“Ordus,” she scolds. “They need to see that tattoo. They won’t take your word for it.”
I stop with a snarl. She has used this reasoning a great many times, and it’s the truth. If we want to stay on the island, we will need to prove it to them.
“At the first sign of danger, you run,” I say, staring at her so she knows this is my compromise—because I am capable of doing that. “Promise me.”
She traces the mating scar on my chest. “I promise.”
I hesitate before cupping her face, nuzzling my nose against hers. “I love you, Cindi.”
Pressing her lips to mine, she breathes, “I love you too, Ordus.”
A smile stretches across my lips. Cindi has broken every curse there is, and nothing makes me happier than knowing that, despite all odds, she still chose me.
“We need to go,” she says, pulling back.
Grumbling under my breath, I snatch a machete off the ground, pass it to her, and follow Vasz to the beach. I set her down by the trees so she is at a safer distance from the water.
Vasz comes up by my side, a low warning growl in his throat. Then, one by one, krakens appear out of the water, just as sickly appearing as they were when they soiled my shore ten days ago. Females and males gather around. Only a few are civilians, most previously holding rank as hunters or sentries. In the middle stands the worst of them all.
“Ordus,” Lazell starts, eyes flicking between me and my mate. When he dares look at Vasz, the mutt leaps forward, and he staggers back, hand partially raised in case Vasz carries through.
I bare my teeth at Lazell, but I do not bother correcting him. Cindi told me it is best we “send him on his way as soon as possible.” There’s no need for “small talk”—I’m not sure what that is, but I agree.
“You said eleven days,” I speak in kraken tongue.
The corners of his eyes twitch. He notices my lack of correction too. “There is no need to delay the inevitable,” he says simply, sneering at me and mine. I shift to block his queen out of view. “It was foolish to waste such precious time as we did.”
I raise a single brow. “So you did not see the life growing along the floor during your swim here?” I address the entire crowd.
Many avert their gaze, guilty. Some appear struck, as if they cannot get their tongues to move to form their answer. If grass is appearing by my island, Krokant would be bursting. They’d be able to taste the quality of the water, the new shoots of life that spread beyond the small parcel.
A Counselor’s jaw feathers, and I see it—her excitement. Not the morbid glee of spilling blood, but the elation of winning something grand. Of renewed purpose. She’s seen it.
“No—” Lazell begins, attempting to shift my focus back on him.
“I pray the next words out of your mouth are not a lie. Swear it on the Goddess that you did not see.Swear iton Edea that the Curse remains.”
Lazell sputters. “We have no guarantee the Curse has been permanently broken?—”
“Swear it on the Goddess,” I roar. Krakens flinch at the sound and bow their heads in respect. “My mate,your queen, ended the Curse. She was chosen by the Witch’s daughter to bear the mark of the Curse.” I point to Cindi. “Thathumanis my destined bride, and you will all bow down in respect for her saving your brother, your sister, your daughter, son, mother, friend.Sheis the reason you live.”
I nod my head at Cindi. Slowly, she turns around, moving her hair over her shoulder so all can see the tattoo glimmering blue in certain light, like the glowing algae in our cave or the threads within my skin. There is no denying it holds magic. My kind knows well enough that no human can replicate such a trick.
“The Witch’s daughter inked the Curse into her skin so she may carry it and bring it to heel. If her blood is spilled by krakens, the Curse will return, and all hope is lost.”
Chlaena was a military strategist. Yannig was a diplomat. My Cindi? She is a survivor, smart with her words and vicious.Strong.The perfect queen.
I am her weapon, and she is my voice.
For what do my subjects fear more than death? Being promised the certainty of life, only to be given a sure death, be it the Waste or hunger. To rot away into sand that will drift and disperse, forever forgotten.
To be given hope and lose it? That is a curse in and of itself, and Lazell, ever the wise Counselor, sees the threat as clear as the dawn.
Will the blood of one fill his gullet if it costs him the life of all? Will hatred feed his hunger if what I say is true?
To believe my lie, or to end in a massacre? Decisions, decisions.
I meet Lazell’s eye and revel in his fury. His silence is all the answer I need.
