The Inadequate Heir, page 37
Unease chased aside Keris’s irritation, and he rounded on her. “Just what is it that you think I plan to do?”
“I don’t know.” His aunt touched her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes. “Promise me, Keris. Promise me that you’ll not make decisions that put this family in danger. Promise that you’ll put your family first.”
“I …” It should’ve been an easy promise, because the last thing he wanted was anything to happen to his aunts or siblings, but the words caught in his mouth. And he was spared having to say anything more as motion outside caught his eye.
Aren threw one of his guards off the side of the covered walkway, the man pulling the Ithicanian king with him. They fell, the guard taking the brunt of the fall in a way that suggested he’d never rise again.
Aren was on his feet, weaving his way through the garden and racing past screaming women, moving as quickly as the chain strung between his ankles would allow.
Alarm bells rang, the guards falling into action, but Aren kept moving, dodging around potted plants and statuary.
“He’s heading for the sewer grate,” Coralyn said with interest. “Do you suppose—”
Before she could finish, one of the guards struck Aren in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground. More guards dogpiled the king, pinning him down, and Keris watched with grim fascination as his father approached, several of the wives on his heels.
“I could have told him the sewer wouldn’t work,” Keris muttered, watching his father taunt the Ithicanian king, a smile on his face at however Aren had responded.
“He’ll come up with something,” Coralyn said. “Have more faith.”
A hard thing to do while watching Aren writhe and fight against the guards like a feral beast, his father giving one final smirk before walking away.
The guards slowly untangled themselves to reveal Aren’s form. But instead of glaring at them, Aren was staring at the tower rising above him. Aren’s eyes remained on it as the guards dragged him to his feet, but as he walked, his gaze went to the window where Keris and Coralyn stood watching. And he gave the slightest of nods.
Elation flooded Keris, driving away all the anger and uneasiness of Coralyn’s accusations, because Aren had figured out a way to escape.
“You’ll just have to trust my intentions,” he said to his aunt. “Trust that if I’m given the chance to rule, I’ll do what I think is right.”
His aunt smiled, then wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight in a way she hadn’t since he was a boy. “I know you will, dear one. Just as I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you succeed.”
“YOUR ARMS HAVE HEALED.”
Zarrah touched one forearm, the swelling from the blows she’d taken from Otis gone, the bruising faded to yellow that was easily covered by cosmetics. She was lucky he hadn’t struck her face, for that would have been a difficult injury to explain, given the story she’d provided Coralyn. “Does that mean I will regain my liberty?”
Long days of being trapped inside this room, seeing no one but Coralyn’s trusted servants, had driven her to the point of madness, and she was desperate to step outside. To breathe fresh air again.
“Yes,” Coralyn answered, taking a seat and crossing her ankles beneath the chair. “If you play your cards right, these hours will be the last you ever spend within the comfort of my hospitality.”
Zarrah’s heart skipped, then raced, and it was a struggle not to hold her breath as she waited for the woman to say more.
“Tonight,” Coralyn said, “the Ithicanians, with the harem’s assistance, will attack during a dinner Silas is hosting for the ambassadors. Their intent is to rescue their king, and I’ve arranged for them to take you with them. After you kill Silas.”
Zarrah blinked in shock, for the last thing she’d expected was a plan of this scope. “Why would they agree to help me? Ithicana and Valcotta are at odds.”
“Because I made the harem’s assistance conditional upon it. They’ve given their word.”
Zarrah narrowed her eyes, distrust flooding her core. “Why? Why not have the Ithicanians kill him during Aren’s rescue, given they certainly have cause? Why involve me at all?”
The old woman lifted one shoulder. “My reasons are manyfold. But the foremost is that you’re the only one I trust to kill Silas no matter the personal cost to you. He murdered your mother. Cut off her head and left you tied beneath her body while it rotted. You won’t leave him alive.”
