Page 111 of The Endless War

His eyes narrowed; then Welran gave a tight nod.

Zarrah wove through the crowd, dropping her weapons on the ground before she reached him, then moving close. “Let her go.”

Welran shoved the girl away, then caught hold of Zarrah’s arm, pulling her back against his massive chest, blade against her throat. “Walk,” he growled. “I won’t give you the mercy of killing you myself.”

Zarrah took a step but then fell still, a familiar rhythmic tread filling her ears, growing louder by the second. A faint smile rose to her lips, because Keris had not let her down. “Arakis has risen.”

Every street leading to the square filled with the glow of torchlight, and then they appeared. Civilians in the hundreds, in the thousands. A few carried weapons, but most were armed with shovels, pitchforks, and sticks. None of them alone could hope to stand against any of Welran’s soldiers, but this was an army.

“You can’t win this,” she said to him. “And killing me won’t stop it because they aren’t here because of me. They’re here because ofthe Usurper. They’re here because they’re through with her tyranny, through with her warmongering, through with her lies.”

Zarrah could feel the heat of Welran’s rapid breath on the top of her head as he eyed the mob. Then he shouted, “Imperial guard, to me!”

She silently cursed as the soldiers pushed aside civilians to form up around him, weapons in hand and faces devoid of the fear she knew must have been filling their hearts. They couldn’t win this, but the number of people who’d die taking them down would be catastrophic.

“Cutting my throat will only pour fuel on the fires of rebellion, will only make me a martyr,” she said. “Stand down and you’ll be allowed to board your ship.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Welran hissed. “A mob is not a thing that can be controlled.”

“They aren’t looking for violence,” Zarrah answered. “They’re looking for an end to it. Leave Arakis, Welran. Go back to my aunt and tell her that I’m coming for her.”

The mob pressed closer, silently watching. Waiting.

“You cannot win a war against her,” Welran finally said. “She will not allow it. And she will make you pay in ways that make Devil’s Island seem paltry in comparison.” But he took a step back, then another. And another.

“Retreat to the harbor,” he ordered his soldiers, but he didn’t let Zarrah go. Kept the blade to her throat as they moved toward the sea, the mob following. But just before they reached the docks, Welran ground to a stop, and Zarrah swallowed hard when she saw that the crowd had closed ranks, denying the imperial guard a path to the ships.

Daria stepped forward. “Let Zarrah go. She belongs to Arakis, and we will not let you have her.”

Zarrah said nothing, allowing Welran time for his internal debate. She didn’t have to wait long. He shoved her away with such force that she nearly fell into Daria’s arms, snarling, “I will not give you the satisfaction of martyrdom.”

Daria tensed, but Zarrah said under her breath, “Let him go. We’ve accomplished what we wished to tonight. Arakis has risen.”

“Let them go,” Daria shouted. “They have a message to deliverto the Usurper. Arakis bends the knee to Petra Anaphora no longer!”

The crowd roared, chanting“Arakis”as they cleared a path for Welran and his soldiers into the harbor where their ship was moored.

Daria wiped sweat from her brow. “Thank God that’s over. My nerves can’t handle your schemes.”

“It’s not over,” Zarrah said softly, looking out over the chanting mob. “It’s only just begun.”

IT TOOK ALLKeris’s control to stop himself from inciting the mob to violence when he saw Welran’s blade at her throat. Saam caught hold of his arms, holding him back, muttering, “You have to trust her. You have to.”

The other man’s words felt like madness, for what good was trusting Zarrah when it was Welran who held her life in the balance?

This hadn’t been the plan.

The plan had been to get Daria’s tribe behind the imperial guard’s line and for Keris to provoke the already raging city into marching on the square. To keep the prisoners alive and then force Welran into retreat. Zarrah was supposed to have held back.

“He won’t kill her,” Saam hissed. “He knows the mob will riot and rip him apart.”

But what if that was worth it to Welran? Though it hadn’t been by her hand, Zarrah had been complicit in Bermin’s death, and Keris had seen for himself what grief could drive Welran to do. What if her death was worth his own life? The lives of his soldiers? What if revenge wasworth turning all of Arakis to violence and flame?

As though sensing his thoughts, Saam said, “She will not thank you if you sacrifice the city in an attempt to save her. Don’t do it, Keris.”

Why did it always come to this?

Why did he always have to choose between protecting her life and respecting her choices? Why did the two always have to be at odds?

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