Run back to the ship. Run back to Maridrina. Run from the fact that Zarrah was imprisoned on an island full of criminals because she’d made the mistake of loving him.
Keris’s temper snapped, and he half rose, looming over the sailor. “You will fucking row,” he shouted, “or I will cut your throat and feed you to the sharks, then row myself! Do you understand?”
The man shrank downward, face pale as he nodded. The longboat resumed its course toward the black opening in the cliffs.
You are your father’s son. Veliant to the core.
“The shipbreakers aren’t a warning.” He adjusted his cloak. “They’re a reminder.”
“And just what is Aren of Ithicana reminding you of, Your Grace?” Dax called over the growing thunder of the waves striking the cliffs. “Because it ain’t to wash behind your ears.”
Keris stared at the opening in the cliff, the entrance to Eranahl drawing closer with every stroke of the oars, the scene wholly wild and unfamiliar. “He’s reminding me that this is Ithicana.” The waves lifted the boat, hurling it into the volcano. There was no turning back now. “And in Ithicana, we play by his rules.”
WITH HER EYES fixed on the grey gulls pecking among the rocks, Zarrah’s arm trembled as she lifted the spear, which was nothing more than a long stick she had sharpened by rubbing it against a rock. You get one chance, she told herself. Get it right.
She was so hungry. Hungry in a way she’d never known, the endless gnawing in her stomach
plaguing her day and night, bad enough that she sometimes doubled over in pain. She was nauseous and dizzy, the few grubs and worms she’d dug up from beneath rocks and then gagged down having done little to sate her.
As Daria had warned her, the tribe gave her nothing to eat.
Day after day, she watched them devour what they’d caught, only children and family units exempt from the rule of sharing. Though the smell of the meat they’d caught or stolen from Kian’s tribe made her mouth salivate and her eyes burn with need, she didn’t begrudge them the rule. Not after hearing their stories. Her aunt taxed heavily to fund the war, and anyone who protested was silenced. Anyone who questioned her changes to the law was silenced. Anyone who questioned her attempts to stymie trade was silenced. The list of things individuals had been arrested for protesting was as varied as
the people themselves, but at their core was the same crime: speaking out against the Empress. They weren’t just fighting to survive; they were fighting for a higher purpose, and when that day came, it would be the strongest at the ready.
The gull turned sideways.
Now.
She threw her spear, heart in her throat as it soared through the air, because she wanted to be the strongest. Needed to be strongest, so that she would be in the vanguard of those who would liberate Valcotta from her aunt’s tyranny.
Crunch.
Her spear punched through the gull, both weapon and bird disappearing over the side of the rocks.
Zarrah was already moving.
Bits of rock exploded from her feet as she sprinted, irrationally terrified that she’d missed, that the bird would be gone, that one of her competitors for life in this cursed place had snatched up her prey and even now consumed it.
Rounding the rocks, she skidded to a stop, her eyes latching on to the dead bird, her spear still stuck through its side.
Zarrah fell to her knees, hands shaking as she pulled the creature free, its still eyes seeming to watch her. Blood stained its grey feathers, and her whole body quivered with the desire to rip into it, to consume it raw so as to put an end to the grinding pain in her belly. Her fingers dug in—
Only for a slow clap to capture her attention.
Zarrah snatched up her spear and whirled, bird still clutched in her hand as her eyes lighted upon Daria, who stood a dozen paces away, grinning and clapping.
“Well done.”
The other woman approached, and Zarrah clutched her prize to her chest and lifted her spear, instinct demanding she protect it at all costs. But Daria only lifted her hands in a pacifying gesture.
“Peace, Zarrah. The same rules apply to me as they do to you—I steal, I lose a hand. The prize is yours, but don’t allow your hunger to turn you into a beast who devours its prey raw.”
Shame burned in Zarrah’s chest that her intent had been so obvious, and she lowered the bird from where it was clutched to her chest. “Apologies.”
Daria snorted. “No need to apologize—there’s not a soul on this island who hasn’t considered doing the same.” Catching hold of Zarrah’s elbow, she tugged her in the direction of the camp. “But to fixed on the grey gulls pecking among the rocks, Zarrah’s arm trembled as shegive in is to allow the bitch on the throne victory over us. She wants us to devolve into beasts with no thought for anything but satisfying our own hunger because it means we are no threat to her. Wants to watch her enemies snapping at one another’s scraps while she feasts.”
You will starve and suffer while he feasts. Her aunt’s words filled her head, and Zarrah shook it sharply to clear it.
“She sent us here to destroy us,” Daria said. “What she doesn’t realize is that we have taken her punishment and turned it into a training ground to become our strongest. When we are freed, we will be her damnation. But only if we keep our focus, only if we hold on to human purpose, and that”—she patted Zarrah on the back—“means plucking and cooking that bird before you eat it.”
Zarrah nodded, the other woman’s words a balm to the pain in her core, and though hunger still lurked, she found her steps calm and steady as they approached the camp. Some of the prisoners were playing handball, a game that had once been so popular in Valcotta that massive stadiums had been built, with great crowds coming to watch the game masters direct the players on the whispering courts. Zarrah had been to matches as a child, though her aunt had detested the game and banned it not
long after her sister, Zarrah’s mother, had been murdered by Silas. People still played and bet on the sly, though, and she smiled to see the rebels defying her law by playing it in the prison. “When will the rebels come to liberate you?” she asked. “Have you had communication from them?”
“They’ll come when they are ready to make their move against her,” Daria answered. “To free us before they are ready would mean drawing her wrath down upon them before they’ve the strength to defeat her, destroying all that we have worked for. We need to be patient. As to how I know their intentions, every time Petra imprisons one of my comrades, they bring certainty that we’ve not been forgotten.”
Patience had never been her strong suit, but Zarrah had bided her time before and would do it again, so she nodded.
“Here.” Daria handed her a knife. “For the bird. Waste nothing, for another will not be swiftly forthcoming.”
Stopping at the outskirts of the camp, Zarrah cleaned and dressed the gull before spitting it over a fire, the other members of the tribe applauding her success but keeping a respectful distance. She remained on her knees next to the fire while the bird cooked, her eyes and mind entirely fixated on the meal to come, though she waited until it was fully done. Grease burned her fingers as she pulled loose the first bite, but she didn’t feel the heat as her teeth sank into the first real meal she’d had since being taken off the ship.