The Inadequate Heir, page 27
“True. But when you have the crown, you can change the décor.” Aren gestured at the corpses lining the garden walls.
Keris laughed despite himself, wondering if under other circumstances, he’d have liked this man. Probably not. “To rule is a burden, but perhaps especially so for a king who enters his reign desirous of change, for he will spend his life wading against the current. But you understand that, don’t you, Your Grace?” The guards who were listening in on the conversation would believe he spoke solely of Aren’s reign, but he prayed the Ithicanian was more intelligent than that.
“You’re the philosopher,” Aren said. “Or was that, too, part of the deception?”
A flicker of confusion ran through him, and then Keris understood. Aren was referring to the part Keris had played in the invasion of Ithicana.
It had been Aren who’d given Keris and his entourage permission to travel the bridge, and it was unlikely that the Ithicanian king was aware that Keris’s participation in the invasion had been unwitting. Aren believed him complicit, which meant he’d not see Keris as a potential ally. But perhaps the truth would sway him. “I think Serin took particular glee in using my dreams in such a perverse fashion. It is one of the only instances in which he has successfully pulled the wool over my eyes, the shock of being trussed up and stuffed in a corner while my escort invaded Ithicana not one I’ll soon forget. Even still, I might have forgiven the duplicity if my father had allowed me to carry on to Harendell in pursuit of my studies, but as you can see”—he stretched his arms wide—“here I am.”
“My condolences.”
Not enough. He needed to do more to sway the man’s opinion of him. “Imagine a world where people spent as much time philosophizing as they did learning to swing weapons.”
“I can’t,” Aren answered bitterly. “The only thing I know well is war, which doesn’t say much given that I’m on the losing side of this one.”
“Losing, perhaps …” Keris knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, given this conversation would be reported back to Serin. And to his father. “But not yet lost. Not while Eranahl stands, and not while you still live. Why else would my father insist on these theatrics?”
“Bait for his errant daughter, I’m told.”
“Your wife.”
The only answer he got was a glower, and Keris found himself questioning his aunt’s belief that Aren still cared for Lara. Except Coralyn was a master at reading people—and manipulating them—and he’d never known her to miss her mark. Which meant he needed to dig deeper.
“Lara.” Keris rubbed his chin, forcing his face into a mask of idle curiosity. “She’s my sister, you know.”
“If you meant that to be a great revelation, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.”
Keris chuckled even as motion in the distance had him scanning the garden for spies. But it was only a bird splashing in a fountain. “Not my half sister. We have the same mother, too.”
Aren straightened, interest rising in his gaze. And something else. “What of it?”
Keris ran his tongue across his lips, reluctant to speak on this, though he knew it was necessary to establish that they had a common enemy. Keeping his voice low enough that the guards would only pick up bits and pieces, he said, “I was nine when my father’s soldiers took my sister—young enough to still be living in the harem, but old enough to remember the moment well. To remember how my mother fought them. To remember how she attempted to sneak out of the palace to go after my sister, knowing in her heart that my father intended her for some fell purpose. To remember how, when she was caught and dragged back, my father strangled her himself in front of us all. As punishment. And warning.”
The only other person he’d told this story to was Valcotta, but now that it was unearthed, it appeared it desired to be shared.
“What game are you playing, Keris?”
It’s good to see you’re clever enough to realize that one is being played, Keris thought, then rested his hand on his chin so that his fingers partially obscured his mouth before saying, “A long one, and you are but a singular piece on the board, albeit one of some significance.” He gave the Ithicanian king a measured stare. “I sense that you’re considering removing yourself from the game. I ask that you might reconsider.”
Disgust flared in Aren’s eyes, and he looked away. “As long as I’m alive, they’ll keep trying to save me. And keep dying in the attempt. I can’t allow that.”
And the time they had for this conversation was over. Appearing from behind a topiary like some sort of village peeper, Serin approached. While he was still out of earshot, Keris said, “Keep playing the game, Aren. Your life isn’t as worthless as you think.”
