In less than a minute, I was surrounded by Crowe men.
Some carried axes. Others held long wooden staffs. Every face glared down at me like I was something to be put down.
"Told you this one was crafty. Trying to sneak off in the middle of the night!"
"Doesn't matter. Run her through the standard process."
"Even the most stubborn women can't survive the third ordeal. By the end they're either broken or brain-dead. Either way, they stop fighting."
Declan had told me about the old customs of his tribe, the ones he despised. He'd mentioned the Three Ordeals.
The tribe needed outside women to stay, to bear children for their men. They couldn't kill the women outright, or there'd be no one left to carry on their bloodlines. So they'd devised methods that stopped just short of death.
The first ordeal: the Itch Pool.
A bath brewed from a toxic plant. The moment it touched skin, a rash erupted across the body, an itch so maddening it could drive a person to claw their own flesh raw.
The second ordeal: the Cactus Pit.