The Inadequate Heir, page 22
“You might have noticed that we are hosting another prisoner,” his aunt finally said. “King Aren Kertell of Ithicana.”
“King no longer, I’m told.”
One of her eyebrows rose, and he added, “I witnessed a portion of Serin’s performance with him in the gardens. There’s nothing I can do about it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. My father is more likely to listen to the harem’s complaints than mine.”
“I’m aware.” She sipped her tea. “Silas has forbidden any of us to speak to Aren, but you are under no such restrictions. There is information we hope he can provide us.”
He eyed her for a long moment. “About Lara, you mean?”
“Yes. And the rest of your sisters.”
Keris had been nine when his father had taken Lara and his half sisters away without any explanation. All the five- and six-year-old daughters stolen from the harem, their fates kept secret until last year when his father had arrived back in Vencia after a trip to the desert, and in his company, one of the missing girls.
Lara.
She’d immediately boarded a ship and sailed off to Ithicana, the bride destined to fulfill Maridrina’s half of the Fifteen Year Treaty between Ithicana, Maridrina, and Harendell. Upon his return from the nuptials at Southwatch Island, his father had explained that she and her other sisters had been kept in a secret compound in the Red Desert in order to protect them from Valcottan assassins. The others, he’d said, would continue to reside there until he’d found appropriate matches for them.
Lies, on every level, though the truth hadn’t been revealed until his father invaded Ithicana using a plan of Lara’s invention, his sister apparently having been trained by Serin himself as a spy. And a deadly one at that. “Lara’s either dead or a ghost on the wind. And my other sisters are still in their secret compound in—”
“If that’s where they are, then why is Serin hunting them?” Coralyn interrupted. “And why is he hunting Lara?”
Keris’s jaw tightened. Loose ends. His father hated leaving anyone alive who might cause him trouble in the future. But why did his father have cause to doubt the young women he’d turned into fundamentalists who blindly followed his orders, no matter the cost? “Don’t you think if Aren knew where Lara was that he’d gladly give her over?”
“He probably would, if he wasn’t in love with her.”
Keris huffed out a laugh. “Maybe he was once, but Lara stabbed him in the back. Betrayed him and Ithicana, costing him his throne, his liberty, and the lives of countless of his people.” As he blinked, Keris saw the light fading from Raina’s eyes. Lara had killed her as surely as if she’d wielded the blade herself. “He’d have to be a damned fool to still care for her.”
“I’m not unaware, Keris. Yet during that despicable scene in my gardens, Serin tricked Aren into believing the girl he was torturing was Lara. And he pleaded she be spared.”
More than pleaded.
The vision of Aren on his knees, shouting, Pull out the damn gates, filled Keris’s head, and he frowned. “If it is so, then he’s not going to give up Lara’s whereabouts to you, me, or anyone else. He has no reason to trust us.”
“Then find a way to give him one so that we might find out what he knows of the harem’s lost daughters,” Coralyn said. “That is the price of our hospitality for your Valcottan.”
If his father or Serin caught him meddling with the Ithicanian king, it wouldn’t go well for him, and as it was, Keris needed to focus on negotiating with the Empress. Needed to focus on getting Valcotta free. But he knew the harem was dangerous if crossed, and if he didn’t pay their price, it wouldn’t be long until a freak accident took Valcotta’s life. “Fine. But accomplishing this will be difficult. Maybe even impossible.”
Coralyn reached across the table and patted his cheek. “You’ve always been cleverer than the Magpie, Keris. I have every faith you’ll deliver.”
“I’m glad you do.” He rose to his feet. “Take care of my Valcottan.” And without waiting for a response, he exited the room.
He had a negotiation to begin.
ALL THE LUXURY in the world wouldn’t make up for the fact the room had bars on the window and a bolt on the door.
It was a prison.
