The Inadequate Heir, page 12
“There will be a retaliation for the raid today,” Keris said softly. “One of some significance.”
She tensed, then shifted closer to him as though they were coconspirators in danger of being overheard. “When? Where?”
“Telling you that would make me a traitor to my nation.”
Valcotta was quiet, then she said, “A traitor to your king. And to the princelings and their sycophants in that domed palace. But not a traitor to your people—not a traitor to the innocents who have no say in this war and yet give their lives in payment for the actions of those who do.”
Keris felt what she was saying to his core, and yet if he did this, his soldiers would die where otherwise they would not.
As if hearing his thoughts, she said, “The soldiers in your barracks chose this life. Are paid handsomely for it. And what’s more, Silas Veliant and his ingrate sons care a great deal more for the loss of a soldier’s life than they do a farmer’s. Lose enough of them, and they might cease with the raids for the sake of keeping their hold on Ithicana. And …” She hesitated. “I think for my Empress, if she lost the need to retaliate, it would be the same.”
Keris wondered what Valcotta would think if she knew he was one of those ingrate sons. Not just a princeling living in the domed palace, but the princeling.
“We can’t stop this war,” she said. “But perhaps we could change the nature of it.”
The spark she’d lit in his mind was a spark no longer, but a flame, and it illuminated a far different future for himself than he ever imagined. “Can I trust you, Valcotta?”
She leaned toward him, her cheek brushing against his jaw, the sensation sending a rush of desire through him. Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, “I think we both know that the question is whether I should trust you.”
He huffed out a breath, not entirely certain whether it was his head, his heart, or his cock that was making this decision. Only that he was making it. “Have you enough authority to influence strategy?”
She lifted one eyebrow. “Do you have enough importance to know anything worth influencing strategy over?”
He laughed softly. “I do.”
But it was there his words stalled. She was an officer in the Valcottan army. A sworn enemy of his people. And this was treason of the highest order. But if he did nothing … “In four days, when the moon has waned enough to attack by sea under the cover of darkness, they will come. And we’ve spies in your garrison, so ensure you keep this information close until the final hour.”
Silence stretched between them, the tension so thick he could hardly breathe, then she whispered, “Who are you?”
There was a part of him that wanted to answer. A part of him that believed the path they were walking down demanded there be no lies between them. Except his identity, his name, was a curse, for it tied him to his father. And the revelation of it might well burn this moment to the ground. “One step at a time, Valcotta. I’ve already bared my throat enough tonight.”
Instead of answering, she reached up, hand closing over his throat. “If you are lying to me, I’ll slit your jugular. You know that, yes?”
Keris’s heart hammered in his chest, fueled by fear and desire and anticipation, but more than that, by the sensation of being more alive than he’d ever been. He could hear the rapidness of her breathing, feel the heat of it against his face, and God help him, but he wanted her. Except he knew it would be on her terms or not at all, and he wasn’t willing to jeopardize this fragile trust between them, on which so much depended, by allowing his cock to make stupid decisions. “On my honor, those are the plans as they stand tonight. I heard them with my own ears.”
Her hand didn’t move from his throat, only tightened, her nails digging into his skin. He stared down at her, watching her lips part, watching as who she was warred with who she wanted to be. And though logic told him that he should be glad when the latter won and she lowered her hand to her side, he had to fight the urge to provoke its return.
Pulling away before his body could betray him, Keris rose to his feet. But before he jumped back across the spillway, he turned. “When will I see you again, Valcotta?”
She smiled, her teeth bright in the moonlight. “When I find out if your word is good, Maridrina.” And then she disappeared into the night.
FOUR DAYS AFTER meeting with the Maridrinian, Zarrah crouched behind some rocks and brush overlooking one of the handful of inlets south of Nerastis’s port. On her left, Yrina watched the dark seas intently for any sign of motion, and on her right, Bermin glowered.
“Mistake to pull our eastern patrols.” His voice was a raspy whisper and would be for some time, courtesy of the blow he’d taken during the raid. That his throat hadn’t been crushed beyond repair was likely only because her cousin had a neck like a tree trunk. “If they hit one of the villages, we could have dozens of casualties in a single night with us none the wiser. This is folly.”
It was an enormous risk; Zarrah knew that. But some risks were worth the reward, and though logic said otherwise, she trusted the Maridrinian’s intent. It was impossible not to when she’d seen the naked grief on his face for those Bermin and his soldiers had slaughtered. Grief that she knew in her heart wasn’t feigned. He wanted to see an end to the raids and was willing to risk his own life by committing treason to do it.
Except for this to work, she ultimately needed to be willing to do the same. Willing to put her soldiers, many of whom were friends, at risk by betraying their raiding plans. Yet if the raids could be stymied, how many innocent lives would be saved?
“Time will tell,” she finally answered Bermin, unwilling to argue when what happened tonight would either prove the Maridrinian’s word was good or that she was a naïve fool.
The moon above was little more than a sliver of light, but stars filled the clear night sky with brilliant silver sparks beyond counting. The only sound other than the breathing of her comrades was the roar of the waves rolling onto shore, and caught in the lulling rhythm, her mind drifted, her head filling with visions of the Maridrinian’s face.
