The Inadequate Heir, page 45
“We heard some details about your escape,” Bermin said between mouthfuls. “Is it true the traitor queen orchestrated it all?”
Zarrah nodded. “She’s a force to be reckoned with, as are her sisters. If Silas allowed women into his armies, I daresay we might be the losers in the encounter.” When her cousin gave an amused snort, she added, “I’m not joking, Bermin. The six of them infiltrated the palace in nothing but dancing costumes, with no weapons, and took down at least two dozen of Silas’s men.”
Bermin blinked, then gave an appreciative nod. “When did you part ways with them?”
“In Vencia.” She sipped her wine. “I expect they’re already back in Ithicana.” A reminder that she needed to honor her debt, not sit here drinking with her cousin.
But Bermin shook his head. “They’re not in Ithicana. And they also haven’t been killed by Silas’s men, despite rumors to the contrary. Last word we received, the Maridrinians were pursuing Aren Kertell and his queen, who were alone, into the Red Desert.”
The wine soured in her mouth. “Pardon?”
“They’re probably dead by now. Or if not now, then soon.” Bermin drained his glass. “No supplies, no camels, no water. They’ve not got a goddamned chance.”
Zarrah’s stomach hollowed, grief making her body ache, and she set her glass down with a heavy clink. What had gone so horribly wrong that they’d been pushed into the Red Desert? What had happened to Keris’s other sisters? To the Ithicanians who’d been part of the rescue?
“You grieve for them?”
“Yes.” She pressed her hand to her heart to honor them. “Aren is a good man. An honorable one, for all he’s made mistakes. He helped me when he didn’t have to.” And not to save himself, but to save his people. Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut. “I wish I could have done more.”
Across from her, Bermin shifted in his chair, and she felt his discomfort. Knew it was because he hated displays of emotion that he didn’t share. So it was no shock when he said, “You should rest, cousin. I’ll have your things brought to you.”
“Thank you.” She rose. “I’ll make arrangements to depart for Pyrinat as soon as I can find a ship sailing south.”
“Let me know if I can assist.”
He led her to the door, giving the order to a waiting servant to see her to a room and for her things to be brought to her. Zarrah silently followed the servant to the quarters, her packed clothing and personal belongings arriving while she was in the bath.
Dressing in her uniform, Zarrah strapped her weapons on and ensured her cousin’s letter was safely stowed in her pocket before leaving word she was going to speak with ship captains about passage.
Valcotta had control of the Nerastis port, and the docks were currently full of merchant vessels loading and unloading cargo, with well-armed naval vessels anchored in the harbor, watchful for any sign of a Maridrinian attack. But Zarrah ignored the military ships, instead eyeing merchant vessels being loaded with grains harvested from the fertile fields south of the city. Not just any ship would do. She needed one capable of weathering the Tempest Seas—and one with a captain with the balls to do so. Spotting a familiar vessel, she approached, the sailors stopping what they were doing when one of them recognized her.
“I’d like to speak to your captain,” she said, and was swiftly escorted to his quarters.
“General!” The captain clambered to his feet, eyes wide as he pressed his hand to his heart. “We’d heard of your escape with Ithicana’s king, but not that you’d returned to Nerastis. It is a relief to see you alive.”
Zarrah didn’t correct the use of what was now Bermin’s title, only inclined her head. “It feels good to be back on Valcottan soil.” When he motioned to the chair across the desk, she sat. “You’re loading a cargo of grain, yes? Destined for Pyrinat, I assume?”
He nodded. “We’d be happy to provide passage south, if that is your desire. I’ll provide you my own cabins for the honor.”
She gave him a smile. “Thank you for your generosity, but while it is my intent to travel south, any ship might provide me passage. The favor I require is for a captain who is experienced in more … dangerous waters. And one who can ensure the discretion of his crew.”
Which, given this man used to be a smuggler, he most definitely could do.
The captain’s eyebrows rose, and he rubbed his grizzled chin. “I might be interested.”
Drawing a map on his desk in front of her, Zarrah tapped Eranahl island. “I want you to drop your cargo here.”
He snorted. “Eranahl is blockaded by the Amaridians, and anyone who approaches will be welcomed by the Ithicanians’ shipbreakers. With respect, no amount of compensation is worth my life, General.”
“Not at Eranahl itself,” she said. “But on neighboring islands in close proximity to it. The only requirement is that you not be seen by the Amaridians and that the cargo be stored safely enough to weather any storms.”
