The Inadequate Heir, page 32
Silence.
“The Valcottans killed my Tasha.” Otis’s voice was barely audible. “Sank the ship she was on. There were no survivors.”
Zarrah’s chest tightened, because it was probably the truth. Her aunt’s fleet sank Maridrinian vessels constantly. Zarrah had personally ordered the sinking of several, though they’d all been naval vessels.
“A tragedy that should never have occurred, Your Highness. She was with child, no? Traveling on a naval vessel to visit you in Nerastis?”
Serin’s voice dripped with sympathy, but Zarrah’s instincts jangled with the certainty that if she could see his face, it would be wearing a smile.
“Yes.” Otis’s voice was strangled. “She’d intended to surprise me. If I’d known, I’d never have allowed her to take the risk.”
Serin made a soothing noise that made Zarrah’s skin crawl, for no one could take comfort from such a monster.
“Yet instead of strangling Zarrah Anaphora like she deserves, my father sees her treated like a princess. Offers to return her, unscathed, in exchange for trade terms that will never hold.”
“It’s Keris’s plan, but your father seems inclined to indulge him.” Serin sighed. “I can’t fathom how terrible that must feel, Your Highness. The Anaphora woman deserves to have her head on a stake, yet for the sake of trade negotiations, she sleeps peacefully in your family home.”
Otis’s breath was ragged, the scent of sweat rising from him thick. Zarrah’s own heart beat a frantic rhythm. Because while she was not certain why the sight of Lestara had triggered him, she could see the direction Serin was pushing Otis. To take matters into his own hands and kill her.
Serin cleared his throat. “I … I hesitate to bring this fell information to light, but I do believe there is something you should know.”
“What information?”
Beads of sweat rolled down Zarrah’s back as she waited for Serin to reveal the information that would’ve sealed her fate if she’d not already intended to die tonight. Because she knew what the spymaster was about to say.
“We’ve no way to confirm the truth of it, but the rumor is that Zarrah ordered Tasha’s ship sunk. And logic tells us that it could only have been her or Bermin, which means it was an Anaphora who saw your wife dead.”
A ragged sob tore from Otis’s lips, and Zarrah’s eyes burned with guilt. Serin’s words were no lie. There was every likelihood it had been her who’d given the order, which meant she was responsible for an innocent woman’s death. An unborn child’s death. Echoes of the love letter she’d stolen rippled through her mind, the fierce declarations of love from a woman who had deserved a better fate.
“She deserves to die.”
The snarled words tore Zarrah back to the moment, because there was no chance that Otis wouldn’t leave this tower with murder in his heart. He’d likely get his wish for her death, although not the manner he hoped for.
“Zarrah does deserve death, Your Highness. But your father has given specific orders that she is not to be harmed until Keris has the opportunity to see his plans through.”
“Not this time. He’s not getting his way in this.” Otis whirled away from the window, crossing the floor with rapid strides to exit the room, and Serin chuckled softly before he twitched the curtains shut.
Zarrah forced herself to breathe, peering around the edge of the curtain to see that Serin had resumed his position on the sofa. There was no chance of her getting past him to the bedroom without him raising an alarm, and if she didn’t catch Silas unprepared, she’d be unlikely to overcome him before the guards arrived.
Shit.
Sounds of Silas shouting at Lestara filling her ears, Zarrah leaned sideways and looked out the window. Her eyes skipped between the base of the tower and the covered walkway that connected the tower to the harem’s building.
Would Otis go now?
Would he burst into the harem’s quarters, and into her room, no matter the consequences?
She knew he would. Had heard it in Otis’s voice that he was past logic. Past reason. There was only anger and the desire for vengeance.
The moment she was discovered missing from her room, the alarm bells would ring, and the guards would be in here.
Quit yelling at Lestara and get back in this room, she willed Silas even as she kept her eyes on the paths to the harem’s quarters. She’d give herself until she saw Otis make his move, then she’d have no choice but to make her own.
