Page 13 of Shadows of Winter

“Weren’t those scars from a tangle with your father when you were young? When he was…” Targon glanced at Kaylina and finished with a vague wave.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen anyone hit you since your first days of training. You’ll pardon me if I wish I’d seen her crack you in the head.”

“Jankarr allowed it because he wanted to see how good her aim is. I would appreciate it if you put him on potato-peeling duty for a few days.”

Listening to them banter almost made Kaylina forget about the screams and think she and Frayvar might be okay, that these men were reasonable enough to believe the truth and let them walk. But when Vlerion stepped closer, his torso brushing her back, and gripped her upper arms, her anxiety returned. The tall men shared looks over her head, the humor in Targon’s eyes shifting to grimness as he raised the cream-colored ball.

Something told Kaylina this wouldn’t go well.

4

In shame lies the fear of being driven into isolation.

~ Ganizbar, the poet

The gummy ball was too large to swallow, so Kaylina made herself chew it. A sweet maple flavor and rubbery texture didn’t fully hide the gritty, bitter powder mixed in. The kafdari root.

Aware of Targon’s gaze upon her, and Vlerion’s grip around her upper arms, she resisted the urge to spit it out and swallowed.

Nothing happened, but that wasn’t surprising. It would take time to digest the root. But how much time? Would she have to stand between the two men like this for a half hour before anything happened?

Vlerion’s grip wasn’t painful—especially considering he had to be irked that she’d hit him in the head—but it wasn’t so delightful that she wanted to linger like that.

Her tongue tingled, as if the powder seeped through it and directly into her bloodstream. Was that possible?

Another scream sounded elsewhere in the jail, and it sent a shiver of dread through her. What if the root didn’t work on her? Would the rangers use more physical means to question her?

“I hope Bartron gets the bases out of him,” Targon said quietly, meeting Vlerion’s gaze over Kaylina’s head.

They were both tall enough to see over her. The warmth of Vlerion’s breaths stirred her hair.

“I’m tired of fighting our own people,” Targon added. “I never thought I’d long for the frigid mountains and being attacked by Scourge beasts and packs of yekizar, but…”

“I also prefer the wilds and clearcut foes,” Vlerion replied, “not the hordes of people in the city, people whose sharp, disrespectful tongues test your equanimity more than fangs or even the blades of the Kar’ruk.”

Certain he looked at her when he said that, Kaylina blurted, “Screw you, pirate.”

Targon arched his eyebrows as Vlerion’s grip tightened on her arms. “Is it kicking in already, or was she that mouthy before you dragged her in?”

“She does not treat rangers with appropriate respect,” Vlerion said.

“If she’s from the south and doesn’t face anything more dangerous than pirates regularly, she might not have the appreciation for rangers that those whose lives depend on us do. The laws about disrespecting nobles are enforced throughout the kingdom though.”

Five lashes for cursing at an aristocrat, ten for obstructing his path, and twenty for raising a hand toward one, unless within the boundaries of a mutually agreed upon duel. Kaylina knew the rules, but so few lords came to their islands that she’d rarely had to think about them. It hadn’t occurred to her that there were places in the kingdom where laws like that were enforced.

“Do you want her flogged after this?” Targon added.

Frayvar stirred, indignation in his eyes, though he was doing as Kaylina had asked and staying out of this. She raised a hand toward him, inasmuch as she could with her arms trapped.

“No,” Vlerion said. “It would not be fair to punish her for words uttered under the influence of a drug.”

Targon nodded, as if that was the answer he’d hoped for.

Kaylina should have been relieved, but tension had crept into her, bunching her shoulders and tightening every muscle in her body. It frustrated her that these people had the right to flog her. And more. She shouldn’t be here in this jail. This was all a mistake.

With a surge of anger, she twisted, trying to break Vlerion’s grip on her. His muscles flexed against his sleeves, but his hands didn’t budge. He easily shifted her back to face Targon.

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