God, but he was something to behold. The sort of beautiful that should be the domain of a woman, except there wasn’t anything feminine about him. Not the solid grip of his hands on her shoulders as he’d caught his balance against her. Not the rock-hard muscle of his chest beneath her palm. And most certainly not the masculine scent of spice and exertion that had filled her nose or the rasp of stubble that had brushed her hand when she’d caught hold of his throat.
Too close. They’d been too close. And yet her body—apparently as traitorous as her mind—had ached to move closer.
The sound of an oar slamming in a lock ripped her back into the moment, and Zarrah focused her gaze on the distant waves.
Yrina lifted a hand and pointed. “There.”
That it would be this inlet, of the six others she currently had being watched, was something of a stroke of luck. But there was no denying the faint sounds of at least two longboats coming into shore, and a heartbeat later, her ears picked up the scrape of wood over sand.
Not two longboats, but three, all of them loaded with Maridrinian soldiers. Equal numbers to her own, but Zarrah’s force had the advantage of surprise. Lifting the bow she held in one hand, she nocked an arrow, seeing all the archers in her force do the same.
“Hold.” She toed the line between the enemy force being far enough up the sand to be hit and still leaving them an opportunity to escape. She owed the Maridrinian that much. “Hold.”
The enemy force reached the midpoint of the beach, close enough to strike with good shots but only a quick sprint back to the boats if they chose to escape. “Shoot!” She loosed an arrow.
A second later, the air filled with the hiss of arrows. And she wasn’t the only one who heard it.
“Ambush!” a vaguely familiar voice shouted, and Zarrah aimed at the shadowy form.
Her arrow flew through the air, grazing the soldier’s arm. He jerked, but instead of calling for a retreat, he shouted, “Charge!”
Fool! Zarrah dropped her bow and lifted her staff, screaming, “For Valcotta!”
The two forces collided, clashes of steel and screams of pain drowning out the surf; it was difficult to discern friend from foe in the darkness. Zarrah fought back to back with Yrina, her staff whistling through the air, cracking bones even as she blocked swipes from Maridrinian swords, her arms shuddering from the impacts.
She didn’t fight to kill, leaving groaning men in her wake even as she silently pleaded, Fall back. Retreat.
But Maridrina was a kingdom built on bravery and pride, and they kept coming. Kept fighting even as her reinforcements arrived.
Zarrah’s skin prickled, and she whirled, barely managing to evade the blood-drenched blade that nearly took off her head.
“We meet again, Zarrah.”
She instantly recognized the man she’d fought during Bermin’s raid. The one who’d done his damnedest to cut off her head despite knowing she’d been trying to retreat. “That’s General Anaphora, you Maridrinian rat.”
“I’ll accord no titles to the likes of you.”
Though she could barely see him in the dark, she felt his disdain. His hate. Felt her own rising despite knowing she had no more ground to stand on than he did. They were both killers. Both murderers. “Retreat while you have the chance!”
“Not while you still stand!”
She swung at his head with no intent to hit him, but he rolled, coming up on his feet swift as a cat, sword slicing at her hamstrings. Zarrah jumped, the blade sliding under her boots. But instead of landing on flat ground, her foot slid along a slick tree root, sending her staggering.
Pain seared across her arm, and she gasped, throwing herself sideways and out of range of another blow from his sword. She scrambled to regain her footing, staying on the defense as he drove her backward down the hill.
In her periphery, she could see the Maridrinians falling back to the boats, recognizing this was a fight they couldn’t win, but the stubborn bastard refused to run.
Then one of them shouted, “Highness, we must retreat!”
Highness. This was not a common soldier, not a man here only because he’d been ordered to fight. This was one of the Rat King’s sons. A Veliant prince.
Hate, blistering hot and merciless, boiled up from her heart, driving aside logic and reason, caring nothing for the consequences that would come from killing him. With a wild scream, Zarrah threw herself at him, attacking in earnest where before she’d held back.
Her staff struck him on the arm, sending his weapon flying and him backing down the beach as he fumbled for a knife.
“I’m going to kill you, Veliant,” she hissed. “I’m going to cut out your black heart and feed it to the dogs!”
“Zarrah! Hold your ground!”
She heard Yrina’s shout of warning, saw the Maridrinians racing up the beach in an attempt to rescue their prince. Knew she’d be overrun but found herself not caring.
Another swing of her staff, and he was on his ass, scrambling backward. Pulling her knife, she bared her teeth, moving in for the kill.
Then strong hands caught her around the middle, hauling her back.
“We’ve won, little Zarrah,” Bermin’s voice rasped in her ear. “Allow the rats to scuttle back to their side of the Anriot, where they can lick their wounds in shame.”
“Let me go,” she screamed, but her cousin’s grip was implacable. “He’s a Veliant!”
Her soldiers muttered angrily, demanding pursuit, but Bermin only said, “Do not allow your emotions to rule your good sense, little Zarrah. The princeling’s pride will give you another chance; you need only bide your time. And if it is not this one, it will be another who you bring low.”
