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“Time will tell,” she finally answered Bermin, unwilling to argue when what happened tonight would either prove the Maridrinian’s word was good or that she was a naïve fool.
The moon above was little more than a sliver of light, but stars filled the clear night sky with brilliant silver sparks beyond counting. The only sound other than the breathing of her comrades was the roar of the waves rolling onto shore, and caught in the lulling rhythm, her mind drifted, her head filling with visions of the Maridrinian’s face.
God, but he was something to behold. The sort of beautiful that should be the domain of a woman, except there wasn’t anything feminine about him. Not the solid grip of his hands on her shoulders as he’d caught his balance against her. Not the rock-hard muscle of his chest beneath her palm. And most certainly not the masculine scent of spice and exertion that had filled her nose or the rasp of stubble that had brushed her hand when she’d caught hold of his throat.
Too close. They’d been too close. And yet her body—apparently as traitorous as her mind—had ached to move closer.
The sound of an oar slamming in a lock ripped her back into the moment, and Zarrah focused her gaze on the distant waves.
Yrina lifted a hand and pointed. “There.”
That it would be this inlet, of the six others she currently had being watched, was something of a stroke of luck. But there was no denying the faint sounds of at least two longboats coming into shore, and a heartbeat later, her ears picked up the scrape of wood over sand.
Not two longboats, but three, all of them loaded with Maridrinian soldiers. Equal numbers to her own, but Zarrah’s force had the advantage of surprise. Lifting the bow she held in one hand, she nocked an arrow, seeing all the archers in her force do the same.
“Hold.” She toed the line between the enemy force being far enough up the sand to be hit and still leaving them an opportunity to escape. She owed the Maridrinian that much. “Hold.”
The enemy force reached the midpoint of the beach, close enough to strike with good shots but only a quick sprint back to the boats if they chose to escape. “Shoot!” She loosed an arrow.
A second later, the air filled with the hiss of arrows. And she wasn’t the only one who heard it.
“Ambush!” a vaguely familiar voice shouted, and Zarrah aimed at the shadowy form.
Her arrow flew through the air, grazing the soldier’s arm. He jerked, but instead of calling for a retreat, he shouted, “Charge!”
Fool!Zarrah dropped her bow and lifted her staff, screaming, “For Valcotta!”
The two forces collided, clashes of steel and screams of pain drowning out the surf; it was difficult to discern friend from foe in the darkness. Zarrah fought back to back with Yrina, her staff whistling through the air, cracking bones even as she blocked swipes from Maridrinian swords, her arms shuddering from the impacts.
She didn’t fight to kill, leaving groaning men in her wake even as she silently pleaded,Fall back. Retreat.
But Maridrina was a kingdom built on bravery and pride, and they kept coming. Kept fighting even as her reinforcements arrived.
Zarrah’s skin prickled, and she whirled, barely managing to evade the blood-drenched blade that nearly took off her head.
“We meet again,Zarrah.”
She instantly recognized the man she’d fought during Bermin’s raid. The one who’d done his damnedest to cut off her head despite knowing she’d been trying to retreat. “That’s General Anaphora, you Maridrinian rat.”
“I’ll accord no titles to the likes of you.”
Though she could barely see him in the dark, she felt his disdain. His hate. Felt her own rising despite knowing she had no more ground to stand on than he did. They were both killers. Both murderers. “Retreat while you have the chance!”
“Not while you still stand!”
She swung at his head with no intent to hit him, but he rolled, coming up on his feet swift as a cat, sword slicing at her hamstrings. Zarrah jumped, the blade sliding under her boots. But instead of landing on flat ground, her foot slid along a slick tree root, sending her staggering.
Pain seared across her arm, and she gasped, throwing herself sideways and out of range of another blow from his sword. She scrambled to regain her footing, staying on the defense as he drove her backward down the hill.
In her periphery, she could see the Maridrinians falling back to the boats, recognizing this was a fight they couldn’t win, but the stubborn bastard refused to run.
Then one of them shouted, “Highness, we must retreat!”
Highness.This was not a common soldier, not a man here only because he’d been ordered to fight. This was one of the Rat King’s sons. A Veliant prince.
Hate, blistering hot and merciless, boiled up from her heart, driving aside logic and reason, caring nothing for the consequences that would come from killing him. With a wild scream, Zarrah threw herself at him, attacking in earnest where before she’d held back.
Her staff struck him on the arm, sending his weapon flying and him backing down the beach as he fumbled for a knife.
