The Inadequate Heir, page 10
Words intended to give comfort, though they did the exact opposite. All the violence she’d perpetrated in her life, all the death she’d enacted, had been easy to live with, knowing it was honorable and just. But what if it wasn’t? What if everything she’d done—or in the case of Ithicana, not done—had been, as the Maridrinian had suggested, in the name of ambition?
No! The word of denial ricocheted through her skull because vengeance was not ambition. The Maridrinian didn’t understand how much the Empress had suffered at Silas Veliant’s hands, her beloved younger sister slaughtered and left to rot.
Except it wasn’t the Maridrinian people who’d killed Zarrah’s mother.
She bit at her thumbnail, remembering how she’d pleaded with Bermin to warn Ithicana because the nation’s innocents didn’t deserve to pay for the choices of their king. Yet wasn’t that exactly what she’d spent the past decade doing? Making Maridrinian innocents pay for the crimes of Silas Veliant? A good clean fight between armies of soldiers was one thing, but that wasn’t how the Endless War was fought. It was fought with ugly raids intended to strike against those who could least defend themselves, and in that, she was just as guilty as any Maridrinian princeling.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come.”
A sweaty-faced scout entered, pressing a hand to her heart, and Zarrah recognized her as one of Yrina’s. “What’s happened? A raid?”
The scout shook her head. “It’s His Highness.”
Zarrah’s heart skipped, because Bermin had gone out on patrol earlier. “Has he been hurt?”
“No, General,” the woman answered. “He’s crossed the Anriot.”
“Oh, shit,” Yrina muttered. “He was going on last night at the alehouse about how not retaliating against the Maridrinians was dishonorable. But I thought he was just drunk.”
He’s gone raiding.
Leaping to her feet, Zarrah broke into a sprint, heading toward the stables.
“RAIDERS.” OTIS WAS ALREADY shoving his sword back in its sheath and moving toward the horses. “We need to go. We need to get you back to the safety of Nerastis.”
Keris to safety, while his people were slaughtered by raiders. The screams grew louder, shrill and terrified and desperate. “No.”
Snatching his sword up from the ground, Keris flung himself into the saddle and dug in his heels, galloping toward the attack. Tree branches scraped and caught at his clothes, but he ignored the stinging pain just as he did Otis’s shouts for him to stop.
He burst out of the copse, reining in his horse to take in the scene before him.
It was a farmhouse and barn, the latter already engulfed with flames. Animals ran this way and that, as did field workers, the Valcottans shooting them in their backs as they tried to flee. The few who tried to fight were cut down, blood spraying and bodies falling, the air suddenly absent of screams.
“Keris, there’s nothing we can do,” Otis hissed. “It’s too late! We’ll warn a patrol on our way back to the city, but we must go before they see us.”
There was blood everywhere, the Valcottans laughing as they kicked at bodies. Then an enormous man wearing leather armor that strained across his chest picked up a burning piece of timber and started toward the house. He lit the front door on fire before circling around to light the rear exit, then stepped back and looked upward.
And that’s when Keris saw the faces in the window. A woman and two children, eyes wide with terror. Without thinking, he dug his heels into his mount’s side and galloped toward the home.
Through the smoke, the Valcottans caught sight of him and shouted their alarm, and Keris vaguely heard Otis blowing on a signal horn to alert patrols in the area. But there wasn’t time to wait for them. The house, made entirely of timber, would be an inferno long before the patrols could reach them.
An arrow flew past his face, catching at his hair, but Keris only bent low over the horse’s neck. The Valcottans were moving to intercept, but his animal had been bred for speed, and only the big man stood in his way.
Eyes stinging from the smoke, Keris watched as the Valcottan man hefted a staff longer than he was tall, knees bending as he readied to swing it at the horse’s legs.
The animal tensed beneath him but didn’t falter, galloping straight toward the soldier.
Steady, Keris willed it. Steady.
The Valcottan swung, the staff a blur.
