I scuttled over to his side of the rocks. My gaze narrowed to where a short but broad man in polished golden armor and a long violet cape stood, gesturing at the partial hull.
Hatred seized my chest. High General Dracles.
The last time I’d seen him was amid the ashes of the people he’d massacred. He’d executed every other leader of the Pravaran rebellion in front of me. But when he came to me, he rested his bloody sword against my neck with a smile.
“Not you,” he’d said. “I want your death to take as long as possible, serving the king the way he deserves.”
He added me to a prison wagon with eight other strong young men. Two of them didn’t survive the trip. Six of them died in the mine. I was the last of that rebellion.
I’d thought of hunting him down once or a dozen times. But my target had been Weylin. Then Brielle or her son would’ve forced him to retire, humiliated and unwanted. Which was worse than death for a man like him.
“Incoming,” Maz rasped.
I jerked, hearing the stamp of booted feet almost too late. Maz and I scrambled around the rubble, partially exposing us to the beach, as two soldiers marched out of the tunnel.
I clung to the rocks like a beetle, praying we still blended in.
We needed to leave. Our luck was bound to run out.
As soon as the soldiers were clear, I tapped Maz’s shoulder and pointed to the tunnel. We peeled ourselves away from the rocks and hurried back into the mine.
Seeing Dracles had rattled me. Shaken old memories loose. I felt like I had in those years trapped here. Mired in the dark, ugly feelings that had festered inside me every day.
I needed to tear this gods-damned place down. And I needed to bury Dracles in it.
But he had an army. I didn’t. Because I was the dead son of a forgotten king. I was the sole survivor of a rebellion people only talked about in whispers.
No one. You’re no one.The familiar whispers crept back into my mind.Worse than that, you’re a failure.
I ground my teeth together and tried to force the old weakness away.
We came to the fork in the tunnels. I cut a horizontal line under my slash. A symbol that this was the way. Hopefully, we would be here again soon.
We followed my marks back through the tunnels, the distance somehow seeming farther than ever.
A row of prisoners that hadn’t been there before lined the next tunnel. They sat on the ground, chained together, as a few others took pickaxes to a collapsed tunnel. A supervisor in a dented helmet stood nearby, head bent over a ledger while the prisoners sweat and bled.
My stomach churned. How many had died under the rocks just now?
I hated to leave them. We could easily cut down the supervisor, but we couldn’t lead the prisoners out of the mine without being questioned. And a dead body could tighten security before our next attack.
I forced myself to keep walking. I made it a few steps before I realized Maz wasn’t with me anymore.
I spun around to see him standing in front of a woman. Her hair was shorn to the scalp, but the tattoos on her bare arms and legs told me she was a Dag.
Dread curled my hands into fists.Fucking Four, Mazkull, don’t.
She slowly looked up at his mask, a glimmer of hatred lighting her dull blue eyes.
I marched forward, about to drag him away, when he whispered, “Bruna.”
Confusion wrinkled her brow.
Now that he said the name, I remembered her. Long brown hair and a merry laugh. She and Sigrid had been inseparable.
I jerked Maz’s arm.
“Excuse me, did you just speak to one of my prisoners?” the supervisor demanded from behind us.
