“Bermin Anaphora.” Bermin sneered in disgust. “And I care not for your pagan—”
“Prince Bermin Anaphora?” Aren’s elbow bumped Keris’s arm as he bowed with a flourish.
“Apologies, Highness, we did not know.” Then he kicked at Keris’s knees. “Kneel before your betters!”
Keris ground his teeth but did so. As did Lara, who fell to her knees, face pressed to the ground, still muttering away in Cardiffian.
“You are to be the next emperor of Valcotta,” Aren said. “It’s an honor to have you on my ship, Your Highness.”
Even with his eyes on Bermin’s boots, Keris could feel the man preening. Had to fight the urge not to stab him in the foot just to wipe that satisfied smile from his face.
“It is right and good that the Empress has chosen you, her son,” Aren said. “But tell me, what crime did your cousin commit to cause Her Imperial Majesty to execute her?”
Clever.
“Zarrah’s fate is not the concern of Cardiff,” Bermin answered. “Whereas the contents of your hold are a concern of mine. ”
“Of course, of course,” Aren started to say, but then Lara began moaning and swatting at the deck hold—we carry no goods from Teraford, only those brought from Cardiff to show Valcottan merchantsnear Bermin’s feet, hissing, “I see hands, I see hands!”
“Get away from me, witch!” The Prince stepped away, but his back struck the wall, and some of the other soldiers moved close.
“Her spirit is here!” Lara slapped the deck again, then recoiled violently. “Here for vengeance! I animals gobbling up other animals, but in the sharp Cardiffian tongue with the bones and skulls on her see her!”
Though he knew this was an act, chills ran across Keris’s skin, and his stomach twisted in knots.
It’s not real, he told himself. This is all the pretense of a trained spy. An actress.
“You see nothing,” Bermin snapped. “Silence yourself, witch!”
Soldiers moved to drag Lara away, but abruptly, she arched her back. “I see her! Beautiful as the midnight sky, dark of hair and eyes, freckles on her cheeks and fury in her heart. She has been betrayed and will have vengeance!”
The soldiers stirred, one of them muttering, “It’s Zarrah. She sees Zarrah.”
“She doesn’t fucking see Zarrah,” Bermin shouted. “Because Zarrah isn’t dead.”
“Betrayed by the one who loved her like a child,” Lara moaned. “She will not rest until she has vengeance.”
“Zarrah’s ghost is here …” One of the soldiers backed away from Lara, the other one wavering.
“The Empress shouldn’t have put her on the island.”
“Zarrah was a traitor!” Bermin roared.
The soldier took another backward step. “Then she deserved a traitor’s death, not the island. Now the cannibals have consumed her, and Zarrah’s spirit has come for us.”
Bermin lunged, reaching across Lara to grab the soldier by the front of her uniform, shaking her hard. “Zarrah isn’t dead,” he roared in her face. “The cannibals won’t eat her—they only eat their enemies. This witch is cursed with madness, not truth, and yet you tremble like a child. You are a soldier of Valcotta—behave like one!”
“He’s familiar.” The man’s face was only inches from his, and it took all of Keris’s self-control not Cannibals.
Horror filled Keris’s guts, but Lara’s act had rattled the Valcottan prince enough that he was spewing information that he should not. Which begged the question of what else he might say.
Beneath the edge of his mask, Keris watched the wheels turning in his sister’s eyes, her lips parting to push Bermin, to see what else she might learn, despite the Prince seething with unchecked violence.
“The stars tell a different story,” Keris said before Lara could goad Bermin further. “They say the devils have consumed the rightful heir.”
Bermin’s whole body went stiff, the flush on his brown cheeks draining, everyone present seeming to hold their breath.
Then, in a burst of motion, Bermin released his soldier and whirled, his boot flying out. Keris could’ve dodged it, but instead he took the blow in the stomach. The impact slammed him backward against the wall. Bermin was on him a heartbeat later, the tip of his knife puncturing the blindfold over Keris’s right eye. “Perhaps it is better you see nothing at all, you pagan piece of shit,” Bermin
“It is right and good that the Empress has chosen you, her son,” Aren said. “But tell me, what crime whispered, his breath hot.
Stinging pain seared his eyelid, a trickle of blood running down to pool in the corner of his eye, but Keris kept still. Silent. For though he’d cursed his eyes most of his life, he had no interest in losing
“Zarrah’s fate is not the concern of Cardiff,” Bermin answered. “Whereas the contents of your hold one of them.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Aren said. “They are taught to speak of what they see with no regard for whether anyone cares to listen. Ignore their prattling and let us carry on with inspections of our hold and passenger berths.”
“I’ve no interest in your cursed hold, Cardiffian,” Bermin snarled. “Get your rudder fixed and remove yourself from these waters, else find you and yours beneath them.”
Without another word, Bermin strode toward the ladder, his soldiers following on his heels.
Beneath the edge of his mask, Keris watched the wheels turning in his sister’s eyes, her lips parting
Bermin’s whole body went stiff, the flush on his brown cheeks draining, everyone present seeming to hold their breath.
Then, in a burst of motion, Bermin released his soldier and whirled, his boot flying out. Keris could’ve dodged it, but instead he took the blow in the stomach. The impact slammed him backward against the wall. Bermin was on him a heartbeat later, the tip of his knife puncturing the blindfold over Keris’s right eye. “Perhaps it is better you see nothing at all, you pagan piece of shit,” Bermin whispered, his breath hot.
Stinging pain seared his eyelid, a trickle of blood running down to pool in the corner of his eye, but Keris kept still. Silent. For though he’d cursed his eyes most of his life, he had no interest in losing one of them.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Aren said. “They are taught to speak of what they see with no regard for whether anyone cares to listen. Ignore their prattling and let us carry on with inspections of our hold and passenger berths.”
“I’ve no interest in your cursed hold, Cardiffian,” Bermin snarled. “Get your rudder fixed and remove yourself from these waters, else find you and yours beneath them.”
Without another word, Bermin strode toward the ladder, his soldiers following on his heels.
THEY MOVED RIGHT after dusk, a small force of twelve split into groups of three. Zarrah was with Saam and Daria. Her only weapons were a spear with a sharpened wooden point and a
knife formed of scrap metal that Daria had given her, but Zarrah felt no fear as they crawled on their bellies across the clear-cut at the top of the island, keeping low in the shadows as they slipped between gaps in the rocks that formed the border of the two tribes.