“Let me go,” he screamed, his feet sinking into flesh. Crunching bone.
“Murderer.” Their mouths moved in unison, flies spilling outward to darken the air like smoke.
The flames moved closer, burned hotter, the stink of charring flesh filling his nose, but he managed to pull free just before they reached up.
A hill loomed ahead, and he stumbled toward it, climbing. Needing to reach the top, which was above the swarms of flies and clouds of stinking smoke.
His lungs burned, his fingers sliced and bruised by the sharp rocks as he climbed higher and higher.
And finally sucked in a clean breath, blinking back stinging tears.
Zarrah stood before him, her eyes the same still glass as those below. “You don’t know what love is,” she whispered, then shoved him hard.
He was falling. Falling back down into the smoke and flames, hands reaching up to him. Embracing him even as they blamed him for their doom.
Again, he wrenched away from them, and started running.
But there was no escape.
Not for him.
He ran, trying to escape the flames, but beneath his feet was a sea of corpses. Men. Women.
His lungs burned, his fingers sliced and bruised by the sharp rocks as he climbed higher and higher.
He was falling. Falling back down into the smoke and flames, hands reaching up to him. Embracing him even as they blamed him for their doom.
Again, he wrenched away from them, and started running.
But there was no escape.
Not for him.
UNDERSTANDING THAT SHE’D only be in the Ithicanians’ way, Zarrah had retreated into one of the passenger cabins, extreme exhaustion driving her to sleep. But it was a sleep plagued with nightmares, jerking her awake again and again until she could take it no more. Nor could she stomach pacing back and forth across her cabin, worry driving her out to the open air of the main deck.
She emerged right as Aren exited the captain’s quarters. “How is he?” she immediately asked, the question that had plagued her dreams tearing from her lips.
The King of Ithicana lifted a shoulder. “Lara says that if the wound doesn’t foul, he’ll live. She’s keeping him unconscious partially for the sake of the pain but mostly because she thinks he’ll ignore the need for bed rest if he rouses enough to think for himself. I’m inclined to agree.”
“Likewise,” Zarrah murmured, pulling the coat Jor had found for her tightly around her shoulders.
Though it was more clothing than she’d had on the island, the speed at which the Ithicanians sailed the ship ensured a constant wind, the frigid air cutting through to her bones.
They stood in silence, and then Aren said, “You can go see him for yourself.”
“No.” The word jerked itself from her lips, and Zarrah tried to soften it with an awkward smile.
“Lara knows what she’s doing. I’d only be in her way.”
A feeble excuse, and both of them knew it, but to his credit, Aren only said, “We’re making good time now that we’re on a straight course. Won’t be long until we’re in sight of the mainland.”
“The navy has to suspect Arakis is our destination. They’ll be in pursuit.”
“I assure you,” Aren chuckled, “we sail faster.”
A variation of a conversation they’d had before, but pursuit was a safer worry to give voice to than the one that lay on the far side of the door. Zarrah had found a level of calm since they’d first escaped the island, but it evaporated whenever Keris entered her thoughts. Whenever she considered the possibility that he might not wake. To look upon him pale and unconscious and still, very much on the brink of death, would undo her, and another outburst on her part might earn Zarrah a knife in the gut.
And she knew exactly who would put it there.
“I’m sorry for my conduct, Your Grace,” she said abruptly. “I’ve been overwrought and ungrateful, especially given the risks you took on my behalf. Please know that I hold you and yours in the highest esteem and will ever consider myself in Ithicana’s debt.”
Aren’s head tilted, hazel eyes considering. “You’ve nothing to apologize for as far as I’m concerned, Zarrah. You were an ally to Ithicana when we stood alone, and rather than keeping an accounting of debts, perhaps we only commit to continuing to treat each other as friends.”
Zarrah pressed a hand to her heart. “It would be an honor to name the rulers of Ithicana as friends.
Thank you.”
Aren laughed. “Oh, I don’t speak for Lara. But I do wish you the best of luck in delivering this particular apology to her ears.” Then he turned and walked away.
“Shit,” Zarrah muttered under her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting no part of the conversation to come, though she knew it needed to be had. Her behavior toward Keris had made an enemy out of Lara, though in truth, the distance between her and the other woman predated this moment. And consciously or not, it had been Zarrah’s doing, for she’d never felt comfortable around her.
Zarrah had been raised as a soldier. A year ago, she would have said that meant dedicating her life to warcraft and strategy, but now Zarrah realized that it ran deeper. It governed how she viewed others, everyone either a superior, a peer, or a subordinate, and she treated people accordingly. Her aunt had guided her to keep everyone at arm’s length, to never allow friendship or sentiment to blur only be in the Ithicanians’ way, Zarrah had retreated into one of thethe lines. The only exception had been Yrina, but looking back now, Zarrah saw she’d been no exception at all. Her aunt had chosen Yrina, and for all Zarrah had loved her, she had still treated Yrina more often like a subordinate than a friend.
She had no friends.
Didn’t know how to be a friend.
So it was far more comfortable to gravitate toward individuals like Aren and the other Ithicanians.
They were also soldiers. She understood them. Understood how to be around them.
But not Lara.
Lara was a warrior of a rare and dangerous skill, but she wasn’t a soldier. She was a queen, but she wasn’t Zarrah’s queen. And for reasons Zarrah couldn’t quite explain, her inability to categorize Lara had left her uncertain of how to behave around the other woman. Especially given Zarrah’s Though it was more clothing than she’d had on the island, the speed at which the Ithicanians sailed theinitial distaste for Lara’s role in the invasion of Ithicana.
But Aren had forgiven her.
Ithicana had accepted her.
What right had Zarrah to continue to hold Lara’s actions against her? The answer was that she had no right at all, yet instead of seeking friendship, Zarrah had allowed uncertainty and prejudice to place Lara in the only other category she had: an adversary.
An enemy.
And she’d done a good job of ensuring that Lara shared the same sentiment. Zarrah had erred, and it was past time to stop blaming her flawed upbringing and do something about it.
A variation of a conversation they’d had before, but pursuit was a safer worry to give voice to than
“Damn it,” she whispered, and before she could lose her nerve, Zarrah opened the door to the the one that lay on the far side of the door. Zarrah had found a level of calm since they’d first escaped captain’s quarters.
Lara had been curled in a chair reading a book, but at Zarrah’s entrance, lifted her head.
And reached for her knife.
“Your Grace.” Zarrah pressed a hand to her heart. “I was hoping to speak to you.” Her eyes flicked to Keris’s form, the rise and fall of the thick blankets both filling her with relief and stealing her breath. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”
Azure eyes regarded her for a long moment, and then Lara rose to her feet. She reached a hand to check Keris’s breathing, then crossed the room. She had a slight limp that Zarrah hadn’t noticed before, though whether it was an injury from the recent battle or from before, Zarrah didn’t know. And wouldn’t ask.