Though it shouldn’t be unexpected, given that there were men and women in the camp, it still hit Keris like a punch to the stomach that children were being born into a prison. That they’d never know freedom, despite having never committed a crime themselves. That Petra allowed this to continue was an atrocity, and he wondered what the rest of Valcotta would think if they ever learned the truth about this place.
But he couldn’t focus on that now. If Zarrah sat on the throne, she could put an end to this horror.
His eyes skipped from face to face, hunting for the one who haunted his dreams, sleeping and awake.
There was no sign of her.
That doesn’t mean she’s not here, logic reminded him. She could be asleep in one of the tents.
Could be out hunting. Could be taking a damn piss in the woods. But Keris was tired of being logical, tired of doing the intelligent thing, tired of making the strategic choice. “We understand there is a group of cannibals on this island. Where might we find them?”
Aren’s mouth dropped open with shock, but Daria’s eyebrows only rose. “Why?”
“Because they have a person with them whom we are looking for. A woman, mid-twenties, very pretty. Would have been incarcerated relatively recently.”
“This was not the plan,” Aren said under his breath as he eyed the gathering prisoners, many of whom were armed. “You’re going to get us killed.”
Daria huffed out an amused breath. “That would be Zarrah.”
Keris’s chest clenched, the confirmation that she was here, that this woman knew her, making it hard to breathe. “Where is she?”
“Well,” Daria answered, rocking on her heels and giving him a dark smile. “She was with us until quite recently, but no longer, I’m afraid.”
“We were told by a reputable source that she was being held by a group of cannibals.”
“Yes.” Daria’s smile was all teeth. “She was. ”
Understanding ricocheted through Keris’s core, horror stealing the breath from his chest and making him sway on his feet. He was too late. Too fucking late, and Zarrah … Zarrah … They’d—
Daria burst out laughing, slapping a hand against her thigh. “The look on your face is truly priceless.”
Horror turned to rage, and his hands balled into fists. He was going to kill them. He was going to kill them all.
“Easy!” Daria held up her hands. “We didn’t eat Zarrah; she was stolen from us. Likely as bait for you … Your Grace.”
ZARRAH SLEPT FITFULLY, weapons gripped in her hands and her ears so attuned to sound that she jerked upright at every cough, grunt, or fart that emanated from Kian’s camp. When dawn
illuminated the scrap of sail that formed her tent, Zarrah was no more rested than she’d been when she laid down her head.
“Hungry?” Kian asked, holding out a bowl of porridge. She greedily dug into the warm oats, having been limited to meat, insects, and mushrooms for far too long. As she ate, Zarrah examined the camp, which was still quiet, the majority of the prisoners asleep. Supply barrels appeared to be the primary building source, forming the walls of several buildings, though there was an incredible amount of ship sail, netting, and flotsam.
“The current drags in all manner of things from the seas,” Kian said, retrieving a lantern from a table. “We are rich on the discards of humanity. Come, let me show you.”
Zarrah followed him into one of the buildings, surprise filling her chest as she took in the walls, which were entirely covered by artwork, statues and sculptures and glassworks filling the niches
formed by the curved edges of the barrels. Much was stained or damaged by submersion in the seawater, but it was still a wondrous display of beauty that had been absent from her life.
“Perhaps a waste of space, but I think it’s important to remember who we are,” Kian said.
“Survival alone isn’t enough, for what is the point of surviving if there is nothing in life to enjoy?” He chuckled. “And the gold we’ve pulled out of the water aided in giving me back my smile.”
Zarrah laughed to reward his attempt to amuse her. If he truly was in contact with the rebels, then he was her path off this island, and remaining in his good graces was only to her benefit. But she wasn’t going to blindly believe anything Kian said without proof. “Tell me what you know of those who have made these promises. How did they come to be in contact with you? Which guards are on their payroll? And how do they aim to remove us from the prison, given the number of guards on the island and the navy ships patrolling around it?”
Setting the lantern on the small table at the center of the room, Kian motioned for her to take a seat in one of the two chairs, both formed out of barrels cut in half. They were designed so that whoever was seated would lounge backward to enjoy the display, and she wondered how often he sat in here like a king surveying his domain. The reclined position made watching his face difficult, so Zarrah instead perched on the edge of her seat, back straight.
“Message arrived by one of the supply barrels not an hour before your own arrival, hidden in a wax-wrapped package in a sack of rice.”
“They ever contact you before?”
Kian shook his head. “It seems you are a prize worth them breaking their cover.”
Suspicion rose in her chest. “May I see it?”
Reaching a hand inside his coat, Kian extracted a folded piece of paper. “Seemed too good to be true when it first arrived, but we weren’t going to take any chances. That’s why we were on the beach when you arrived. We were waiting for a prisoner drop.”
It did seem too good to be true.
Unfolding the paper, Zarrah took in the message.
Greetings,
This message comes from the distant south, where rebellion rises against the Empress’s rule. It has come to our attention that she has accused her niece, Zarrah Anaphora, of treason and cast her aside like trash, condemning her to Devil’s Island. Zarrah is an
individual of grave importance to the rebellion, and we will give much to secure her
freedom. Those who assist her and protect her from the monstrous villainy of the prison will be rewarded with their own freedom when we come, for we are above the law. Secure
“Hungry?” Kian asked, holding out a bowl of porridge. She greedily dug into the warm oats, having her at all costs, or you will be shown no mercy.
The Commander
building source, forming the walls of several buildings, though there was an incredible amount of ship Zarrah reread the letter, her eyes snagging on Empress’s rule. Not once had she heard anyone in Daria’s camp refer to her aunt as the Empress, only by her name or some slur. Who had written this, she could not say, but not for a heartbeat did she believe it was the rebel commander.
Refolding the page, she handed it back to Kian.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Do you believe it legitimate? And more importantly, do you think the sender will follow through on his promise?”
To say otherwise would compromise her safety, so Zarrah nodded. “I believe it is.”
“Do you know why they want you?”
Kian’s eyes gleamed with curiosity, and Zarrah was reminded that he hadn’t become the leader of