The Inadequate Heir, page 38
They’d barely finished when more guards arrived with Maridrinian noblemen, and on their heels arrived the ambassadors from Harendell and Amarid, as well as several others she didn’t recognize.
“We were sorry to bring such disappointing news,” the Harendellian ambassador said to her as he took his place. “We’d hoped the Empress would see the merit of negotiation, but it seems the bad blood between your nations outweighs her affections.”
His words sent a lance of pain through her chest, but Zarrah only inclined her head. “She must make decisions that are for the good of Valcotta, not the good of her heart. Though I appreciate your efforts.”
“It is always the hope that one can avert war through one’s efforts,” he answered. “But I think there is no averting this one.”
“Maridrina and Valcotta have been at war for generations,” she said, eyes skipping down the table to where Coralyn was seating herself.
“Raids and skirmishes and blockades are not war, girl,” the ambassador said. “You aren’t old enough to have seen what happens when two nations matched in hatred truly collide. The skies will turn black from the ash of the dead.”
Unease flitted through Zarrah’s chest, but before she could answer him, Aren Kertell entered the room, all eyes going to him.
He took his usual seat at the end of the table, nodding and offering courtesies to Coralyn while his chains were secured. Zarrah couldn’t make out what the old woman said to him in response, but her face turned serious, and she pressed her hand against his. Zarrah’s heart skipped, then sped, because it was the first proof that this escape plot was real, not a trick on the harem’s part to get Zarrah to do their dirty work.
Her gaze skipped around the table, searching the faces of the unfamiliar men. She’d presumed them ambassadors or noblemen, but was it possible they were Ithicanians in disguise? Except even if they were armed, there weren’t enough of them to overwhelm the guards standing around the perimeter.
Silas stormed into the room, not surrounded by his wives, as was his custom, but very much alone. He barked, “Where are they? If you begin shirking your duties, your days of extravagance at the Sapphire Market will come to an end.”
Coralyn inclined her head. “The harem’s girls will be along shortly, husband. They’ve prepared a performance for you. Given the effort they’ve put into making it memorable, you might consider giving them your full attention when they arrive.”
Zarrah kept her face smooth even as she slipped the nail from her belt, placing it between the knuckles of her closed left fist. This was it. This was the moment, and she readied herself to strike when the Ithicanians exploded through the door. She’d only have a heartbeat before Silas got his weapon out, and she needed to make it count.
A glowering Silas flung himself into his chair, downing a glass of wine, oblivious to the fact death sat at arm’s reach.
“Your Grace,” the Amaridian ambassador said, “Have you had a chance to respond to my queen’s letter?”
“The letter demanding payment?” Silas snarled. “Perhaps you might explain to me why I should pay her anything, given that Amarid has failed to uphold its end of the bargain?”
The man’s ears turned red. “How so? You’ve had full access to our naval fleet for months.”
Zarrah only vaguely heard their argument, her ears trained on the closed doors, listening for the sound of running feet or fighting. For anything that would give her the ounce of warning she needed to leap to her feet and swing her spiked fist at Silas’s skull.
But there was nothing.
Servants stepped in, bearing the salad course, and Zarrah ate methodically, the food tasting like sawdust. Where were they? Where were the Ithicanians?
Perhaps they’d been caught.
Perhaps they’d never been coming at all.
Salad stuck in her throat, and she choked, needing to take several gulps of wine to ease her coughing.
“You all right, dear?” the Harendellian asked. “Do let me know if you need—”
The main door flung open, and Zarrah lurched upward. Only to freeze at the familiar sight of the harem’s musicians.
Two men pounding vigorously on drums, followed by another two shaking cymbals. Zarrah eased back into her seat as they circled the table, taking up positions on opposite sides of the room. They kept up the furious beat, then with a resounding thunder, went silent.
The guards’ eyes were on the open door, and Zarrah glanced down the table of men to see if this was the distraction, if this was the moment when Ithicana would strike, but all the men were watching the doorway with interest.
