Page 43 of The Endless War

He was born and raised in Maridrina, where it was always hot; a chilly breeze on a rainy day was the coldest weather he’d ever experienced. He already hated it. Hated how the wind chapped his cheeks and made his fingers ache, how the cold sank into his bones, chilling him from the inside out. Aren muttered something about wind current bringing air up from the frozen south before abandoning his chest-baring vest in favor of a sealskin coat like Keris’s. But the miserable weather was the least of his concerns.

They’d reached Devil’s Island.

In the darkness of night, they’d circled the ship around the island, crew silent and every light extinguished, only to discover that the place was well worthy of its reputation. There was only one opening in the towering cliffs, the singular pier with accompanying guard towers that were lit up like a street festival at midnight, which allowed them to count well over a hundred soldiers. Too many by far for a direct assault, so they’d risked an inspection of the cliffs themselves in a longboat.

Keris had gone with them, so he’d been there when they’d chanced a bit of light for a closer look. Every single one of the Ithicanians had gone silent at the sight. Aren cursed, then said, “It’s made of the same fucking material as the bridge.”

Smooth as freshly poured mortar, with not a crack or handhold in sight, dashing Keris’s hopes that he could climb even as it had poured fresh trepidation into his veins.

For, like the bridge, Devil’s Island had beenmade.

Whether by the hands of God or some advanced society lost to time, this place had been created to be the perfect prison, and even Lara’s face had gone grim at the revelation when they’d returned to the ship.

They’d retreated a safe distance to discuss their options, but it was now well into afternoon, and no ideas were forthcoming.

“A barren place.”

Keris glanced sideways at Lara, who’d come to stand next to him at the rail. Beyond, Aren paced the deck. “How are you feeling?”

Lara didn’t move her eyes from the small rocky island near them, the only life in sight scraggly conifers, the occasional bird, and the seals on the beaches. “Just tired, for the most part.” She was quiet for a long time, then added, “This has never happened to me before. I’ve been injured many times in my life and always recovered swiftly, but this time …”

“There’s a difference between being injured and dying, only to be brought back and then nearly die again.”

Her jaw tightened. “Aren makes it sound worse than it was, and my recovery is hardly our primary concern.”

Keris made a non-committal noise, for he expected Lara’s injuries had been every bit as bad as Aren had indicated. But she was right about their concerns, so he said nothing when she switched subjects.

“In a perfect world, we’d have time to learn more about this place before venturing closer,” Lara said. “But everything about this prison is well guarded, so even if we had time, we might well have ended up at this point.”

“Hopeless?”

She cast him a dark look. “Dramatics won’t help. We’ve beenhere less than a day—keep in mind that it took weeks of thought and planning and spying to break Aren out of the Vencia palace.”

“Zarrah doesn’t have weeks,” he muttered. “What we need is a stroke of luck, but Lady Fortune rarely favors me.”

“Ship off the starboard bow,” the lookout shouted. “It flies the Valcottan flag!”

“Shit,” Lara hissed.

Keris’s stomach sank, and he cursed himself for speaking of luck.

The other Ithicanians donned their costumes and took their places, and Aren motioned to Keris and Lara to join him. “Follow my lead,” Aren said once they’d reached him. “I’m going to tell them we hit rocks and damaged the rudder. Buy us some time to linger, though we’ll have to do it under their watch. Keris, put on your damn blindfold.”

That was the last thing Keris wanted to do, but he dutifully wrapped the linen around his eyes. In combination with the dim light, he could see little.

“Steady,” Aren muttered, and Keris heard waves hitting the hull of the approaching ship. Flapping sails and barked orders. “Prepare to be boarded,” a deep voice shouted, and moments later, heavythunksof hooks striking wood filled Keris’s ears.

“They’re boarding,” Lara murmured. “And they aren’t happy we are here.”

“Greetings.” Aren’s voice again carried the accent of a Cardiffian sailor. “How can we be of service?”

“Passage on these waters is prohibited,” the deep voice called, and Keris was struck by its familiarity. “State your business for being here.”

“We were blown off course in the night,” Aren answered. “Rudder was damaged, and we’ve dropped anchor to repair it. We carry Cardiffian merchants seeking to form business partnerships in the south. Relationships that donotinclude Ithicana and its bridge.”

“You think I’m going to trust your words, you squirrely-eyed warlock?” the Valcottan snarled. “If you’re transporting goods from Teraford to the Maridrinians, you’re in violation of the Empress’s blockade.”

Aren answered, “You wound me, my friend. We would not dare to cross the Empress. Check our hold—we carry no goods from Teraford, only those brought from Cardiff to show Valcottan merchants whose aspirations have been stymied by Ithicana’s relationship with Harendell.”

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