The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1) by Tom Wright, K.L. Gee

warriors from his tribe immediately circled around him. Skeet quickly went to his side.
    “There will be some intending to kill you, I’m sure,” Skeet said with a grin. His grief had melted away as quickly as the dawn dispels the darkness in the morning.
    Hakon looked through the crowd of gathered tribes to see who had called him. Three individuals were advancing toward them, all wearing thick black bear coats—a woman warrior probably a few years his senior, a male warrior his age, and a boy not much older then Isis.
    Skeet leaned in and whispered to Hakon. “It’s the Three Winds. Windfather’s tribe.” Hakon then noticed the similarities between the three—they were siblings. “Jocki, Bavol, and Tadi.”
    “Prince!” the woman, Jocki, called again. “You soil this place with your breath! No one but Terra may enter The Drums.” She held up her claws as part evidence and threat. Her brother, Bavol, spit in Hakon’s direction.
    “I am one of you,” Hakon said.
    The three of them laughed. The youngest boy, Tadi, who looked no older than twelve years, shoved aside a warrior to get to Hakon. Hakon’s companions drew daggers.
    “What color are your eyes?” Tadi asked, getting as close to Hakon as his tribesmen would allow. Hakon put his hand on his dagger, and the others waited. It wasn’t right to make the first strike unless you were dueling. Tadi looked in Hakon’s eyes. “Gray, like ash. Nothing living in those eyes. You are not one of us, Alem , no matter what the cursed tribe of Kaldin decided.”
    The boy smiled and stepped back.
    “Are you asking for a duel?” Skeet asked, a wicked smile on his face. His dagger was drawn, his fists turning red. The Three Winds looked eager to fight, and all the warriors around Hakon tensed up.
    Hakon had to stop this. The tribes had hardly just arrived. He stepped back and away from all the warriors. “I will sleep outside. We are not here to fight one another. We are here to fight the real enemy.” He directed his last words to Skeet, willing him to lower his dagger.
    Bavol laughed. “By the enemy, you mean your father?”
    Hakon gritted his teeth. He picked up his skins for bedding and turned, walking toward the upward passageways that led to caves outside along the sides of the mountain. The sound of laughter echoed behind him. Skeet followed him, grabbing his shoulder.
    “You coward.” Skeet didn’t hide his disgust. “They insulted our tribe.”
    “Don’t call me a coward, Skeet.”
    “Well, you’re running away, aren’t you?”
    Hakon turned to Skeet. “I can’t be seen as hotheaded. They must trust me. All of them.” Hakon pushed past Skeet. Gage was up ahead, watching them. “Besides,” Hakon added, “The Drums feel like they’re beating inside my head. It will do me good to sleep outside.”
    Skeet stood dumbfounded behind him as Hakon left. Hakon didn’t look back to see if the Three Winds were still provoking a fight with his other tribesmen. If they did, he wouldn’t be a part of it. Gage approached him on the higher walkway.
    “You will be ready to fight when the time comes, Hakon?”
    Hakon nodded.
    After a series of tunnels and passageways, Hakon finally made it outside. Only when he had set up a makeshift camp in a tree amid a small cave of rocks, did he let the rage and hurt swell up inside him.
    The enemy, your father?
    The words beat into his mind, in pace with the rhythm from the mountains, lulling him to finally fall asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Kara eyed the feast spread across the long table of the banquet hall. Roast pig, potatoes, shallots, crested pies and tarts, jugs of wine and beer. The crowning feature was a heap of fresh deer and dog that sat amid the meat. Apples and the fruits of the season lay around it, garnishing the table. Kara grabbed an apple and slipped it into the coats of her dress. She knew she would eat whatever she wanted until she was full, but it was an old habit of hers: snitching from the kitchen on