THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

my mind.
    We exited on the opposite side of the village from where I’d originally entered. I set my bearings according to the red moon–as Gabby had labeled it–that had moved halfway across the sky. Hard to believe that a full day hadn’t passed yet since we’d arrived here. Or had it?
    Callan picked up his near-silent pace, moving us quickly over a narrow strip of open land, through dead grayish and yellow-orange vegetation to a copse of trees that looked more like forest than jungle. The minute the four of us reached the first tall trees with ghost branches, gnarled and white, Callan swung around and said, “This is good.” 
    Etoi carried two spears and whispered something to Zilya as they both stopped. 
    When Zilya’s gaze intercepted mine, she lost her chuckle and fumbled with the short spear Etoi handed her. Could the delicate Zilya handle that weapon and hold her own? Guess I’d find out soon.
    Callan ordered, “Etoi will lead, then Zilya, me, then her.”
    Her? “My name’s Rayen.”
    Etoi protested, “I won’t have her behind Zilya or me.”
    So much for trying to get on a first-name basis . I felt a smidgen of sympathy for Callan who always seemed one word from losing his patience with Etoi.
    Zilya didn’t interfere, other than allowing Callan to see that she, too, wasn’t comfortable with me following her.
    Callan’s skin deepened in hue when he drew a long breath as if that would wash away his frustration with outspoken Etoi. “If the three of us don’t return to the village, the other two prisoners will be executed. She–”  Callan nodded at me. “–knows this and won’t try to escape or harm one of us. And since you should know the most vulnerable position is the last in line, does that mean you wish to take her place?”
    Understanding brightened Zilya’s eyes once she grasped Callan’s logic. “Good plan. How do you want to split up?”
    Etoi opened her mouth to voice her opinion and Callan glared her into silence. “You take Etoi, Zilya, and I’ll take...her.”
    “Why?” Zilya demanded.
    That snapped the latch on Callan’s temper. He stepped over to her, his body swelled with restrained fury, his color one shade now–deep violet. “Etoi is too impulsive to be put with her and heeds only you. I’m the best one to deal with the captive if she creates a problem. We don’t have the time to argue with a child’s life potentially depending on us. You’re of the Governing House, not the Warrior House. Need I remind you who is in charge out here? Force me to waste another breath explaining and you’ll regret it.”
    “We’ll discuss this further with Mathias when we return.”  Zilya stood firm and spoke with authority, but everything else about her seemed to shrink back from his anger. Flags of embarrassment waved in her cheeks. She didn’t wilt like a flower that had been trampled, but withdrew in respect of the foot that could smash her.
    Interesting dynamics. Now if only I could use that tension to my advantage to get myself, Gabby and Tony free.
    Callan sent me a look of discomfort at having his group’s flaws laid out in front of a stranger, but when he spoke to Etoi, his voice was that of a leader. “Are we clear?”
    “Of course.”
    She’d answered in a respectful tone that I didn’t believe for a minute, but it seemed to mollify everyone’s temper. I didn’t know why I wanted to do it, but I decided to help out Callan by distracting his attention from the other two.
    I asked him, “How long is it going to take to get where we’re going?”
    “Not long. Let’s get moving.” 
    Etoi took off into the undergrowth with Zilya right behind. Zilya’s white-blond spikes of hair bounced above the vegetation, keeping her visible.
    Callan stepped away and tossed over his shoulder, “Keep up.”
    I smiled and waved my hand in a keep-moving motion. “I won’t lose you.”
    He headed into the forest at a brisk pace, slapping chocolate-hued branches out of his way with sharp swings of his sword. I noticed which plants he tended to sidestep—orangish pink, and deep blue ones. Some were spiky and others furry like soft chick-down. So I knew what chick-down was, huh?
    A loud caw overhead alerted me to a gray-yellow bird. At least I thought it was a bird, except for the long scaly tail that drooped behind it. The tail broke off into four individual lengths, like different sized whips.
    “Watch that,” Callan ordered, halting me in my stride.
    I shoved