“As regent, you’d have the power to begin the process of healing Maridrina.” He rested his elbows Lifting a hand, Sarhina snapped her fingers. Keris tensed as the shadows in the corners of his room
white and a face he recognized from the night of the escape. He ran through the list of descriptions of his sisters, then settled on a name.
“Good evening, Athena,” he said, the dark smile she gave him moderately unnerving. “And the second?”
Hands closed on his shoulders and Keris jerked, twisting his head to find a tall brunette woman smirking where she stood behind him. Bronwyn. “The second is that you get Lara’s permission for me to join her in Eranahl,” Bronwyn said. “The Veliant sisters take care of their own, and Aren Kertell hasn’t impressed us in the past. I want to ensure he’s treating her as she deserves.”
Keris considered Bronwyn’s request for no more than a heartbeat before turning back to Sarhina.
“Fine. And the third?”
“You tell us the name of the woman you’re risking everything for.”
Keris’s stomach dropped. Not only because of the accuracy of the question, but because every time someone learned about his relationship with Zarrah, they died. Otis. Coralyn. God help him, even the fucking Magpie.
He chewed the inside of his cheeks, debating how to answer. Easy enough to lie. To say it had nothing to do with a woman or give a fabricated name, except there was something in the tension that sang from Sarhina’s form, her hand near the knife, that told him she’d see through every deception.
“Zarrah Anaphora. She’s been imprisoned on Devil’s Island, and I need to break her free.”
Sarhina smiled, and then inclined her head. “We have an accord.”
FOR ALL THE dangerous men and women on the island, Zarrah swiftly learned that they were not the real reapers.
It was hunger.
“You only eat what you can trap, kill, or forage,” Daria instructed. “I catch you taking from anyone else, I’ll cut off your hand. Catch you doing it again, I’ll cut your throat, understood?”
There was nothing to do but nod. “What is there to hunt?”
“Birds, if you’re good with a spear. Fish, once you’ve made yourself a net to lower into the spiral.
Whatever grubs and insects and worms you can dig from the ground, though the season for that is ending.”
That couldn’t be enough, not for this many people.
“How often do the guards supply us?” Zarrah asked as they reentered the camp, which was empty but for women with small children and those who stood guard around the perimeter.
The prisoners who’d joined the tour dispersed, but Daria motioned Zarrah to follow. The other woman flopped down next to a low-burning fire, holding her hands over the embers. “They send
barrels down the spiral. Never the same times or intervals, and they’ve been known to withhold supplies for weeks if they are in the mood. There’s no sport on the island if all are fed.”
And all of it had to arrive at the beach. Zarrah’s skin prickled as she remembered that amphitheatre of horror, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, the thin fabric of her shirt doing little to ward off the chill. “Given Kian’s tribe holds the beach, I take it that he gets all the supplies, which is why you want fighters? To steal what you need from them?”
“Not just a pretty face, are you, Zarrah?” Daria rested her chin on her knees. “We send watchers and scouts into the north half to keep an eye out for supply drops, but it’s dangerous work. Kian’s tribe patrols, and there are traps set by Flay and Butcher and Ladyfingers. We prefer to raid when the opportunity allows and take what we can. They used to do the same to us, but the bitch on the throne gave us a fresh crop of rebels, and now we’re up numbers on Kian, which is why he didn’t cross the border last night despite being better armed.”
“Rebels?”
“Nearly every person in this camp, excluding yourself, contests Petra’s rule.” The corner of Daria’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “Many of us were captured spying or in skirmishes and raids in the south. Her soldiers used to just kill anyone they caught, but the bitch figured out quick that it wasn’t enough to check defiance, so she started sending us here.” She waved a hand around the camp.
“Half those they dump in the spiral are just civilians who made the mistake of saying the wrong thing about Her Most Kind and Benevolent Imperial Majesty.” Daria spat into the flames. “Petra is as coldblooded as a crocodile but without its mercy.”
Zarrah went still, her mind reeling. Only the worst of criminals were supposed to be sent to this place, and even they had a trial. The idea that her aunt was sending civilians who spoke against her to endure this kind of torture was … unconscionable.
Seeming to sense her thought, Daria said, “Didn’t know that little tidbit of information, I take it?
Valcotta is ruled by a woman who can’t stand to hear anything but adoration, so she permanently silences anyone who criticizes her. Those who remain learn to hold their tongues, and the effect is that all come to believe the lie.” She huffed out an amused breath. “But not the rebellion. We see her villainy, and she can send as many of us to her hellhole as she wants—we won’t stop fighting. Won’t stop surviving. Not until she’s in the goddamned grave.”
It was as if the floodgates had been opened on Daria’s mouth, and she jumped to her feet, pacing back and forth. “Hundreds of people have been sent here for no other reason but that they spoke their minds, Zarrah. That’s on top of the thousands Petra’s soldiers have murdered without just cause.”
That was impossible. Not because she didn’t believe her aunt capable of it at this point, but how could so many have been incarcerated beneath Zarrah’s nose? She’d been a commanding officer, a general, privy to all the secrets of the empire, and she’d never heard a word of this before.
Or had she?
Daria’s words unearthed the conversation Zarrah had overheard between Silas and Serin the night she’d intended to assassinate Silas in his tower, the men’s voices filling her head.
You promised me an update on the rebels contesting Petra’s rule.
Serin’s nasal voice had answered, They’ve pressed north out of their strongholds in the deep south, though their primary weapon is one Petra uses so adeptly herself.
Propaganda. Or murder?
She shook her head to clear the memory in time to hear Daria ask, “Where were you stationed?”
“Nerastis.”
“So you’ve been fighting the Maridrinians day in and day out, right? That means you’ve drunk deepest from her poisoned cup. That you believe the Veliants are the demons all of Valcotta must unite And all of it had to arrive at the beach. Zarrah’s skin prickled as she remembered that amphitheatre against, and the Empress the bastion against them. She needs them to be the villains so that she can be the savior, and she’ll sacrifice hundreds of soldiers, thousands of soldiers, to the Endless War to ensure that never changes.”
Zarrah drew in a ragged breath, turning her gaze to the embers of the flame because Daria’s anger was infectious. Like oil dumped on the fires of Zarrah’s own rage. Anger at her aunt, but anger at herself for having been a pawn in her aunt’s reign of terror for so long.
“So yes, Zarrah,” Daria’s voice cut into her thoughts, “we do need fighters to war against Kian and his tribe to stay alive. But it’s more than that. The rebellion is going to free us one day, and when that day comes, we need every sword, every knife, every spear we can muster to put Petra Anaphora in the grave.”
wasn’t enough to check defiance, so she started sending us here.” She waved a hand around the camp.