Chapter 4

In shame liesthe fear of being driven into isolation.

~ Ganizbar, the poet

The gummy ball was too large to swallow, so Kaylina made herself chew it. A sweet maple flavor and rubbery texture didn’t fully hide the gritty, bitter powder mixed in. The kafdari root.

Aware of Targon’s gaze upon her, and Vlerion’s grip around her upper arms, she resisted the urge to spit it out and swallowed.

Nothing happened, but that wasn’t surprising. It would take time to digest the root. But how much time? Would she have to stand between the two men like this for a half hour before anything happened?

Vlerion’s grip wasn’t painful—especially considering he had to be irked that she’d hit him in the head—but it wasn’t so delightful that she wanted to linger like that.

Her tongue tingled, as if the powder seeped through it and directly into her bloodstream. Was that possible?

Another scream sounded elsewhere in the jail, and it sent a shiver of dread through her. What if the root didn’t work on her? Would the rangers use more physical means to question her?

“I hope Bartron gets the bases out of him,” Targon said quietly, meeting Vlerion’s gaze over Kaylina’s head.

They were both tall enough to see over her. The warmth of Vlerion’s breaths stirred her hair.

“I’m tired of fighting our own people,” Targon added. “I never thought I’d long for the frigid mountains and being attacked by Scourge beasts and packs of yekizar, but…”

“I also prefer the wilds and clearcut foes,” Vlerion replied, “not the hordes of people in the city, people whose sharp, disrespectful tongues test your equanimity more than fangs or even the blades of the Kar’ruk.”

Certain he looked at her when he said that, Kaylina blurted, “Screw you, pirate.”

Targon arched his eyebrows as Vlerion’s grip tightened on her arms. “Is it kicking in already, or was she that mouthy before you dragged her in?”

“She does not treat rangers with appropriate respect,” Vlerion said.

“If she’s from the south and doesn’t face anything more dangerous than pirates regularly, she might not have the appreciation for rangers that those whose lives depend on us do. The laws about disrespecting nobles are enforced throughout the kingdom though.”

Five lashes for cursing at an aristocrat, ten for obstructing his path, and twenty for raising a hand toward one, unless within the boundaries of a mutually agreed upon duel. Kaylina knew the rules, but so few lords came to their islands that she’d rarely had to think about them. It hadn’t occurred to her that there were places in the kingdom where laws like that were enforced.

“Do you want her flogged after this?” Targon added.

Frayvar stirred, indignation in his eyes, though he was doing as Kaylina had asked and staying out of this. She raised a hand toward him, inasmuch as she could with her arms trapped.

“No,” Vlerion said. “It would not be fair to punish her for words uttered under the influence of a drug.”

Targon nodded, as if that was the answer he’d hoped for.

Kaylina should have been relieved, but tension had crept into her, bunching her shoulders and tightening every muscle in her body. It frustrated her that these people had the right to flog her. And more. She shouldn’t be here in this jail. This was all a mistake.

With a surge of anger, she twisted, trying to break Vlerion’s grip on her. His muscles flexed against his sleeves, but his hands didn’t budge. He easily shifted her back to face Targon.

“Your name?” the captain asked.

She’d already given it but blurted, “Kaylina Korbian,” as if she couldn’t wait to share. Then she found herself volunteering more. “My brother is Frayvar. My little brother. I thought Grandma sent him after me because she didn’t think I could do this on my own, but heran away because he thought I needed help. I can’t let him be hurt or get in trouble because of my plan.” Again, she struggled, wanting to escape the big man holding her, frantic to have her freedom. Her blood scoured her veins as it flowed through them, hot and tingly. Something was affecting her so strangely.

She’d eaten a weird ball, hadn’t she? Memories from moments before flitted away, difficult to grasp, with the past coming to the forefront of her mind.

“What is your plan?” The man in front of her didn’t stir as she thrashed against the guy holding her from behind.

She spat at him. He tilted his head in time so that it sailed past.

“State your plan, Kaylina Korbian,” he said.

“To open a meadery using my family’s recipes and our honey—the bees on the islands forage on altered plants, you know, so it’s really good. One day, I’m going to be as successful as Grandma. And Grandpa too. He helps at the Spitting Gull, so he’s just as responsible for its success. Of course, he’s usually out with the bees or hunting or fishing to bring in fresh fare for the eating house. Frayvar helps Silana cook, and her kids are serving now too. Our cousins do the repairs for the place and keep out the riffraff. The whole family works at the Gull, and I’m proud of what they’ve made, but I blend in, disappear. I’m nobody there. And some days, it’s so hard to get out of bed and do the chores, to have people tell me what to do. I get cranky.” Her voice fell to a whisper as she continued, forgetting that men were watching her, forgetting where she was. Why was it so hot? And why wouldn’t the guy behind her let her go? “I don’t mean to be like that—I hate that I can’t control my temper and snap at people. Why can’t I be, I don’t know, happy? The way Silana is. Nothing ever fazes her. She’s so comfortable in her life and in the family and on the island, but I … I need something more and to be away from everyone, because I lose it sometimes. I feel trapped, say things I regret. It hurts them, and I hate myself later.”

