“What is it the Harendellians say about their yellow eyes?”
“Beware the amber eyes of Cardiff,” Keris said, his skin crawling, the sensation making him want to look back in their wake at the kingdom he was leaving behind.
“Full sail south!” Aren shouted. “Let’s take advantage of this wind.”
THE PASSAGE OF time lost meaning with each day Zarrah remained trapped on the island, her
waking hours consumed with the endless hunt for food. Stalking birds across increasingly
barren terrain. Dropping nets off the cliff into the channel to catch the occasional fish. Digging for anything living under rocks and deadfall. Zarrah came to understand the prisoners who nursed trees. To understand the need to obsess about something so as to have some modicum of hope in one’s heart that escape was possible. For though she’d spent hours assessing the perimeter of the prison, watching the patterns of guards, and examining the flow of the water, Zarrah had failed to discover any method of escape that wasn’t death.
“Patience,” Daria repeated over and over. “They will come for us. Our focus must remain on staying strong and remembering that all we must do to survive will be worth it when we liberate Valcotta from Petra’s tyranny.”
Yet even Daria had her habits, never missing a morning of visiting each guard tower on the southern half of the island to spit curses at those manning them. “Catharsis,” was all she’d say when
Zarrah asked why she bothered, though with the way the guards laughed and mocked the woman, Zarrah didn’t understand how the routine made Daria feel any better.
Kian’s tribe made multiple attempts to rescue Zarrah, all of which resulted in casualties on both sides. When she wasn’t putting her mind to the challenge of escape, Zarrah questioned time and again why she was of such value to the other tribe leader that he’d risk so much to try to take her. If Daria knew, she wasn’t admitting it, and the rest of the tribe seemed equally in the dark.
And much less willing to stay silent about it.
“What about her makes all the trouble worth it?” Zarrah had heard more than a few say. “Give her to Kian so that he pisses off. We don’t need this going into winter. How many have been lost just for the sake of keeping one useless woman? She’s not even one of us. What would the commander say about us harboring one of Petra’s soldiers?”
“You think I hold any love for her?” Zarrah had snapped. “She put me in here, too.”
“But you deserved it,” the woman retorted. “You’re a murderer—the rest of us just had the audacity to speak our minds.”
It ground at her nerves not to clap back with the truth, but to these people, the truth would be far worse, so Zarrah bit her tongue. And when Daria assigned her most loyal warriors to watch over her, she didn’t argue, understanding the very real risk that one of the rebels might betray her to Kian. Saam followed at her heels everywhere she went, whether it be to hunt or fish, or even to relieve herself in the woods. Oppressive, yes. But better than the alternative.
Except it couldn’t go on forever.
“If Kian keeps up with his attacks, your people will revolt,” Zarrah said to Daria as they sat next to each other at a fire, eating their respective dinners. “We need to do something to dissuade him, or you may as well hand me over, for that will be the end result.”
Daria set her bowl on the ground, and Zarrah glanced at the contents, wondering where she’d found the meat. Stolen from Kian, perhaps, and it made Zarrah wonder if his attacks were also retaliations.
Whether she was the scapegoat for the cost of the rebels’ thieving. “What do you propose?”
“Go on the offensive,” Zarrah answered immediately, for this was the first time the woman had asked for her opinion. “He guards the food, but what we really need is his weapons.”
It hadn’t taken her long to notice that the other tribe was far better armed, and Saam had told her it was because the other tribe had nets across the channel and salvaged whatever the whirlpool dragged in from shipwrecks, including steel. They’d apparently set up some form of rudimentary forge, which allowed them to create the swords and knives they all carried. That any blacksmith worth his salt would spit at the quality meant little when the weapons were being used against sharpened sticks.
barren terrain. Dropping nets off the cliff into the channel to catch the occasional fish. Digging
“If we steal enough of them, we might be able to launch an offensive strong enough to take the beach,” Zarrah added. “That would change the game, Daria. We’d get the supplies; we’d get first trees. To understand the need to obsess about something so as to have some modicum of hope in one’s crack at salvaging everything the whirlpool sucks in, most especially the fish! It’s not like you aren’t raiding him already.” She gestured to the bowl.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Daria muttered, picking up her food and continuing to eat, though she showed little appetite for it. “Kian will fight to the death to keep the beach because he knows losing it will only mean a slower death for him and his tribe.”
“Your whole tribe survives out here,” Zarrah pointed out. “Over a hundred people. I think if push came to shove, he’d concede rather than die.”
“Perhaps.” Daria shoved a piece of the pale meat into her mouth, chewing mechanically.
She’d pushed too hard—that much was apparent—so Zarrah switched tactics. “If we could steal enough weapons, it would be enough to dissuade him from attacking us. We could distribute them to
those on watch, and he’d think twice about raiding. Even if we left it at that, it would be something.”
“Enough to save your neck.”
Zarrah flinched at the sharpness of Daria’s voice. “I truly want what is best for all of us, Daria. I understand the sacrifices that have occurred to keep me out of Kian’s hands, even if I don’t understand why either of you feels so motivated to protect me. If there is something that can be done to end the raids, I’ll gladly fight to achieve it. Especially since if I prove my worth on the battlefield, those who think you’re better off without me might change their minds.”
Daria finished her dinner and tossed the bowl aside.
“Let me prove my worth,” Zarrah pressed, desperate to take some form of action to improve their chances. To prove not just to the rebels, but to herself, that their fight to keep her out of Kian’s hands was not for nothing. “Let me fight for you.”
Daria was silent; then she turned to Zarrah, brown eyes serious. “Every battle brings risks. You
“But you deserved it,” the woman retorted. “You’re a murderer—the rest of us just had the audacitycould be killed.”
Zarrah knew that better than anyone here, given she’d spent her adult life warring with Maridrina.
“I know. But there’s a chance lives that might otherwise be lost will be saved, especially if we’re worse, so Zarrah bit her tongue. And when Daria assigned her most loyal warriors to watch over her, clever.”
she didn’t argue, understanding the very real risk that one of the rebels might betray her to Kian. Saam