“Enough to save your neck.”
Zarrah flinched at the sharpness of Daria’s voice. “I truly want what is best for all of us, Daria. I understand the sacrifices that have occurred to keep me out of Kian’s hands, even if I don’t understand why either of you feels so motivated to protect me. If there is something that can be done to end the raids, I’ll gladly fight to achieve it. Especially since if I prove my worth on the battlefield, those who think you’re better off without me might change their minds.”
Daria finished her dinner and tossed the bowl aside.
“Let me prove my worth,” Zarrah pressed, desperate to take some form of action to improve their chances. To prove not just to the rebels, but to herself, that their fight to keep her out of Kian’s hands was not for nothing. “Let me fight for you.”
Daria was silent; then she turned to Zarrah, brown eyes serious. “Every battle brings risks. You could be killed.”
Zarrah knew that better than anyone here, given she’d spent her adult life warring with Maridrina.
“I know. But there’s a chance lives that might otherwise be lost will be saved, especially if we’re clever.”
“What are you thinking?”
Picking up a stick, Zarrah scratched a rudimentary map in the dirt. “We know they patrol in three layers. The first along our border, the second in the trees, and the third nearest to their camp.” She scratched markings. “The first layer doesn’t engage—they serve as lookouts only, using their horns and retreating when they spot a threat, because they know that our target is their supplies. These scouts are young and built for speed, and presumably individuals Kian sees as disposable because they aren’t well armed.”
Daria’s eyes narrowed. “How does one who has only been on the other half of the island once know all this?”
“Saam,” Zarrah admitted. “In the moments we haven’t been talking about handball, I’ve been picking his brain about the other tribe.” She hesitated, then asked, “Is he wrong?”
Daria shook her head.
“What I propose is changing the targets,” Zarrah said. “With a small force of your best fighters, we sneak past the first layer and attack the second, who run in pairs. We take them, stealing their weapons, which is typical. Then an additional force of our warriors attacks the first layer of scouts, but gives them the chance to escape and sound the alarm while the strike force retreats, killing the scouts as we do. We take our prizes and run, and Kian will think it a failed attempt to raid his main camp.”
“He’ll retaliate.”
“Will he?” Zarrah lifted one shoulder. “We have superior numbers. With our fresh supply of weapons, I personally believe he’ll think twice, especially if we keep up a strong patrol for the foreseeable future.” Seeing that Daria was not quite convinced, she added, “I think there is every chance that when the rebels come for us, we’re going to need to help fight our way out of here. We make their lives easier if we are well armed.”
Daria leaned back on her hands, eyes on the sky. It smelled of snow, and Zarrah knew she was thinking of a hard winter to come. Thinking of how much easier it would be if they held the beach.
Thinking that this proposal might be worth it, even though it would mean losses. “All right,” she finally answered. “We’ll go tomorrow night.”
KERIS SHIVERED, PULLING his sealskin coat tighter as the wind ripped at the edges, bits of snow falling all around him.
He was born and raised in Maridrina, where it was always hot; a chilly breeze on a rainy
day was the coldest weather he’d ever experienced. He already hated it. Hated how the wind chapped his cheeks and made his fingers ache, how the cold sank into his bones, chilling him from the inside out. Aren muttered something about wind current bringing air up from the frozen south before abandoning his chest-baring vest in favor of a sealskin coat like Keris’s. But the miserable weather was the least of his concerns.
They’d reached Devil’s Island.
In the darkness of night, they’d circled the ship around the island, crew silent and every light extinguished, only to discover that the place was well worthy of its reputation. There was only one opening in the towering cliffs, the singular pier with accompanying guard towers that were lit up like a street festival at midnight, which allowed them to count well over a hundred soldiers. Too many by far for a direct assault, so they’d risked an inspection of the cliffs themselves in a longboat.
Keris had gone with them, so he’d been there when they’d chanced a bit of light for a closer look.
Every single one of the Ithicanians had gone silent at the sight. Aren cursed, then said, “It’s made of the same fucking material as the bridge.”
Smooth as freshly poured mortar, with not a crack or handhold in sight, dashing Keris’s hopes that he could climb even as it had poured fresh trepidation into his veins.
For, like the bridge, Devil’s Island had been made.
Whether by the hands of God or some advanced society lost to time, this place had been created to be the perfect prison, and even Lara’s face had gone grim at the revelation when they’d returned to the ship.
They’d retreated a safe distance to discuss their options, but it was now well into afternoon, and no ideas were forthcoming.
“A barren place.”
Keris glanced sideways at Lara, who’d come to stand next to him at the rail. Beyond, Aren paced the deck. “How are you feeling?”
Lara didn’t move her eyes from the small rocky island near them, the only life in sight scraggly conifers, the occasional bird, and the seals on the beaches. “Just tired, for the most part.” She was quiet for a long time, then added, “This has never happened to me before. I’ve been injured many times in my life and always recovered swiftly, but this time …”
“There’s a difference between being injured and dying, only to be brought back and then nearly die again.”
Her jaw tightened. “Aren makes it sound worse than it was, and my recovery is hardly our primary concern.”
Keris made a non-committal noise, for he expected Lara’s injuries had been every bit as bad as Aren had indicated. But she was right about their concerns, so he said nothing when she switched subjects.
“In a perfect world, we’d have time to learn more about this place before venturing closer,” Lara said. “But everything about this prison is well guarded, so even if we had time, we might well have ended up at this point.”
“Hopeless?”
She cast him a dark look. “Dramatics won’t help. We’ve been here less than a day—keep in mind that it took weeks of thought and planning and spying to break Aren out of the Vencia palace.”
“Zarrah doesn’t have weeks,” he muttered. “What we need is a stroke of luck, but Lady Fortune rarely favors me.”
“Ship off the starboard bow,” the lookout shouted. “It flies the Valcottan flag!”
“Shit,” Lara hissed.
chapped his cheeks and made his fingers ache, how the cold sank into his bones, chilling him from the Keris’s stomach sank, and he cursed himself for speaking of luck.
The other Ithicanians donned their costumes and took their places, and Aren motioned to Keris and Lara to join him. “Follow my lead,” Aren said once they’d reached him. “I’m going to tell them we hit rocks and damaged the rudder. Buy us some time to linger, though we’ll have to do it under their watch. Keris, put on your damn blindfold.”
That was the last thing Keris wanted to do, but he dutifully wrapped the linen around his eyes. In combination with the dim light, he could see little.
“Steady,” Aren muttered, and Keris heard waves hitting the hull of the approaching ship. Flapping sails and barked orders. “Prepare to be boarded,” a deep voice shouted, and moments later, heavy thunks of hooks striking wood filled Keris’s ears.
“They’re boarding,” Lara murmured. “And they aren’t happy we are here.”