They’re still alive.
I hadn’t dared to hope.
But they could be anywhere. They’re trying to survive in this land just as we are. Hunkering down somewhere, stealing food and supplies when they can get away with it.
We have to find them.
But first I have to get Kearan out of here.
“How do you intend to deal with him?” Kearan asks suddenly.
“What?” Zarian asks.
“How do you intend to stop the King of the Undersea from slaughtering all of you to add to his army of undead?”
Dynkinar says not a word in response after Zarian translates the question for her.
“I have a suggestion,” Kearan says to the Speaker. “My queen is coming. She does not leave sailors for dead. Queen Alosa has an entire fleet of ships at her disposal. I don’t know how many she’ll send for us, but I can’t imagine it would be less than three.”
Someone shifts uncomfortably within the tent.
“I assume that you only have the one galleon to fend off newcomers on this side of the island. You will lose it should you try to attack when she comes. So I propose this. Do not attack when she arrives. Let me explain the situation to her. Not only does she hold power over her people, but she is also the daughter of the siren queen. She has powers, but even if she alone is not enough, she can get the help of her people to put him back to sleep.”
Kearan’s words are met with silence. Then Zarian starts to translate.
Dynkinar’s response is clipped and abrupt, but I understand.
“You’re lying.”
“Clever of you to try,” the boy continues translating. “I will talk with the other Speakers. You will remain here until we can determine what to do with you and your crew. I want to set you free, Kearan, but we can’t have you and the others depleting our resources.”
And then she leaves. Finally I hear the tent rustling. I press myself into the snow as far as I possibly can.
I wait until I see Dynkinar and the boy to ensure they’re not crossing behind the tent. I don’t want to be in their sights. Even now I can hear more noises in the camp. Daylight must be near.
Crying interrupts my survey of the camp.
Crying from the tent.
I wonder for a moment if the guards have entered and started beating Kearan, for he sounds terrible.
“I’m so sorry, Sorinda,” he whispers. “I tried.”
Is he … crying for me?
The sound of it hurts my heart. It is a startling pain when so much of me is devoid of any sensation.
I use my dagger to cut through the dried skins and slip inside the tent.
Kearan is thoroughly tied to a series of crossed poles. They serve to both hold up the tent and keep him prisoner. His back is to me, but I can tell he’s not in great shape from the way his body is slumped. His crying quiets, as though he’s trying to get himself back under control.
On the floor far out of his reach, my rapier and remaining daggers rest. I take what’s mine before rounding the pole so I’m in Kearan’s line of sight. I put my finger to my lips.
Despite my clear caution to be quiet, Kearan sucks in a huge gasp. I immediately take my dagger to his bonds. They’re thicker than the rope I’m used to, made with wound animal hides.
Once his hands are free, Kearan wipes at his eyes. I can see that they haven’t treated him well. He’s sporting a swollen eye and a bloody nose. He rubs his wrists gingerly, and I begin on freeing his legs.
The guards are mere feet from us, just on the other side of that tent flap, so it’s impossible for us to speak to each other. I prefer it that way for now. Especially when he still has silent tears falling from his face. When he’s completely freed, I drop onto my hands and knees to look through the cut in the tent.
More people are rousing from their cabins. The way isn’t clear.
Shit.
I slip back inside and shake my head, but Kearan isn’t quite all the way there yet. He’s still staring at me as though I’m some sort of ghost.
There’s nothing for it. We can’t sneak out. We’ll have to act as though we belong.
I look outside once more, then gesture for Kearan to follow me when I don’t see anyone looking our way. When I rise to a standing position, I wait for Kearan to join me before moving away from the tent. He’s acting far from normal, with the way he’s looking at me, looking around. And I hardly blend in with the way I’m covered in soot, my clothing fire streaked.
I do the only thing I can think of and throw Kearan’s arm over my shoulder, blocking most of me from view and giving him something to focus on.
Contact.
“Act natural,” I whisper to him. “We have to walk out of their camp.”
“How are you alive?” he fires back.
“Not now. Focus.”
“I’m focused!”
“Hold,” a deep voice says, and Kearan and I freeze at being discovered.
Chapter 15
ONLY, AS I SURVEY our surroundings, I don’t see anyone talking to us. No, the order was given some thirty feet off to our right. One of the guards has his spear pointed at a newcomer who is entering the camp.
A man who isn’t wearing a shirt or boots.
The hair on my arms stands on end.
It’s him.
“I said hold!” the guard repeats. An alarm goes up in the camp, and more people rush toward the altercation. More men and women with weapons and hastily-thrown-on clothes. “We will attack if you don’t comply.”
“I’m not here for fighting,” Threydan says in their language. “I’m searching for my beloved. She was spotted entering this camp.”
My stomach twists, and I feel the need to vomit my stolen meal. Because I know he’s talking about me. Those parts of me that are missing? He has them. That’s why I can feel him. We’re connected. I think I might have stolen part of him, too, when I stabbed his heart. His weirdly solid heart.
Before I can look away, peacock-blue eyes fix on me. Threydan winks.
He shouts loudly, “Who’s in charge here?” He keeps walking, as though nothing scares him.
A spear is thrown his way, burying itself in his back. It goes clean through until it pokes out of his chest on the other side.
He looks down at the weapon, as if it is only a minor inconvenience.
“I came to talk, not fight,” Threydan says. “Last chance.”
“Restrain him!” comes Dynkinar’s shout as she runs to join the throng. “Don’t let him—”
But it’s too late. Threydan has pulled the spear all the way through. Now he has a weapon. He hurls it at the man who had been shouting at him to halt. It strikes him clean through the heart. He’s dead before he even hits the ground.
Threydan’s hand curls into a fist, and the dead man rises once more, his eyes now the same peacock blue, the color so vibrant, I can see it even from this distance. He turns on his own men, swinging a fist at his closest companion. Then he pulls the spear from his heart and uses it to jab at his friends. As they fall, more bodies rise with blue eyes.
Shit.
He really can raise the dead. If Threydan finishes what he started on me, will I become like that? A mindless undead puppet for him to control?
Threydan looks purposefully in my direction and makes a shooing motion with his hands.