Keris had gone with them, so he’d been there when they’d chanced a bit of light for a closer look.
Every single one of the Ithicanians had gone silent at the sight. Aren cursed, then said, “It’s made of the same fucking material as the bridge.”
Smooth as freshly poured mortar, with not a crack or handhold in sight, dashing Keris’s hopes that he could climb even as it had poured fresh trepidation into his veins.
For, like the bridge, Devil’s Island had been made.
Whether by the hands of God or some advanced society lost to time, this place had been created to be the perfect prison, and even Lara’s face had gone grim at the revelation when they’d returned to the ship.
They’d retreated a safe distance to discuss their options, but it was now well into afternoon, and no ideas were forthcoming.
“A barren place.”
Keris glanced sideways at Lara, who’d come to stand next to him at the rail. Beyond, Aren paced the deck. “How are you feeling?”
Lara didn’t move her eyes from the small rocky island near them, the only life in sight scraggly conifers, the occasional bird, and the seals on the beaches. “Just tired, for the most part.” She was quiet for a long time, then added, “This has never happened to me before. I’ve been injured many times in my life and always recovered swiftly, but this time …”
“There’s a difference between being injured and dying, only to be brought back and then nearly die again.”
Her jaw tightened. “Aren makes it sound worse than it was, and my recovery is hardly our primary concern.”
Keris made a non-committal noise, for he expected Lara’s injuries had been every bit as bad as Aren had indicated. But she was right about their concerns, so he said nothing when she switched subjects.
“In a perfect world, we’d have time to learn more about this place before venturing closer,” Lara said. “But everything about this prison is well guarded, so even if we had time, we might well have ended up at this point.”
“Hopeless?”
She cast him a dark look. “Dramatics won’t help. We’ve been here less than a day—keep in mind that it took weeks of thought and planning and spying to break Aren out of the Vencia palace.”
“Zarrah doesn’t have weeks,” he muttered. “What we need is a stroke of luck, but Lady Fortune rarely favors me.”
“Ship off the starboard bow,” the lookout shouted. “It flies the Valcottan flag!”
“Shit,” Lara hissed.
chapped his cheeks and made his fingers ache, how the cold sank into his bones, chilling him from the Keris’s stomach sank, and he cursed himself for speaking of luck.
The other Ithicanians donned their costumes and took their places, and Aren motioned to Keris and Lara to join him. “Follow my lead,” Aren said once they’d reached him. “I’m going to tell them we hit rocks and damaged the rudder. Buy us some time to linger, though we’ll have to do it under their watch. Keris, put on your damn blindfold.”
That was the last thing Keris wanted to do, but he dutifully wrapped the linen around his eyes. In combination with the dim light, he could see little.
“Steady,” Aren muttered, and Keris heard waves hitting the hull of the approaching ship. Flapping sails and barked orders. “Prepare to be boarded,” a deep voice shouted, and moments later, heavy thunks of hooks striking wood filled Keris’s ears.
“They’re boarding,” Lara murmured. “And they aren’t happy we are here.”
“Greetings.” Aren’s voice again carried the accent of a Cardiffian sailor. “How can we be of service?”
“Passage on these waters is prohibited,” the deep voice called, and Keris was struck by its familiarity. “State your business for being here.”
“We were blown off course in the night,” Aren answered. “Rudder was damaged, and we’ve
dropped anchor to repair it. We carry Cardiffian merchants seeking to form business partnerships in be the perfect prison, and even Lara’s face had gone grim at the revelation when they’d returned to thethe south. Relationships that do not include Ithicana and its bridge.”
“You think I’m going to trust your words, you squirrely-eyed warlock?” the Valcottan snarled. “If They’d retreated a safe distance to discuss their options, but it was now well into afternoon, and noyou’re transporting goods from Teraford to the Maridrinians, you’re in violation of the Empress’s blockade.”
Aren answered, “You wound me, my friend. We would not dare to cross the Empress. Check our hold—we carry no goods from Teraford, only those brought from Cardiff to show Valcottan merchants whose aspirations have been stymied by Ithicana’s relationship with Harendell.”
Silence stretched, and Keris wished above all else that he could see the Valcottan’s expression so that he might judge his intention. But Lara chose to start chanting. It was a nursery rhyme about animals gobbling up other animals, but in the sharp Cardiffian tongue with the bones and skulls on her headdress clattering together, it was eerie and strange.
“There’s a difference between being injured and dying, only to be brought back and then nearly die
“What’s she going on about?” the Valcottan man demanded.
Aren coughed as Lara repeated the rhyme. “The waters here are cursed. She sings a spell asking Her jaw tightened. “Aren makes it sound worse than it was, and my recovery is hardly our primary them to leave us in peace.”
The Valcottans muttered uneasily from their ship.
“We need to inspect your hold,” the deep-voiced man said, clearly unnerved by Lara’s
performance. “Once you’ve made your repairs, you must leave these waters, or there will be consequences.”
“Of course,” Aren answered, seemingly nonplussed by the threat. “Would you like a glass of wine to wet your tongue while you inspect, my friend? We’ve Amaridian vintage aboard.”
“No.” The Valcottan ordered his soldiers to move onto the other ship even as Aren ordered his crew and passengers to remain above decks. “We aren’t here for pleasure.”
“Who are you, my friend?” Aren asked. “I am Egil Skallagrimsson, known also as the Iron Fist of Cardiff. This woman is my spellspeaker Grimhilde, known as the Silver Tongue, and my
astrologer”—he paused, and Keris sensed eyes on him—“Ulf.”
If anxiety hadn’t been coursing through his veins, Keris would have rolled his eyes, but the Valcottan leaned closer to him, breath smelling like garlic. “Why is he blindfolded?”
“Because the only light he can see is the stars,” Aren answered, and Keris’s skin crawled at the verity of that statement. “He is no one.”
“He’s familiar.” The man’s face was only inches from his, and it took all of Keris’s self-control not to react. “Show your face.”
“If he sees light other than the stars, he loses his ability to see the future within them, which will harm my business.” Aren’s voice turned cold. “I would be entitled to recompense from you, Captain
…？”