But as the horse shied away from the weapon, Keris dove off the side, shoulder taking the man just below the chin. They hit the ground together, the Valcottan choking and clutching at his throat. Keris ignored him, racing to the door, only to stumble back from the heat.
There was no way inside. But over the crackle of flames, he could hear the screams from the family trapped within.
Think.
The other soldiers converged on Otis, the sound of blades crashing against blades loud as he fought them back. But he was only one man against a dozen, and if he were killed … Keris twisted, hand going to the sword at his waist, but Otis shouted at him, “Get them out!”
Keris’s instincts took over, pulling him down the length of the house. There were no windows on the ground floor, but there was a rain barrel resting against the wall. Keris leapt onto it and jumped as high as he could, catching the edge of the window frame on the second level, his injured shoulder screaming. Boots scrambling against the side of the building, he heaved himself up, then kicked in the glass, shards tearing at his clothes as he slipped into the smoke-filled home.
A fit of coughing immediately took control of him. Keris ripped off his coat, holding it over his mouth and nose as he felt around in the darkness for a door, finding it open to the hall beyond.
Tears flooded down his face, vision entirely obscured, but he followed the screams for help and found the stairs. Rising them swiftly, he opened the door to the attic, slamming it shut behind him before turning to face the terrified family. “Help is coming,” he gasped out, praying that was true, because he had no idea how he was going to get them out of this mess. Heroics were not one of his competencies.
The boy, who looked no more than six or seven, said, “One of them followed you in!”
The words barely had a chance to register before the door burst open, a coughing Valcottan rushing through, weapon raised.
Keris jerked free his own sword, the blades meeting with a crash, all the apathy he’d displayed with Otis vanquished by the adrenaline racing through his veins.
The other man was bigger, but Keris had always been fast, his speed making up for his lack of skill as they fought in the small space, the family screaming and diving out of the way even as smoke billowed through the open door.
He coughed with every other breath, his eyes streaming tears, but he kept between the Valcottan and the family, knowing the man would kill them if given the chance. Blocking a downstroke that made his injured shoulder shudder, he kicked the door shut and shouted at the mother, “Get the window open!”
“It’s stuck!” she sobbed. “It won’t open!”
“Break it!”
The woman didn’t move, but the boy picked up a wooden box and threw it, the glass shattering and fresh air rushing in.
But it would only buy them minutes.
The Valcottan scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand as he fought, face wet with tears, and Keris saw an opening in his guard. Then another.
Attack! He swore he heard Otis’s voice in his head. Kill him!
“No!” he snarled back, refusing to consider it.
The patrols would be here soon. The Valcottans would retreat. All he had to do was hold off until then.
But smoke rose between the floorboards, the growing heat having nothing to do with exertion.
They were running out of time.
The Valcottan attacked again in earnest, Keris’s injured arm starting to give, but he managed to parry blow after blow, staying on the defense. And when the Valcottan stumbled and Keris saw an opening, he swung his fist.
His knuckles stung as they collided with the man’s temple, sending him falling back. But the Valcottan didn’t drop his weapon.
“They’re retreating!” the boy shouted from his position by the window. “They’re running away.”
And Maridrinian horns were blowing.
“If you run, you might escape,” he said to the man through coughs. “Go.”
The man spit, the glob steaming as it hit the overheated floor. “This is vengeance, you Maridrinian rat. An eye for an eye for the innocent lives you took.”
Otis’s raid. The one Keris and Valcotta had instigated.
Then the Valcottan lunged, blade directed at the boy. Keris didn’t remember moving, but found himself between the two. Everything seemed to happen very slowly and all at once as the tip of his blade punched through the man’s leather armor, sliding between his ribs.
The Valcottan stared at Keris, eyes wide with shock, then slowly, he dropped to the ground.
Dead. He’s dead.
I killed him.
