The Inadequate Heir, page 23
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
Zarrah jerked awake, skin drenched and her heart beating chaotically in her chest. She peered into the dark, certain she’d see her mother’s corpse dangling above her. Certain that the dampness on her skin was blood, and that when she looked down again, her mother’s head would be in her lap.
But her hands were empty.
All around was darkness, the smells unfamiliar, the bedding beneath her fingers cotton rather than silk. Then female laughter filtered through the walls, and she remembered.
She was in Vencia. In Silas Veliant’s palace. In the harem’s quarters.
Tap.
She jumped at the noise, searching the darkness, only to hear it again.
Tap.
It came from the direction of the window, the sound what must have triggered her dream. Rising, she donned a silk wrap over the nightdress she wore, walking cautiously to the window. It was small, perhaps three feet across and four feet high, and beyond the frosted glass were steel bars that were bolted to the stone of the window frame.
Tap.
Kneeling on the cushioned window seat, she unfastened the latch on the glass and swung it inward.
Only to have a pebble strike her in the forehead. Swearing under her breath, Zarrah pressed her head to the bars and looked down into the shadows.
“Valcotta?”
Keris’s whispered voice filtered up from bushes at the base of the building three stories below. Picking up the pebble that had struck her, Zarrah stuck her arm through the bars, then aimed at the slight movement she saw.
And was rewarded with a muttered curse as her aim struck true.
“I need to talk to you.”
The gardens, with their pathways and topiaries and illuminated fountains, were empty, but there’d be guards on patrol and servants moving about, so a conversation shouted up three stories seemed ill-advised. “Go away.”
The shadows moved, but instead of departing into the gardens, Keris started scaling the wall, the only handholds the places where the mortar had eroded between blocks of stone. But that appeared to be enough, for he swiftly rose the side of the building, the shadows hiding him from sight.
Reaching her windowsill, he caught hold of the bars and pulled himself up so that he was perched on the narrow ledge, the scent of spice filling her nose and sending her pulse racing. Annoyed with herself, Zarrah snapped, “What do you want?”
“To see if you were all right.”
She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, only the outline of his shape against the ambient light of the garden. Broad shoulders and trim waist, his coat strained tight over the muscles in his arms. “Define all right.”
He waited in silence, and she closed her eyes, listening to his breathing, which was rapid from the climb.
“The harem has been courteous, and I’ve been given everything I need. Your food is terrible, though. Someone needs to inform the cook that with salt, less is more.”
Keris laughed softly. “He cooks to my father’s taste, and everyone else’s preferences are inconsequential.”
“Does your father have any redeemable characteristics?” Not that there was anything that could redeem him in her eyes.
“None. Though that’s probably just as well, given that you’re planning to kill him.” And before she could answer one way or another, he added, “Don’t bother denying it, Valcotta. Even if you hadn’t been radiating murder when you saw him, you do have something of a reputation.”
“He deserves to die.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that, but it’s not such an easy thing to accomplish. He never goes anywhere without his bodyguards, who are loyal, and even if you did manage to get him alone, he’s an accomplished fighter. And he’d be armed, whereas you’ll be lucky to get your hands on anything more dangerous than a butter knife.”
“Then give me a weapon.”
“I don’t have one to give you—I’m the crown prince, and even I’m not allowed weapons within the inner sanctum. Believe me, Valcotta, when you are as universally reviled as my father, you either become very paranoid or you find yourself dead.”
“What about poison?” It disgusted her to use such a method, but if that were the only option …
“Everything and everyone who comes in those gates is searched. He has the best tasters in the kingdom, dogs that are trained to sniff for poisons, and he has the habit of changing dining plans at the last minute. He’s also recently become very obsessed about his cutlery being tampered with, which is why he brings his own to every meal.”
She glared at him, though he wouldn’t be able to see her expression in the dark. “For someone who says he’d like to see his father dead, you aren’t particularly helpful.” And despite what he’d endured at his father’s hands, she didn’t trust that Keris wasn’t trying to protect his father.
“If killing him were easy, he’d be dead.” Keris shifted his weight so that he was sitting on the ledge, one arm hooked through the bars, sleeve pushed up. And she found her eyes drawn to that pale expanse of skin. “While I’ve no doubt you’re capable of finding a way, Valcotta, I’ve no confidence that you’d survive long enough to enjoy your vengeance. And your life matters infinitely more to me than his death.”
Her heart flipped, and Zarrah silently cursed herself for a fool to be so moved by pretty words, especially given she’d seen how easily he lied. Biting the insides of her cheeks, Zarrah considered her response for several long moments before deciding on silence.
Keris exhaled a frustrated breath. “I’ve sent a letter to the Empress with proposed terms for your release.”
Zarrah listened as he explained the proposal, knowing that there was little chance of her aunt agreeing to such steep demands and that she would likely counter. Yet admitting so would be folly. Her longevity depended on her having value, and because killing Silas would be no easy task, she needed to keep the Maridrinians convinced she was worth more alive than dead. Especially Keris.
