We need him to find Zosia.
In the meantime, it’s up to me to cobble together a resistance. We’re outgunned and outmaneuvered, but not outmanned—yet. It’s hard to tell how many people have perished in the initial assault.
If I can’t scrape together a fighting force, we’ll soon lose control of the entire island. The invaders spent months moving supplies into the country and hit hard, with an element of surprise that shouldn’t have been possible given all our planning to counter them. We were fools to look to the outside world for help.
We should’ve stayed in Scotland to keep Zosia safe…but that would have meant abandoning our people to fight this battle alone.
I don’t want to know what the pirates are doing to Zosia right now, if they’ve caught her.
My father wanted me to cower in safety at River Bend. He said it wasn’t my place on the battlefield. Maybe he was right. But just because our tribe was comparatively unscathed by the initial fighting doesn’t mean we’ll remain so if the Skía and their pirates finish conquering our island.
Who will do it, if I don’t?
With Zosia and Lorcan sidelined, there’s only me standing between our country and total destruction.
Keryn, leader of The Mountain Folk tribe, sent a token contingent to Nansier in the Timberlands District, halting the invaders’ northern progress. They’re not getting involved any more than they absolutely must.
The buzz of engines roars to life again. Orisa’s attack wasn’t enough to take them all out, apparently. I’m on my own. I’m eighteen days into a journey that should have taken five. I’m fucking tired, and to top it all off, I’m short. My legs hardly cover any ground with each labored stride.
There’s one place I can go where they can’t easily follow me. I veer uphill, toward the last green place in Auralia. The Boscage. Our jungle district, where no one lives. This dragon-infested place is the best bet to draw these bastards into danger.
Perfect.
I can lead my pursuers into the thick underbrush and let the mordecam eat them, if it exists. If not, there’s bound to be a hundred other ways for a small woman to destroy a dozen armed and desperate men.
Assuming I don’t die, first.
Chapter 2
The first sign of life in the Boscage are the gnats. Swarms of them. The fucking things were attracted to sweat, and it’s so sticky here that my skin is sheened with it.
Bugs in my eyes. Bugs in my hair. Bugs inside my shirt and down my pants, all biting mercilessly. But the thick underbrush and canopy conceal my movements. I go slow, creeping southward with frustrating, maddening caution.
“Cette pute est ici,” one man called out.
“T’es sure?” his companion panted, glossing syllables. Two more trailed after them. Four men. The others spoke fractured English, as though they were from different countries and were using a common language none of them were quite fluent in.
Typical of the Skía’s recruits. They’ll take any disgruntled volunteer willing to commit violence and overthrow a peaceful country in exchange for a cut of the money. Doesn’t matter which country they hail from. The Skía exploit people’s desperation.
Crouching in the underbrush, my calves burning, I experience a moment of despair. I don’t want to die here.
Turns out, biting gnats also like salty teardrops. I swipe at my face. My hand comes away streaked with black crushed bugs. Worse, my cheeks itch unbearably. Wonderful. I suppose that’s what I deserve for indulging in a moment of self-pity.
I shift onto my knees, listening for movement and trying to get my bearings.
I’m marginally more familiar with this place than my pursuers are. Nobody sets foot in the Boscage if they can avoid it. Between the insects, the heat, the humidity, and the dragons—not to mention rumors of the mordecam, a legendary beast said to roam this jungle—I’m not too pleased to be here myself.
I’d rather be anywhere else, instead of crouched in the underbrush, sweating and itchy, gritting my teeth against theendless stinging gnatsso as not to betray my hiding place.
Rustling underbrush. I freeze, my heart pounding.
Something very large and decidedly not human slides between the trees. I glimpsed leathery scales the color of tree bark and rust, a slow movement as an enormous scaled animal made its way down the pathway, minutes behind the men.
Reila save me, it’s real.
I close my eyes and try not to panic. Try not to breathe, lest it notice me.
According to legend, the beast cornered our founder, the Goddess Auralia, and her sisters, Reila and Astra. It was about to eat them until the Hero Protector slayed the mordecam, winning the goddess’ admiration in the process. Auralia married him and founded the royal line of descendants of the goddess.