Kaylina twisted again, needing freedom, needing the cool air from the window to push away the heat flushing her face, her entire body. A bead of sweat ran down her spine.

“Let me go.” Kaylina grunted under the restraint, more tension tightening her muscles. She shifted her weight and kicked out, wanting the man questioning her to stop. But she couldn’t reach him. “I need to go. I need to prove to them that I’m not a screw up, but I need my own place to do it. A meadery of my own. Or an inn. That castle place is perfect. We’re going to rent it. With some work, it’ll be amazing. I could share our family’s mead with everyone in the capital, our award-winning recipes. I could help my family without, without… I need freedom and a chance,” she finished with a whisper.

“Are you a spy?” the man in front of her asked.

“A spy?” Kaylina peered at him with confusion, trying to dredge an appropriate answer from her memory. She couldn’t remember why, but she had to say the right things, tell these people what they wanted to hear, even though they were imprisoning her. That grip. Why wouldn’t it let her go?

She thrashed again, some weird power giving her more strength than usual. For an instant, she escaped one of the hands grasping her, and she tasted her freedom. But an entire muscled arm wrapped around her torso, pulling her back, and she found herself pinned to a big man’s chest. She tried to jerk her head back, to thump him in the nose, but he was too tall. All she hit was armor. Leather armor. Black like a ranger. Wait, was he a ranger?

“Are you a spy?” the question repeated.

“No. I caught Mavari Bustinor spying on the Gull once. She was trying to steal Grandma’s recipes. Those sisters are always trying to get our secrets. Their parents run the Cock’s Crow, and they think they can get our customers, but their food isn’t anywhere close to as good as ours. And they serve that awful grog instead of mead. Even if they had our recipes, they couldn’t make them like Fray and Silana do.”

The man’s eyes lifted. “You still think she’s a spy?” he asked dryly.

“Ask her about Darringtar.”

“Do you know what happened to Lord Darringtar?” the man in front asked.

“I don’t know who that is.” Kaylina ducked, trying to pull away from the arm restraining her. This was worse than before. So hard and hot. Sweat bathed her face.

She squirmed, stomping a foot down on her captor’s, but it mustn’t have hurt him. His arm didn’t budge. A statue couldn’t have been more impervious.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you ever struck a noble?”

“No, nobles hardly ever visit the Vamorka Islands. Oh, wait!” A satisfying memory surged to the forefront of her mind, clearer than the rest. “I hit a ranger with a round from Grandpa’s sling.” She grinned fiercely before remembering something. “You’re not supposed to attack law enforcers, and definitely not rangers, but he was such an ass. He was going to kill Fray. I had to. He’s my brother. Even if they sometimes piss you off, family is still family. You have to protect family.”

The man in front of her looked up again.

“I chased the kid because he fled,” her captor said calmly, as if she weren’t squirming and trying to twist away from him. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“Chased him with your sword raised,” Kaylina spat over her shoulder. Then added, “Asshole,” again.

“She really likes you,” the other man said.

“As we’ve established. The squagar juice?”

“Yes. This has been a waste of time.”

“I apologize,” her captor said, the words clipped. He didn’t sound like someone who said those words often. “I’ll find Darringtar’s murderer before my squad goes back to the mountains.”

The man stepped into the hall outside, disappearing from view, and Kaylina renewed her effort to free herself. By now, she was panting as well as being hot and thirsty.

“It’s over,” her captor said quietly in her ear. “Drink the juice Targon brings. It’s not exactly an antidote, but it’ll clear your head faster.”

That seemed reasonable, but she couldn’t control her body, couldn’t stop fighting the grip restraining her. But her captor was strong, so muscular.

What would it be like to sleep with someone like that? All hard ridges and power.

Domas had been all right, but he wasn’t a warrior. He was a fisherman. Handsome, maybe, but not that nice. Why had she had sex with him? Because she’d thought it would make her happy to be in a relationship? The way her sister was?

The man returned with a flask, pausing to watch her writhing before raising his eyebrows. “I’d ask if you were enjoying that, Vlerion, but I suppose you keep yourself too strapped down to experience lust.”

Enjoying… her squirming? Like her captor might be thinking about sex too?

“Give her the juice. It was a mistake to bring them here.”

