“What?” she asked hoarsely, looking over her shoulder.
“The beasts. They are assassins, lurking beneath the surface and springing up to steal their mark and drag them below. By the time you’ve realized what’s occurred, it’s too late.”
Isobel backed away from the side of the vessel. “Like a crocodile?” She had read about them in one of her father’s books on animals around the world. They’d fascinated her, and he’d had her convinced they lived in the small pond located on the estate. Once, when Henry went swimming, Isobel had feared for his life, and he’d finally told her their father fibbed about it.
Andrix made a noncommittal noise. “Crocodile,” he repeated to himself. He gazed across the water, his chest expanding with every complete rotation of the oars. When his focus returned to her, the cover over his eyes flashed gold before going back to black.
“Where are we going and what’s going to happen once we get there?”
He heaved a long exhale, apparently already annoyed with her questions. “An island. There, a blood challenge between your Xaal and the Qon of Clan Rax will take place.”
And if Vedwascoming, he wouldn’t refuse it.
“What—”
“Shut up,” Andrix said in a sharptone.
She snapped her teeth together and immediately heard other Xaal speaking in the distance. If she could hear them, they could definitely hear her.
Several minutes later, Andrix broke the tense silence, speaking low and fast. “We are here. Stay quiet, comply. The qon doesn’t need you alive once he has what he wants. Best to not remind him of the fact.” Even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt the warning in his stare.
Did he truly care what happened to her, though? And if so, why?
The boat hit the shore with a scraping sound and then Andrix was grabbing her up. He handled her less violently than the others but still threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
At least he wasn’t running.
Andrix came to a halt, and a conversation transpired while Isobel hung there. It occurred to her that she was hearing far more voices and movement than belonged to only five Xaal. Just as she was contemplating the significance of that, Driskos padded toward her.
“Hello, boy,” she dared to whisper. When she reached her hand out to him, he nudged it with his big head. Before she could give him a truly good scritch behind the ears, Andrix gave the hound a command, and he trotted away, huffing.
Finally, Andrix set her down farther inland. She moved away from him until her back was pressed to a thick tree. The sturdiness of it was a relief after being carried and bobbing in a boat. From her new sentry spot, she took in the scene before her.
There were now a dozen or more Xaal, and besides the brief glances, they paid little attention to her. Half of them were building a pyre of some sort. As the last of the suns’ rays dwindled, it was lit, and the flames spiraled upward. As she scanned the crowd, trying to find the ones she recognized, one silver-armored Xaal with two dark bandswrapped around his biceps stood out from the rest, surveying them as they worked.
The qon.
So, this was the Xaal responsible for her capture. The one who wanted to hurt Ved so badly that he’d orchestrated this entire scheme. A ferocity she’d never felt before rushed through her—pure hatred.
Someone garbled in Xaala behind her, startling her from her bitterness and causing her to look over her shoulder for the first time. Not but ten paces from her was a captured Xaal. He was bound by thick cords between two trees, and she could tell he’d been forced to his knees in order to do so. He had no armor on besides his helmet, and every inch of him showed the abuse he’d endured. His chest, stomach, and thighs were crisscrossed with deep lacerations.
Without thought, she crept her way to him, stopping only once to ensure no one was paying attention. They were all occupied—but when she turned back around, it was the bound Xaal’s helmet that brought her up short.
Dark metal, almost black. So similar to Ved’s that it was uncanny.
“Kravis?” she whispered.
The Xaal lifted his head as much as he could with the strange way they had tied him.
He wasalive.
“Are you well? Are you—” She cut herself off. Bloody hell. Of course he wasn’t well. He’d been beaten and tortured. And he probably couldn’t understand her anyway.
Instead, she approached hesitantly, and when she was kneeling right in front of him, she said, “Ved.”
His chest heaved at the mention of his bruvya’s name.
“Kravis,” she said, pointing to his chest. “Vay?”