Then Serin was upon them, his obnoxious voice filling the air. “A questionable choice of company, Your Highness.”
Keris shrugged, knowing that the blasé attitude ground on the spymaster’s nerves. “I’ve always been a victim of my own curiosity, Serin. You know that.”
“Curiosity.”
“Indeed. Aren is a man of myth. Former king of the misty isles of Ithicana, legendary fighter, and husband to one of my mysterious warrior sisters. How could I resist plying him for details of his escapades? Sadly, he hasn’t been particularly forthcoming.”
There was an edge of frustration in Serin’s voice as he said, “You were supposed to have returned to Nerastis. You need to study with your father’s generals.”
Words of wishful thinking. It was unusual for the spymaster to make such a slip, which made Keris uneasy, but he played along. “My father’s generals are boring.”
“Boring or not, it’s a necessary part of your training.”
“Mag, mag, mag!” Keris mimicked a magpie call, laughing inside as the man’s eyes lighted with fury. He hated the moniker, and especially hated the woman who’d given it to him. “No wonder the harem wives christened you so, Serin. Your voice truly does grate on the nerves.” He rose to his feet. “Was a pleasure meeting you, Aren. But you’ll have to excuse me, the smell is making me quite nauseous.”
Turning, he sauntered across the courtyard as though he hadn’t a care in the world despite his heart being in his throat. Despite his nerves being stretched so tight he thought he’d vomit. Inside the cool confines of the tower, he lost control of his pace, the need to ensure Aren had taken the bait making him leap up the stairs three at a time, rounding the corners at dizzying speed.
Unlocking the door to his rooms, he strode to the window, looking down. And hissed between his teeth as another corpse was dragged across the garden, Aren watching in silence as the guards hung it on the wall.
Please, he prayed. A few more hours. A few more hours, and we can make this stop.
Then Aren squared his shoulders, and Keris knew his efforts had been in vain. That he was about to watch a man die, and with him, all of Keris’s plans. Frustration flooded him, but also guilt that he’d not done more. And grief that yet another life would fall beneath his father’s boot heel.
Yet instead of dashing his skull against the stone of the table, Aren reached out and opened the book, flipping through the pages before pausing. Reading.
Keris didn’t have a chance to see how the King of Ithicana reacted as a familiar voice said, “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”
“THIS IS A KINDNESS,” she said to Coralyn, accepting the folded garments. “Thank you.”
“You’ve ruined three gowns in as many days with your exercises,” the harem wife sniffed. “Perhaps these will show more longevity. Although allow me to make myself abundantly clear—you will not wear these scandalous items outside your room, or I will have them burned. Understood?”
“Yes, Lady Coralyn.” Zarrah waited for the woman to remove herself, then unfolded the garments. Voluminous trousers and a snug bodice made of black silk, cut in Valcottan style. She sighed as she slipped them on. Not only for the familiarity after weeks of wearing Maridrinian garments, but because she had been growing concerned that she was going to have to assassinate Silas Veliant wearing only her undergarments, for her plan wouldn’t accommodate billowing skirts.
Going to the window, she stared up at the tower where her enemy lurked, blissfully unaware that this was the last day he’d draw breath. For tonight would be a moonless night, and under the cover of darkness, she would make her move.
Her hours of effort removing the mortar securing the stone block had finally been rewarded, and all it would take now was pushing the block out and she’d have her method of escape, her own body serving as the weapon she’d use to take Silas’s life, for she’d not managed to secure another.
But it would be enough. It had to be enough.
Unbidden, her eyes moved from Silas’s glass-enclosed office at the top to a window at the midpoint.
Keris’s room.
She’d only seen him a handful of times since their encounter on the day he’d taken his sister riding, and always from a distance. Though she’d had weeks to get used to his choice to avoid her, the sting hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown worse.
