Page 51 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

Tzain lunges for his axe, but a vine wraps around it, snatching it from his grasp.

The leader steps forward and raises the cleaver above his head.

I throw myself in front of my brother, falling to my knees.

“Misericórdia!” I shout. The medallion glows as the foreign tongue spills out. I hear the word again in my head, but this time I understand.

Mercy.

“O que foi que ela disse?” a vineweaver questions. I don’t dare lift my eyes as the woman circles me. The medallion deciphers her words.

What did she just say?

“Misericórdia,” I whisper. I raise my trembling hands. The medallion’s glow strengthens as it continues to feed me words.

“Viemos em paz.” My voice shakes. How do I explain? I glance at the bronze compass tied to my belt. I flinch as the warrior rips it off.

The leader turns the compass over in his hands before opening it up. He stares at the spinning red dial.

“An enemy—” I clear my throat. “Um inimigo… se aproxima.”

The leader’s face wrinkles. He bends down, inspecting me with his startling green gaze. I take in the features he shares with his men—thick, muscular frames; round noses; and square faces.

“Mate ela, Köa!” a vineweaver shouts at the leader. The man they call Köa grunts in response.

“Você fala como nós?” he asks.

The medallion hums in my skin, taking the new language in.

You speak like us?

I try to respond, but my throat is so dry, it’s like I am swallowing shards of glass. I force myself to nod. The entire forest seems to hold its breath.

Köa’s gaze beats down on me. The cleaver glints above my head. The medallion translates his order.

“Take them in.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

AMARI

ATKÖA’S ORDER, THE VINEWEAVERS DESCEND.The women are rough with their grips. I gasp as they yank my hands back. Vines wrap around my torso with a hiss, binding my arms to my sides.

The islanders shout at me in their tongue. Someone pushes me to walk, but my legs are so numb they feel like cement. Before I can even attempt to explain, vines lift me into the air.

What’s happening?

Beads of sweat drip down my neck. I wheeze as the vines tighten around my chest. I hang suspended until the vegetation sets me down on one of the warrior’s tigenaires. More vines slither under me. They create a saddle that weaves me in place and locks me on to the mighty beast. A warrior hops on behind me, and I quiver as we touch. All muscle and brawn, his body is built like a wall.

The male warriors all share russet-brown skin, bare chests, and cropped black hair. Fanged necklaces hang from their wide necks. The arsenals inked onto their skin travel from beneath their ears to the thick belts on their ornately beaded pants.

In front of me, Tzain yells for his axe. One of the warriors goes to pick it up. His square face twists into a grimace when the foreign metalburns his hand. He walks back to Tzain and shouts before punching him in the stomach.

I flinch as Tzain doubles over. My terror rises to new heights. Though my magic burns at my fingertips, I force it back down.

They’re more likely to kill us all before I land a proper attack.

Ahead of us both, Zélie stays perfectly still. The medallion pulses beneath her wrap as they bind her arms in vines. The weavers lift her onto Köa’s black tigenaire.

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