“When I was five, I ran away from home, seeking adventure. Probably scared my mother to death. I came back after two days because I ran out of food.”
I roll my eyes. Does he think his sins could ever compare to mine?
He’s hopeless.
“When I was seven, I stole my neighbor’s cat, because I wanted to keep him, and he liked me best. So I reasoned that I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
I resist another eye roll.
“Never gave him back, either,” Kearan continues. “He got run over by a cart only a few days later.”
“What a monster you were,” I say sarcastically.
“When I was ten, I beat up a boy who made fun of a friend of mine. Knocked him unconscious. That was the day I realized how strong I was and that I had to be careful.
“And when I was seventeen, the girl I thought I loved died, and I was happy for it.”
At this, I pause and look at him.
“Just for a moment,” he says. “Just because of how much she hurt me. And then the guilt ate at me, and I wondered if it wasn’t my fault all along that something bad happened to her.”
“You thought you were a bad person because you wished someone ill for the span of a few seconds?”
What would he think of me if he knew the truth? I actually did cause someone’s death. A lot of someones. Bad men, mostly. But not the first one. Not little Sleina, who had swapped clothes with me earlier that day for a game of dress-up. We never switched back. That’s why Samvin thought she was me, and I didn’t correct him. I could have spared her, and I didn’t. Instead I watched as she thrashed her limbs in my pretty dress. Clear up until the point where her lungs filled with water.
Kearan must realize that his words are making things worse, not better, so he finally, finally quiets until we reach camp.
Chapter 16
ROSLYN’S IS THE FIRST face I see when I enter camp. She throws herself into my arms, and I grip her to me.
“Sorinda, I thought you were gone.” Tears drip from her face, and I wipe them free with a hand. I’m moved by how much she cares for me. It softens my heart in ways nothing else seems to do.
Dimella claps me on the back. “Good to see you, Captain. You must be freezing. Let’s get you a spare coat.”
“Unnecessary,” I tell her. “I need rest, though. Kearan will fill you in on what happened. I’m afraid I’m about to drop.”
“I’m tired, too,” Roslyn lies, and I love her for it. She climbs into the tent with me, snuggles under the blankets, and breathes deeply. I’m out before I can kick my boots off.
IT’S DIFFICULT TO SAY how long I’m asleep before the sound of shouting rouses me, but by the heaviness in my head, it can’t have been long. I’m exhausted, I’m starving again, and my head is filled with memories it would rather forget.
But I rise, and with a quick shout to Roslyn—“Stay in the tent!”—I leave.
“To arms!” Dimella shouts just as I let the flap of the tent close behind me. My rapier is already out and ready, and I cock back my pistol as I scan the area for something to shoot.
They flood into the clearing like a tidal wave. Drifta with glowing peacock-blue eyes. Bodies freshly dead. A puppeteer nearby commanding them, though I can’t see Threydan yet.
How did he find us?
I leap into the fray, slicing and stabbing at anything that isn’t alive.
My pistol goes off, hitting a large dead male right through the eye. He doesn’t blink as the iron ball makes contact, doesn’t slow, and certainly doesn’t stop striding toward the tent I just exited.
I slice at his outstretched arms but still he doesn’t slow, so I nick the tendons at the backs of his knees, which finally sends him to the ground, unable to walk any longer. He wriggles like a snake, but I leave him for now.
Iskirra wields an ax, and she uses it to behead the nearest undead. The body continues moving, driving forward with purpose. Its own head is not what commands it.
Shots fire, and more steel slides into flesh. I realize that not a single one of the undead carries a weapon. Threydan doesn’t mean to kill anyone. My thoughts are confirmed as I witness one Drifta step behind Jadine, pull her to its chest, and hoist her into the air. It does no more than hold her in place while she wriggles uselessly.
I leap behind it, slice the back of the knees, and watch the undead go down. Jadine scuttles free, then turns and slices at the arms of the creature that is now dragging itself toward her.
Dozens upon dozens of undead swarm our campsite. It would seem the King of the Undersea put a nice dent into the armies of the Drifta. They’re overwhelming my small crew.
How did this happen?
Can he sense me? Did I lead him here? First he found me among the Drifta and now with my crew. Am I like a beacon to him? The thought is horrifying.
We cannot fight off such numbers, no matter how good my crew is, but that doesn’t mean they’re not fighting with everything they’ve got.
Kearan barrels through the clearing like a bull, knocking all enemies in his path clean off their feet. The girls swoop in, dismembering and rendering the undead immobile as best they can. They’re no fools. If Kearan didn’t fill them in on the situation, they’re quick to pick up that their quarry is nothing natural.
Visylla throws hand bombs right and left. Gooey entrails rain to the ground. Shattered bones cling to the snow. She aims for the legs, bringing the undead down to ground level in waves.
The need for sleep batters at my open eyes, begging them to close. My muscles move sluggishly, unable to perform at their best after days without proper rest.
I drop my pistol, since it’s utterly useless in this fight, and grab a dagger to aid in cutting necessary tendons to stop the body from moving as it should. The undead may not feel pain, but it seems they still need intact muscles for their bodies to work.
Though, I remember those frozen skeletons in the ice leading to Threydan’s coffin. Why should the sirens and Drifta bother to hide them? They don’t have muscles or tendons. Why would Threydan have power over them?
The trees surrounding our clearing rustle as more undead enter the scene. The battle grows sorely bleak, as ten or more Drifta are able to surround every one of my crew. Large Drifta leap upon Kearan. He fights them off as best he can, but even he can’t keep so many at bay. They pin him to the ground, holding his limbs in place with the sheer weight of their dead bodies. An undead child no older than four grabs Dimella’s sword by the steel blade and pulls. Dimella is so shocked and appalled by the cut the blue-eyed girl is giving herself that she releases her hold. Two other undead get behind her and restrain her by her arms. Visylla gets her feet kicked out from underneath her. She’s then hoisted into the air and restrained. I watch and fight as one by one my whole crew is rendered immobile.