And it wasn’t lost on Zarrah that it wasn’t a prison intended for individuals such as herself, but rather for wives of the King of Maridrina. Likely girls who were reticent about being wed to an aging monster who’d treat them like broodmares. The very thought of it made her sick, and she added them to the list of people who’d see vengeance when Silas fell to her blade.
A cold voice from behind her interrupted Zarrah’s thoughts. “Allow me to make myself very clear, Zarrah: this is my house. You will dress in the clothes I provide. Conduct yourself in a manner I find fitting. Speak only to those who speak to you first. And you will never lay so much as a finger on a single member of this household.”
Turning, Zarrah found the wife called Coralyn standing behind her, flanked by two guards. Perhaps in her mid-sixties, the woman was stately in her gown of amber brocade, her hair perfectly coifed, and the jewels on her fingers, wrists, ears, and throat worth enough to purchase one of the more costly homes in Vencia.
“If you cross me on any of these things, I’ll have you killed, and I don’t care what Silas or Keris has to say about it. Am I understood?”
A hundred quips rose in Zarrah’s thoughts, the foremost being I could kill you before those two fools moved, you old Maridrinian hag, but instead she gave the slightest of nods. If pandering to a harem wife was what it would take, then pander she would.
“Not only are you Valcottan and a member of the Valcottan royal family, but you are a soldier responsible for the death of at least one of our sons by your own hand. And indirectly the cause of the death of many more. You may anticipate courtesy from the women of my household, but do not expect kindness. Am I understood?”
“I understand and will abide.” Right up to the point she put a knife in Silas Veliant’s heart.
“Good.” Coralyn snapped her fingers, and servants moved into the room carrying a bath, several others on their heels. “Measure her for gowns. She’s a princess of sorts, so she is to be dressed accordingly. I’ve a reputation to uphold, and I won’t have her returning to Valcotta to spread rumors that the Veliant house is cheap.”
Then she approached, caught hold of Zarrah’s wrists, and untied the ropes.
“Lady Coralyn,” one of the guards said, his eyes widening with distress. “Are you certain this is advisable? She’s a killer.”
“So am I.” Coralyn looked up to meet Zarrah’s gaze. “And I can see in your eyes that you’ve a brain between your ears. You won’t cross me, will you, dear?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Coralyn.”
The old woman patted her cheek. “Good girl. You can dine in here alone once you are bathed. I’m certain, after the journey from Nerastis, that you’re desperate for privacy and silence. God knows, Keris does like the sound of his own voice.” Yet as she turned, she told the guard, “Keep the door locked and under guard at all times.”
Zarrah allowed the seamstresses to measure her without comment, trying not to stare longingly at the bath as the servants filled it with steaming water and set a tray of salts and soaps and scrubs to one side of it. As soon as the seamstresses departed with their notes, she stripped off her filthy garments and stepped into the steaming water, wincing as she looked down. The poison had leached her strength, eating away at both muscle and curve, and she looked as weak as she felt. It disgusted her, so she sank under the water, all sound turning muffled.
God, how long had it been since she’d had a proper bath? Not since before she’d met Keris on the dam that fateful night. Not since he’d had her in every possible way, and she him. Beneath the water and with her eyes closed, memories of that night drifted over her. Of how he’d devoured her with a look. How he’d made her feel more powerful and alive than she had in years, if ever. How it had felt to be joined with him, not just in flesh but in thought.
That was the Maridrinian. Not Keris Veliant.
She wasn’t certain if it was because of the act he played that she couldn’t reconcile the two or that she subconsciously didn’t want to. Didn’t want the man she’d fallen for to be the same man as the one she reviled in every possible way. And it drove her to madness that in one moment, her gut told her he was on her side, and in the next, that all his words were a manipulation intended to achieve his own ends.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. If he realizes your intent, he’ll try to stop you. Because as much as Keris seemed to hate Silas, the man was still his father.
And yet … Zarrah’s hair drifted in the water, brushing against her cheeks, her eyes still closed as she remembered how he’d spoken of Silas. My father is an unrepentant prick the world would be better off without. His words whispered through her thoughts, tempting her. Making her want to trust him.