So she turned her head to see what they were gaping at.
Six harem wives had appeared. They were dressed in gossamer silks that concealed little of their bodies but most of their faces. The bells fastened to their wrists and ankles tinkled a soft music, but it was the drums of her own heart that filled Zarrah’s ears because she saw what the men did not. Her eyes flicked over the dancers’ bodies, seeing the hard muscles of their arms. Seeing the faint marks of scars on their skin, visible through the cosmetics that attempted to hide them. Seeing the vibrant azure of their eyes, the color sending adrenaline roaring through her veins.
None of the women were harem wives. But neither were they Ithicanian.
Zarrah held her breath, waiting for the men to see what she saw. For Silas to notice that none of these dancers were his wives.
No one said a word.
Because they saw only what Coralyn intended them to see. Curved breasts barely concealed by thin bodices, the rose hue of the women’s peaked nipples visible through the fabric, as was the apex of their thighs each time they passed before a lamp. The men gaped at the display of female flesh, the one man who should be able to identify them too busy glaring at Coralyn to see the truth.
It wasn’t wives circling the room; it was Silas Veliant’s daughters.
A lithe woman began to dance, the tiny shakes of her wrists making the bells decorating them jingle softly. She swayed through an elaborate set of steps, hips moving from side to side seductively. Her blond hair was streaked with lighter strands from hours in the sun, but otherwise, was an identical color to Keris’s. The others joined her, replicating her motions in perfect unison, the musicians creating a rhythm, but Zarrah kept her attention on the blond.
She circled the table, bare feet rapidly striking the floor in a complicated series of steps that filled the air with music. She spun, long locks swinging out behind her before falling to brush against her naked lower back. There was a predatory grace to her, and every muscle in Zarrah’s body tensed with certainty that this woman was dangerous.
They all were.
Yet the men at the table were oblivious to the knowledge they were being circled not by women but by hunters. By tigresses costumed to look like house cats.
It was only a matter of time until they pounced, and Zarrah needed to be ready when they did.
The blond woman rounded behind Silas, and Zarrah watched her lift her face, gaze on the opposite end of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Zarrah watched Aren’s face blanch of all color.
It was all the confirmation that Zarrah needed: the woman was Lara Veliant, the traitor queen of Ithicana, Aren’s wife, and Keris’s younger sister.
The thought of him sent a jolt of memory through her. If Lara wants him, she’ll have to come and get him.
What had Keris responded? Zarrah dug into her memory, but the words were already bubbling up to meet her.
My only regret is not being here to see it.
Keris knew Lara was coming tonight. Knew about Coralyn’s plans, despite the woman saying otherwise. Yet he’d been warning Zarrah of what was to come, which suggested he was unaware Coralyn had involved her, otherwise why take the risk? Zarrah stared blindly at the dancers, digging through her memory of the conversation.
A deal for passage has already been struck with the captain. Bastard negotiated hard—his family will be eating well for the next few months. Apologies for committing you to the expense without permission.
The captain … it had to be Aren that Keris had negotiated with, the passage her escape, except she’d already known that. Coralyn had told the Ithicanians her assistance was predicated on them taking Zarrah with them.
Perhaps you ought to follow his lead … People will do all sorts of things for you if you promise to deliver them from hunger. Zarrah silently swore, realizing that Coralyn had lied. The Ithicanians weren’t taking her with them in exchange for the harem’s assistance; they were taking her because Keris had committed her to supplying Eranahl.
And she was supposed to follow Aren’s lead.
Except the King of Ithicana was gaping at his dancing wife, clearly shocked by her presence.
He wasn’t the master of this plan, only a piece on the board of … of whose scheme? Who had masterminded this plan? Keris or Coralyn? Zarrah wasn’t certain, but it was very clear that the two were not entirely aligned.
The drums took on a frenzied pace, finishing the piece with a rattling crash of cymbals as each of the women struck a final pose, though Zarrah’s pulse remained frenetic as she waited for them to make their move.
