All the Stars and Teeth(74)

When the sound doesn’t come again, I hesitantly turn back to start toward the woods, certain it must be nothing more than a strange bird. But I keep my dagger ready all the same.

When we take a step away from the area, the squawk sounds again. Only, it’s not actually a squawk, but strange, garbled words.

“Don’t go in there!” someone manages, though the words are immediately muffled once more.

“Shut up, you birdbrain!” The voice behind the snarl is decidedly feminine.

The voices draw my attention to the corner of the cavern, where thin pillars of jagged limestone form the back wall. Tucked in the far corner behind them, almost unnoticeable between a formation of boulders and the stalagmites, a young boy’s face peeks out from around the stone. He’s there for only a second before a pale hand yanks his head down.

“I’ve already seen you,” I say, though I’m met by only silence once more.

Beside me, Vataea rolls her eyes. She wastes no time closing the space between us and the kids, crawling over damp stones and splaying across them on her stomach to peer between the stalagmites.

“Where is your village?” she demands.

Now discovered, the girl hiding behind the boulders rises to her feet to glare at Vataea face-to-face. Though young, likely around thirteen or so, her pale, freckled face is hardened and her eyes vicious.

“Why do you want to know?” Her words are spitfire, sharp and unforgiving. “So you can burn it down?”

Vataea’s face contorts as she twists herself off the rocks. Somehow, she manages to look elegant while doing so. “Fire’s not exactly my preferred method of destroying villages. But if you’d like to hear a song…”

The girl’s hands are balled into shaking fists at her sides. Beside her, an even smaller boy rises to his feet. His hair is so light that it’s nearly white, and it’s beautiful against his olive skin. He hunches his shoulders a bit as he eyes the girl beside him, hesitating before he speaks.

“I don’t think they’re here to hurt us, Raya…”

The girl whips her head and her lips curl back into a sneer, but the boy doesn’t back down.

“There’s only four of them,” he presses. “If they wanted to hurt us, they’d have brought a fleet. And they’re definitely not Kaven’s.”

Raya’s lips pinch together as if to weigh the truth of his statement. Though it does little to placate her, her fists relax and the hostility in her voice eases. Her eyes flicker from Vataea, then to me, assessing.

“Who are you,” she asks, “and why are you here?”

The island is no longer quiet. Footsteps kick up sand behind me as Bastian and Ferrick draw forward, caution in their eyes, their hands clenched around their weapons, ready.

The kids draw a tiny step back as they approach, and Raya pushes the small boy behind her. Both of them gape up at Bastian with too-large eyes, as though he’s somehow threatened them. Bastian’s face contorts. He takes a quick step back and drops his hand from his blade.

“We’re not here to fight you,” I tell her. “I’m Amora Montara, the Princess of Visidia.”

Though the girl’s skin pales, she makes no motion to relax or give away her thoughts. The young boy, however, has no such hesitation. He covers his mouth with a gasp and nudges the girl in the side. She swats his hand away, ignoring him.

“You didn’t say why you’re here.” Raya barely breathes as she fights to hold her chest proud and feign calmness. But her eyes are unblinking and her chest quivers.

I return my weapon to its sheath and close the space so only the rocks are between us.

“We’ve come to help,” I tell her. “To stop Kaven.”

The boy drops his hands from his mouth and begins to turn.

“Ari—” Raya growls in protest, still side-eyeing Bastian with deep scrutiny. Ari shoves her hand from his shoulder and crouches.

“It’s not safe for you here,” he says. “Not even to talk. Kaven’s eyes are everywhere; he probably already knows you’re here. You shouldn’t have been able to get past the barrier.” The boy waves us forward, as if expecting us to climb over even more rocks and weave between the stalagmites to follow him into the small crevice of space he shares with Raya.

“Don’t touch this one.” He nods precisely to the stone he presses his small hands to. “Zale cursed it to make sure no one would be able to find the entrance. If you don’t know where to touch, you’ll get trapped in the curse until you forget what you were doing.”

He slips his fingers into a tiny crevice and pushes the stone to the side, revealing a small hole he waves us toward.

“We’ll take you to our camp,” he says, quiet and urgent. “You can speak with Zale.”

Ferrick shoots me a look, waiting for me to make the call. Bastian’s fingers dance on his thigh, tapping anxious, tense beats. But I don’t share either of their blatant hesitations. Though it’s true we could be walking into a trap, I trust the urgent tone in the boy’s words and the way Raya scowls as she waits for me to step forward, not liking what’s happening but accepting it needs to be done.

Her angry caution is enough to win my trust. I climb over the stones and drop to my hands and knees, crawling through the darkness.