Because she didn’t know the reason.
Was he losing the negotiation with the Empress? Had he realized that escape was impossible? Or had Keris just become bored with her, which was certainly fitting with his reputation?
Why did it matter to her at all?
She was here to kill his father, which meant all of Keris’s efforts ran counter to her own, as did any form of relationship between them. It was better he was avoiding her. It was good that they had nothing to do with one another. Because it would make what she was about to do all the simpler.
Then the curtains moved, and logic disappeared as Keris stepped to the window, looking out.
God spare her, but he was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever set eyes on, and that he had a mind to match seemed unfair. Knowing that the glare on the glass of her own window would hide her, Zarrah stared at him in a way she couldn’t when subject to prying eyes. His honey-blond hair was loose, the breeze catching at it, and a yearning to brush the silky locks back from his face hit her like a battering ram.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Zarrah took several measured breaths. You must focus, she reminded herself. Tonight, you will achieve the vengeance you dedicated your life to.
Not with war. Not with raids. But by killing the man who’d murdered her mother with his own hands.
The moment she opened her eyes, her gaze shot back to the window. But Keris was gone. Biting at her lip, she rested her hands on the sill, only to have a flash of blond hair catch her attention. Keris was in the garden.
“Stay put, Zarrah,” she said to herself. “Leave well enough alone.”
Except she realized that while the gulf between them might be for the best, knowing that it was so was not enough. She needed a reason for Keris’s choice. Needed the truth, even if the truth hurt. And today would be her last opportunity to hear the truth from his lips.
Ripping off her new garments, Zarrah pulled on a gown and then hammered on the door until one of the guards opened it. “I wish to go to the gardens,” she said. “Now, please.”
Not waiting for a response, she squeezed past them, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she walked as quickly as she could, for breaking into a run would raise alarm. And she couldn’t risk them stopping her, as this might well be the last chance she ever had to speak to Keris.
To know the truth. To—though she couldn’t voice the words—say goodbye.
Shoving open the doors at the bottom of the stairs, Zarrah wove through the garden paths, then slid to a stop.
Keris sat across from Aren, who was glaring at him like he’d like nothing better than to wring his neck. They were speaking, but she was too far away to hear what they were saying. Keeping behind a hedgerow, she watched them through the leaves, ignoring the mutters of her guards.
What were they talking about?
A smell filled her nose, sour and stale, and Zarrah’s skin crawled. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder, her palms turning to ice as she found the Magpie standing behind her.
“Bold of Keris to get so close to Aren, given that the man knows of his involvement in the invasion,” he said. “Idiot is going to get himself killed.”
Involvement? Zarrah stilled herself, refusing to show any reaction. This was no idle conversation. Serin had a purpose. Yet she couldn’t help but say, “I hadn’t realized Ithicana’s invasion was a family affair.”
“Oh, yes.” Serin smiled at the corpses. “The Ithicanians never suspected the ruse because His Highness’s desire to study in Harendell was long known to their spies.”
She stood in silence as the spymaster detailed what had come to pass inside the bridge. How Keris had led a group of elite warriors, then, using duplicity and clever timing, had slaughtered his Ithicanian guards.
“Keris’s force cracked open Midwatch Island itself,” Serin continued. “Well worthy of accolades if not for the fact he was but a small piece in Lara’s grand scheme, so hardly anyone is aware Keris was even involved.”
Zarrah certainly hadn’t known he was there. Every bit of intelligence Valcottan spies had given her spoke only of Lara.
“I believe he hoped it would win his father’s favor, but His Grace was unimpressed. As he has been likewise unimpressed with Keris’s attempts to use you to negotiate. The king favors sons with steel in their spines, fighting men who won’t hesitate to take the kill.”
This was a lie. Zarrah didn’t believe for a heartbeat that Keris had led a critical piece of the invasion. For one, he would want nothing to do with it, and two, Silas would never trust him with something of that magnitude. “Is there a point to all this prattle? I care little of the grasping of a Maridrinian princeling.”
