The Inadequate Heir, page 13
Except he had asked.
All their lives, Otis had been the only one of his brothers to accept Keris’s refusal to fight. To accept his abhorrence of violence and war, even if he didn’t agree with it. Had defended him against everyone who’d tried to force him to change and protected his back from those who’d tried to kill him for refusing to do so.
What had changed?
Keris knew the answer without asking. He was acceptable to Otis as a brother, but not as an heir. Not as a king. And now that he was heir and in line to become king, Otis, like everyone else, would try to force him to be just like their father.
Keris swallowed the rising ache of grief that threatened to strangle him. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing his brother, but neither was he willing to concede on everything he stood for. And with Otis’s hatred of Valcotta, there was no chance that he’d be able to convince his brother to pursue peace.
But maybe … maybe he could convince him of the merits of avoiding war. For his brother was no fool. If the cost of raiding became too high, the loss of soldiers’ lives too great, he’d desist. And while a stalemate wasn’t the same thing as peace, the results might well be the same. “I’ll think about it. The raid.”
Otis’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ll fight?”
I’ll fight, Keris silently replied. Just not the battle you think. “I was thinking a more observational role, but if I must.” He crossed his arms. “Just … just keep me informed of the plans. You know I hate having things sprung upon me.”
“I’ll involve you with every decision.” Genuine pleasure filled Otis’s dark eyes, more proof that his brother wanted him to be someone other than who he was. But Keris shoved down the hurt. “You’ll have to excuse me now, for I can feel dawn starting to warm the sky, which means it’s time for me to go to bed.”
“Thank you for this concession, Keris. You won’t regret it—not once you’ve earned the loyalty of the men.”
Keris walked away without answering. When it came to standing in defiance of his father, he’d never once conceded.
And never would.
CHEERS MET ZARRAH and her soldiers as they rode back into Nerastis, word that they’d repelled the Maridrinian raid having flown ahead of them. Civilians and soldiers alike lined the streets, hands held to their hearts in respect for those who’d fought, those who’d died, and those who’d come home victorious.
Zarrah could feel the shift in sentiment in her soldiers. Far too often, they arrived on the heels of a raid, too late to do anything but step over the bodies of dead civilians as they pursued the Maridrinians back across the border. But this had been a good, clean fight, and instead of heading straight to the war room to make plans for retaliation, nearly everyone wandered off in search of leisure or sleep, only Bermin following her as she went to her office, a healer waiting to stitch up the deep cut on her arm.
“They sing your praises.” He closed the door behind him. “Victory is sweet, but you and I both know this was luck. If the Maridrinians had come by land, it would have been a very different story.”
“What is it you want, cousin?” What she needed was sleep, yet what she wanted was the sun to be setting, not rising, so that she could meet the Maridrinian at the dam. Already her pulse thrummed, anticipation distracting her as the healer unraveled the sticky bandages and set to cleaning the wound, which stung but wasn’t deep enough to be of particular concern.
The chair across from her creaked as Bermin settled his bulk into it, the dark bruises on his throat vivid in the sunlight shining through the window behind her. Blood splattered his clothing from the battle, and between the two of them, the room was beginning to reek.
“How did you know?” he finally asked, leaning back, his arms crossed behind his head. “You wouldn’t have left us so exposed if you weren’t certain.”
Zarrah shrugged, the healer muttering in annoyance as she fumbled one of the stitches. “After your actions, a significant retaliation was inevitable. With little moon, it’s easier to transport a larger force at speed via the sea. I had our spies in the Maridrinian palace watch the stables and inform me if horses left.”
“They take horses out all the time on patrol.”
“Senior Maridrinian officers don’t condescend to ride patrol, cousin. But they do love the glory of a raid—it was their horses that I had watched.”
Bermin’s brow furrowed, and he rubbed thoughtfully at the few days of stubble darkening his chin. “How did you know it would be last night?”
“I didn’t.” She lifted one hand. “My intent was to keep watch over the shores until the moon lit the sky, then once again split our patrols between east and west. Was only luck that they came the first night we stood watch.”
“Luck.” He dropped his hand from his chin. “Didn’t feel like luck, little Zarrah.”
God, but she hated when he called her that. “If you have a point to make, make it. Otherwise, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve reports requiring my attention.”
“So diligent.” He smiled. “When do we attack again?”
Because this hadn’t been his victory, it had been hers.
“We don’t.” Zarrah nodded at the healer, who’d finished working on her arm and was now leaving the room. “As you said yourself, pride will send them back across the Anriot, and I intend to meet them head-on. No more of us arriving minutes too late to save the lives of those we are supposed to protect, Bermin. Until the Empress orders otherwise, we will defend our borders. Nothing more.”
His nostrils flared, wheels turning in his dark eyes. Then he shrugged. “I live by your will, General.”
Liar, she thought, but only smiled, watching as he left the room.
THE MARIDRINIAN WAS waiting when she arrived at the dam, both of them carrying muted lanterns in deference to the utter blackness of the moonless night.