Zarrah’s instincts told her that Coralyn’s words were the truth even as they screamed there was far more at play. “Why? Aren and his people desire vengeance against Silas just as much as I do.”
A furrow formed in Coralyn’s brow, though it swiftly smoothed away. “I fear they’ll place rescuing Aren ahead of that vengeance, and I can’t risk that. I need certainty, Zarrah. I need to know that Silas will breathe his last tonight. If he survives a day longer, my favorite nephew might not.”
“You mean Keris.” Zarrah’s hands turned cold, because she could see the real fear in Coralyn’s eyes, and it infected her own heart, though she was careful to keep it from her face.
Coralyn inclined her head. “I assure you, if the situation was not dire, I’d not take these risks. Nor would I lower myself to an alliance with a Valcottan. But the Magpie wants Keris dead, and he’s very skilled at getting what he wants.”
She wasn’t lying.
Zarrah knew better than anyone that Serin had set a target between Keris’s shoulders, but she’d also heard Silas forbid any harm to come to his son. “I was under the impression Silas had ordered him to depart to Nerastis, which would put him out of Serin’s reach for a time, no? Why are you so desperate, Coralyn?”
“Because he won’t leave!” The words exploded from the old woman’s lips, and in a flash, she was on her feet. “Cursed stubborn boy has drawn a line in the sand and refuses to go.”
Keris was still here.
She hadn’t seen him once since his father had ordered his departure. Although her heart had told her that he wouldn’t leave without some form of goodbye, each day that had passed, her uncertainty of whether he remained had grown. Knowing that he hadn’t abandoned her filled her with warmth even as concern that he was putting his life at risk to remain ratcheted up her anxiety. “Is Keris involved in your plot with Aren? Is he aware you conspire to kill his father?”
Coralyn waved a hand at her dismissively. “Of course not. He’d never agree to use you as his assassin.”
A prickle of suspicion ran across Zarrah’s skin because she knew Keris had facilitated Coralyn’s meeting with Aren at dinner. “Why not? Silas’s death serves his ends.”
Something flickered in the old woman’s gaze, something that looked a great deal like anger, but it was gone in an instant. “You’re Valcottan, Zarrah. Using you would violate his rather rigid morals, so it’s better not to involve him at all.”
Because Keris had been raised to hate Valcottans. Just as she’d been raised to hate Maridrinians.
Zarrah couldn’t help but wonder what Coralyn would think if she knew the truth about Zarrah and Keris. She’d raised him, which meant it had been her who’d attempted to instill that hate in him. That he’d chosen to walk a different path made him a better man in Zarrah’s eyes, but Coralyn would see it as a betrayal. The thought filled her with sadness, but her suspicions eased. Not because she trusted the woman, but because she knew that Keris would never agree to using Zarrah to assassinate his father, though his reasons were far different than his aunt realized.
“I know you don’t care for Keris,” Coralyn said. “To you, he’s just the Veliant who captured you and brought you to this prison. But to me, he’s the son I never had. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect him.”
To Zarrah’s shock, tears spilled down the woman’s cheeks. “His younger half brothers have been filtering into Vencia, and I know it’s Serin who has lured them here. The Magpie was able to turn Otis—Keris’s most loyal brother—against him, so it’s only a matter of time until one of the others tries to kill him. And Silas only encourages it. Pits them against one another like dogs, certain that the most vicious is his worthy heir. I …” Coralyn trailed off, then scrubbed at her face. “So yes, Zarrah. I’m desperate. But so are you. We could both come out ahead if we set aside our animosities and work together.”
A sour taste of anxiety filled Zarrah’s mouth as she watched Coralyn pace the room, the underarms of the woman’s gown darkening with sweat, her fear very real.
Keris was in danger.