“My pardon, of course. I was merely trying to illuminate His Highness’s motivations for killing Yrina Kitan.”
Yrina? Zarrah swayed on her feet, breath driven from her chest. Yrina wasn’t here; she was in Nerastis. She couldn’t be dead. “Pardon?”
Serin pursed his lips. “I see Keris has not informed you of the casualty. The coward likely fears your reaction.”
The world around her seemed to pulse, a sour taste filling her mouth. “I … How?”
“The captain was captured attempting to infiltrate His Majesty’s inner sanctum, presumably to reach you. She killed four trusted soldiers, necessitating her execution, which Keris volunteered to carry out. Silas was most impressed with his conduct—I’ve not heard the end of it.”
It couldn’t be true.
Yrina couldn’t be dead.
Keris couldn’t be the one who’d killed her.
Zarrah gasped in breath after breath of air, but it didn’t feel like any of it reached her lungs. “When?”
“The day after you arrived, I believe.”
The day he’d started avoiding her at every turn. And she, like a fool, had thought it was because he’d grown tired of her.
Unless Serin was lying.
Unless this was a scheme.
“You seem to doubt my words,” Serin said. “By all means, ask the prince for the truth. You’ve placed your life in his hands, so his word, at least, should be something you can trust. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a gift I must present to Aren.” He motioned at her guards. “You two may be required momentarily. Come with me.”
Serin strode out from behind the topiary toward Aren and Keris, but Zarrah barely registered the exchange between the men, seeing only red. Hearing nothing beyond the silent scream of grief ricocheting around in her head, because Yrina was dead.
Her comrade, her confidant, her friend was dead.
Dead, because Zarrah had chosen to allow Keris to bring her into this palace. Dead, because she wanted a chance at vengeance instead of escaping. Dead, because Zarrah had been so blinded in her pursuit of Silas Veliant’s death that she’d failed to realize her sworn bodyguard and closest friend would defy every order and come after her.
The pain of it swelled like a rising tide, threatening to overwhelm her, to drown her, and then her eyes fixed on Keris, who was on his feet. Who was walking toward the doors of the tower.
He’d killed her. Had murdered Yrina to impress his father and then avoided Zarrah like a coward rather than owning up to his actions.
Zarrah’s focus narrowed, her eyes moving to her guards, who’d followed Serin, their necessity made apparent when more of Serin’s men dragged another Ithicanian corpse into the gardens, Aren having attacked them many times before. But then Serin lifted a hand and motioned to the two men guarding the doors to the tower. They abandoned their posts, moving cautiously into position, their focus entirely on the Ithicanian king.
Zarrah didn’t hesitate.
Slipping inside the building, she took the stairs two at a time, counting the levels until she reached the one that held Keris’s room. Swinging open the door, she silently closed it behind her, eyes fixed on Keris’s back, where he stood looking out the window. “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”
Keris whirled around, gaping in shock. “Valcotta? What are you doing in here? Why …”
“Did you do it?” she demanded, watching the color drain from his face. “Did you kill Yrina?”
The silence that followed made her want to vomit, because part of her had hoped … had prayed that Serin was lying.
“I’m sorry. Let me explain what—”
She wasn’t interested in explanations.
In a heartbeat, Zarrah was across the room, the silk of her skirt ripping as she lifted her leg and twisted, his protests a drone in her ears. Her foot connected with his head, and he fell sideways, stunned. “Valcotta, just listen to me!”
“I’m going to kill you, you lying Veliant prick!” She threw herself at him, fists striking hard and fast, hearing his grunt of pain as she connected. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry!” He blocked her next blow. “I didn’t have a choice!”
“There’s always a choice,” she snarled, striking him below the ribs, drawing a gasp from him. “You chose to invade Ithicana. You chose to kill Yrina. You’re the same as everyone in your bloodthirsty family, but at least the rest of them don’t pretend to be anything different!”
