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About the Authors

Barbara and Stephanie Keating grew up in Kenya. One sister now lives in France and the other in Dublin. Their first novel was the bestselling To My Daughter in France. . . .

ALSO BY BARBARA & STEPHANIE KEATING

To My Daughter in France . . .

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Dedication

FOR THE KANISAS

Blood Sisters

Barbara & Stephanie Keating

Prologue

He had been running for more than two hours, his breath heaving in and out now, in ragged gasps. His body was drenched in sweat. It ran in rivulets down his greased torso, through the crusting of dried blood, sliding under the beaded wrist and arm ornaments, the copper leg bracelets and the leather loincloth which was all he wore. All around him, the bush rustled with the sound of creatures hunting for food. The African night reverberated with the heavy cough of a lion calling to his mate and the manic cackle of a hyena behind him on the plains. In the distance there was a rumble of buffalo, moving between their grazing grounds and the winding course of the river. The warrior heard none of these. He was only aware of his own breath, the saw and rasp of it, in and out, and the screaming that still echoed in his head.

There should have been only one at the killing ground, one man to scream, to beg, to plead for mercy. But he had remained silent to the last. Only his eyes spoke his contempt for his executioner, until the warrior could face their judgment no longer and his bloodied knife scoured out their condemnation for ever. He had not expected that there would be so much blood, or that the ripe, sweet smell would stay all this time in his nostrils. His body seemed to reek of it as he ran. Every predator in the bush must be able to smell him. Like the hyena. It had come for the blood, hunching and shuffling through the bush with its rank breath, and its matted, spotty coat. Drawn by the smell of death, and the promise of flesh and bone to tear.