A fresh rush of fear filled her chest, and Zarrah looked over her shoulder at where her boat had kicked to the surface. But it was terror, not breath, that filled her as she watched the boat slam against spun. She hadn’t been drawn in on a tide but on a current, which meant the water was going somewhere. And that somewhere had to be down.
“God spare me,” she whispered, realizing that the island truly did have a whirlpool beneath it. If The boat surged over her head, her shoulders jerked backward by the rope right as her heels struck she didn’t get onto that beach now, she’d be sucked down to the bottom of the sea. Or to hell itself.
“Die now or die later,” a voice shouted from above, and Zarrah looked up to see a smirking guard.
“Go past the edge of that beach and the decision is made for you.”
Zarrah spared the time to flip her middle finger at the woman, then rowed hard toward the rocky beach, her boat sinking, slowing, even as the water threatened to drag her past the point of no return.
Get out, fear whispered. Swim.
Except this boat might be the only chance she had at escape. She couldn’t lose it.
“Come on!” Paddling hard, her arms quivered, but panic fueled her strength as she fought the current.
It was a losing battle, the swamped boat too unwieldy. Cursing, Zarrah grabbed the rope still fastened to the front and jumped.
Water closed over her head, the cold a knife to the chest, but Zarrah ignored it and swam. Her boots hit the rocky bottom, but she kept swimming with the current even as she angled up the beach.
Waist-deep.
Thigh-deep.
But she was running out of beach.
“Better hurry,” someone called from above, this time a different voice, though the amusement was the same. This was a joke to them. Entertainment to break the doldrums of boredom.
Looping the rope around her hands, Zarrah twisted and braced as the submerged boat floated past.
The rope went taut. She heaved, trying to pull it onto the beach, but the current was so strong.
Zarrah screamed, drawing on every reserve of strength as she took one step back. Then two, pulling the boat with her. She was fully out of the water now, heels digging into rocky sand as she dragged the small vessel partially onto the beach.
Sucking in breath after breath, she watched water flow from the holes in the boat, waiting until it Maybe there was no center. Maybe this was the punishment, to be left on a boat circling around and was mostly drained before pulling it far enough away from the deadly flow that she deemed it secure.
Then she fell on her ass.
And looked up at those who had taunted her.
Across the stretch of water before her rose a cliff, braziers hanging from L-shaped brackets bolted to the rock, illuminating the water and the beach as though it were a stage and the guards the spectators. “Fuck you,” she screamed at them, hating that her people would behave this way. Like she was theater for them. Just like everyone else who’d been brought to the island.
Everyone else …
Zarrah’s blood went cold. You idiot. You cursed, loud fool.
Hand closing on a rock, she slowly turned to look at the island behind her. An island full of the worst criminals in all of the Valcottan Empire.
And found eyes staring back at her.
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 …
A fresh rush of fear filled her chest, and Zarrah looked over her shoulder at where her boat had spun. She hadn’t been drawn in on a tide but on a current, which meant the water was going somewhere. And that somewhere had to be down.
“God spare me,” she whispered, realizing that the island truly did have a whirlpool beneath it. If she didn’t get onto that beach now, she’d be sucked down to the bottom of the sea. Or to hell itself.
“Die now or die later,” a voice shouted from above, and Zarrah looked up to see a smirking guard.
“Go past the edge of that beach and the decision is made for you.”
Zarrah spared the time to flip her middle finger at the woman, then rowed hard toward the rocky beach, her boat sinking, slowing, even as the water threatened to drag her past the point of no return.
Get out, fear whispered. Swim.
Except this boat might be the only chance she had at escape. She couldn’t lose it.
“Come on!” Paddling hard, her arms quivered, but panic fueled her strength as she fought the current.
It was a losing battle, the swamped boat too unwieldy. Cursing, Zarrah grabbed the rope still fastened to the front and jumped.
Water closed over her head, the cold a knife to the chest, but Zarrah ignored it and swam. Her boots hit the rocky bottom, but she kept swimming with the current even as she angled up the beach.
Waist-deep.
Thigh-deep.
But she was running out of beach.
“Better hurry,” someone called from above, this time a different voice, though the amusement was the same. This was a joke to them. Entertainment to break the doldrums of boredom.
Looping the rope around her hands, Zarrah twisted and braced as the submerged boat floated past.
The rope went taut. She heaved, trying to pull it onto the beach, but the current was so strong.
Zarrah screamed, drawing on every reserve of strength as she took one step back. Then two, pulling the boat with her. She was fully out of the water now, heels digging into rocky sand as she dragged the small vessel partially onto the beach.
Sucking in breath after breath, she watched water flow from the holes in the boat, waiting until it was mostly drained before pulling it far enough away from the deadly flow that she deemed it secure.
Then she fell on her ass.
And looked up at those who had taunted her.
Across the stretch of water before her rose a cliff, braziers hanging from L-shaped brackets bolted to the rock, illuminating the water and the beach as though it were a stage and the guards the spectators. “Fuck you,” she screamed at them, hating that her people would behave this way. Like she was theater for them. Just like everyone else who’d been brought to the island.
Everyone else …
Zarrah’s blood went cold. You idiot. You cursed, loud fool.
Hand closing on a rock, she slowly turned to look at the island behind her. An island full of the worst criminals in all of the Valcottan Empire.
And found eyes staring back at her.
HE KEPT LOW to his horse’s neck, one fist clenched tight in its mane to keep from being blown out of the saddle as his mount struggled its way up the hill. Around him, his guards did the same, the wind as vicious as he’d ever seen it. Only those desperate or mad were out in the storm. Keris was both.
Please be all right.
The guard who’d brought the message hadn’t known details, only that something had happened.
That someone had tried to steal his eight-year-old sister.
He’d kept her at Greenbriar because it had felt safer. Granting the harem their liberty had meant allowing them to come and go as they pleased, which compromised the security of the inner sanctum.
He’d been afraid Sara might be an easy target for anyone who got inside. With everyone around him dropping like flies, keeping the sister he loved best far away had seemed the wisest choice.
He’d been a fool to believe distance would be enough to protect her.
Digging in his heels, Keris urged his mount down the lane leading to the austere building. He dismounted in front of it, drawing his sword as he raced to the doors, finding them barred from the
inside.
His stomach clenched, and he hammered on the wood, hearing cries of dismay from beyond.
“Open up in the name of the king,” Dax roared, having come up beside him. “You are not in danger from us! Let us in!”
“How do we know this isn’t a trick?” a woman called through the latticework on the upper part of the door, only her shadow visible.
Keris’s patience snapped. Ripping back the hood of his cloak, he snarled, “Open the door and take me to my sister, or we will break it in.”