Keris laughed despite himself, wondering if under other circumstances, he’d have liked this man. Probably not. “To rule is a burden, but perhaps especially so for a king who enters his reign desirous of change, for he will spend his life wading against the current. But you understand that, don’t you, Your Grace?” The guards who were listening in on the conversation would believe he spoke solely of Aren’s reign, but he prayed the Ithicanian was more intelligent than that.
“You’re the philosopher,” Aren said. “Or was that, too, part of the deception?”
A flicker of confusion ran through him, and then Keris understood. Aren was referring to the part Keris had played in the invasion of Ithicana.
It had been Aren who’d given Keris and his entourage permission to travel the bridge, and it was unlikely that the Ithicanian king was aware that Keris’s participation in the invasion had been unwitting. Aren believed him complicit, which meant he’d not see Keris as a potential ally. But perhaps the truth would sway him. “I think Serin took particular glee in using my dreams in such a perverse fashion. It is one of the only instances in which he has successfully pulled the wool over my eyes, the shock of being trussed up and stuffed in a corner while my escort invaded Ithicana not one I’ll soon forget. Even still, I might have forgiven the duplicity if my father had allowed me to carry on to Harendell in pursuit of my studies, but as you can see”—he stretched his arms wide—“here I am.”
“My condolences.”
Not enough. He needed to do more to sway the man’s opinion of him. “Imagine a world where people spent as much time philosophizing as they did learning to swing weapons.”
“I can’t,” Aren answered bitterly. “The only thing I know well is war, which doesn’t say much given that I’m on the losing side of this one.”
“Losing, perhaps …” Keris knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, given this conversation would be reported back to Serin. And to his father. “But not yet lost. Not while Eranahl stands, and not while you still live. Why else would my father insist on these theatrics?”
“Bait for his errant daughter, I’m told.”
“Your wife.”
The only answer he got was a glower, and Keris found himself questioning his aunt’s belief that Aren still cared for Lara. Except Coralyn was a master at reading people—and manipulating them—and he’d never known her to miss her mark. Which meant he needed to dig deeper.
“Lara.” Keris rubbed his chin, forcing his face into a mask of idle curiosity. “She’s my sister, you know.”
“If you meant that to be a great revelation, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.”
Keris chuckled even as motion in the distance had him scanning the garden for spies. But it was only a bird splashing in a fountain. “Not my half sister. We have the same mother, too.”
Aren straightened, interest rising in his gaze. And something else. “What of it?”
Keris ran his tongue across his lips, reluctant to speak on this, though he knew it was necessary to establish that they had a common enemy. Keeping his voice low enough that the guards would only pick up bits and pieces, he said, “I was nine when my father’s soldiers took my sister—young enough to still be living in the harem, but old enough to remember the moment well. To remember how my mother fought them. To remember how she attempted to sneak out of the palace to go after my sister, knowing in her heart that my father intended her for some fell purpose. To remember how, when she was caught and dragged back, my father strangled her himself in front of us all. As punishment. And warning.”
The only other person he’d told this story to was Valcotta, but now that it was unearthed, it appeared it desired to be shared.
“What game are you playing, Keris?”
It’s good to see you’re clever enough to realize that one is being played, Keris thought, then rested his hand on his chin so that his fingers partially obscured his mouth before saying, “A long one, and you are but a singular piece on the board, albeit one of some significance.” He gave the Ithicanian king a measured stare. “I sense that you’re considering removing yourself from the game. I ask that you might reconsider.”
Disgust flared in Aren’s eyes, and he looked away. “As long as I’m alive, they’ll keep trying to save me. And keep dying in the attempt. I can’t allow that.”
And the time they had for this conversation was over. Appearing from behind a topiary like some sort of village peeper, Serin approached. While he was still out of earshot, Keris said, “Keep playing the game, Aren. Your life isn’t as worthless as you think.”
