“Do we know whether the rebel ships escaped?” she asked quietly.
Aren lifted one shoulder. “No. But I suspect the rebels have some experience evading capture.”
Tension eased in her chest, some unconscious part of her having worried about the fate of those men and women who’d risked their lives for hers. “Do you know where to find them?”
“Daria told us that their stronghold is in Arakis. They control the city, so if you go there, they’ll find you.”
Zarrah gave a tight nod. “If you can get me to the coast, I’ll travel there myself.”
“We can manage that.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “I know I haven’t earned a response yet, but if this … strategy comes to fruition and I take on my aunt for the crown, will I have Ithicana’s support?”
Aren was silent for a long moment, his hand moving absently up and down Lara’s back as he
thought. “It’s not my support you need.”
Keris shifted, muttering something unintelligible, and her eyes snapped to him. But he fell still again.
“Earn the crown,” Aren said. “Then we’ll talk. But for now, get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll sail for Arakis.”
Keris muttered again, but this time what he said was clear. “Fight, Valcotta.”
It was hard to breathe as her chest twisted, the muscles in her legs flexing as she fought the urge to go to him. You cannot allow him to control you, she screamed at herself. You must stand alone if you are to be the master of your own fate.
“In the morning, then,” she said. “Good night, Your Graces.”
Turning on her heel, Zarrah stepped back out into the cold.
THE WORLD WAS burning.
He ran, trying to escape the flames, but beneath his feet was a sea of corpses. Men. Women.
Children. Their eyes like glass, still and unseeing, yet their hands moved. Catching and
grabbing at his legs, their nails clawing at his skin.
“Let me go,” he screamed, his feet sinking into flesh. Crunching bone.
“Murderer.” Their mouths moved in unison, flies spilling outward to darken the air like smoke.
The flames moved closer, burned hotter, the stink of charring flesh filling his nose, but he managed to pull free just before they reached up.
A hill loomed ahead, and he stumbled toward it, climbing. Needing to reach the top, which was above the swarms of flies and clouds of stinking smoke.
His lungs burned, his fingers sliced and bruised by the sharp rocks as he climbed higher and higher.
And finally sucked in a clean breath, blinking back stinging tears.
Zarrah stood before him, her eyes the same still glass as those below. “You don’t know what love is,” she whispered, then shoved him hard.
He was falling. Falling back down into the smoke and flames, hands reaching up to him. Embracing him even as they blamed him for their doom.
Again, he wrenched away from them, and started running.
But there was no escape.
Not for him.
He ran, trying to escape the flames, but beneath his feet was a sea of corpses. Men. Women.
His lungs burned, his fingers sliced and bruised by the sharp rocks as he climbed higher and higher.
He was falling. Falling back down into the smoke and flames, hands reaching up to him. Embracing him even as they blamed him for their doom.
Again, he wrenched away from them, and started running.
But there was no escape.
Not for him.
UNDERSTANDING THAT SHE’D only be in the Ithicanians’ way, Zarrah had retreated into one of the passenger cabins, extreme exhaustion driving her to sleep. But it was a sleep plagued with nightmares, jerking her awake again and again until she could take it no more. Nor could she stomach pacing back and forth across her cabin, worry driving her out to the open air of the main deck.
She emerged right as Aren exited the captain’s quarters. “How is he?” she immediately asked, the question that had plagued her dreams tearing from her lips.
The King of Ithicana lifted a shoulder. “Lara says that if the wound doesn’t foul, he’ll live. She’s keeping him unconscious partially for the sake of the pain but mostly because she thinks he’ll ignore the need for bed rest if he rouses enough to think for himself. I’m inclined to agree.”
“Likewise,” Zarrah murmured, pulling the coat Jor had found for her tightly around her shoulders.
Though it was more clothing than she’d had on the island, the speed at which the Ithicanians sailed the ship ensured a constant wind, the frigid air cutting through to her bones.
They stood in silence, and then Aren said, “You can go see him for yourself.”
“No.” The word jerked itself from her lips, and Zarrah tried to soften it with an awkward smile.
“Lara knows what she’s doing. I’d only be in her way.”
A feeble excuse, and both of them knew it, but to his credit, Aren only said, “We’re making good time now that we’re on a straight course. Won’t be long until we’re in sight of the mainland.”
“The navy has to suspect Arakis is our destination. They’ll be in pursuit.”
“I assure you,” Aren chuckled, “we sail faster.”
A variation of a conversation they’d had before, but pursuit was a safer worry to give voice to than the one that lay on the far side of the door. Zarrah had found a level of calm since they’d first escaped the island, but it evaporated whenever Keris entered her thoughts. Whenever she considered the possibility that he might not wake. To look upon him pale and unconscious and still, very much on the brink of death, would undo her, and another outburst on her part might earn Zarrah a knife in the gut.
And she knew exactly who would put it there.
“I’m sorry for my conduct, Your Grace,” she said abruptly. “I’ve been overwrought and ungrateful, especially given the risks you took on my behalf. Please know that I hold you and yours in the highest esteem and will ever consider myself in Ithicana’s debt.”
Aren’s head tilted, hazel eyes considering. “You’ve nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned, Zarrah. You were an ally to Ithicana when we stood alone, and rather than keeping an accounting of debts, perhaps we only commit to continuing to treat each other as friends.”
Zarrah pressed a hand to her heart. “It would be an honor to name the rulers of Ithicana as friends.
Thank you.”
Aren laughed. “Oh, I don’t speak for Lara. But I do wish you the best of luck in delivering this particular apology to her ears.” Then he turned and walked away.
“Shit,” Zarrah muttered under her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting no part of the conversation to come, though she knew it needed to be had. Her behavior toward Keris had made an enemy out of Lara, though in truth, the distance between her and the other woman predated this moment. And consciously or not, it had been Zarrah’s doing, for she’d never felt comfortable around her.
Zarrah had been raised as a soldier. A year ago, she would have said that meant dedicating her life to warcraft and strategy, but now Zarrah realized that it ran deeper. It governed how she viewed others, everyone either a superior, a peer, or a subordinate, and she treated people accordingly. Her aunt had guided her to keep everyone at arm’s length, to never allow friendship or sentiment to blur only be in the Ithicanians’ way, Zarrah had retreated into one of thethe lines. The only exception had been Yrina, but looking back now, Zarrah saw she’d been no exception at all. Her aunt had chosen Yrina, and for all Zarrah had loved her, she had still treated Yrina more often like a subordinate than a friend.