She would not stop at just one. For when it came to the Veliant family, her need for vengeance was no spark.
It was an inferno.
KERIS PACED BACK and forth across his rooms, his skin clammy and his stomach twisted into knots.
Of course, Otis had insisted on going. Of course, Otis insisted on being the one to deliver Maridrina’s revenge.
It could be no other way.
Nothing Keris had said in an attempt to dissuade him from joining the raiding party had made a difference, and short of commanding his brother to remain, which would’ve raised questions he couldn’t answer, there’d been nothing he could do to keep Otis from sailing into an ambush.
“Shit.” Visions of his brother’s corpse being laid at his feet filled his eyes. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Otis was more than his half brother—he was Keris’s best friend. His only friend, if he was being truthful. For their entire lives, Otis had protected him. Against their brothers, against their father, against the world. That they didn’t have a damned interest in common and fought more days than not didn’t matter. They were blood, and if Otis were harmed …
A knock sounded at the door. Not bothering to answer, Keris jerked it open, the servant on the other side leaping back in alarm. “Well?”
“You wished to be informed when the raiding party returned, my lord.” He blinked at Keris. “They’ve returned.”
“Is my brother with them?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Only that there are many injured.”
No.
Pushing past the man, Keris ran down the circular stairs, checking his pace only when he reached the bottom. The main level of the palace was a flurry of activity, servants carrying basins of water and bandages toward the rooms that served as the infirmary.
A scream of pain echoed down the corridor, groans and sobs growing louder as he approached. His heart throbbed, his breathing more labored than it should’ve been from the stairs as he entered the room, taking in the sight of soldiers sprawled on cots, physicians and their assistants working to stem the blood that seemed to coat most of the room.
Keris’s eyes jumped from face to face, but none of them was his brother.
None of them was Otis.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, then a loud voice in the distance said, “I’m going to kill that Anaphora girl, mark my words! The next time, she’s not walking away unscathed!”
A wave of relief forced Keris to catch his balance against the wall as the world swam. Giving his head a shake, he rounded a corner, finding his brother in the adjoining chamber with several other soldiers, a physician engaged with stitching up a nasty gash along Otis’s left bicep.
Crossing his arms, Keris leaned against the doorframe. “Things not go well?”
Otis’s gaze flicked to him, then he swore and moved his glower to the physician. “I’ve known tailors to show more care with fabric than you currently show my flesh.”
“Perhaps if you refrained from gesticulating until he’s finished …?” Keris gave his brother a smirk, then laughed when Otis flipped him his middle finger. He could handle his brother’s annoyance because he was alive.
“They were waiting for us, Keris. Had an ambush ready the moment we stepped away from the boats.”
“How could they have known where you were landing?” Keris asked, because not asking would be strange.
“I’m not sure they did.” Otis clenched his teeth as the physician ran the needle through again. “It appears they anticipated a raid by sea and moved the majority of their forces to defend the coast. Though they would’ve had to leave the east exposed to do it.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. “A bold move. If we’d gone by land instead of sea, we could have struck a significant blow against them.”
She’d trusted him. The realization settled into Keris’s core, sending a spill of emotion through him that he didn’t entirely understand. Such a simple act, and yet it had saved how many innocent lives? “What will be our next move?”
“Attack again.” His brother pulled his bloodied shirt over his now bandaged arm. “And soon.”
He’d known it wouldn’t just take one stymied raid to stop the cycle, but Keris still struggled not to grind his teeth at his brother’s response. The stubborn refusal to see any path forward but war. “When?”
Otis rubbed at his temples, then frowned, focusing on him. “Since when do you care?”
Shit. “Given you nearly got yourself killed, it’s a matter of personal interest. You’re the only person in Nerastis that I don’t have to pay to tolerate my presence, and I’d feel your absence keenly.”
The frown didn’t smooth from his brother’s brow. “You should attend the next raid. You need not be in the thick of it, but it would be good for morale to have you there after this mess.”
Keris laughed. “Now there’s a jest.”
His brother sighed. “The men believe that you look down upon them, Keris. That you see them as lesser than you for a myriad of reasons. And I understand how they feel, for you treat me in much the same way.”
Keris’s hands turned cold, his stomach hollowing because he could hear the hurt in his brother’s voice. It made him feel ill; there was only a small handful of individuals dear to Keris, and Otis was one of them. “I hold you in high esteem, and you damn well know it.”
“No, you don’t.”
Bewilderment flooded him, because for all they’d butted heads over a million topics during the course of their lives, never had he given his brother cause to believe he didn’t hold him in the greatest of regard.
Before he could answer, Otis said, “You have pit yourself against Father, no matter how much it costs you, and the only people you hold in esteem are those who also stand in defiance against him. Which means you esteem no one, for the rest of us aren’t so willing to risk our lives for ideologies that only work on paper.”
This was utter bullshit. He admired his brother, respected his talents even if they weren’t the sort he aspired to himself. “That’s—”
“The truth, Keris. And most days I admire your stubbornness, but today …” Otis gave a sharp shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just go back to your books, brother. Forget I asked anything of you.”
