ribs.
Nalin continued.
“He kept drawings of you.”
“Drawings?”
“From memory.
At five.
At ten, as he imagined you.
At twenty.
At thirty.”
Corvin looked away.
“That doesn’t explain why he stayed.”
“No.”
“Then what does?”
Nalin’s eyes darkened.
“Blackstone.”
They reached the settlement near sunset on the third day.
It lay deep within a canyon surrounded by cottonwoods.
Children ran beside horses.
