There was a commotion at the border, shouts and posturing between the two tribes, and she risked sawing at another one of the ropes, only to freeze as footsteps approached. Turning her head, she scanned the shadows, picking out two forms.
“It’s her,” a strange voice said, a man, but oddly pitched. “The one you told Flay to watch over.
The one Flay must protect in exchange for faces.”
“You’ll get your faces,” Kian answered. “Now piss off, and don’t let me catch you listening in.”
The smaller shadow scuttled away in that strange skipping stride.
“Recruiting monsters to your cause?” she asked, trying to think of a way out of the situation and Yet Daria seemed more angry than afraid as she demanded, “Where are you, you sick little piece of coming up empty.
“Flay and his like see things in the woods that we miss, and it’s better if they think you’re more valuable alive than dead, though you’re not Flay’s type,” he answered. “We’ve been trying to get you alone to talk.”
“Why is that?” she asked. “Who am I to you beyond the niece of the woman who condemned you?
Why risk anything to help me?”
“Because you’re my ticket out of here.”
Zarrah paused in her sawing of the last rope, the answer unexpected. “How so? Who have you been bargaining with?”
“The rebels on the outside. They want you mighty bad, it appears.”
“Why would they deal with you when there is a whole camp of their comrades on this island?”
“Isn’t the answer obvious?”
She glared at him even though he couldn’t see her face, for it was most definitely not obvious.
small blade. She caught hold of the rope around her ankles, then immediately let go. “What the fuck is Kian gave a low chuckle. “You don’t know, do you?”
“This is getting tiresome, Kian.” She sawed harder, wanting to be on her feet for this conversation, not strung up like game. “What don’t I know?”
“What they eat.”
Gooseflesh crawled its way up her arms, her nerves jangling. “What are you talking about?”
He was already leaping out of the tree. The shadow squealed and ran away in panic. Saam dropped
“Your little rebel friends are not the paragons you want to believe,” Kian answered. “And it seems their friends on the outside don’t want anything to do with those who have turned cannibal.”
“Flay and his like see things in the woods that we miss, and it’s better if they think you’re more valuable alive than dead, though you’re not Flay’s type,” he answered. “We’ve been trying to get you alone to talk.”
“Why is that?” she asked. “Who am I to you beyond the niece of the woman who condemned you?
Why risk anything to help me?”
“Because you’re my ticket out of here.”
Zarrah paused in her sawing of the last rope, the answer unexpected. “How so? Who have you been bargaining with?”
“The rebels on the outside. They want you mighty bad, it appears.”
“Why would they deal with you when there is a whole camp of their comrades on this island?”
“Isn’t the answer obvious?”
She glared at him even though he couldn’t see her face, for it was most definitely not obvious.
Kian gave a low chuckle. “You don’t know, do you?”
“This is getting tiresome, Kian.” She sawed harder, wanting to be on her feet for this conversation, not strung up like game. “What don’t I know?”
“What they eat.”
Gooseflesh crawled its way up her arms, her nerves jangling. “What are you talking about?”
“Your little rebel friends are not the paragons you want to believe,” Kian answered. “And it seems their friends on the outside don’t want anything to do with those who have turned cannibal.”
AFTER BERMIN WAS gone, Keris pulled the stupid hat from his head and then removed his
blindfold, wiping blood from his eye. When he lowered his hand, it was to find Lara glaring at him. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” she snarled at him, the bones and skulls of her headdress bouncing against her cheeks. “He wouldn’t have attacked me.”
“Because you’re a woman?” Keris huffed out an amused breath, then pressed a hand to his stomach as pain lanced outward. “Bermin Anaphora doesn’t hesitate to murder children, Lara. With my own eyes, I watched him light a house on fire so that the family hiding inside would burn. If you think he wouldn’t have put a boot in your stomach, it’s because you don’t know him like I do.”
“I’ve been kicked before.” She crossed her arms, headdress askew. “But this is a waste of breath.
Bermin has confirmed our biggest uncertainty but also our greatest fear. Zarrah is alive, but very much in jeopardy. Bermin wouldn’t have reacted like that if he were confident she’s safe.”
They moved into the captain’s quarters, one of Aren’s crew passing around hot drinks to ease the cold. Keris sat on one of the chairs, waving away the mulled wine.
The cannibals won’t eat her—they only eat their enemies.
Except Zarrah was an Anaphora, which made her the enemy of everyone on that island. He needed his wits now more than ever, which meant not a drop of anything but water.
The others at the table began to suggest options, but Keris barely heard a word as his mind drifted into itself. She was so close. So fucking close, and yet he couldn’t get to her.
You should have brought an army.
You should have started a war.
You should have set the world on fire.
Shut up, he screamed at the voice. Shoving his chair back, Keris rose and went to the window.
Another chair scraped backward, and then his sister was at his elbow, headdress discarded on the table. “I remember what it felt like to wonder if it is hopeless.”
“I know it’s not hopeless,” he answered. “What I wonder is how high a cost I’ll have to pay.”
“Is there a limit?”
He hesitated. “If there is, I haven’t reached it yet.”
Silence stretched between them, and Keris waited for her judgement. Waited for her to say that Zarrah wasn’t worth so many lost lives and that it was better to turn back.
A loud thud sounded and Lara twitched. Keris said, “It’s just driftwood hitting the hull. The seas around here are full of it, especially close to the island entrance.”
Their eyes locked, realization striking at the same time, though it was Lara who spoke. “When we were surveying the pier, did anyone see them making an effort to prevent driftwood from entering the channel into the island?”
Aren frowned, then shook his head. “No.”
“If a prisoner is able to pass down the channel, is there any reason a sizable piece of driftwood wouldn’t be able to do the same?”
Keris tensed, his heart latching on to this bit of hope even as his head screamed that the solution couldn’t be so simple.
“Lunacy,” Jor interjected. “Even if you aren’t turned to pulp against the channel walls, this isn’t Ithicana—the water is freezing. It’s snowing, for God’s sake.”