Then Serin was upon them, his obnoxious voice filling the air. “A questionable choice of company, Your Highness.”
Keris shrugged, knowing that the blasé attitude ground on the spymaster’s nerves. “I’ve always been a victim of my own curiosity, Serin. You know that.”
“Curiosity.”
“Indeed. Aren is a man of myth. Former king of the misty isles of Ithicana, legendary fighter, and husband to one of my mysterious warrior sisters. How could I resist plying him for details of his escapades? Sadly, he hasn’t been particularly forthcoming.”
There was an edge of frustration in Serin’s voice as he said, “You were supposed to have returned to Nerastis. You need to study with your father’s generals.”
Words of wishful thinking. It was unusual for the spymaster to make such a slip, which made Keris uneasy, but he played along. “My father’s generals are boring.”
“Boring or not, it’s a necessary part of your training.”
“Mag, mag, mag!” Keris mimicked a magpie call, laughing inside as the man’s eyes lighted with fury. He hated the moniker, and especially hated the woman who’d given it to him. “No wonder the harem wives christened you so, Serin. Your voice truly does grate on the nerves.” He rose to his feet. “Was a pleasure meeting you, Aren. But you’ll have to excuse me, the smell is making me quite nauseous.”
Turning, he sauntered across the courtyard as though he hadn’t a care in the world despite his heart being in his throat. Despite his nerves being stretched so tight he thought he’d vomit. Inside the cool confines of the tower, he lost control of his pace, the need to ensure Aren had taken the bait making him leap up the stairs three at a time, rounding the corners at dizzying speed.
Unlocking the door to his rooms, he strode to the window, looking down. And hissed between his teeth as another corpse was dragged across the garden, Aren watching in silence as the guards hung it on the wall.
Please, he prayed. A few more hours. A few more hours, and we can make this stop.
Then Aren squared his shoulders, and Keris knew his efforts had been in vain. That he was about to watch a man die, and with him, all of Keris’s plans. Frustration flooded him, but also guilt that he’d not done more. And grief that yet another life would fall beneath his father’s boot heel.
Yet instead of dashing his skull against the stone of the table, Aren reached out and opened the book, flipping through the pages before pausing. Reading.
Keris didn’t have a chance to see how the King of Ithicana reacted as a familiar voice said, “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”
“THIS IS A KINDNESS,” she said to Coralyn, accepting the folded garments. “Thank you.”
“You’ve ruined three gowns in as many days with your exercises,” the harem wife sniffed. “Perhaps these will show more longevity. Although allow me to make myself abundantly clear—you will not wear these scandalous items outside your room, or I will have them burned. Understood?”
“Yes, Lady Coralyn.” Zarrah waited for the woman to remove herself, then unfolded the garments. Voluminous trousers and a snug bodice made of black silk, cut in Valcottan style. She sighed as she slipped them on. Not only for the familiarity after weeks of wearing Maridrinian garments, but because she had been growing concerned that she was going to have to assassinate Silas Veliant wearing only her undergarments, for her plan wouldn’t accommodate billowing skirts.
Going to the window, she stared up at the tower where her enemy lurked, blissfully unaware that this was the last day he’d draw breath. For tonight would be a moonless night, and under the cover of darkness, she would make her move.
Her hours of effort removing the mortar securing the stone block had finally been rewarded, and all it would take now was pushing the block out and she’d have her method of escape, her own body serving as the weapon she’d use to take Silas’s life, for she’d not managed to secure another.
But it would be enough. It had to be enough.
Unbidden, her eyes moved from Silas’s glass-enclosed office at the top to a window at the midpoint.
Keris’s room.
She’d only seen him a handful of times since their encounter on the day he’d taken his sister riding, and always from a distance. Though she’d had weeks to get used to his choice to avoid her, the sting hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown worse.
Because she didn’t know the reason.
