“Then you know I am above the law.”
Not the slightest bit true, and Zarrah could tell from how the guard’s eyes narrowed that she knew it, but the woman only said, “It is not the Empress’s law, Highness. It is the law of the island.”
What does that even mean? Zarrah wondered.
Bermin spat on the deck. “Spare me your mutterings. I will deliver the prisoner myself. All who stand in my way will suffer for it.”
The guard lifted one shoulder. “So be it.”
They forced her into the waiting longboat, Bermin’s grip on her wrists tight enough to leave bruises as they released the moorings holding the small vessel in place. No one picked up the oars, but the boat moved swiftly toward the devil’s tongue, caught in the current sucked into its maw. Only as they drew close did they run out the oars, steering the boat down the left side of the curved pier to where guards waited next to a ladder with ropes.
Bermin lifted her out of the boat as though she were a child. The waiting guards forced Zarrah to her knees while the rest disembarked, and she took the chance to assess her surroundings. More men and women watched from the fortified guard posts at the points where the half-moon pier met the island, bows held loosely in their hands, all watchful. Above the guard posts, steps were carved into the rock, leading a switchback route to the top. The only route onto the island other than into the mouth.
“On your feet!” Bermin dragged her upward, the tips of her boots scuffing on the stone pier as they moved to the center of the half-moon and then down the tongue to where a tiny boat was moored.
“You have two choices,” the female guard said. “Follow the lanterns to the devil’s heart and linger as long as he’ll have you, or row to his teeth and allow him to feast. Either way, he will have your soul.”
Zarrah didn’t bother answering, only stared at the ominous gap in the cliff face. Driftwood flowed into it with alarming speed, the force of the current dispelling any thoughts she might have about rowing against it. Once she was inside the prison, the only way out would be to pledge loyalty to her The prison was infamous, the tales about the island itself as numerous as those whispered about the aunt. If there was a way out at all …
Which meant the time to fight was now.
Zarrah slammed her heel down on Bermin’s instep and was rewarded with a snarl of pain and a loosening of his grip. Jerking free, she shouldered past the female guard and sprinted up the pier, praying that whatever arrangements Bermin had made would keep them from shooting her.
She barely made it a dozen steps before weight slammed into her back, crushing her against the pier. Zarrah kicked out her heels. Once. Twice. Curses filled the night air, but then hands gripped her legs. Her arms. Her throat.
She tried to suck in a breath, but the hands tightened. Panic flooded her veins and Zarrah clawed at the hands, but others restrained her. She needed to breathe—God, please help her—she needed air.
The Empress had been lying. Or Bermin hated Zarrah enough that he didn’t care about the consequences of defying his mother’s orders. The world faded away, but just before blackness
“None who step foot on the island may ever leave,” the woman said. “Not even those who guard itsconsumed her, Bermin said, “You don’t deserve my mercy, traitor.”
Zarrah only managed to drag in one breath before her cousin lifted her, carrying her to the end of the pier. Then she was flying. Falling.
Her back struck the bottom of the boat, driving the air from her lungs as pain lanced down her spine.
“No!” she tried to scream, but it came out as a wheeze around her gag. “Please!” Zarrah rolled onto her belly, reaching up her bound wrists to the guards, who stared down at her with merciless eyes.
Everyone who came to this island was a demon who deserved punishment, and nameless as she was, there was no reason for them to believe her different.
If she went into this place, either it would consume her soul or the Empress would.
Bermin unfastened the mooring line, allowing the current to draw the boat away from the pier until he held only the very end of the rope. Screaming around her gag, Zarrah reached for one of the oars with her bound hands, trying to back paddle, but she only succeeded in swinging the vessel sideways.
They forced her into the waiting longboat, Bermin’s grip on her wrists tight enough to leave bruises She needed both oars. Needed both hands.
Reaching up, she wrenched the gag from her mouth, then bit at the knot binding her wrists, but it was tied too tight.
Bermin let go of the rope.
Bending her knees, Zarrah jumped, fingers catching the edge of the pier, the current dragging at her feet and trying to pull her loose.
Zarrah struggled to keep her grip on the wet rock. Climb, she ordered herself. Get your leg up. But then she felt warm breath against her bare hands. “Bermin,” she gasped. “I know you hate me, but think of Valcotta. Think of the lives that could be saved if she were removed from power.”
Her cousin’s dark eyes regarded her for a long moment, and then he whispered, “I agree, little Zarrah. Valcotta needs fresh blood on the throne to keep it strong.” A knife appeared in his hand, and he sliced through the bindings on her wrist before straightening to his feet. Zarrah sucked in a breath of relief as she steadied her grip on the edge, about to pull herself upward.
“You have two choices,” the female guard said. “Follow the lanterns to the devil’s heart and linger
“But it won’t be you.” Bermin’s boot lifted, then came down with crushing force on her fingers.
Zarrah screamed as she lost her grip and frigid water closed over her head, the current immediately dragging her backward.
Swim.
Her legs churned, driving her to the surface, only for panic to flood her veins as the current took her toward the opening in the cliffs. Her eyes fixed on her cousin, who stood with his arms crossed as she was sucked into the devil’s maw.
The Empress had been lying. Or Bermin hated Zarrah enough that he didn’t care about the consequences of defying his mother’s orders. The world faded away, but just before blackness consumed her, Bermin said, “You don’t deserve my mercy, traitor.”
Zarrah only managed to drag in one breath before her cousin lifted her, carrying her to the end of the pier. Then she was flying. Falling.
Her back struck the bottom of the boat, driving the air from her lungs as pain lanced down her spine.
“No!” she tried to scream, but it came out as a wheeze around her gag. “Please!” Zarrah rolled onto her belly, reaching up her bound wrists to the guards, who stared down at her with merciless eyes.
Everyone who came to this island was a demon who deserved punishment, and nameless as she was, there was no reason for them to believe her different.
If she went into this place, either it would consume her soul or the Empress would.
Bermin unfastened the mooring line, allowing the current to draw the boat away from the pier until he held only the very end of the rope. Screaming around her gag, Zarrah reached for one of the oars with her bound hands, trying to back paddle, but she only succeeded in swinging the vessel sideways.
She needed both oars. Needed both hands.
Reaching up, she wrenched the gag from her mouth, then bit at the knot binding her wrists, but it was tied too tight.