The Inadequate Heir, page 24
Why had she asked that? What he thought of her clothing didn’t matter, and she certainly had no intention of scampering off for a costume change. Yet she found herself holding her breath as Keris looked her over once more.
“Dressed is rarely my preference, my lady, but”—he inclined his head—“I appreciate you taking my desires into consideration.”
Zarrah’s skin prickled with goose bumps as tension mounted between them, entirely inappropriate, given they weren’t alone, the children, including the girl sitting on Keris’s shoulders, watching with interest.
“Good,” Coralyn said. “You two have found each other.”
Zarrah jumped at the sound of Coralyn’s voice, turning to find the old woman approaching down the path.
“Keris, rather than running about like a fool with your siblings, perhaps you might direct your excess of energy into exercising your prisoner.”
Keris lifted one eyebrow, showing no sign of discomfort despite the fact his aunt might well have heard him flirting with said prisoner. “She’s not a horse. Surely she can exercise herself.”
“And get into all manner of trouble while she does it? You will walk with her and ensure she keeps to the paths. Take your little sister with you—she weeps when you put her down.” Coralyn snapped her fingers at Zarrah’s guards, who stood a respectful distance away. “Remain within arm’s reach.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Keris started down the path, adjusting his younger sister so that she sat more squarely on his shoulders. Her legs, Zarrah saw, were underdeveloped enough that she doubted the girl capable of walking far unassisted, much less racing around the gardens with the other children.
“What is your name?” she asked the child, who was a pretty little thing, her hair so blond as to be nearly white, her eyes a soft brown.
“Sara.” The tiny princess regarded her with interest. “Is it true that you are a warrior?”
“It is, yes.”
“I’m not allowed to learn to fight,” the girl said. “Only the boys are. It’s not fair.”
It wasn’t fair the way Maridrinian women were limited, but Zarrah said, “Not all battles are won with fists and swords. Some are won with words and a clever head.”
A faint smile rose on Keris’s lips, but he said nothing.
“That sounds dull.” The girl drummed her heels against her brother’s chest as though he were a horse. “Walk faster, Keris.”
“Then I’ll be too winded to give our guest a proper tour of our home. What will Auntie Coralyn say?”
“Horses don’t talk,” the girl declared. “I will give the tour.”
With the guards on their heels, they walked through the gardens and buildings, Sara keeping up a steady stream of explanation about the purpose of every building and every room, pointing out guards on the walls and even going so far as to tell Zarrah that Silas’s rooms were near the top of the tower. It was a positive wealth of detail that Keris could never have provided without raising serious questions but which the guards seemed to ignore as the prattling of a child.
And it all served to confirm what Keris had already told her: finding a way to the king would be no easy task.
Maybe an impossible one.
Only when Sara finally ran out of things to tell her did Keris ask, “Do you feel sufficiently exerted, Lady Zarrah? The midday sun does not agree with me.”
She risked a sideways glance at him, seeing that his skin, which was far more used to the moon than the sun, was beginning to pinken. A teasing remark rose to her lips, but Zarrah bit down on it. One did not banter with one’s captor. “Yes.”
“Good.” They circled around to where the wives were gathered. Keris lifted his sister off his shoulders and set her next to a wife, the woman a handful of years older than Zarrah and extremely beautiful. “We’ll go riding soon, Sara,” he said. “I promise.”
“I hope your horse is faster than you are.” The girl stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Good day to you, brother. You may leave now.”
The women all laughed at the dismissal, the one who must be her mother saying, “You are so kind to her, Keris.”
He made a face. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. She’s been raised by the harem, which means she tells me what she wants, and I have no choice but to obey. And on that note, I will now flee before any more demands are made on my time.”
Twisting on his heel, he walked away.
Zarrah watched him go, ever curious as to what was real and what was an act when it came to him. Whether he knew himself.
Sensing eyes were upon her, she turned her head to find Sara’s mother watching her, gaze curious. Which was a welcome change from the hate most of the women directed at her. “Your daughter is quite clever. You must be very proud.”
“I am. Sadly, her father sees only her flaws.” The woman glanced down at the girl, who was embroiled with a wooden puzzle. “She is to be sent away to the church.”
Not the worst life, but a hard one. And not one, Zarrah thought, suited to the girl’s temperament, which meant she would suffer. Judging from the way her mother’s jaw quivered, she was in agreement. Part of Zarrah recoiled from confessing anything to these people, yet she found herself saying, “My mother was taken from me, so Sara has my sympathy. It is a harsh thing for a girl to grow up absent her mother.”
“There is nothing I can do.”
Likely true, but Zarrah despised the passivity. The resignation and acceptance of defeat before the battle had even been fought. “My mother begged for me to be spared right until the moment your husband cut off her head.”
The woman flinched, then looked away. “I’m sure she was a great warrior and prepared for such sacrifice.”
Staring at the bodies hanging from the wall, Zarrah closed her eyes, trying to remember her mother’s face while she’d been living but seeing her only in death. “She’d never lifted a weapon in her life. But all good mothers will die for the sake of their children.” Then she inclined her head. “If you’d excuse me, my lady. I’ve spent too many days confined, and I would walk some more.”
