It’s the best I can do for her.
Turning my attention to the injured pirate, I crouch to inspect the wound to his abdomen. A red trail of blood runs onto the wood planks,
He rouses enough to spit on me.
“Die then.”
I don’t quite have the heart to kick him, though the impulse is there. I don’t like who I am right now. I know part of it is the concussion, part of it is fear and exhaustion, but I like to think there’s a core goodness in me. Today is challenging my self-perceptions. I sincerely want to hurt this badly injured man.
I can’t help but wonder, if a small knock on the head is this bad for me, what will Lorcan have to contend with?
“You know what they promised us?” the pirate asks, his voice strained.
“Who?” I don’t want to talk to this asshole, but we need information, and he’s volunteering it. Right now, I can totally see how people talk themselves into torturing prisoners. I might do it myself.
“Your Skía.” He says itskee-uh.A choppy imitation of the way we say it:skiya.
“They’re not ‘our Skía.’ They’re shadows. Sworn enemies of the crown. But go on, I’m curious to know what brought you here.” I could give him a shot of morphine to ease the pain. Maybe I will, if he asks for it. He seems too dedicated to hating women to consider making a request of a mere woman.
His next, labored words, confirm it.
“They said this country was easy pickings. An island ruled by a girl. Pretty, airheaded, and weak. All she does is have her picture taken in fancy dresses.”
Anger flares within me. Zosia hated that shit. Her father trotted her out like a show pony. True—she’s gorgeous. She’s also smart as fuck and was thwarted at every turn when she tried to exercise her intelligence.
It still didn’t stop her. Our princess has a damn strong backbone, and that’s why I’ll hold out hope that she’s alive until proven otherwise.
“They said they would take her,” he continues, wheezing. “The castle and everything north. Promised us everything in the south. All the land up to a place called Canavale was ours for the taking.”
He coughs. Red spatters his lips. I don’t reach for the kit at my waist.
“They said you wouldn’t fight.” Teeth flash in a wry grin. “And for a while, it seemed to be true. Your people took our bribes without asking too many questions. Your king kissed every ass he could, and not one country lifted a finger to help you.”
My anger surges. King Rohan was wrong. So, so wrong. All those endless meetings and attempts to curry favor with foreign nations—it was like watching the new kid try to make friends with everyone at school, and be rebuffed by the entire cafeteria. Not that I have personal experience with this, but I watched enough TV when I was at Royals to know what it’s like.
My father and I did nothing to stop him. Cata must have had misgivings, but if she tried to talk him out of that useless approach, it did not work.
None of us wanted to admit how little the outside world cared about us and our problems.
We tried to prepare, but Rohan didn’t want to impose too much modernity on the population. We acted exactly like this dying piece of shit describes, and it makes me fucking furious.
None of that was Zosia’s fault. She saw our strength. She wanted to lean into it, but we undercut her every step of the way.
“You were supposed to be easily conquered,” the dying man wheezed. “But you fucking Auralians are two-faced. You all take our money and pretend to cooperate, then whisper to your friends when our next shipment is, where it’s going, and then suddenly there’s an attack. A month ago, we thought we had you defeated.” He coughs again. His breathing becomes a wheeze that reminded me of a punctured accordion. “Now, I wish I’d never come here.”
With that, his eyes went blank.
“Yeah, that makes two of us,” I said, reaching over to close them.
Chapter 9
We make it back to the Oceanside camp late the next night. I spend most of the journey prone in the back of the wagon. The ferry crossing is especially harrowing for me. I throw up four times.
Tovian doesn’t leave my side. Once, he holds my hair, careful of the tender lump on the back of my head. I’m too messed up to care that he sees me like this. Afterwards, I pass out.
By the time we make it back to camp, I’ve mostly recovered. The mood is celebratory. I can’t decide whether my misgivings are lingering side effects from my concussion or intuition trying to tell me something.
Listen to your feelings.Lorcan used to tell me that, which is hilarious in retrospect, because that man displayed all the feelings of a rock. At the time, I thought it was profound.
