Instead of crossing it, Daria cut inland, the wall now on her right rather than the plunge to the sea, but Zarrah didn’t miss how the woman’s tension grew. As though what lay past that wall was infinitely more dangerous than a fall into a whirlpool down to hell. The other warriors grew equally wary, their weapons held at the ready, eyes skimming the trees on the far side of the cut line.
“How many …” Zarrah trailed off as she searched for an appropriate term, then decided on,
“organized groups are there on the island?”
Daria snorted in amusement. “You mean gangs? Two. Though we call them tribes. There are also the lone wolves, who are the true death dealers on this island. Monsters who do things that would strip the breath from the devil’s chest. You get caught by Flay or Butcher or Ladyfingers, find a way to end things yourself, and quickly.”
Zarrah swallowed hard because those names were familiar to her, as was the nature of their crimes. Monster was a weak word, and she was now imprisoned on the same island as them.
They’d nearly reached the summit of the island, the trees falling away completely as they
approached the barren stretch of land, allowing Zarrah time to truly take in the prison. Her eyes followed the gap of the ocean channel as it spiraled outward in three loops before reaching the sea.
Rope bridges connected each ring of rock, allowing the guards to move from the garrison at the pier to the innermost ring, the land naked of trees or brush or structures beyond a few rocky outcroppings.
“Is it truly a whirlpool?”
“Yep,” Daria answered. “Though it’s really more of a drain for those who don’t wish to endure their punishment any longer. I’d show you where the water goes under, but it’s in Kian’s territory. Not another place in the world like it.”
Zarrah shifted uneasily because there was nothing to stop either guard from shooting them, no cover Because Devil’s Island was not a creation of nature.
No, much like Ithicana’s bridge, this island was formed by the giant hands of a god for one purpose and one purpose alone.
To ensure those condemned to its shores would never, ever get out.
“Does that happen often?” Zarrah watched the other woman flip her fingers at the guards at the next
“Every time a tree grows tall enough,” Daria answered. “This place does strange things to the mind, and there are some who spend their days nurturing trees, waiting for them to grow tall enough, believing they will be delivered from this horror if only the tree will grow. More still who take great glee in cutting down said trees just before they reach that precious length.”
Zarrah shivered, for there was a certain madness in both behaviors.
“In truth, those who try are only hastening their end, because there isn’t an inch of the cliff tops that the guards don’t watch,” Daria continued. “Day and night. Night and day. Rain or snow or sun, they watch.” Lifting her hands, she screamed “Pig fuckers” at the next guard post.
These guards only laughed, and though logically Zarrah knew that every criminal in this place deserved to be here, her hands still curled into fists because it felt as though they laughed at her, too.
She moved her attention to the next guard post. To continue their circuit of the island, they’d have to cross the low wall of stones she’d tripped over in her flight from the other group of prisoners.
The barrier between territories.
Instead of crossing it, Daria cut inland, the wall now on her right rather than the plunge to the sea, but Zarrah didn’t miss how the woman’s tension grew. As though what lay past that wall was infinitely more dangerous than a fall into a whirlpool down to hell. The other warriors grew equally wary, their weapons held at the ready, eyes skimming the trees on the far side of the cut line.
“How many …” Zarrah trailed off as she searched for an appropriate term, then decided on,
“organized groups are there on the island?”
Daria snorted in amusement. “You mean gangs? Two. Though we call them tribes. There are also the lone wolves, who are the true death dealers on this island. Monsters who do things that would strip the breath from the devil’s chest. You get caught by Flay or Butcher or Ladyfingers, find a way to end things yourself, and quickly.”
Zarrah swallowed hard because those names were familiar to her, as was the nature of their crimes. Monster was a weak word, and she was now imprisoned on the same island as them.
They’d nearly reached the summit of the island, the trees falling away completely as they
approached the barren stretch of land, allowing Zarrah time to truly take in the prison. Her eyes followed the gap of the ocean channel as it spiraled outward in three loops before reaching the sea.
Rope bridges connected each ring of rock, allowing the guards to move from the garrison at the pier to the innermost ring, the land naked of trees or brush or structures beyond a few rocky outcroppings.
“Is it truly a whirlpool?”
“Yep,” Daria answered. “Though it’s really more of a drain for those who don’t wish to endure their punishment any longer. I’d show you where the water goes under, but it’s in Kian’s territory. Not another place in the world like it.”
Because Devil’s Island was not a creation of nature.
No, much like Ithicana’s bridge, this island was formed by the giant hands of a god for one purpose and one purpose alone.
To ensure those condemned to its shores would never, ever get out.
KERIS FROZE AS the blade angled, pressing hard enough that blood trickled down his throat but not hard enough to kill. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had so many women in my room.
Hopefully this encounter will prove more fruitful than the last.”
She chuckled softly. “A foolish hope, Your Grace. I’ve no taste for incest.”
Keris’s eyes narrowed. One of his half sisters, then. Undoubtedly one of the ones who trained with Lara in the Red Desert, which meant she was far more dangerous than any of his idiot brothers. His eyes flicked to the mirror, the reflection revealing a fair-skinned woman of average stature, her hair dark as night. Not one of the ones who’d been with Lara the night of the rescue, but given her coloring
… “It’s been a long time, Sarhina.”
If it moved her that he’d guessed her identity, Sarhina didn’t show it. “Yes, Bronwyn told me that Coralyn had involved you in our plans.”
He opened his mouth to point out that it had been her who’d been involved in his plan, but instead said, “If you wanted to talk, you could have made an appointment. You and the rest of our sisters are in no danger from me.”
“What makes you think I wish to talk, Keris?”
“Well,” he answered, “there are a limited number of reasons for an individual to sneak into my bedchamber in the middle of the night. We’ve clearly ruled out an assignation, and given that I’m still breathing, assassination, which leaves only conversation.”
She snorted. “I already dislike you.”
Keris shrugged one shoulder, then winced as her knife bit deeper. “Why are you here, Sarhina?
Fancy taking the throne for yourself? If so, it appears you need to get in line.”
“The last thing I want is to be queen of Maridrina,” she answered. “As to why I’m here, it’s to determine whether you deserve the crown.”
“In primogeniture rule, deservedness is not a factor, which means my successor won’t be chosen based on merit. So take some time deliberating before you cut my throat.”
“All the more reason to bring down the monarchy.”
Keris’s eyebrows rose, partially for her words and partially for the vehemence in her voice. “And replace it with what? Anarchy?”
Sarhina hesitated, then said, “A council of representatives elected by Maridrinian citizens who will rule for a set term in the interests of the people.”
Delight flooded Keris’s veins. “I once had too much wine and proposed just such a thing, and Father blackened both my eyes before burning the book I’d quoted from in front of the whole harem to make a point. But I managed to get my hands on another copy a few years ago. It’s here. Put down the knife and I’ll show you.”
“Nice try,” she snapped. “Just what kind of idiot do you think I am?”
“If you were an idiot, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”