She started to move away, but the mother caught her wrist. “Zarrah.” Their eyes met, and the mother swallowed. “I spent a year in the room where you currently reside. During that time, I came to appreciate the tapestry that hangs behind the bed. It has the most exquisite … depth.”
Zarrah felt her curiosity flicker to life, because if this wife had once considered herself a prisoner … “I will give it close attention. Enjoy your afternoon.”
WHAT IN THE name of God had possessed Coralyn to dress Valcotta like that?
Waiting for the guards to open the gates to allow him to pass, Keris scrubbed his hands back through his hair, trying and failing to push away the image of Valcotta in that scrap of bronze silk under which she was clearly wearing nothing at all. He’d been hard within an instant, and if not for Coralyn insisting that Sara accompany them, he’d have spent the entire walk searching for a way to get her alone.
Stepping through the gates, he accepted his knives from the guards, tucking them into various hiding places on his person. He needed to get out of these walls, but with Vencia boiling hot over an increase in taxes, he had no intention of walking its streets unarmed.
“Your Valcottan looks like her mother.”
Keris straightened with a jerk, eyes snapping to where his father was handing over the reins of a horse to one of the stable hands. “I suppose you would know, Your Grace. I understand you personally cut off her head.”
His father chuckled. “A kill handed to me on a silver platter. And unlike Petra, Aryana was no warrior, though she did fight. When that didn’t work, she begged.”
For her daughter’s life, Keris thought, but said nothing.
“I’m sure Aryana would be horrified to learn what a violent, murderous woman her daughter has become,” his father continued. “She and Petra spent their lives at odds, and I can’t help but wonder if Petra raised Zarrah as she did to spite her sister. For how better to do so than to turn the daughter of the woman who fought so tirelessly for peace into a leader in the Endless War?”
Valcotta had never mentioned that her mother had been a proponent of peace. It made him wonder if she had even known. “Is there something I’m supposed to be gleaning from this, or are you merely regaling me with a favored war story?”
“I only wish to impart information about your adversary.” His father slung an arm around Keris’s shoulder, and it took effort not to pull away. This was how his father behaved with Otis and his other brothers, but never with him. Neither of them had desired the familiarity.
What are you up to? he silently asked as his father pulled him with unrelenting strength in the direction of the training yard.
“Petra is a hard woman. If you believe her swayed by sentiment, you are sorely mistaken.”
“You speak as though you know her.”
His father smiled. “In a manner of speaking, I do. But in this case, my words come from the lips of a more concrete source.”
Keris’s blood chilled, every muscle in his body tensing as his father opened a door and headed down a set of narrow steps into the outer palace’s sublevels. It was dark and damp and smelled of mold.
And blood.
Vaguely, Keris had known that there were cells down here. That Serin’s workshop was down here. But he’d never had cause, nor desire, to explore the spymaster’s domain. Why had his father brought him here?
“We’ve a new prisoner,” his father murmured, as though sensing his thoughts. “One I believe in which you’ll take a personal interest.”
Keris’s pulse roared, the walls pressing in as his father nodded at a guard outside a cell door. “Open it.”
The hinges creaked, the cell swinging open to reveal nothing but blackness. Taking up a lamp, his father stepped inside, leaving Keris no choice but to follow. And as the pool of light moved farther into the space, he had to stifle a sharp inhalation as a Valcottan woman was illuminated.
She was passed out, the chains around her wrists and ankles bolted to the floor, her clothing soiled and torn. And the torture that had been inflicted on her body … Twisting away, Keris vomited against the wall, a wave of dizziness washing over him.
“Weak stomach,” his father said with disgust, and Keris forced himself to straighten. To wipe his mouth on his sleeve.
“Who is she?”
“Yrina Kitan, a captain in the Nerastis garrison. And if what Serin tells me is true, a personal friend of Zarrah Anaphora.”
Yrina. Memory flooded him, of Zarrah whispering the name over and over when she’d been poisoned, begging for the unknown person’s forgiveness. Keris’s skin turned cold, his eyes moving over the broken woman. Her injuries were not something she could survive. But he had to try.
“What do you hope to gain from this, Your Grace? We’re in the midst of negotiating with the Empress, and you allow Serin to ply his craft on a Valcottan soldier? This is not just cruelty; it is folly.”
His father snorted. “The Empress has little ground to stand on, given one of her soldiers broke into my palace and killed four of my men.”
The woman stirred, her remaining eye opening to fix upon Keris and his father. “I see you brought one of your princelings, Your Grace,” she said around a mouthful of broken teeth. “Teaching him your ways?”
“I’d once believed that a lost cause,” his father answered. “But his capture of your princess has given me new hope.”
Keris stiffened, a fresh wave of sickness rising in his stomach, because this was the first time he’d ever heard a word of praise from his father. And it was because of this.
“As it is, Yrina,” his father continued, “I don’t think there is anything more of use that you can tell us.”
