The barbarian traveled deep into the forest until he came across a good-sized den covered by thick vines and long leafy branches. I had no idea where we were, and I could barely smell the sea from this far away.

This wasn’t what I expected—mainly, I didn’t expect to witness the murder of the Zaqwar who I was given to. What did that make me? What would happen to me?

Who was this raven-haired warrior who had only uttered two words to me? Was he even Zaqwarian? If so, why did he kill those men back there?

The barbarian pulled me into the den and proceeded to tie the rope around an old tree stump. As he worked, his thick arms moved back and forth as he secured the rope. I noticed that he had fresh battle wounds along his arms and back, probably from his opponents’ spears. The wounds were working to heal, but trails of blood still leaked through the open cuts.

I brought my hand up to touch his forearm, and he shrank away like my touch was poisoned.

“You’re hurt. I can help,” I whispered.

The barbarian growled. “Don’t touch. Don’t talk.”

I sighed.

He turned swiftly, and I watched as he dragged a fallen tree to block the entrance of the den and then pulled a thick, woven blanket from his bag and hung it across the opening.

It was nearly pitch black as he used some tools on the ground to construct a pit and make fire. He seemed to pay me no mind as he pulled out a jar of something from his bag and started applying a thick ointment to the cuts on his body. I noticed that he grimaced and hissed while dressing some of the deeper cuts. He was in pain and had been all this time, but still managed to travel very far with his injuries.

“What’s that?” I asked him.

He glanced up sharply, probably surprised that I spoke after he asked me not to. Asking a Siren not to use her voice was like asking a fish not to swim. It just wasn’t done.

He grumbled something in a language I didn’t understand, but his body language told me he was displeased.

I needed to understand him. If this was going to work, I needed him to trust me.

“What did you say?”

“Disobedient,” he grunted.

“Disobedient?”

“You are…yes.”

He stuffed the ointment back into his bag and came barreling toward me. I scooted out of his way until my back hit a wall. The barbarian knelt down in front of me, snatched up my satchel, and scooped out some of the jewels. He squinted in astonishment as he examined many of the stones, seashells, corals, pieces of diamond and gold. After sifting through the contents, he returned everything to the bag and dropped it between my legs.

“Where do you come from?” he demanded.

“The Volatile.”

“You are…Mer?”

I nodded. “And Siren,” I added.

He tilted his head, his eyes brimming with confusion. “How?”

“Father was Mer. Mother was Siren.”

“Do they live in the sea with you?”

I shook my head. “They are not living.”

He frowned. “Do you sing?”

“I sing,” I said, nodding. “Where do you come from?”

“You do not ask me questions.”

“You are not like the others. The Zaqwar,” I said.

“I am part Zaqwar,” he stated.

“Why do you kill your people?” I recalled the way he had so effortlessly sliced through the barbarians on the beach and cringed.

His expression looked pained as if I had hit a nerve.

“You will not run,” he said, rising to his feet.

“I don’t have anywhere to run to. I am prisoner in the sea. I am prisoner on the land.” I pointed to the ropes around my waist. “I am a Zaqwar’s prisoner.”

“In the morning, we go.” He produced another blanket and tossed it on the ground near my feet.

“Where?”

“To Rockming.”

“But t-that’s where the Zaqwar live. You killed. I thought you were running.”

"I don't run," he stated, and then sat down in front of the only entrance to the den, carefully placing his spear down at arm's length in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” I said, quietly.

“I have something Zaqwar wants—you. In exchange, they will release my brother.”

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat and brought my knees close up to my chest. The nameless barbarian was right. The Zaqwar would still have use for me. I was sent to breed their offspring. Although the prince I was promised to was dead, I was sure there were many more in the Zaqwarian empire waiting for their chance to have babies.

I never stood a chance. My fate had already been carved in stone. Just like the mysterious barbarian cringing by the entrance of the den as his stab wounds tormented him, I don’t run.

I brought the blanket all the way up to my chin and laid down on the rough forest floor. Even when the fire went out in the pit, I could see the piercing blue gaze of the barbarian watching me. He had an untold story within him. I hummed softly, just for a brief while, and the barbarian closed his eyes and his breathing evened.

This wasn’t freedom—yet. But I was so close…