Erika stood at her bedroom quarters and watched him walk away, tall, handsome, confident. The sentries followed, leaving her a free woman. Free as best she could be on an island with no way to get back home. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his insolence, his arrogance, and his lack of kindness. After all, the man just wanted to know how his father died. She’d be the same way if something had happened to her father. She’d probably be more aggressive.

She shut the door and locked it.

The irony is, she’s the one who could tell him the truth and put his anxieties to rest. She caused his heart to ache. She killed his father. Why didn’t she just tell him?

Because they are going to execute the murderer, and she doesn’t want to die!

Home would be a good place to be right now. Home writing letters for her father, helping Rhea in the garden, or sparring with her brother.

Erika swung open the balcony doors and looked out over the island. The rumble of the distant surf hummed quietly, and the night air blew gently against her cheeks, leaving a soft spray of mist that cooled her forehead. She leaned over to see if she could jump or climb down the cut-stone walls. Such a long way down! Chances were, she’d fall to her death. If she survived the drop, where would she go? Find Kairos and Rory and steal a boat? Foolish thoughts. She wouldn’t have to risk her life to escape. Arell had allowed her to go as she pleased. She could just walk away in the morning.

“Fool!” Erika scoffed at herself. She had displayed none of the valor she believed in—the courage that she admired so much in her brother and the soldiers she trained with. Why not? Instead of performing heroic acts and fighting skura, she caused a king’s death and grief to an entire island. Worse, she refused to admit it openly. Instead of being courageous, she proved herself a coward.

Erika bit her nails, trembling. She’d have to tell him. If she didn’t, they could blame someone else for killing the Cho Nisi king, and then she’d have more guilt to bury.

She decided. She’d tell him now!

Erika opened the door to a silent hall. Not even a servant wandered through the corridor. She left her door open so she might find her room again and stepped into the foyer. Not sure which way to go, she drifted. Torches lit the aisle. A less elaborate castle than the one she’d been raised in. There were no statues of gods or goddesses lining the halls, nor were there great busts of conquerors or kings. Only stone, and hand-woven tapestries with simple patterns and images of shells and low riding canoes with sails on them, and birds of the sea. Native art. Arell must have Cho Nisi blood, he didn’t look Casdamian. She knew something of his legacy. His grandfather had killed the emperor of Casdamia and with several ships of insurgents fled the mainland, came here, and eventually, his people were forgotten.

Curious, when she passed the ornate doors to the grand hall and found them open, she stepped inside to a large and empty room. Furnished only with a long table to her right, a smaller table to her left, and a dais whereupon stood a simple throne. A chair not unlike her father’s nested on the dais. Made of a slick hardwood and polished to a sheen, the lack of gilded decor didn’t surprise her. Where would these people have gotten gold? Craftsmanship created the elegance of this castle, not riches. Two pillars bordered the throne, artfully carved with various animals she assumed lived on the island, some creatures she’d never seen before.

There were only a few windows in the hall, and moonlight shone through one of them. Odd that a lone crow sat upon a scraggly oak branch, its face tilted to the side as if looking in. She stared at it for a moment. It opened its mouth to caw, but no sound came out. Crows didn’t make themselves known at night. Erika shuddered and left the throne room.

Other doors in the hallway were closed, and she saw no sign of the king. She soon became discouraged and walked back to her room.

I’ll tell him in the morning then, perhaps at breakfast. I won’t hold back the truth, nor fear death. Death in the name of truth has honor.

That’s what her brother had told her. Barin talked often about the soldier’s sacrifice.

She snickered as she returned to her room and shut the door. Some sacrifice! More like a blunder. A mistake that costs a man’s life.

Erika fell back on the bed and stared at the canopy, her thoughts drifting to their conversation and to Arell resting his hand on hers. What wonderful eyes he has, she thought. Dark, kind. He has dimples when he smiles, and his touch sent tingles up my spine.

She felt so good when he held her hand, like a washing of her soul had taken place. How gentle his stroke had been, his voice, the quietness in his eyes. He spoke as if he cared about her feelings. No one talked to her like that. Maybe her father, but no one outside her family. He had apologized for sending her to the dungeon after she had said all those horrid things to him. How could he do that? How could he be so kind?

She sat upright on the bed and shook her head, surprised at her thoughts. This sounded more like Olinda pining over Felix. Surely she couldn’t be falling in love with him. Or could he be falling in love with her? Not under these circumstances! No!

No one falls in love with a man whose father they killed. That has never happened, nor will it ever. As soon as he finds out, he’ll have her executed. She needs to get away from this island, soon. Her only hope is to find Kairos and Rory and steal a boat.