His eyes flicked to Keris. “The Empress, it seems, was only a day’s ride from Nerastis when you captured her niece. And it was Petra’s orders that there would be no pursuit. No rescue. Which suggests she either fears the repercussions of invading Maridrina to retrieve her niece or that she doesn’t care enough about her niece to bother doing so. And the Petra I know fears nothing.”
Yrina stiffened, telling Keris that she agreed with his father’s sentiments toward the Empress.
“Or perhaps she anticipated that we’d be willing to negotiate. What you’ve done to this woman does us no favors.”
“Perhaps,” his father answered. “Either way, you’ve a point, Keris. It wouldn’t be ideal if this were discovered, so I think it best that we … bury the problem.”
Keris flinched as his father reached over and extracted the knife tucked into his belt. “This is your venture. Your gambit to prove to me that you’re worthy of being my heir. That you’re worthy of the Maridrinian crown. And part of being king is a willingness to do the dirty work.”
He forced the knife into Keris’s hand, squeezing his fingers shut around the hilt. “See it done.”
There was no chance this woman would survive. Even if Keris refused to kill her, his father would do it. Or one of the guards. Or Serin. Or they’d leave her to succumb to her injuries. To do it himself would be a mercy, because at least he would make it quick. So he stepped toward her.
Keris kept his eyes on Yrina, who, though her face was shattered, stared at him in defiance. “Do your worst, little princeling.” Her voice was slurred. “If you have the nerve for it.”
He didn’t have the nerve for it. The proof of that was in the vomit splattered against the wall. In the sweat rolling in beads down his back. In the rapid hammer of his heart.
“Do it.” His father leaned against the wall. “Prove your worth.”
The words echoed in his head: prove your worth, prove your worth, prove your worth. “Fine. But I neither need nor want an audience.”
One eyebrow rose, and his father said, “If this is an attempt to weasel your way out of this, put aside those foolish hopes. I will check that she’s dead. And lest you play the same tricks as your sister, I’ll ensure she remains dead.”
Keris had no notion of what his father was referring to, but neither did he care. “Out.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
The door settled shut with a resounding thud, and Keris swallowed the sourness in his mouth. His palms were clammy, and he flexed his fingers around the pommel of the knife as he dropped to his knees in front of the chained woman, turning the flame down low on the lamp because he knew eyes would be watching through tiny holes in the walls.
And listening.
Yrina watched him warily, and as he stepped forward, she lunged against her chains. Only to fall back against the floor, gasping in pain.
But still dangerous.
Moving quickly, he dropped to his knees, catching her from behind and pulling her back against him. She struggled, cursing and swearing, but went silent as he said softly in her ear, “You and I want the same thing, Yrina.”
“And what is that?” She strained against him, looking for a weakness.
“Zarrah’s freedom.”
“This is a trick.”
“No.” He kept his grip tight, knowing that she’d try to kill him if he gave her a chance. “I know your name, for it was on her lips when she was in the grips of poison-induced delusions. You mean something to her. And she means something to you, else you’d not have come against the Empress’s orders.”
Silence. Which in and of itself was neither confirmation nor denial, but she’d also ceased struggling. Was listening to him. So he pushed forward. “In the days before her capture in Nerastis, Zarrah was disappearing at night. She was seeing me.”
“Lies.” As the words hissed from Yrina’s lips, she twisted out of his grip and wrenched the knife from his hand. In a flash, she was behind him, blade at his throat.
Shit.
He didn’t move, wondering whether it would be better to let her kill him or to scream for help. Then her body stiffened and she whispered, “Bergamot. Ginger. Red cedar. Oh my God.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was afraid to move lest she slit his throat.
“The man she was seeing gave her a book,” she said. “What were the contents?”
Keris squeezed his eyes shut, pain filling his chest, for if Valcotta had shared that with this woman, she was more than a comrade. She was a friend. “Stories about stars.”
“It is you.” She let go of him, slumping to the ground. “Oh God, Zarrah. What a mess you got yourself into.” Then she lifted her face. “Do you care for her?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Very much so.”
She gave a slow nod, and then words poured from her lips. “It’s not Zarrah who should be asking for forgiveness, it’s me. The Empress ordered her not to see you any longer, but I encouraged it. And when Zarrah didn’t return, I told the Empress that I believed she’d crossed the Anriot to see her lover. I hoped she’d allow us to move across in force to search, but I was wrong. She ordered us to stand down, and when word came that you were taking Zarrah to Vencia, she told us that Zarrah had earned her fate.”
Keris clenched his teeth, panic rising in his chest. “If she refuses to negotiate, my father will kill Zarrah.”
“Then you must find another way to get her out.” She pressed his knife into his hand. “And you must silence the truths that both of us have revealed.”
Yrina’s death would crush Valcotta. The knowledge her friend had died trying to save her would be a weight upon her soul, dragging her down. And it was because of him.
Because he’d turned back that night at the dam.
Because he’d pursued her.
Seduced her.
Lied to her.
Failed her.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do that to her.”
“Leaving me alive will do far worse to her,” Yrina answered, lifting his hand so that the knife pressed against her jugular. “I can’t take any more of Serin’s torture. I’ll break and bring you both down with me.”
Think of a way to get her out, his conscience whispered. Save this woman!