“You were true to your word, Maridrina,” she called across the gap, her pulse racing faster than the climb warranted.
“Such little faith.” He set his lantern on the edge of the spillway. “Mark the edge for me, would you? I’ve no interest in shouting across a waterfall.”
She set her lantern down on the edge, backing up to give him space but remaining close enough to catch his arm if he slipped. Fear bit in her chest as he retreated out of the faint glow of the lantern, his boots scraping against rock as he sprinted forward and leapt, little more than a shadow until he landed like a cat next to her lantern. And though he was steady, Zarrah caught him by the arm, pulling him away from the edge. “Don’t you fear falling?”
He glanced back at the spillway, then shrugged. “Seems counterproductive. Besides, I won’t be half so lucky as to die from a fall—it’s just not in the cards.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he did fear, then found herself not wanting to talk about such grim things. “They came exactly as you said they would. It was good information. Thank you.”
“Should we be expecting retaliation?”
She shook her head, following suit as he sat on the edge of the dam, legs dangling. “It was a clean fight—and one which we won. It has contented spirits in the barracks, at least for a time.” Inhaling, she wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like you just came from a brothel?”
He smirked. “Because I did.”
A flicker of jealousy burned in her stomach, but before she could tell herself that she had no right to the emotion, he added, “I have an arrangement with one of the girls in order to give myself cover for my nocturnal wanderings, as I’ve no desire to be followed. Especially of late.”
“And you think you can trust her?”
“I don’t trust anyone. But she’s a clever girl who knows it’s in her best interest not to betray me, never mind that I pay her more for her silence than I would for her services.” His elbow brushed the bare skin of her arm as he turned to look at her, sending prickles of sensation through her body. “Does no one notice your absence?”
“There’s a rumor that I have a lover in the city.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t discourage it.”
“Do you?”
The question came out quickly, and Zarrah smiled at the darkness. “Jealous, Maridrina?”
He huffed out a breath. “I’m merely concerned for the longevity of your relationship with the poor sot, given you spend more nights than not here with me. He must seem very boring in comparison.”
“You’ve a high opinion of yourself.”
“I find false modesty tedious.”
A laugh pulled from her lips, and when Zarrah turned her head, she found him watching her, his face serious. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” His voice was soft. “Everything is far from wrong.” Then he coughed and looked away. “Except in the case of your rumored lover. How long will he hover by the door, awaiting your attention, before resigning himself to the comfort of his right hand? I’m starting to feel guilty, which is typically only a sensation I burden myself with when I’ve received something in return.”
Holding a hand to her mouth, Zarrah tried and failed to stifle another laugh. “Just what are you begging me for, Maridrina?”
“Release.”
As her eyes widened, he laughed, teeth white in the darkness. “From the burden of guilt, Valcotta. Curb your filthy thoughts and tell me that I’m not keeping you from anyone so that I might sleep easy.”
This was dangerous ground, and if she were smart, she’d stop things now before they went any further. Because already, she felt like she was standing at the end of precipice, knees bent and ready to leap. Yet she found herself saying, “Sleep easy, then. My nights are yours and yours alone.”
He leaned closer, and her heart leapt with anticipation even as her skin flushed. But he only murmured into her ear, “And they say Valcottans are merciless.”
A slight shudder ran through her, an ache building in her core. “Don’t get used to it.”
He chuckled, then rose in a smooth motion before reaching down to pull her up, his gloved hand strong and warm against her naked palm. “My fellows are currently licking both wounds and pride, but the latter will drive them to move against Valcotta. Their plans are not fixed, but when they are, I need to be able to get word to you.”
“Can you meet me again tomorrow night? At midnight?”
“Midnight.” Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips against her knuckles, and then he turned away.
She didn’t want him to go.
Didn’t want this conversation to end.
“Maridrina?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”
This is insane, logic screamed at her. Utterly and entirely foolish.
But her heart said otherwise. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get something to eat?”
YOU HAVE LOST your bloody mind, Keris thought to himself as he followed Valcotta down from the dam and into the enemy side of Nerastis. If you get caught, a quick death is the best you can hope for.
And a fool’s hope, at that.
“Best to keep your hood up,” she murmured. “There will be Maridrinians aplenty on our side at this time of night, but you’re likely to draw some attention.”
He smirked. “A hazard of being so attractive, I suppose.”
Valcotta huffed out a breath of amusement, then pulled up her hood. “I was thinking of that blond hair of yours, but you’re correct: your ego burns bright as the sun.”
Staggering sideways, Keris clutched at his chest, but dutifully drew his own hood forward to conceal his hair and shadow his face, tucking his gloves in a pocket because Valcottans didn’t wear them. Which meant they both blended in as they wove through the broken streets lined with drinking establishments and opium dens and brothels, the majority of people keeping to the shadows of hoods and scarfs as they pursued vice and sin.
And maybe he did fit in, for what was fraternizing with the enemy if not a sin? What was his addiction to her conversation if not a vice that was as likely to get him killed as anything the people of these parts consumed?
