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Zarrah’s eyes snapped left in time to see the captain dragging his hood back into place, but it was too late. They’d seen.
“Valcottans!” The Maridrinian drew his weapon. “We’re under attack!”
Instinct took over, and Zarrah lifted her weapon. “Attack!”
Her soldiers flung off their cloaks and drew their weapons, those below racing on deck. With her people behind her, Zarrah led the charge.
She leapt off the ship onto the pier. More Maridrinians raced to engage even as she met a man’s sword with her staff, knocking it from his hands. She twisted, slamming the butt into his head with lethal force before moving on to the next.
Blood splattered her face as she smashed his skull, but she only blinked it away, her eyes on her next opponent. His jaw was tense, eyes grim, as though he knew there was no chance of getting out of this alive. Which made no bloody sense because this island should be packed with soldiers.
Zarrah ducked under his sword blade, then swept his feet out from under him. He landed with a thud, and she turned on her heel, bringing her weapon down on his throat. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to take on another.
But there were none.
Perhaps two dozen Maridrinians lay dead or dying on the pier, her soldiers all looking warily toward the island, waiting for reinforcements to come.
“Where are they?” one of her men demanded, even as another said, “Maybe they went to reinforce locations being attacked by the Ithicanians?”
Except Zarrah knew that wasn’t it. Knew that this island was too damn critical to be left with only two dozen men to guard it. Something was off.
“An ambush?” someone suggested.
“Maybe.” Zarrah strode down the pier, her soldiers falling behind her. She knew the layout of the building from Aren’s explanations and Jor’s drawings, and she gave orders breaking her force into groups to search the island.
Her group moved cautiously toward one of the large warehouses that stored grain, her heart thumping.Not because she was afraid to find Maridrinians waiting in ambush.
But because she was afraid she wouldn’t.
Sweat mixed with the rain rolling down her back, and Zarrah reached for the door, easing it open, then stepped inside.
Her stomach plummeted. It was empty.
All across Southwatch, she heard shouts of the same. No soldiers. No ambushes. The island was empty.
What was going on?
“Send a message to Aren that Southwatch has been taken,” she ordered. “Tell him that the island was empty. He needs to be prepared, because the Maridrinians didn’t just disappear.”
And Silas hadn’t conceded. There wasn’t a goddamned chance he’d given up the bridge without a fight.
Zarrah took a spyglass from one of her men. “Take a third of our force and press into the bridge a few miles to see if you find anything. Show caution—there are more ways in and out than you can possibly imagine. I’m going to climb to the top to see if I can get a better vantage.”
“Let me arrange an escort.”
She shook her head. “I’ll go alone.”
Zarrah strode up the road leading to the mouth of the bridge, the yawning opening into the dark tunnel that snaked its way over the islands and karsts of Ithicana. A faint moaning echoed from it, a draft of wind that carried with it a peculiar smell. Like petrichor, but different, and Zarrah shivered as she bypassed it.
The island was made up of twin peaks of rock and dense vegetation, and she was soon breathing hard from heat and exertion as she climbed a narrow track leading to the top of one peak, keeping an eye out for Ithicana’s infamous snakes. The air was thick with humidity to the point she felt like she was drinking water, everything smelling of lush vegetation and rain, and in the distance, lightning danced across a black storm front that seemed closer each time she lifted her head.
Every muscle in her body was tense, denied the release battle always brought with it and looking for an outlet. She’d promised Aren and Ithicana her aid against Silas, and while she’d done exactly what they’d agreed upon, that promise didn’t feel fulfilled. Two dozen soldiers where there should have been two hundred, and Zarrah had no idea where they were. Had no idea how she could aid Aren, and the helplessness of it made her want to spill her guts on the path.
She’d come here to right a wrong. To atone. To honor herself.
But thus far, it felt like she’d failed on every count.
Anger quickened her steps, and soon Zarrah was running up the trail, rising higher and higher until she spotted a stone lookout at the pinnacle. Wary of Maridrinians, she tucked her spyglass in her belt in favor of her staff, cautiously approaching the opening to the small structure. It was made of the same stone as the bridge, the wet, earthy scent filling her nose as she climbed a short staircase and came out on top.