Because when they did, she’d make hers.
“Well done!” Coralyn cried out, clapping her hands. “Beautifully performed, my lovely girls. Weren’t they stupendous, Silas?”
Silas gave her a sour smile. “Wonderful, if somewhat overloud.” Then he waved a dismissive hand, and the young women backed into the shadows of the walls, heads lowered.
All, that is, but one.
Lara took three quick steps and jumped, landing on the center of the table like a cat, glassware rattling.
“What are you doing, woman?” Silas demanded. “Get down and get out before I have you whipped.”
“Now, now, Father.” Lara walked down the table, kicking over glasses of wine with every step, and Zarrah shivered, hearing Keris in her voice. “Is that any way to greet your most favored of children?”
Silas’s eyes widened as she pulled away the veil concealing her face, allowing it to flutter down onto a plate. Zarrah’s chest tightened, because there was no mistaking her as anything but Keris’s flesh and blood.
“You little fool.” Silas rose to his feet and pulled his sword. “Just what did you think to accomplish by coming here tonight?”
Hard as it was, Zarrah tore her attention from Lara to glance to the shadows where the other women were cowering behind the guards, sobbing in feigned fear and begging the men to protect them.
Lara wasn’t the threat. She was the distraction.
The other dancers moved, hands flitting out to palm knives from the belts and boots of the soldiers whose eyes and weapons were trained on the Ithicanian queen.
“You lied to me. Manipulated me. Used me—not for the benefit of our people, but for your own benefit. To satisfy your own greed.” Lara’s voice filled her ears, and Zarrah felt the other woman’s fury. Knew that fury, because it burned in her heart.
Zarrah tore her gaze from Lara and her sisters and found Coralyn wasn’t watching them. She was staring at Zarrah with such hatred that it was hard not to recoil. Not the political hate between people of enemy nations—this hatred was personal.
Zarrah’s skin turned to ice, dread filling her stomach, some sixth sense telling her why Coralyn despised her so much.
She knew.
Coralyn knew there was something between Zarrah and Keris, and she hated Zarrah for it. Hated her for pulling her precious son away from the path she intended for him.
The path to the throne.
Though Coralyn had been clear of her intentions, Zarrah only now truly understood them. Coralyn hadn’t brought Zarrah here just to ensure Silas died. She’d brought her here to kill any chance of Keris pursuing peace with Valcotta. To kill any chance of Keris pursuing Zarrah by ensuring she murdered Silas in front of the ambassadors, who were impartial witnesses.
Kill him, Coralyn mouthed. Have your vengeance.
Once, Zarrah would have leapt at that chance. Would have seen no greater honor than putting this vile man who’d caused so much harm, had caused her so much harm, in his grave. But now … now she saw how the consequences of her actions would unfold. How word would spread that the King of Maridrina had been slaughtered in his own house by a Valcottan, and Silas would cease to be a monster to his people.
He’d be a martyr.
As Silas’s heir, Keris would have no choice but to march his armies south in pursuit of blood and vengeance, for to pursue peace in the face of his father’s murder would be nothing short of suicide. And the Empress would meet him head to head, generations of hatred culminating in a war of such violence that the ground would be soaked with blood. Thousands dead. Thousands more orphaned.
And for what?
So Zarrah could have a moment of righteous delight in achieving vengeance for her mother’s murder? So that she could go back to Valcotta and be honored by the Empress who’d abandoned her? Was what she’d gain worth the horror she’d be unleashing on so many others?
It was not. Seeing it so clearly now, Zarrah questioned how she’d ever thought it could be.
There was nothing to be gained from her killing Silas tonight, not even the knowledge it would protect Keris. Because if she killed his father, it would mean condemning him to a fate he’d see as worse than death.
Zarrah refused to do that to him.
So she met Coralyn’s gaze and mouthed, No.
Panic flooded the old woman’s face even as Lara’s laugh filled the room, Keris’s sister declaring, “Do you really think that I’m such a fool as to come alone?”