Was he losing the negotiation with the Empress? Had he realized that escape was impossible? Or had Keris just become bored with her, which was certainly fitting with his reputation?
Why did it matter to her at all?
She was here to kill his father, which meant all of Keris’s efforts ran counter to her own, as did any form of relationship between them. It was better he was avoiding her. It was good that they had nothing to do with one another. Because it would make what she was about to do all the simpler.
Then the curtains moved, and logic disappeared as Keris stepped to the window, looking out.
God spare her, but he was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever set eyes on, and that he had a mind to match seemed unfair. Knowing that the glare on the glass of her own window would hide her, Zarrah stared at him in a way she couldn’t when subject to prying eyes. His honey-blond hair was loose, the breeze catching at it, and a yearning to brush the silky locks back from his face hit her like a battering ram.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Zarrah took several measured breaths. You must focus, she reminded herself. Tonight, you will achieve the vengeance you dedicated your life to.
Not with war. Not with raids. But by killing the man who’d murdered her mother with his own hands.
The moment she opened her eyes, her gaze shot back to the window. But Keris was gone. Biting at her lip, she rested her hands on the sill, only to have a flash of blond hair catch her attention. Keris was in the garden.
“Stay put, Zarrah,” she said to herself. “Leave well enough alone.”
Except she realized that while the gulf between them might be for the best, knowing that it was so was not enough. She needed a reason for Keris’s choice. Needed the truth, even if the truth hurt. And today would be her last opportunity to hear the truth from his lips.
Ripping off her new garments, Zarrah pulled on a gown and then hammered on the door until one of the guards opened it. “I wish to go to the gardens,” she said. “Now, please.”
Not waiting for a response, she squeezed past them, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she walked as quickly as she could, for breaking into a run would raise alarm. And she couldn’t risk them stopping her, as this might well be the last chance she ever had to speak to Keris.
To know the truth. To—though she couldn’t voice the words—say goodbye.
Shoving open the doors at the bottom of the stairs, Zarrah wove through the garden paths, then slid to a stop.
Keris sat across from Aren, who was glaring at him like he’d like nothing better than to wring his neck. They were speaking, but she was too far away to hear what they were saying. Keeping behind a hedgerow, she watched them through the leaves, ignoring the mutters of her guards.
What were they talking about?
A smell filled her nose, sour and stale, and Zarrah’s skin crawled. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder, her palms turning to ice as she found the Magpie standing behind her.
“Bold of Keris to get so close to Aren, given that the man knows of his involvement in the invasion,” he said. “Idiot is going to get himself killed.”
Involvement? Zarrah stilled herself, refusing to show any reaction. This was no idle conversation. Serin had a purpose. Yet she couldn’t help but say, “I hadn’t realized Ithicana’s invasion was a family affair.”
“Oh, yes.” Serin smiled at the corpses. “The Ithicanians never suspected the ruse because His Highness’s desire to study in Harendell was long known to their spies.”
She stood in silence as the spymaster detailed what had come to pass inside the bridge. How Keris had led a group of elite warriors, then, using duplicity and clever timing, had slaughtered his Ithicanian guards.
“Keris’s force cracked open Midwatch Island itself,” Serin continued. “Well worthy of accolades if not for the fact he was but a small piece in Lara’s grand scheme, so hardly anyone is aware Keris was even involved.”
Zarrah certainly hadn’t known he was there. Every bit of intelligence Valcottan spies had given her spoke only of Lara.
“I believe he hoped it would win his father’s favor, but His Grace was unimpressed. As he has been likewise unimpressed with Keris’s attempts to use you to negotiate. The king favors sons with steel in their spines, fighting men who won’t hesitate to take the kill.”
This was a lie. Zarrah didn’t believe for a heartbeat that Keris had led a critical piece of the invasion. For one, he would want nothing to do with it, and two, Silas would never trust him with something of that magnitude. “Is there a point to all this prattle? I care little of the grasping of a Maridrinian princeling.”