Coralyn was presenting her with the chance not just to kill Silas, but to protect Keris. For if Silas was dead, he’d be king. He could put an end to Serin with an executioner’s axe. And that was just the beginning of what he might achieve, especially if the Ithicanians managed to get her out alive. Zarrah could return to Valcotta as the woman who’d killed Silas Veliant with her own hands. An honorable kill. Her aunt would have no choice but to grant her favor, keeping her as heir. And when the day came that she inherited the throne, she fully intended to be the woman who ended Valcotta’s role in the Endless War.
Squaring her shoulders, Zarrah met Coralyn’s gaze. “Tell me Ithicana’s plan.”
HE’D WATCHED LARA and his other half sisters walk through the gates of the inner sanctum, and if he hadn’t known it was them, he’d have been as fooled as the guards who’d searched them.
Dressed in the gowns and scarves of the wives who’d left with Coralyn earlier that day, they’d laughed and chatted with one another as they strolled into the gardens, greeting the women and children they passed by name as they made their way into the harem’s house, where they’d remain until the moment they attacked.
No one suspected, not his father, not Serin, not any of the guards, because the harem never risked their own. But tonight, they risked everything to kill his father.
There were a thousand ways this could go wrong, for everything depended on Keris successfully manipulating the players in this vast scheme of moving parts. Depended on him tricking enemies into working with enemies, each of them with a different vision of what the events of tonight would achieve, none aware of one another’s goals.
Lara believing she’d get her husband back.
Aren believing he’d gain an ally in saving Ithicana.
The harem believing his father would breathe his last.
The mob believing they’d crown a new king.
They weren’t wrong in holding such beliefs, but what none of them realized was that Keris stood at the heart of this scheme and that every move they made was to achieve his goal: freeing Valcotta.
It was no small amount of irony that she remained the wild card in this mad plan. Valcotta had no idea what would descend at dinner tonight, no idea the critical role she played, which meant she was walking into the line of fire completely blind. And he had no way to warn her.
Reaching her was impossible.
He knew because he’d tried. Over and over, but between Coralyn and his father’s precautions, he’d been stymied at every turn.
“You will not attend dinner tonight,” Coralyn had ordered him. “If you’re there, the survivors will question why you didn’t fight. If you do fight, you might get yourself killed. You’ve done your part. Now let Lara do hers by killing your father. By midnight tonight, you’ll be the King of Maridrina.”
Which would mean exactly nothing to him if Valcotta didn’t get through this dinner unscathed.
She could be killed by his father’s guards.
She could be killed by Lara or his sisters.
But what terrified him most was that she’d be seated, unshackled, in a room with his father. The man who’d killed her mother. Who’d ordered the death of Yrina. The man she’d already tried to kill once.
And there was nothing to stop her from trying again.
The plan was for him to stay out of it, to let Coralyn ensure all the pieces were in play, to trust that those pieces would do their part. But …
“Fuck the plan,” he muttered, then pulled on a coat and headed down the stairs.
EVERY TIME SHE’D gone into battle, Zarrah had worn leather and steel and been armed to the teeth. But tonight, in what might be the most important battle of her life, she wore a silk gown and had only a dull nail for a weapon.
It felt like enough.
Her heart beat like a war drum as she made her way to the dining room, guards hurrying to keep up with her long strides. “Wait for the attack before you make your move against Silas,” Coralyn had cautioned. “Do it before all is in place, and you’ll ruin any chance of escape.”
“When will they attack?”
“You’ll know when the moment is right,” was the only detail she’d been given, then Coralyn had pressed the precious nail into Zarrah’s hand before saying, “Don’t fail this time,” and leaving Zarrah in the care of the servants.
She wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t fail, because this wasn’t just vengeance. It was about saving Keris’s life.
And saving her own.
“I told you to get yourself to Nerastis!” Silas’s voice slapped her in the face as the doors swung open, the king turning to glare at her before rounding back on Keris, who stood before him with his arms crossed. It seemed a lifetime since she’d seen him, and her stomach flipped as she looked him over, struggling to feign disinterest.