The sisters cowering in the shadows moved as one, slitting the guards’ throats with shocking proficiency, gurgles filling the air even as bodies thudded to the ground. Then they dropped their veils, saying in unison, “Hello, Father.”
In that moment, Zarrah could have closed the distance between her and Silas and put that nail in his skull. Could have satisfied the need that had driven her for so many long years. But she only took a steadying breath as the room erupted into chaos.
Guests screamed and scrambled toward the door, colliding with what remained of Silas’s guards as they moved to attack his daughters. But the women only picked up the swords of their victims and met the men blow for blow, cutting them down.
“Never mind them—get her!” Silas shouted at his guards.
The men all rushed Lara, and Zarrah kicked off her high-heeled shoes, not willing to let the woman stand alone. Picking up her chair, she swung it at one of the guards, smashing him in the head. The wood broke, and holding tight to one of the legs, she struck him again, blood splattering her dress.
Whirling, she saw Coralyn unchaining Aren, Silas’s shriek of “Kill him! Kill the Ithicanian!” filling her ears.
Follow his lead. Keris’s voice rippled through her thoughts, reminding her that Coralyn wasn’t the only one with a plan. Yet it wasn’t her dependence on Aren for escape that had Zarrah moving, it was that she refused to stand by and watch another Ithicanian die.
Guards leapt to attack, and Zarrah swung her fist, the nail that had nearly been her damnation now Aren’s salvation as the steel plunged into the guard’s ear. He dropped, and Zarrah plucked up his knife, moving on to the next.
The noblemen, seeming to sense that if they didn’t fight, they’d die, picked up fallen weapons and flanked Silas. With steel in their hands, they rallied around their king, now a force to be reckoned with. The ambassadors cowered in the corners, looking like they weren’t certain which side they were on.
Loud hammering split the air.
Zarrah’s eyes jerked to the door. The thick wood shuddered with each blow, guards on the other side trying to break through. When they did, she and her allies would be outnumbered to the point that no amount of skill would see them through this alive.
She searched the room for a way out, but with the windows behind the curtains barred and with soldiers on the opposite sides of both doors, they were trapped.
Hands closed on her shoulders.
Zarrah twisted to attack, only to find Aren behind her. He hissed, “All this is for nothing if you get killed!”
Because Keris had made a promise on her behalf to supply Eranahl. Aren wasn’t doing this to save himself but to save his people, and so she didn’t struggle as he dragged her backward and pushed her behind a velvet curtain.
The windows were painted black, allowing in no light, but Zarrah grabbed hold of the bars over them, pulling as hard as she could before moving onto the next, finding every one of them secure. What in the name of God was their plan?
Did they even have a plan?
Wood cracked and splintered.
Tightening her grip on her knife, Zarrah stepped out from behind the curtain, ready to fight. A large gash had formed in the door, the soldiers on the other side almost through. But that wasn’t what stole her attention: it was Coralyn.
“Did you think we’d let you get away with it, Silas? Let you get away with stealing our children?” Coralyn shouted. “With murdering our children? Did you think there wouldn’t be a price to pay for your greed?”
She was taking credit. Taking the fall.
Like a mother—flawed and imperfect as she was—Coralyn was protecting her child.
“I’m going to gut you for this, you old bitch!”
“By all means, Silas, please do!” Coralyn laughed. “It will entertain me in the afterlife to watch how well you sleep knowing that every wife you have and every wife you ever take will be watching and waiting for a moment to get revenge for what you’ve done. The harem protects its own, and you’ve proven yourself our enemy. I think you’ll not drop those trousers of yours so easily knowing that all the pretty mouths you surround yourself with have teeth. So by all means, Silas. Martyr me. All it means is that I’ll have an exceptional vantage point to watch you pay for your crimes.”
The split in the main door widened. They only had seconds. Zarrah lifted her weapon, ready to die fighting if that was what it came to.