But Otis never appeared.
Had he taken a different, secret route? Had he gone to secure some form of weapon by perhaps bribing a like-minded guard?
Or had she been wrong about his intent?
“Don’t move a muscle!” Silas’s voice shot her attention back to the room. “Where is Otis?”
Now or never. Zarrah squared her shoulders.
“His Highness took his leave,” Serin answered. “He was out of sorts over Keris’s actions in regards to the Anaphora woman. Which is understandable, given the losses he’s suffered at the hands of the Valcottans.”
Silas snorted. “Is he still weeping over his wife? It’s been a goddamned year.”
Zarrah barely heard his words, realization dawning on her as her mind leapt from the moment Otis had blanched at the sight of Lestara’s face to when he’d snarled, He’s not getting his way in this.
Otis wasn’t going to kill her. He was going to confront his brother. And God help her, Maridrinian princes killed one another all the time for reasons lesser than this.
“I’m famished,” Silas said. “And you promised me an update on the rebels contesting Petra’s rule.”
“They’ve pressed north out of their strongholds in the deep south, though their primary weapon is one Petra uses so adeptly herself.”
“Propaganda. Or murder?”
“The former. My spies tell me that Petra is struggling to silence the woman’s father as effectively as she did her mother. If they move against her, it would be a good opportunity to retake Nerastis.”
The words were little more than noise in Zarrah’s ears, panic raging through her veins because if Otis picked a fight with Keris, she knew who’d lose the encounter.
The men moved to the next room, where a table sat with trays of food, Silas sitting in one of the chairs and the Magpie standing next to him, both with their backs to her.
She’d smelled the sweat pouring off Otis. Had heard the rage and betrayal in his voice. Zarrah knew that if she didn’t warn Keris, didn’t help him, she’d regret it.
Except if she left now, she’d lose her chance to kill Silas. A chance that she might never have again.
Choose.
Indecision warred within her. Once, she’d have chosen vengeance without hesitation, but … she couldn’t lose Keris as she had Yrina.
Revenge was not worth his life.
Zarrah eased onto the windowsill, lowering herself over the edge. Only to hesitate, because she’d never climb down in time.
Then an idea occurred to her.
Easing back inside, she pulled on the velvet cloak tied to her waist, drawing the deep cowled hood forward so that it obscured her face. Then she moved on silent feet to the door, praying that Silas and Serin would think it only a servant, if they noticed a noise at all.
The guards outside glanced at her, one of them frowning, but neither spoke to her nor impeded her progress, believing her Lestara as she glided down the stairs. She held her breath, waiting for one of them to notice her bare feet were brown, not ivory, but the guards didn’t stir.
Rounding the bend, she broke into a faster pace, her feet making soft pats as she descended, stopping outside Keris’s door. She pressed her ear to the thick wood.
In time to hear a loud crash and a cry of pain.
KERIS WAS PUSHING a book carefully back into its spot on his shelves when he heard a faint click.
“That was quick,” he said, turning around. “What did he—”
He had a second to register the fury on Otis’s face, then the blow caught him in the stomach and drove the wind out of him.
Gasping, Keris staggered backward and fell, his brother on him in an instant.
“How could you?” Otis grabbed him by the shoulders, slamming him against the floor.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t deny it!” his brother snarled. “I know it wasn’t Lestara, because Lestara was upstairs being serviced by our father. That was Zarrah Anaphora’s room. That was Zarrah Anaphora you were fucking.”
Panic flooded his veins. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Keris!” Otis slammed him against the ground hard enough that Keris’s teeth rattled. “It makes perfect sense. How you kept disappearing in Nerastis, trying to disguise it by buying the tongue of that courtesan. I let it go because I thought you had a girl in the city, but it was her, wasn’t it?”
“You’ve lost your mind!”