“I haven’t finished packing.”
“You’ve got an army of servants! Use them!”
Keris shrugged. “Some things are too valuable for me to allow others to pack. Far better for me to do it myself.” His eyes flicked to Zarrah, meeting her gaze steadily before moving back to his father. “I’ll finish after dinner tonight.”
It was a message.
“Forget dinner,” Silas barked. “Get back to your rooms, pack up your useless drivel, and get on a ship south. Am I understood?”
“A deal for passage has already been struck with the captain.” Keris glanced at Zarrah again, and there was a hint of desperation in his blue eyes that didn’t match his bored tone. “Bastard negotiated hard—his family will be eating well for the next few months. Apologies for committing you to the expense without permission.”
“Least of my fucking concerns!”
Keris wasn’t talking to his father—the words were for her. He was trying to tell her something that couldn’t be said in front of his father, and the fact that he was risking it at all meant it was urgent. Before Zarrah could puzzle her way through his coded language, Silas rounded on her. “I will have silence from you tonight, woman. You’re attending this dinner as proof your heart still beats, lest your aunt claim otherwise.”
He’s nervous. Nothing in Silas’s expression betrayed the emotion, but Zarrah felt it. Smelled it in the stink of the sweat dampening his collar. And she wondered if some primal part of him sensed that countless individuals who desired him dead would soon descend on him. If he sensed that this night would be his last.
“At least the mob outside our gates doesn’t care about her,” Keris interjected. “They only care about Aren Kertell. Perhaps you ought to follow his lead, Lady Zarrah. People will do all sorts of things for you if you promise to deliver them from hunger.”
Another message, but she had no idea what it meant.
Silas snorted in disgust. “That mob outside is your sister’s doing, Keris. Hers and Ithicana’s desperate attempt to get Aren out in the open. But I’ve never pandered to the masses, and I won’t now. If she wants him, she’ll have to come and get him.”
“My only regret is not being here to see it,” Keris said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve packing to get to.”
Inclining his head to his father, Keris strode from the room, not giving Zarrah so much as a passing glance.
Leaving her alone with Silas and her guards.
No shackles bound her wrists or ankles, and Zarrah’s muscles quivered with the desire to move. To slip the nail hidden in her belt between her fingers, then swing hard, driving the steel into his skull.
As if sensing her thoughts, Silas’s eyes fixed on her, his hand drifting to the sword at his waist. The last thing she needed was to be shackled to the table because Silas finally recognized her for the threat she was.
“You seem nervous, Your Grace,” she purred. “Please don’t tell me that the great Silas Veliant is afraid of an unarmed woman.”
The guards heard her and stepped forward, but Silas lifted a hand, and they stopped in their tracks. Then he moved.
Zarrah saw it coming. Could have blocked the blow or dodged, but instead she allowed his fist to slam into her cheek.
The blow sent her staggering and she nearly fell, pain ricocheting through her face and her eyes watering. Then he had her by the hair, slamming her down on the table. Glasses shattered, the vase of flowers at the center toppling sideways and spilling its contents across the tablecloth.
“You believe you are untouchable”—his breath was hot against the back of her neck—“but you’re not. It serves my purposes to keep you alive, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. Doesn’t mean I won’t make your life a living hell.” He twisted his hand in her hair, her neck screaming as he forced her to look up at him. “Once Eranahl falls, I will turn my eyes south to Valcotta. And when I march, I have every intention of carrying your corpse as my banner.”
He jerked her like a rag doll, forcing her down in her chair. “Get a servant in here to clean her up,” he snarled at the guards. “Before the ambassadors arrive.”
Her face ached, and her skull burned where he’d torn out her hair, but Zarrah still struggled not to smile as he strode from the room, her wrists and ankles remaining unshackled. Your pride will be your downfall, she silently whispered, then sat still while a servant woman repaired her smeared cosmetics, several others hastily setting the table to rights.