It felt like he was watching the scene from a distance. As though watching someone else entirely, hearing someone else cough, feeling someone else’s pain. Then the sound of someone shouting his name snapped him back into the moment.
“Keris!”
Otis’s voice echoed over the roar of flames and cracking timber.
“Keris, you need to get out! It’s going to collapse!”
“Shit!” Retrieving his coat from the ground, Keris used it to smash the rest of the glass out of the frame, the heat seeping through his boots painful. Leaning out, he saw Otis below him, face smeared with blood, but alive.
Lifting the boy, Keris told him, “Be brave,” then tossed him away from the flames licking the sides of the building, Otis catching him easily. Beyond, the patrol burst into sight on galloping horses, but Keris paid them no mind, his attention on the girl.
“I’m too scared,” she wept as he balanced her on the sill. “It’s too far down.”
“It’s not that far. And if you do it, you’ll be able to tell all your friends you were rescued by Prince Otis Veliant.”
The girl turned to gape at him, then her face grew determined, and she jumped.
“Go,” he said to the mother, nearly shouting in frustration as she hesitated on the window, asking, “Who are you?”
“No one of consequence. Now jump.”
The woman leaped. Otis was too entangled with her daughter to catch her, but the woman landed well enough, rolling over the dirt.
Climbing onto the sill, Keris winced as the heat hit him in the face, flames reaching up to singe his boots. It was an easy jump for him, or would be, if they’d get out of his way.
“Move!” Coughing, he bent his knees. Then timber cracked and the building fell out from under him.
HER HORSE LABORED beneath her as she galloped through the Maridrinian countryside, Yrina and her group of soldiers in hot pursuit. They were in enemy territory, which meant an attack could come from all sides, but Zarrah found herself not caring. All that mattered was stopping the raid. She told herself it was to protect her cousin from the Empress’s wrath, but in her heart, she knew it was something deeper.
She didn’t want to be a villain.
Bermin’s party left clear tracks in the damp earth, but they had over an hour’s head start. More than enough for him to enact slaughter upon whatever farm he selected, though he’d be smart enough to attempt to avoid Maridrinian patrols. For all his talk of honor, he wouldn’t be looking to lose his life in exchange for avenging a farmer’s death.
The faint smell of smoke tickled her nostrils, and Zarrah slowed her horse, searching the horizon.
There.
A black column reached up to the sky, growing taller by the second. Far too large to be burning debris and the wrong color for a grassfire. This was undoubtedly her cousin’s work.
Twisting in her saddle, she said, “We’re going to force Bermin to retreat, on the orders of the Empress. You will not engage or harm the Maridrinians unless your own life stands in the balance, understood? I want scouts in the surrounding terrain—Maridrinian patrols will come to investigate the smoke, and I want to be gone before they arrive. Now move!”
Cracking her reins against her horse’s haunches, she raced in the direction of the smoke, Yrina and the rest on her heels.
She burst from a copse of trees, her horse galloping through wheat nearly up to her knees as she headed in the direction of a burning barn, flames flickering up the side of the neighboring farmhouse. Her eyes danced over the familiar faces of her cousin’s soldiers, not seeing Bermin among them. Then the low bellow of a Maridrinian horn filled the air.
“Shit!” Yrina shouted from behind. “It’s one of their patrols! Has to be!”
Which meant this might not be a matter of forcing her cousin to retreat but rescuing his ass from this poorly laid plan.
Bermin’s soldiers abruptly sprinted toward the far side of the farmhouse, the air filling with their shouts of alarm.
Pulling free her staff, Zarrah circled her horse around the burning home, her gaze recoiling from the dozen corpses of men and women littering the yard—farmers that Bermin and his soldiers had massacred, their eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. How many of them had children hiding in the woods or in cellars, stifling their sobs while they watched on?
How many children were among the dead?
This wasn’t war; it was coldblooded murder. Fury raged through her, and part of Zarrah wanted to turn her horse around and leave Bermin and his men to be slaughtered by the incoming patrol.