The need to breathe grew too intense to be denied, and Zarrah sat upright in the bath, gasping in a mouthful of air and ignoring the alarmed looks of the pair of servant women. Resting her chin on her knees, she squeezed her eyes shut. The words were the bluster of a man pretending to be something he is not, she thought. If he meant them, he’d have taken action long ago.
“Something to drink, my lady?” one of the servants asked, holding out a glass of wine. Zarrah accepted it, suddenly feeling more exhausted than she had since she’d been on her deathbed.
The man you fell for isn’t real, but Keris Veliant is, she told herself. He was a fabrication. An act. A pretense. Which means you didn’t fall for him at all.
Or so she would keep telling herself.
VALCOTTA WAS BEING exceptionally agreeable.
And that made Keris exceptionally nervous.
For all she’d made no move against his father, there’d been no mistaking the murder in her eyes when she’d come face-to-face with her mother’s killer. She wanted him dead; there was no doubt. And in that, their thoughts were aligned.
It was the method that had him concerned. He’d bought her time today, but that mattered little if she got herself killed in the pursuit of honor and vengeance.
Sitting up straight, Keris winced as his spine cracked from hours of leaning over pen and paper. He was in the heir’s quarters in the tower, though this was the first time he’d been here since Rask died. His things had been brought from his residence in the city, but there were still traces of his elder brother, most notably the furniture. It was all sized as though for a giant, the bed large enough for ten, the heavy wood covered with gold leaf and the bedding vivid indigo and gold stripes.
He hated every piece of it.
But more than that, he hated being parted from Valcotta. For days upon days, he’d been at her side, and her absence, especially in this place, had his nerves on edge. Not only because she was surrounded by enemies, but because he knew her mind, at least, would not be sitting idle. Which meant it was only a matter of time until she took action.
Closing his eyes, Keris allowed his thoughts to drift, visions of Valcotta filling them. He’d seen hardened warriors reduced to tears in his father’s presence. Yet despite the bastard threatening her life and digging into the wound of her mother’s murder, Valcotta had stood defiant, never losing control. Every bit the empress she was destined to become, and the vision of her stirred heat in him that, for long days, had been tempered by circumstance.
“Idiot,” he muttered. “You’re the last man she wants anywhere near her.”
And even if it were otherwise, he’d not pursue pleasureful ends. Not because the risk of being caught was high, for that had never stopped him before, but because he refused to take anything from her while she was held prisoner.
Yet that did nothing to stop memories of their night together from filling his mind’s eye. Memories of her slowly stripping naked, of the way she’d looked at him while she’d touched herself, of the way her ragged breaths made his cock stiffen. God help him, but no woman had ever driven him wild like she had, all thought pushed from his head and replaced with the need to touch her, to taste her, to pleasure her until she screamed his name.
Except she didn’t know your name, you jackass. And if she had, she’d never have allowed you near her.
The thought was akin to having a bucket of ice water dumped on his crotch, and Keris opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, feeling a growing hollowness in his chest. It wasn’t the absence of her body that was carving his insides out; it was the absence of her voice in his ears. That was what he craved, what he needed, more than he cared to admit.
A knock sounded at the door, and rising to unbolt it, Keris bit back an annoyed sigh at the sight of the Magpie standing in the stairwell. “What do you need, Serin? I’ve been on the road, and I am weary.”
“Only a moment of your time, Your Highness.”
It was tempting to slam the door in the spymaster’s face, but Keris was curious as to what the man might want. Stepping back, he gestured into the room. “Wine?”
“Water, if you have it. I’ve work left to do tonight that requires a clear head.”
Work that probably involved torturing the King of Ithicana, but Aren Kertell was not Keris’s primary concern. “As you like.” He poured the spymaster his water and wine for himself, then settled back at his desk. Serin perched on the seat across from him.