Yet he found himself unable to help moving closer to her, inhaling her clean scent and allowing his eyes to drift over the hard curve of her bottom as she climbed over a stretch of rubble. She turned and offered him a hand, and his pulse roared at the sensation of her skin against his, palm callused from combat, though the top was as smooth as silk. The last thing he wanted was to let go, but not even he was bold enough to walk hand in hand with a Valcottan soldier on this side of the Anriot. “Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
She turned down a dark alley, stepping over refuse, rats skittering ahead of them. It was dark and smelled terrible, the walls to either side teetering precariously. “You haven’t brought me here to do me in, have you, Valcotta?”
“We’ll see how the night goes.” She turned to face him, the torchlight from the street illuminating her face, so painfully lovely his breath caught in his throat.
Imagine what she’d say if she knew who you were? The thought soured his stomach, and he looked away.
Valcotta’s head tilted. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. And everything. “I don’t like rats.”
“Then you must really dislike your king.”
More than you know, he thought, allowing her to take his hand and tug him forward.
“We’re nearly there.”
There was a tiny common room that smelled of cooking, tobacco, and the dark ale the Valcottans favored. The roof had collapsed at some point in the past, and boards were stretched across to replace it, from which dangled strings of colored lanterns. Like on the Maridrinian side, the furniture was scavenged and thus mismatched. There were six groups of patrons, but unlike most establishments, none were gambling and all were eating.
Valcotta pulled him down into a chair at one of the empty tables, a stout old woman appearing a moment later to set a stub of candle in front of them. “You’re wanting to eat, then? Pay first.”
Valcotta smiled, and Keris found the world fading to a blur as he examined her face in the candlelight, the soft glow illuminating her smooth skin and rounded cheeks, her bottom lip enticingly plump. And her eyes. Wide and dark and rimmed with thick lashes. He stared at them while she ordered and generously paid the old woman.
Then Valcotta focused on him, gaze expectant, and Keris found himself grasping for something to say. Theirs were always conversations of a forbidden nature, not things they could discuss surrounded by people. Yet idle chatter felt no more fitting, like the only conversation there could be between them were topics dear to the heart. “You’re beautiful.”
As soon as the words were out, Keris cursed himself, because he was normally better at this. Better at knowing exactly what to say to make women smile and laugh and eventually fall into bed with him. Except with her, he found himself wanting more.
She doesn’t even know your name.
“We haven’t even had a drink yet,” she said with a laugh. “I wonder what you might say when the ale begins to flow?”
His cheeks burned. “Bad poetry, I expect. Later I might sing, and the shame I’ll feel come dawn will mean I can never see you again, so perhaps I should drink water.”
“If you drink the water served here, you will suffer more than shame; that I promise.”
The proprietor returned with ale, setting the glasses of dark liquid between them. Keris took a mouthful, the cool, bitter drink welcome on his tongue. He waited for the woman to depart, then asked, “Do you like it? Soldiering?”
She drained half her glass. “Yes. I like the order and routine of it, and I like defending my country.” Her head tilted sideways. “What exactly is your role here? And don’t say soldiering, because I’ll know that’s a lie.”
This was dangerous territory. For while he was far from the only useless nobleman loitering about the palace, if he said too much, she might suspect his identity. “I’m a spy.”
She blinked, and he laughed. “I’m jesting. The best spies are those with unmemorable faces, which we’ve already established is not the case for me. The truth is, I’m an administrator—I keep the palace books in order. I was selected because I have perfect spelling, grammar, and penmanship.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie.”
“Only part of it. My penmanship is as flawless as my face.”
“Fine.” She rested her chin on one hand, eyes narrowed. “What do you like to do when you aren’t doing the thing you won’t confess to?”
Treason, Keris thought even as he said, “I like to ride.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Ride …?”
“Horses, Valcotta. Get your mind out of the gutter. Fast horses.” He paused as the proprietor set a platter of food between them, all of it unfamiliar. “I like climbing and gambling and reading.”
“Reading?” She leaned forward. “That … I didn’t expect that.” Then she frowned. “Or maybe I did. What do you read about?”
Her reaction eased the tension that had formed in his shoulders, because he was used to the admission eliciting sneers and derision. Which he’d long since stopped caring about, but from her … “I like to read about what other people think.”
“Think about what?” She picked up a piece of what appeared to be a fried bread of sorts, taking a delicate bite.
“Anything. Everything.” He examined the food, feeling disarmed by her question, though he didn’t know why. “If one only knows one’s own mind on things, does one really know anything at all?”
“I’d never thought of it that way.” Her brow furrowed. “When I was a girl, I read a great deal. But it’s been an age since I’ve picked up a book.”
“Why did you stop?”
“My mother died.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I … When she died, I dedicated myself to becoming someone who couldn’t be hurt like she’d been hurt. And I suppose part of that was setting aside anything that didn’t help me achieve that goal.” She hesitated. “My aunt encouraged my dedication, facilitated it, so all my time was spent learning to fight. And perhaps that was to my detriment.”