“The Harendellian ambassador is facilitating the negotiations, given that your people have a habit of sending our messengers back without their entrails, but it will still take weeks for us to receive a response.”
Weeks.
That was how long she had before her aunt inevitably countered, which she suspected would see Silas past the limit of his patience, and her subsequently executed. A few weeks to kill a man who expected death to come from every angle, most especially from her.
Keris was watching her with an uneasy expression, likely motivated by her silence, so she said, “You grew up in this place. There has to be some way to get out.”
“If there is, I never found it.” He was silent for a moment. “It was designed as a prison. For close to two hundred years, it’s served as the home of the king’s harem, and not every woman brought here comes of their own volition. Their fathers and brothers and uncles force them into marriages to secure alliances with the crown or for financial gain or for political favors. Or because the king saw their face,” his voice turned bitter, “and decided he had to possess them. Which means for two hundred years, women have been trying to escape this place. Every possible avenue has been discovered and removed, and with the Ithicanian in residence, it’s even worse. Because now they aren’t just containing unhappy noblewomen; they are containing a renowned warrior who probably knows a dozen ways to kill a man without a weapon.”
She knew a dozen ways to kill a man without a weapon, but Zarrah said nothing.
“And despite all of that, I’d invite you to try. Except my father has made it clear that if you are caught pushing your boundaries, he will kill you.”
The fear of death was rarely enough to dissuade her.
“I know it’s against your nature to sit idle, Valcotta. But please allow me the opportunity to try to get you free of this place via negotiation before you consign yourself to death.”
She needed time to regain her strength, so it was easy enough to shrug. “Who wouldn’t like to be pampered like a harem wife for a handful of weeks?”
“You.” He leaned against the bars. “And be wary of the wives. I put you in this building rather than elsewhere in the palace because nothing happens in here without Coralyn’s say, and because she refuses to allow Serin in her house. But the harem is just as dangerous as you, albeit in a different fashion. Their lives are hard, but they protect them fiercely even as they hunt for ways to increase their power. If you cross them, they’ll be just as quick to see you dead as my father or Serin.”
She’d been raised to hold Maridrinian women in contempt, but already she’d seen that the notions put into her head were far from accurate. “Fine.”
Keris was silent for a long moment, then said, “I’m sorry for this, Valcotta. I should never have let it go as far as it did between us, should have walked away that night on the dam and never looked back, because everyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. It was a mistake.”
He regrets you. A sharp pain radiated through Zarrah’s chest, and though she silently berated herself for being an idiot, it refused to fade. “I made my own decisions, not you. I’ll not have you take responsibility for that which I chose freely.”
“A choice you wouldn’t have made if I hadn’t deceived you about my identity.”
“What deceit?” Her anger flared, though she wasn’t sure if it was at him or at herself. “Neither of us confessed who we were, Keris. We agreed to it.”
He hesitated, then said, “Maybe so. But a hundred times over, I thought of what it would mean to tell you the truth. And every time, I knew that if I told you my name, the best I could hope for was a knife in the heart. So like a coward, I kept it to myself. And in doing so, caused you worse hurt than all the blows my soldiers rained down upon you.” He moved his arm, reaching for her, then hesitated and withdrew it to the far side of the bars. “I hate having caused you so much suffering.”
Emotion flooded her chest, making it hard to breathe, much less speak. “The same could have happened to you when you ventured to my side of the Anriot. We both took risks. Both engaged in the same deception. And if blame is to be cast for the current situation, it should be cast at my feet for losing my head when presented with the truth and getting myself caught.”
“Anyone in your position would have reacted the same.”
“You didn’t.” No, when presented with her identity, he’d instantly come up with a plan to save her life.
Keris tilted his head, seeming to consider her words. “It’s not the same. I was raised to believe Valcotta my enemy and to despise your people, but such political animosity is a product of the head, not the heart. Whereas your hatred is born of a personal loss, and therefore rooted in the heart. Matters of the heart do not bow to logic or reason. Anyone who does not understand that has either never lived or is devoid of a heart themselves.” He was silent, then added, “On that note, I should go.”
Without waiting for her response, he started to descend.
Zarrah reached through the bars, wanting to pull him back, the word wait rising to her lips.
But he was already lost to the darkness.
ZARRAH WOKE AT dawn little more rested than she’d been the prior night. Her dreams were plagued, and she’d lost count of the number of times she jerked awake, soaked with sweat and Silas’s laugh ringing in her ears.
But exhausted or not, her days to accomplish her ends were numbered, so lazing about in bed was not an option.
You need to get strong again, she told herself. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to kill.
Strong enough to win.
So she drew upon the exercises Yrina had taught her when she’d been chosen as Zarrah’s close guard, the other girl as fit as a person could be, whereas at fourteen, Zarrah had been as soft as a harem wife. Exercises to make her heart and lungs capable of enduring lengthy battles, muscles tough enough to cut through flesh and bone, and reflexes sharp enough to compensate for her smaller size. You will never be the strongest, her friend’s voice echoed through her thoughts. So be the fastest. The smartest. The fiercest!
God, but she missed Yrina. Missed having someone she could trust, not only to guard her back, but to confess her worries to without fear of judgment or betrayal.
