Page 276 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Her fingertips grew hot. She itched to wrap her hands around his throat.

It was not Roos’s fault that she had been sent to Feather Island. She alone was to blame for that. Yet he had blackmailed her. He had dared to ask her to hurt Nayimathun. Now he was abetting the pirates who took and slaughtered dragons. For all those things, he deserved death.

She tried to quash the desire for it. There could be no distractions here.

They slipped into the stairway that would take them to the hull. At the bottom, one lantern flickered. Its flame revealed two scarred pirates, both armed with pistols and swords. Tané walked toward them.

“Who goes there?” one of them asked roughly.

One shout would draw a throng of pirates from above. She would have to kill them, and in silence.

Like water.

Her knife slid through the shadows, straight into a beating heart. Before the other guard could react, she had slit his throat. The look in his eyes was like nothing Tané had ever seen. The shock. The realization of his mortality. The reduction of his being to the wetness at his neck. A wordless sound came bubbling from his lips, and he crumpled at her feet.

The taste of iron filled her mouth. She watched the blood throb out of him, black in the lanternlight.

“Tané,” Loth said.

Her skin was as chill as the sword in her hand.

“Tané.” His voice was hoarse. “Please. We must hurry.”

Two corpses lay before her. Her stomach roiled, and blackness hit her like a cloud of flies.

She had killed. Not the way she had killed Susa. This time, she had taken life with her own hand.

Dizzy, she raised her head. Loth removed the lantern that hung above the bodies and held it out to her. She took it, hand unsteady, and walked into the innards of the ship.

She could ask forgiveness from the great Kwiriki in good time. For now, she must find Nayimathun.

At first, all she could see were supplies. Barrels of water. Sacks of rice and millet. Chests that must be filled with plunder. When she caught a glimpse of green, she let out a breath.

Nayimathun.

She was still breathing. Chains held her down, and a wound had festered where scale had been torn from her flesh, but she was breathing.

Loth drew a sign on his chest. He looked as if he had seen his own doom.

Tané sank to her knees before the god who had once been her kin, abandoning her sword and lantern.

“Nayimathun.”

No answer. Tané tried to swallow the thickness in her throat. Her eyes brimmed as she took in the damage the chains had wreaked.

A tear ran to her jaw. She boiled with loathing. No one with a soul could do this to a living thing. No one with a shred of shame could treat a god this way. Dragons had sacrificed so much to protect the mortals who shared their world. In return, mortals gave only malice and greed.

Nayimathun kept breathing. Tané stroked a hand down her snout, where the scales were dry as cuttlebone. It was unspeakably cruel of them to have kept her out of water for this long.

“Great Nayimathun.” She whispered it. “Please. It’s me. It’s Tané. Let me take you home.”

One eye peeled open. The blue in it was dim, like the last glow of a long-dead star.

“Tané.”

She had never truly believed she would hear that voice again.

“Yes.” Another tear dribbled down her cheek. “Yes, great Nayimathun. I am here.”

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