The captain leaned back in his chair, brown eyes shrewd. “This is a return of favor to Aren Kertell for your liberty, yes?”
She gave a slight nod.
He made a humming noise. “It is good you wish to honor your agreement, my lady, but this runs counter to the Empress’s proclamations. Aren Kertell spit on her friendship, and Ithicana is paying the price of that choice. To do this, however much I might wish otherwise, runs counter to that.”
My lady. It was a struggle not to grind her teeth, for she’d gone only by military titles for all her adult life. He knew she had no power to sieze a cargo.
Fortunately, Bermin did. And it seemed some of Keris’s ways of getting things done had worn off on her.
Extracting her cousin’s guarantee, she slid it across the desk, watching as the captain eyed the signature and seal. “Shall we get to the matter of compensation?”
They haggled for the next hour, then landed on an amount that made Zarrah wince, for the accounts she listed the funds to be drawn from were her own. While she was an heiress in her own right, possessing many estates that provided her a rich income, a cargo full of grain was still expensive. They toasted the agreement with wine, then clasped hands, and Zarrah departed in search of passage to Pyrinat.
Walking down the gangplank, her eyes went again to Keris’s palace, gleaming in the distance. He knows what he’s doing, she told herself, but it did nothing to temper the unease in her stomach. For his entire life, he’d resisted learning to fight or having any part of the Maridrinian military, and much of the reason for that choice was his fear of becoming like his father. Yet now he was embracing the role, and though she knew it was an act born of necessity, she also knew that if you played a character for long enough, you risked becoming them.
I could go to the dam tonight, she thought to herself. There was no guarantee he’d be there, but on the chance he might … She could caution him not to take things too far, lest he do something he regret. And …
Her stomach tightened at what else they might do other than talk, the memory of his hands on her body making her skin flush, his voice echoing in her ears … I love you.
Would being in his arms one last time be such a crime? Tomorrow she’d set sail, and all chance to see him would be lost, and there might never be another again.
A booming voice calling her name caught her attention, and Zarrah looked up to see Bermin coming down the docks toward her. “Before you depart,” he said, “I’ve news you might be interested in hearing.”
“Oh?”
“We just received a report of eighteen casualties in Jerin Oasis, most of them Maridrinian. The messenger said it started with some Maridrinian tart getting caught thieving, so they threw her in the stocks to crisp in the sun,” her cousin said. “Then a man—a big Harendellian merchant who went by the name of James—poisoned all the patrons at a bar as a distraction while he rescued her before slaughtering a caravan of men to take their camels and supplies before escaping south. Only survivor was a boy, who said the man called the Maridrinian woman his wife.”
An icy chill ran down her spine. Not possible.
They’d entered the Red Desert with no supplies. No camels. No goddamned water. Yet somehow, Lara and Aren had made it to an oasis at the midpoint of the desert and were headed south.
South.
Zarrah’s mouth turned sour, understanding rippling through her. They weren’t just running from Silas—they had a destination in mind. Aren, whom she’d made a deal with in exchange for escape. Aren, who knew it was actually Keris who’d gotten her free. Aren, who fucking knew about her and Keris’s relationship, was headed to Pyrinat.
And Zarrah had no doubt in her mind whom he intended to meet with once he got there.
“What do you suppose the chances are,” Bermin rocked on his heels, “that this pair of violent lovers are the king and queen of Ithicana?”
She’d bet money on it.
“I need to speak with the Empress.” Spotting a vessel starting to push back from the dock, she sprinted toward it, shouting, “Pyrinat?”
One of the sailors nodded, so she jumped the gap, landing on the deck of the ship. The sailors stared at her as she smoothed her clothing. “I need passage. And I’ll pay triple if you make haste.”
Because if Aren made it there ahead of her, everything she’d sacrificed would have been in vain.
SHE HAD A residence in the city, a towering sandstone home with large windows filled with stained glass that she hadn’t stayed in for more than a night for longer than she could remember, but Zarrah didn’t bother stopping there to clean up.
Instead, she headed straight to the palace.
The headwind had fought the ship all the way to Pyrinat, leaving Zarrah to pace the deck as her mind ran through every possible scenario. From Lara and Aren succumbing to the desert to them beating her to Pyrinat and using the damning information against her in an attempt to negotiate for the Empress’s aid in retaking Ithicana.
For there was no doubt in her mind that assistance was what they’d ask for, though what her aunt’s response would be, Zarrah was not so certain.