The last words you had with her were in anger, a voice whispered. You threatened to cut out her tongue for confessing her own worries.
Her skin turned cold, her stomach hollowing with shame for having behaved so.
You brought your own fate down upon you, her conscience whispered viciously right as the door to her room opened, Coralyn stepping inside. The woman looked her up and down, Zarrah all red-faced and sweaty, then shook her head. “You’ll make a very fit corpse.” Then she snapped her fingers, and two servants came in with a platter of food. Fruits and cheese and cured meats, along with tiny pots with contents Zarrah couldn’t identify, the scents strange.
“Your new clothes will be brought in shortly. Though you’ll need to be bathed before they can be tried on. Then you’ll be escorted for a walk in the garden.”
“May I run in the garden instead?” Given no one was likely to run alongside her, it might give her more opportunities to see things that would otherwise be hidden from her. Like a way to get close to Silas Veliant.
“Absolutely not. What you do in here while you are alone is your own business, but you will act the part of a lady when eyes are upon you.”
Taking orders from a Maridrinian matriarch in a fuchsia brocade gown and jeweled slippers ground her nerves, but Zarrah remembered Keris’s warning. These women were dangerous, and this one perhaps most of all.
Zarrah forced herself to smile. “As you wish, Lady Coralyn.”
After the woman departed, she sat at the table and ate, forcing as much food into her stomach as she could fit. You must get healthy, she chanted. You need to be strong.
After, the servants again brought in the large tub, filling it with tepid water and scrubbing the sweat from her body. More servants arrived with an armload of Maridrinian dresses, all made of thin silks and cut to entice. And while she normally had no time for such things, as she looked into the mirror, Zarrah found herself not averse to what she saw.
Bronze silk hung from narrow straps, the fabric clinging to her body as though it had been made for her. Which she supposed it had. The neckline was cut down to below her navel, revealing the inner curves of her breasts and the hard lines of her abdomen, the back so low that wearing any undergarments was impossible. On her feet were sandals of bronze leather decorated with bits of gold. Her wrists were encased in glittering cuffs, and her ears were laden with black diamonds that brushed her shoulders.
Her hair was held back from her face with golden clips, and one of the servants applied cosmetics, lining her eyes with kohl, highlighting her cheeks with gold dust, and painting her lips a dusky rose. If seduction had been her goal, she’d have felt well dressed, but if she had to run or fight, she’d have been better off naked.
Clever old bat, Zarrah silently grumbled, allowing the guards to escort her along the corridor and then down the stairs, the doors opening to reveal the garden.
All of the harem seemed out, the women rolling balls across the lawn or playing games at the tables. But the laughter and conversation and commotion faded to a drone as Zarrah was slapped in the face with the stink of corpse.
Bodies still dangled from the inner walls, flies buzzing around them and crows picking at their faces. Though Zarrah had seen more corpses than she could ever count, the similarities to what happened to her mother had her massive breakfast threatening to rise up her throat.
Then male laughter caught her attention, and Zarrah turned to see Keris dodging between topiaries and fountains. He was dressed only in shirtsleeves and had a young girl balanced on his shoulders while a horde of children racing at his heels screamed, “Catch them!”
He jumped on the edge of a fountain, racing around it only to leap off the other side, the girl on his shoulders shrieking with delight even as Coralyn shouted, “Show caution with your sister, Keris!”
Ignoring her, he circled the garden, staying well away from the corpses as he led them on a merry chase, displaying the agility and strength that, logically, Zarrah knew he possessed. And yet it still surprised her. For a moment, it was as though the prince had exited the scene and the Maridrinian had taken his place, causing her chest to tighten and an unwanted longing to fill her core. You can’t want one and hate the other, she snarled at herself. That’s madness.
Yet the admonition did nothing to temper the flare of anticipation filling her as he wove in her direction, distraction rendering him oblivious to her presence. He was almost upon her, looking over his shoulder and shouting at his younger siblings that they’d never catch him, when the children caught sight of her.
“Valcottan!” several of the elder ones screamed, and Keris slid to a stop, nearly colliding with her. He caught his balance, his eyes widening as he took in her ensemble. “Valc … Lady Zarrah. I …” He trailed off, seemingly lost for words.
His reaction was a dangerous one, and yet it made her heart skip with something other than fear. Especially as his gaze ran down her body, her nipples tightening as he lingered on her breasts before returning to her face. If any other man had looked at her in such a way, she’d have blackened both his eyes for his troubles, but violence was the last thing on her mind. Forcing her tone to a coolness that belied the flood of heat between her thighs, she said, “Your Highness.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I see the harem has been playing dress-up.”
Zarrah should’ve been offended. Should’ve snapped back that she wasn’t a doll to be played with. Instead, she said, “They seem to think your preference is that I dress in Maridrinian styles.”
“I didn’t realize that it mattered what I thought of your attire.”
It didn’t. It shouldn’t. Her tongue ran across her lips, his eyes moving to her mouth as she did. “Are you suggesting that you’d prefer me dressed in something different?”