No, he wasn’t interested in sex. And she wasn’t either. Not with him. Why had her mind brought up those thoughts?

“I don’t blame you for thinking they had something to do with Darringtar’s death.” The man barked a laugh as he approached with the flask. “But I can’t believe they want to rent the cursed castle. What fools. They must have just arrived on that ship.”

Indignation flared in Kaylina. When the man came close enough, she tried to kick him.

Unfortunately, he saw it coming and dodged. Too bad. He would look good with his testicles lodged up his ass.

“She doesn’t like you either,” her captor said dryly.

“It’s the kafdari root. She’ll find me a delight once she recovers.” The man considered approaching her, but Kaylina bared her teeth, prepared to kick him again. “You give it to her.” He angled in from behind her captor, a direction she couldn’t kick, and offered the flask to him.

Vlerion, she remembered, her mind growing less scattered.

“Coward,” Vlerion said.

“I’ve faced Kar’ruk armies and have been battling Scourge monsters since before you were born.” That didn’t keep the man—Targon—from foisting the flask on Vlerion.

He managed to grab it, thumb the cap off, and keep Kaylina restrained at the same time.

“Take this,” Vlerion told her, not rescinding the coward comment for his comrade. “Once you calm down, I’ll release you.”

Kaylina wanted that, but she eyed the lip of the flask warily, afraid of what she would remember when her mind returned fully to her. Already, she sensed that she’d bared her soul to complete strangers, saying things she didn’t even talk about with her family. Not only strangers but pompous rangers who’d believed her guilty of a crime she’d had nothing to do with.

“Take it.” Vlerion brought the flask to her lips.

“Do it, Kay,” a new voice urged. Frayvar.

She’d forgotten he was there. He’d witnessed everything too.

She groaned, her head falling back against a hard shoulder as shame crept into her.

With her head back, she could see Vlerion’s scarred jaw, as well as the rest of his haughty face. His blue eyes were as cool and impassive as ever. Maybe he didn’t care that she’d spilled the contents of her soul. Maybe he hadn’t been listening.

With one arm still wrapped around her, pinning her against him, Vlerion tilted the flask. A tart berry juice she hadn’t had before trickled down her throat, and she had to swallow.

The fight bled out of her, the heat and energy that had filled her fading. She didn’t object to the juice. Despite its tartness, it was cool and appealing on her tongue.

Kaylina closed her eyes and slumped, briefly forgetting whose arms were around her and that she didn’t like the owner of them. As she again noticed the chill of the cell, his warmth grew appealing. A weird urge to snuggle back into him swept over her.

Her earlier feeling of being trapped disappeared, and she admitted it was nice being held by a man, a tall strong man who smelled of leather and lye soap and faintly of the crisp, snowy mountains. Maybe he wouldn’t ask her why she couldn’t be more like her sister. Maybe he wouldn’t call her sexy but frustrating. Maybe he wouldn’t say, You look so normal.

“Do you want more juice?” Vlerion’s grip loosened, but he watched her closely and didn’t yet release her.

Kaylina opened her eyes. Was she better? She didn’t know.

She felt woozy and like her mind wasn’t entirely hers. The thought of more juice appealed, and she nodded and licked her lips.

Vlerion’s gaze shifted to watch her mouth as he tipped the flask back. Had his eyes not continued to be impassive, she might have thought him a little interested in her.

A great boom erupted outside, close enough that it rattled the iron bars in the window and shook the floor.

Vlerion sprang away so fast that Kaylina almost fell. He dropped the flask and, not glancing back, grabbed his sword and ran out of the cell. Targon had already disappeared into the corridor and was shouting orders at someone.

Kaylina had barely recovered her balance when the door slammed shut. A scream sounded, a woman this time, and it came from outside the jail. Bangs and thumps followed.

“Terrorists!” someone cried.

“Are you okay?” Frayvar, who rarely touched and never hugged, gripped Kaylina’s wrist.

“No.” Memories of all she’d uttered flooded her with embarrassment. Embarrassment and anger. She resented the rangers for making her drop her defenses and share everything. She hadn’t meant to consent to that. When she noticed her brother’s worried face, she made herself change her answer. “Yes.”

She grabbed the flask off the floor. Some of the juice had dribbled out, but she swallowed the rest.

Outside, clangs rang out. A sword fight?

“This would be a good time to leave.” Frayvar pointed to the door. “They didn’t pardon us, but we were never formally charged of a crime either.”

Nodding, Kaylina dropped the empty flask and headed toward the door, wobbly but determined. She tried the latch, then groaned. She didn’t know if the rangers had done it or some guard had hurried down the corridor to check all the doors, but it was locked, and there was no other way out.