Page 418 of Coal Hearts

The minute a slave was caught, I had absolutely no doubt that slave was most likely fucking dead.

A gush of sourness coated my tongue.

Tonight at rollcall, when this game was done, I had a horrible feeling jewel numbers would be far less, and the only one to blame would be Victor himself.

Find Ily.

That was my only objective.

What I’d do when I found her was a future problem.

Sprinting through the trees, I caught sight of three Masters picking and choosing the best trail through the undergrowth. A couple of them wafted their guns through bushes and ducked around trees as if expecting to spot a jewel huddled for cover in the bracken.

They wouldn’t be in the forest.

Too risky. Too close.

Peter would’ve rounded them up...if he’s still standing.

If I’d learned anything in my time here, Peter wasn’t just a serving slave. Somewhere along the line, he’d become one of Victor’s trusted servants, and if anyone would know this island...it was him.

You’re making shit up, Ri.

As if he’d be allowed out of the gates.

He’d be as clueless as the rest.

In that case, he’d probably lead them to water.

That would be my plan.

I’d take the chance to swim, even if I couldn’t steal something that floated.

My mind ached with memories from this morning.

Victor said Daxton boated here.

He’d been one of only a few Masters permitted such freedom. Maybe another Master was staying right now with the same privileges. Another boat moored somewhere. The smallest chance that a crowd of jewels could clamber onboard and sail out of our reach.

I ran harder.

The crash of heavy surf beckoned me forward.

The forest sloped downward, guiding me toward watery boundaries.

It didn’t take long before the trees thinned and spat me out on a rugged beach. Dull sand glittered with blue and green sea glass, almost as if Victor tossed all his broken bottles into the ocean and let the sea turn them into wave-tumbled gemstones.

My loafers crunched over them, scattering a few as I jogged down the small embankment and leapt over a few larger rocks. Seaweed clung to an outcrop of boulders, the scent of salt and dead fish in the air.

Stopping in the middle of the sea-whipped beach, I looked left and right.

A few Masters spilled out onto the sand, glancing around like me.

The beach curved around a headland to my left.

In the distance, a long table, a few plastic tubs, and two youngish men worked under the scrutiny of four guards. Sunlight glinted on sharp filleting blades, followed by the glitter of fish scales.

Well, that explained the stench.