“Have I?” Otis shouted the words, spittle striking Keris in the face. “What other reason explains how you behaved when she was captured? You ordered a good man whipped for doing his duty. Whipped to death, despite you never having ordered anyone punished our entire lives. It was because he hurt your lover! Because you wanted to protect your Valcottan whore! Admit it!”
Keris’s mind raced, hunting for a way to deny it, a way to get himself out of this situation. But there was none. All it would take was Otis telling their father what he’d seen, what he’d heard, whose room it was. The harem wouldn’t lie to protect him, not once they knew the truth. Deception would not see him clear of this, which left him only one path.
“It’s true. It was Zarrah.”
Otis went still, staring down at him as though the shock of the truth was enough to temper his anger. “How did you cross paths with her? How was that even possible?”
Keris swallowed hard, mind hunting for a way out of this mess even as the truth flowed from his lips. “I caught her in the Nerastis palace. She stole your letters from Tasha, believing them military correspondence. I chased her down to get them back, and … we talked. Neither of us knew who the other was.”
“But you knew she was Valcottan.”
“I didn’t care. I still don’t.” He exhaled a long breath. “I refuse to hate a nation of people because of the choices made by rulers and generals.”
“But she’s one of those generals!” Otis shouted, his anger rising as his shock faded. “It was on her orders that Tasha’s ship was sunk! She murdered my wife! She murdered my unborn child!”
It was a military ship, Keris wanted to protest. She had no reason to believe civilians were aboard. Except he knew they were empty words, because Tasha had been aboard. Words and intentions wouldn’t bring the dead back to life.
“So that’s what all this is about, then?” Otis demanded. “This sham of a negotiation? To free your lover?”
It was more complicated than that. Had grown in scope with every passing day, but Valcotta was, and always would be, at the heart of it. Saving her mattered more than anything else. “Zarrah isn’t like the Empress. She doesn’t want war for the sake of pride and vengeance—she wants to see an end to the needless slaughter of innocent people. If she inherits the crown, there is a chance we could end this war.”
Otis stared at him, tears dripping down his cheeks to splatter Keris in the face. “I don’t want the war to end. Not until we’ve killed every last one of them and hung them from stakes to rot. Not until we’ve made them pay for every fucking thing they’ve taken from us. Not until that bitch pays for what she took from me.”
Keris’s stomach hollowed, for he could see in his brother’s eyes that his grief was too painful, his anger too intense, for Otis to see beyond either emotion. For him to want anything but vengeance.
“I’m going to give you the choice, Keris. Either you go down those stairs and kill that woman with your own hands, or I’m going to execute you as the traitor you are before killing her myself.”
He could agree to it. Say he’d kill her in the hopes of finding a way out of this on the way to Valcotta’s rooms.
Except he knew there was no way out.
All delaying would accomplish was one of them killing the other in front of his aunts and younger siblings in the harem’s house. And they’d witnessed enough horror. “Then you’re going to have to kill me now.”
Otis’s face twisted with grief. “So be it.”
He reached for Keris’s throat, but Keris was already moving. He twisted out from under his brother, then rolled to his feet, barely getting an arm up to block the fist swinging toward him.
Otis attacked again, raining blows down upon him until Keris’s arms screamed in pain.
But he kept defending. Kept buying himself time to come up with a solution that wouldn’t see Otis or Valcotta dead, because he couldn’t live with losing either of them.
Then one of his brother’s fists got past his guard and took the choice from him.
Stunned, Keris dropped, stars spinning in his eyes, his vision clearing as Otis wrapped his hands around Keris’s throat.
Panic surged. He clawed at Otis’s hands, desperation causing him to strike his brother in the face, but Otis didn’t seem to feel the pain.
His chest spasmed with the need for air, the need for just one breath, the need to live …
And then Otis’s hands were torn from his throat, his bulk disappearing in a blur of motion.
Keris gasped in a breath, then another and another, his vision clearing to see his brother fighting what looked like a harem wife wearing one of their distinct black cloaks. Then the hood fell back, revealing her face.
