A quiver ran through her body, but instead of allowing her rage to drive her to react, Zarrah
“You never change, little Zarrah.” Bermin’s eyes flicked to the cliff tops, then back to her. “So high stepped out into the icy water, swimming across the channel as the current pulled her toward the rope.
Her body trembled as she heaved herself up, climbing toward the still-raging battle, Keris having already disappeared over the top. But just before she reached the summit, she heard Bermin shriek,
“You’ll never be your own master, Zarrah! Not while you’re Maridrina’s whore.”
He was right.
her wrath shrieked, the intensity
Swallowing down the truth, Zarrah rolled over the top of the cliff and, blade in hand, threw herself into the chaos.
He stumbled when his blade found empty air, and she stepped past him, the tip of her blade scoring
“Giving her instructions already?” Bermin laughed, blood trickling from where the tip of her sword pressed into his throat. “Little Zarrah never has a thought for herself. What, pray tell, does the King of never forgive this. That she’ll name a dog her heir before him. That his only chance to be remembered Keris only cast a backward glance at Bermin before heading to the channel. He paused long enough them into his boots and belt, then, without a word, swam out into the
stepped out into the icy water, swimming across the channel as the current pulled her toward the rope.
He was right.
Swallowing down the truth, Zarrah rolled over the top of the cliff and, blade in hand, threw herself into the chaos.
THE ONLY GOOD thing about climbing into a nightmare was that it gave him no chance to think about the one left below.
Bodies were strewn everywhere, some still, some screaming and clutching spurting
wounds. For a heartbeat, he was frozen; then a man in a Valcottan uniform ran screaming toward him, and instinct took over.
Jerking one of his purloined weapons free of his belt, Keris met the attack with a crash of metal.
Only the endless lessons Otis had forced upon him kept the Valcottan from killing him instantly, but for once, Keris didn’t hold back.
He couldn’t afford to.
There is no sacrifice I won’t make to stop it in its tracks. Her words filled his head as he parried blow after blow, then plunged his blade through the man’s guts.
Was that the only reason she’d come for him? To end the war?
The man dropped at his feet, screaming, but Keris refused to allow himself to feel anything. Only lifted his weapon to attack another soldier, driving them back to make space for Zarrah to climb over.
If she was even climbing.
Shut up! Her snarl echoed through his thoughts, and he flinched, feeling her rage even as he engaged another soldier. The man was already bleeding from another wound, weak and staggering, and Keris mechanically stabbed him before glancing over his shoulder.
“Keris!” Aren’s voice reached his ears over the chaos, and he caught sight of the taller man, Daria defending his back. Both were blood splattered, but very much alive.
“We need to go!” Aren shouted. “We need to get off this island before they signal the naval vessels!”
“Where is Zarrah?” Daria demanded.
She hadn’t climbed over the edge. Had she gone back to finish Bermin? What if he’d attacked her?
Hurt her? What if she’d fallen in the water?
He needed to go back.
“Keris, we need to go!”
Ignoring Aren, he raced to the edge of the cliff, ready to jump over, but then she appeared.
Rolling over the rocky lip, Zarrah was on her feet, weapon immediately in hand. Without even looking, she raced past him. “Get across the bridge! Go!”
Orders were shouted all around. By Valcottans, by prisoners, by Aren and Zarrah.
It was madness, people rushing every direction. Soldiers and prisoners alike fighting and dying.
He tripped over bodies, fell, then was on his feet. Hunting for her familiar shape, trying to find her in the growing darkness. Trying to find Aren. Trying to find Daria.
“It’s the Veliant King,” a Valcottan screamed. “Kill him! Kill the rat!”
Keris lashed out wildly, the tip of his blade scoring the man’s arm, but he didn’t seem to feel it.
The soldier collided with him, both of them falling on a carpet of bodies, Keris’s sword spinning out of his hand. “Kill the rat!” the man shrieked, swiping at him with a knife.
The tip slammed into the ground next to Keris’s ear, and he caught the man’s wrist, grappling with him.
They rolled over bodies and rocks, and then Keris’s hand found a knife.
He slammed the tip into the soldier’s face, the man’s scream deafening him, but then another body fell across Keris’s shoulders, pinning him as the man beneath him screamed, “My eye! My eye!”
Panic surged, blood soaking his clothes, getting in his mouth. So many screams, so much noise, and he had no idea where anyone was.
Had no idea where Zarrah was.
Keris heaved upward, rolling the corpse off his back and batting away the dying man’s hands.
Someone dove at him, and he lifted his blade, the tip sinking into flesh and fresh screams rattling his skull.
A blade whistled down in front of his face, and he fell backward, landing on his ass.
Fight, he screamed at himself. Get up.
But all he could do was sit in the pile of blood and bodies of men that he’d killed, the battle a swirl of shapes and shadows around him.
Where is she?
“Keris!” Daria’s voice jerked him back into the moment, and then the rebel’s face was in front of him. “Are you hurt?”
Was he? His eyes skipped over the bodies of his victims. How many? How many lives had he snuffed out in the space of a few moments to save himself?
lifted his weapon to attack another soldier, driving them back to make space for Zarrah to climb over.
“Get up!”
He allowed Daria to drag him upward, following as she carved through anyone who stepped in her path, somehow knowing where to go in the darkness and chaos.
Out of the turmoil, Aren appeared. “Get across! We need to cut the ropes so they can’t pursue!”
Where is she? His lips felt numb, incapable of speaking, but he must have gotten the words out because Aren shook his head. “I don’t know, but there’s no more time. We’re going to lose this fight.”
He couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t leave her.
Ripping out of Daria’s grip, he screamed, “Zarrah! Zarrah!”
“She’s on the other side!” Hands grabbed his arms, and he fought against them. “Keris, it’s Daria!
It’s Daria! Zarrah is across the bridge!”
His arms fell slack at his sides, and he turned in a circle, tasting blood. Spitting, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth, but it was soaked with more of the same. He was drenched in it.
“Go! Go!” Aren shouted.
Hands pulled on the front of his shirt, hauling him onto the bridge. The ropes burned his palms as he clung to them for balance, his toes catching on the boards, threatening to spill him into the water that rushed below.
“Cut the ropes!”
“Arrows! They’re shooting! Run!”
He was running, a female hand gripping his own tightly as they stumbled through the blackness. But instead of fleeing the screams, instead of leaving them behind, the piercing wails grew louder. Keris jerked his hand free, stopping to press his palms to his ears, only to cringe because they were sticky with blood.
Where is she?
He turned in a circle, searching the shadows, his head full of fog.
Then an arm slung around his shoulder, tugging him forward. “Night battles are ugly,” Aren said, tone as light as though they were abandoning a rowdy tavern for a better location. “But the darkness is going to give us the cover we need to get to the other side of it. Smart thinking getting Bermin to climb down, by the way. I’m convinced you could talk your way into a deal with the devil and then back out of it again.”
“He’s still alive.”
Panic surged, blood soaking his clothes, getting in his mouth. So many screams, so much noise, and
“The devil?”