“My pardon, of course. I was merely trying to illuminate His Highness’s motivations for killing Yrina Kitan.”
Yrina? Zarrah swayed on her feet, breath driven from her chest. Yrina wasn’t here; she was in Nerastis. She couldn’t be dead. “Pardon?”
Serin pursed his lips. “I see Keris has not informed you of the casualty. The coward likely fears your reaction.”
The world around her seemed to pulse, a sour taste filling her mouth. “I … How?”
“The captain was captured attempting to infiltrate His Majesty’s inner sanctum, presumably to reach you. She killed four trusted soldiers, necessitating her execution, which Keris volunteered to carry out. Silas was most impressed with his conduct—I’ve not heard the end of it.”
It couldn’t be true.
Yrina couldn’t be dead.
Keris couldn’t be the one who’d killed her.
Zarrah gasped in breath after breath of air, but it didn’t feel like any of it reached her lungs. “When?”
“The day after you arrived, I believe.”
The day he’d started avoiding her at every turn. And she, like a fool, had thought it was because he’d grown tired of her.
Unless Serin was lying.
Unless this was a scheme.
“You seem to doubt my words,” Serin said. “By all means, ask the prince for the truth. You’ve placed your life in his hands, so his word, at least, should be something you can trust. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a gift I must present to Aren.” He motioned at her guards. “You two may be required momentarily. Come with me.”
Serin strode out from behind the topiary toward Aren and Keris, but Zarrah barely registered the exchange between the men, seeing only red. Hearing nothing beyond the silent scream of grief ricocheting around in her head, because Yrina was dead.
Her comrade, her confidant, her friend was dead.
Dead, because Zarrah had chosen to allow Keris to bring her into this palace. Dead, because she wanted a chance at vengeance instead of escaping. Dead, because Zarrah had been so blinded in her pursuit of Silas Veliant’s death that she’d failed to realize her sworn bodyguard and closest friend would defy every order and come after her.
The pain of it swelled like a rising tide, threatening to overwhelm her, to drown her, and then her eyes fixed on Keris, who was on his feet. Who was walking toward the doors of the tower.
He’d killed her. Had murdered Yrina to impress his father and then avoided Zarrah like a coward rather than owning up to his actions.
Zarrah’s focus narrowed, her eyes moving to her guards, who’d followed Serin, their necessity made apparent when more of Serin’s men dragged another Ithicanian corpse into the gardens, Aren having attacked them many times before. But then Serin lifted a hand and motioned to the two men guarding the doors to the tower. They abandoned their posts, moving cautiously into position, their focus entirely on the Ithicanian king.
Zarrah didn’t hesitate.
Slipping inside the building, she took the stairs two at a time, counting the levels until she reached the one that held Keris’s room. Swinging open the door, she silently closed it behind her, eyes fixed on Keris’s back, where he stood looking out the window. “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”
Keris whirled around, gaping in shock. “Valcotta? What are you doing in here? Why …”
“Did you do it?” she demanded, watching the color drain from his face. “Did you kill Yrina?”
The silence that followed made her want to vomit, because part of her had hoped … had prayed that Serin was lying.
“I’m sorry. Let me explain what—”
She wasn’t interested in explanations.
In a heartbeat, Zarrah was across the room, the silk of her skirt ripping as she lifted her leg and twisted, his protests a drone in her ears. Her foot connected with his head, and he fell sideways, stunned. “Valcotta, just listen to me!”
“I’m going to kill you, you lying Veliant prick!” She threw herself at him, fists striking hard and fast, hearing his grunt of pain as she connected. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry!” He blocked her next blow. “I didn’t have a choice!”
“There’s always a choice,” she snarled, striking him below the ribs, drawing a gasp from him. “You chose to invade Ithicana. You chose to kill Yrina. You’re the same as everyone in your bloodthirsty family, but at least the rest of them don’t pretend to be anything different!”
