After Rae Campbell is murdered by her abductor, she wakes in a world that exists parallel to ours- one which diverged in 1761, when a band of Scottish Highlanders joined with the Skin-Walking Kituwah tribe to oust the British from Appalachia.
Rae b...
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The autumn breeze is cold against my cheeks, but the sun is warm against my face. I lift my head to the sky, eyes closed, feeling the kiss of the outdoors on my skin. I take a deep breath, and taste dried grass, morning dew, and the musky tang of livestock on the air.
My sense of smell has never been more heightened.
I guess living in an underground room with nothing but the stench of your own filth really amplifies what you notice on the outside.
"It is good to see you smile."
Calum's voice yanks me back to reality and reminds me that while I have some semblance of freedom, I am nonetheless still a captive. The smile I hadn't even been aware I was wearing slips from my face.
"The Grandmothers wish to speak with you," he says, I assume to fill the uncomfortable silence that settles between us.
I blink.
"Your grandmas?"
What kind of sick family is this man from? Maybe he's not a bad guy- maybe he's just the victim of some sort of generational cult.
He chuckles, and shakes his head. "I forget- things are different in the Americas. You have an elected president at the head of your government, with a team of appointed advisors behind him, yes?"
When I nod, he smiles.
"Good. I'm glad there are some similarities between our worlds. The way the Sagwu-Dhaoine operate is somewhat similar. The Righ is a hereditary position, and his advisors are the grandmothers of the clans."
"The Righ?"
"The closest translation would be King, I believe, but it is not quite the same. I do not wield the same sort of power as a King of England."
I startle to a stop, staring at him, my mouth agape.
"You're telling me that you're the king."
Okay. It's worse than I thought. He's not just a crazy person. He's a crazy person with delusions of grandeur.
He shakes his head. "Not a King. A Righ. A King answers to no one. I answer to the Council of Grandmothers, and the Lairds of the Clans serve as checks and balances to my power."
His fantasy has depth and complexity, I'll give him that.
"If you're the... Righ.." I struggle to imitate the slight growl at the end of the word and am only mildly successful, "Why would you need me to solve your wife's- mate's- murder? Couldn't you just order the police to only focus on that case?"
He eyes me. "What are police?"
I give him a sidelong look, trying to gauge whether he is truly ignorant, or if he is pretending not to know. He looks genuinely confused by the term.