But the thought fell away as she rounded the building and found Bermin’s men fighting not a Maridrinian patrol, but a single man, his sword blade flashing in the sunlight. He felled one of Bermin’s soldiers, then another, but he was deeply outnumbered. Which meant it was only a matter of time until they cut him down.
“Zar!” Yrina shouted, and she followed her lieutenant’s pointing finger to where Bermin writhed on the ground, clutching at his throat.
“Get him out of here,” she ordered, then flung herself off her horse and into the fray.
“Fall back,” she shouted at the soldiers, their eyes widening as they recognized her. “That’s a fucking order, you fools! Fall back!”
Four of them listened. Three did not.
Cursing, she tripped one of them with her staff, sending him toppling out of the way, then jabbed another in the ribs before she was forced to block a blow from the Maridrinian. And then another. He was big for one of them, tall and broad of shoulders, with dark hair and eyes, his skin tanned brown from the sun.
“We’re done here,” Zarrah hissed. “Back down and we’ll leave you alive.”
His eyes flashed, and he wiped away the blood threatening to drip into one of them. “You’re still alive,” he snarled. “Which means I am not done.”
He moved to attack but hesitated, his gaze skipping to the burning farmhouse.
Zarrah took advantage of his distraction, cracking him across the ribs and sending him staggering. “Stay down!”
Rounding on her cousin’s soldiers, she growled, “You forget who is in command. Retreat, or I’ll kill you myself for this insubordination.”
But they didn’t answer, their attention behind her.
Zarrah ducked, sensing the attack. The Maridrinian’s blade sliced just above her head. Twisting on her heels, she straightened and swung her fist, catching the man in the face hard enough that he fell on his ass.
Then Yrina was there, flanked by four of their soldiers, her eyes flashing with enough fury that Zarrah knew she’d seen what Bermin’s soldiers had done. Or not done. Yrina lifted her blade. “I’m going to cut—”
“Later,” Zarrah snapped. “Listen!”
More horns in the distance, a patrol only minutes away.
“Our comrade is inside,” one of Bermin’s men said. “Went into the house after the other Maridrinian.”
The house that was an inferno. “Then he’s dead. Either way, we can’t remain.” Because from the sounds of those horns, it wasn’t just one patrol galloping in their direction.
Her soldiers pulled Bermin’s men onto their horses’ backs, Zarrah catching her mount and following. They broke into a gallop across the fields, but she risked a backward glance, catching sight of motion in the upper-floor window. Children being dropped to the safety of the ground, a woman following suit. Then a man balanced on the frame, barely visible through the smoke, where he hesitated.
Which was a mistake.
The building collapsed in a roar of flames, the man disappearing into the smoke.
An unexpected flicker of grief flashed through Zarrah’s chest, and she pressed her hand to her heart in a show of respect for the man’s sacrifice before turning her attention to the road ahead.
And the changes she intended to enact once she reached the end of it.
KERIS LEAPT, THE heat washing over him so intense it hurt, his lungs burning from smoke and embers as he hit the ground and rolled. And kept rolling until fresh air filled his lungs, his shoulder screaming in pain.
“Keris!” Hands gripped his arms, shaking him, and he looked up to see his brother’s face. “Keris, are you all right?”
“Wonderful,” he croaked. “Never been better.”
Pushing up onto his hands and knees, he saw the mother with her arms wrapped around her two children, faces stained with soot. All around them were the bodies of their family and fellow workers, the yard and field splattered with blood and parts. Then his eyes skipped to the burning pile of lumber that was all that remained of the farmhouse, a body sitting near the top of it. A body that still had his sword shoved through its chest.
You killed him.
Twisting away, Keris vomited into the dirt.
“WE NEED TO retaliate immediately!” Otis slammed his fist down on the table, causing all the glassware to jump. “This wasn’t just a strike against farmers—they attacked the Crown Prince of Maridrina. To leave it unanswered will make us look weak.”
