“What’s the hurry? The bridge ain’t going anywhere, and allowing the Ithicanians a bit of time to calm their tempers before you go sailing in, making demands, might not be a bad thing.” Dax swallowed the contents of his glass, giving an appreciative nod. “That’s good stuff.”
“Isn’t there a rule against drinking while you’re on duty?” Keris asked, his tone flat because he didn’t have a particularly valid explanation for his plan to go to Ithicana beyond the truth. And the truth wasn’t something he had any intention of revealing.
“Could be.” Dax scratched his unshaven chin. “But given you drink while on duty, I figured it was more of a guideline.”
There were several arguments that Keris could have voiced, not the least of which being that he was king and could do as he goddamned pleased. Instead he reached across the desk and refilled Dax’s glass. The man had almost singlehandedly organized the revolt against Keris’s father, spreading Keris’s rumors about Aren’s treatment that had driven the populace to violent protests and demands for proof the Ithicanian still lived, a critical piece in the plan that had seen Aren liberated. Dax had a strong dislike for both politicians and aristocrats, which was likely why he and Keris got along, never mind that Keris was both. “I need to mend fences with Ithicana and re-establish trade in Southwatch.
We lost half our fleet, thousands of men, and famine is once again biting at our flanks. Maridrina is weak, particularly along our southern borders.”
“But Nerastis is at a stalemate.” Dax rooted around on Keris’s desk, looking for the last report, but half the paperwork was on the floor. Giving up, he leaned back in his chair. “There are no signs that the Valcottans intend to move against us.”
Because Petra was waiting for Keris to make the first move. Waiting for him to be the instigator so as not to fan the flames of rumor that she was a warmonger. A politician of the first order, because she hid the monster so very, very well. So well that only the other monsters had seen her for what she really was.
Monsters like you.
He ignored the whispered voice, turning his mind instead to Petra’s strategy. Zarrah had been given no trial, and while rumors she’d been sent to Devil’s Island circulated through Pyrinat, no public statement had been made. Certainly no mention of Zarrah’s relationship with him, and he had a theory for why that was. The same reason Serin hadn’t made it public: Maridrina would have turned on Keris if they learned about Zarrah, executed him without even a thought of a trial, which would’ve been far too quick a death in Serin’s eyes. The Magpie had wanted him to suffer. Petra likely wanted that as well, but there was something she wanted more.
War.
A knock sounded, and Dax, only casual when they were alone, rose to his feet and straightened his uniform. Moving to the door, he opened it and spoke to the guards outside, a loud curse exiting his lips. Slamming the door behind him, he turned to Keris. “There’s been an incident at Greenbriar.”
That was the name of the estate where the church trained its acolytes. Keris was on his feet in a flash; his blood turned to ice. “Sara?”
Dax’s face was grim. “Someone tried to kidnap her.”
Swim! It was that or drown, and with retreat impossible, the only path to life was forward.
Zarrah threw her strength into it, arms cutting the water and legs churning, her eyes fixed on the boat bobbing ahead of her.
The water was frigid and filled with driftwood, the cliff walls towering to either side pressing closer with each passing second. If the water slammed her against them, she was done. Would drown, broken and bleeding, her body food for the fish.
Or whatever else lived in this cursed place.
She needed to catch that boat.
Except with every second, it drew farther away from her.
Zarrah put her face to the water and swam, feeling as though she hurtled down a swift river, the current giving her momentum.
Something brushed her legs.
Zarrah jerked her knees upward, certain something was in the water with her. Something with teeth.
Then it brushed against her arms, thin and coarse.
Rope.
She managed to snatch the end as it flew past, her arms nearly wrenched from their sockets as she was dragged forward. Coughing and spluttering, Zarrah sucked in a mouthful of air, then hauled herself toward the boat.
Her body trembled with the effort, her burning chest demanding more air in her lungs, and she kicked to the surface. But it was terror, not breath, that filled her as she watched the boat slam against a bend in the cliffs, rebounding toward her.
Instinct drove her beneath the surface.
The boat surged over her head, her shoulders jerked backward by the rope right as her heels struck the cliff. The impact jarred her spine, her knees buckling.
Pain screamed through Zarrah’s body, along with the desperate need to breathe.
You can do this, she willed herself. Fight.
Hand over hand, she dragged herself along the rope, breaking the surface next to the boat. She caught hold of the edge, then hauled herself upward.
In time for the boat to rotate into the cliff.
Wood crunched, the impact nearly sending her back into the water as the boat spun about.
Clenching her teeth, Zarrah managed to hook an ankle over the edge, and then toppled inside.
Her respite lasted less than a heartbeat, the world spinning around her as the boat twisted on the rushing water.
She needed to get it under control.
Snatching up the paddle in the bottom of the boat, Zarrah braced her feet against the sides, her eyes fixed on the chute of water before her. Only now did she realize why sight was possible despite it being night. Overhead, far out of reach, braziers dangled from chains supported by large brackets bolted into the walls of the cliff.
And on the cliff top, archers watched.
They weren’t the threat, though. The Empress didn’t want her dead, just broken enough to be malleable.
She had no intention of conceding to either fate.
Zarrah paddled hard, doing her best to keep the boat from slamming against the cliffs as the water circled ever closer to the heart of the island. Yet the damage to the boat had already been done, the small vessel sitting lower and lower in the water.
And the channel spiraling toward the center of the island seemed unending.
Maybe there was no center. Maybe this was the punishment, to be left on a boat circling around and around, forced to paddle for your life until your strength gave out, your boat gave out, and the water took you.
closer with each passing second. If the water slammed her against them, she was done. Would drown, Or until she begged for her aunt’s forgiveness.
“I will not give in,” she snarled, then looked up at the watching archers and screamed, “I will not surrender!”
If they heard her over the rush of water, she couldn’t tell, for their faces remained impassive.
Disinterested, as what they were witnessing was something they’d seen a hundred times before.
The cliff wall on her right abruptly ended.
A surge of water struck her boat from the right, nearly overturning her. Zarrah clung to the sides, screams ripping from her throat. Not of fear but fury.
Zarrah jerked her knees upward, certain something was in the water with her. Something with teeth.
The boat spun, the light from the braziers above a blur of flame, and then a beach appeared.
The rumors were true.
The water had taken her to the heart of the island. An island within the island, the mass of land encircled by water. Her nails dug into the wood of the boat as she debated what to do. Whether to swim to the beach now or allow the water to take her around the island, giving her a tour of the place.
Except …