“I understand from your father that you’re of a mind to use the Valcottan girl to negotiate with the Empress. I must say, you show more foresight than your predecessors.”
“I am more intelligent than all of them combined. Thank you for noticing.”
Serin made a face. “Indeed, although a penchant for self-aggrandizement is an attribute you all share.”
Keris shrugged. “No one is perfect, Serin. Now, what is it that you want?”
“I think there is merit to moving your negotiations south to Nerastis.” The Magpie took a sip of his water. “The proximity will allow speed of negotiation, and while you are there, you can return to your studies of war.”
“What an interesting dichotomy: to be both negotiating and fighting with the same people at the same time.”
“Such is politics.” Serin gave him a tight smile. “And it would please your father greatly.”
“My father? Or you?” Keris put his boots up on his desk, eyeing the old man. There were bloodstains on his robes. “Because I think him content to have me here as long as I serve him well.”
“With respect, Highness, when did you start caring about pleasing your father? All your life you’ve made sport of doing the exact opposite.”
“Since it became a matter of life or death.” Sipping at his wine, which was very good after the swill that was served in Nerastis, Keris added, “I’m never going to impress him with my martial skills, so I must impress him with my cleverness.”
“Maridrinian kings are famous for their prowess on the battlefield, not their cleverness.”
Laughing, Keris lifted his glass in toast. “I believe you just called my father stupid. Bravo! You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”
“You twist my words, Highness.”
“No, Serin. I hear exactly what you are saying.” Setting his glass on the table, Keris rose. “I’ve no intention of returning to Nerastis until I’ve achieved what I came here to do, which is to impress my father enough that he doesn’t have you dispatch someone to stick a knife in my back.”
“He’d order no such thing. Truly, Highness, your imagination runs wild.”
“Does it?” Keris leaned across the table, close enough to see the pieces of dried skin that clung to the man’s grey stubble. “Then why are you hunting my sister?”
“Because Lara is a traitor.”
Keris barked out a surprised laugh. “Don’t use the games intended for Aren Kertell on me, old man. I know you raised her to betray the Ithicanians and that you hunt her only because you dislike loose ends.”
“Not a traitor to Ithicana, Highness. A traitor to Maridrina.”
“How so? She delivered my father the bridge, for God’s sake. She did the impossible.”
“There is a certain amount of mystery and confusion surrounding your sister’s actions, Keris, but there is one thing we know for certain: her heart and loyalty belong to Aren Kertell.”
Keris was immediately reminded of what Coralyn had said. That the King of Ithicana was still in love with his wife. “Stabbing a man in the back is a peculiar method of showing affection, but I suppose it’s no surprise. She was raised by you after all.”
Serin gave him a sour smile. “Indeed. Which is why I know that she will go to the ends of the earth to protect those she loves, even if it means betraying kingdom and crown. She is fierce and brave and tremendously dangerous when provoked, which makes her a liability we can no longer afford. Whereas you, Highness, are a timid, cowardly little shit who is a threat to no one but yourself. Your father will not see you assassinated because it’s not worth his time. And because some whore you’ve angered will likely do the job for us soon enough.”
Rising, the Magpie went to the door. “Get yourself back to Nerastis, Keris. Go back to your wine and women, and leave the ruling to those of us who know how to wield power.”
Fuck off, was the thought that rose in his head, but Keris only exhaled and glared at the man’s departing back. Forcing his eyes back to his letter, he reread his proposal to the Empress, his words blurring in and out of focus. A fine balance between asking enough that his father wouldn’t suspect but not so much as to put off the Empress. Whether he’d succeeded, only time would tell.
Swearing softly, Keris signed and sealed the letter, shoving it into one of the enameled tubes his father used for official correspondence.
As he strode down the stairs, he silently prayed, Let this work. Let the Empress buy her free of us. Yet even as the thought rolled through his head, another came on its heels. One that whispered that regardless of the outcome, it would be his father who was the victor.