It was Valcotta fighting his brother, meeting Otis blow for blow with grim resolve, driving him back with skill and speed.
“Serin was manipulating you, Otis. I heard it all. He wants Keris dead, but your father won’t oblige, so he is setting you up to do the dirty work.”
How could she have heard? What was she doing in the tower? Keris dragged himself to his feet, a wave of dizziness striking him as Otis threw himself at Valcotta, fists a blur.
“Serin didn’t make you sink my wife’s ship!” he screamed, snatching up a stool and snapping off the leg. “Serin didn’t make my brother fall into your bed! You’ve taken everything from me, you Valcottan bitch, and my greatest regret is not putting my sword through your heart when I had the chance!”
He swung at her with vicious force, and Valcotta’s eyes widened. She stepped back, her foot catching on a stack of books. She stumbled as Otis swung again, aiming for her head.
“No!” Keris lunged, slamming into his brother with greater force than he intended, sending Otis staggering sideways.
Glass shattered.
Keris lifted his head, seeing his brother fall backward, arms pinwheeling as he tried to catch hold of the window frame.
“Otis!” He reached, his fingers brushing the leather of Otis’s boots as his brother plunged from sight.
Thud.
Cold shock rippled through Keris as he stood.
No. It wasn’t possible. Otis hadn’t fallen.
He took one step. Then another. Gripped the window frame and looked down. His stomach twisted, the contents rising.
Otis had fallen.
On the pale paving stones below, his brother’s body was sprawled, blood pooling around him in a great dark pool.
No.
“Keris.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Keris?”
He slowly turned to find Valcotta behind him, her eyes wide.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It was an accident. Serin drove him to this moment. The Magpie wants you dead, and he goaded Otis into this. It’s his doing.”
If only that were the case.
The fog of shock disappeared, reality rushing over him. Guards would have seen Otis fall. It was only a matter of time until they came up to Keris’s room to investigate.
Grabbing Valcotta’s arm, he pulled her hood forward to conceal her face and then dragged her to the door. “Hurry.” They raced down and down the stairs. “React like one of the harem wives would, and then get back to their quarters. If you’re caught here, both of us will be dead, and all of this will be for nothing.”
He burst through the door to find the four guards bent over Otis’s still form, bubbles of blood rising from his lips. God, he was still alive.
Behind him, Zarrah let out a bloodcurdling scream that echoed through the gardens, then clutched at his arm, sobbing.
“Go!” He gave her a shove. “Fetch Coralyn. Tell her to summon the physician.”
She gave a jerky nod, then hurried down the path as fast as she could without breaking into a run, none of the guards paying her attention, their eyes on him.
“He fell from your window, Your Highness,” one said. “What happened?”
“An accident.” His throat was tight, the words strangled. “He …”
Otis moved, turning his head, his mouth forming Keris’s name, though only a gurgle came out.
On leaden feet, Keris approached, dropping to his knees to grip his brother’s hand, seeing that it wouldn’t matter how fast the physician came, for these injuries weren’t survivable. He lowered his head, keeping his voice soft enough that only Otis would hear, his heart aching. “I’m so sorry. This was the last thing I wanted. You’re my brother, and I love you.”
Otis tightened his grip, the force of it grinding the bones of Keris’s hand, the look in his brother’s eyes one that would haunt him forever. Not pain. Not fear.
But betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, because no other words would come. “I’m so sorry.”
But Otis’s chest was still, the spark fading from his eyes and leaving behind nothing but a corpse.
A female scream split the night air, and Keris turned to see Lestara with her hand over her mouth, his father standing at her arm, expression unreadable. Beyond, Serin lurked in the shadows.
Keris’s body quivered, every part of him demanding that he go after the spymaster. That he strangle the life out of the monster for what he’d done.
Except in this, he couldn’t blame Serin. Only himself.