But she was about to find out.
Her boots thudded against the bridge as she crossed the moat surrounding the Empress’s palace, the guards at the entrance recognizing her uniform before they latched on her face. Hands pressed to their hearts, they opened the doors ahead of her.
The heavy doors swung inward, revealing an expansive courtyard with a large fountain at the center of it. Dispatching a young boy to deliver word of her arrival, the guard led her across the open space, through a pair of bronze gates on the far side, and into the palace.
Instinctively, her eyes went up to the twisted iron of the ceiling, which was wrought into delicate curving shapes containing the finest colored glass, the light passing through it casting rainbows across the pathways of translucent glass tiles that wove through gardens, filled with blooming flowers.
Her aunt’s steward approached, flanked by a girl carrying a bowl of water and lavender toweling, the man remaining silent as Zarrah cleansed her hands. Then he said, “The Empress has been made aware of your arrival, my lady.” Smiling, he added, “We are most pleased to have you returned. We feared the worst with so much time having passed since you escaped Vencia with no sign of you.”
A flicker of guilt ran through Zarrah, because she could have been here weeks ago if not for Keris’s choice of vessel. And not once had she considered that anyone would be concerned for her well-being. “The journey took longer than anticipated, I’m afraid. And I couldn’t risk sending word.”
“All that matters is that you are here, my lady. Her Imperial Majesty will be overjoyed.”
Zarrah could only pray that was true as she followed the steward.
If Lara and Aren had already arrived, someone would have mentioned it, which gave Zarrah some degree of relief as she followed the steward out into the open air of the Empress’s gardens. They walked down the pathways in silence, Zarrah deep in thought. This had once been her home, and as a child, she’d raced through these gardens. Streams crisscrossed the space in mimicry of Pyrinat’s canals, tiny bridges built to look identical to those in the city allowing one to cross, though she’d always favored leaping onto the stepping stones or swimming where the water pooled. Even now, some of her second and third cousins swam under the watchful eyes of servants, who knew it would mean their lives if harm came to the royal children.
As they passed toward the rear of the palace, Zarrah made out the familiar clacking of practice weapons colliding. Sure enough, her aunt was sparring with her bodyguard, a massive man who’d served in the position as long as Zarrah had been alive. Welran was twice the Empress’s size, and tremendously skilled, but as Zarrah watched, her aunt got under his guard, staff catching him behind his knees and sending him spilling to the ground.
The Empress snapped, “You grow lax in your old age. There was a time I would not have been capable of doing that, and my skill has not grown in recent years.”
“Apologies, Majesty.” Welran rose to his feet, and Zarrah flinched at the shame in his eyes. The man bore dozens of scars earned in defense of his empress and did not deserve chastisement. Then her aunt pulled the staff from his hands and twisted, throwing it at Zarrah. “Let’s see how soft you’ve gotten in Maridrinian care.”
Zarrah caught it easily, stepping onto the sand, saying nothing as they circled each other. Her aunt’s jaw was tight and her gaze cool, but if she’d intended to send Zarrah walking back out the doors of the palace, she wouldn’t have bothered with the sparring.
This time, Zarrah wasn’t exhausted. Wasn’t hungover. But more than that, she could tell her aunt expected her to be weak from months of captivity.
Zarrah wasn’t weak.
She immediately attacked, and she saw the surprise in the Empress’s eyes at the force of it. “Angry at me for not rescuing you, are you, child?”
“I’m not a child, Auntie.” Zarrah knocked the staff from her aunt’s hands. “I had no expectations of rescue.”
She waited for her to retrieve the weapon, then went on the attack again, but this time, her aunt was ready. They drove each other back and forth across the training yard, Zarrah’s pulse roaring as she hunted for an opening. But the Empress didn’t give her one.
Sweat rolled down her cheeks, kicked-up sand sticking to her face, but Zarrah barely felt the discomfort. Barely noticed other members of her large extended family coming to watch, the children laughing and cheering.
There.
Seeing an opening, Zarrah rolled, catching her aunt behind the knees with her weapon and sending her sprawling into the sand.
Everyone fell silent, waiting to see what the Empress would do, but the older woman only rolled onto her back, spitting out sand.
Reaching down, Zarrah held out a hand. The Empress stared at it for a long moment, expression unreadable, then she smiled and took it. “That’s my girl.”
Zarrah pulled her upright, her aunt slipping her arm in hers and leading her toward the tallest tower. Though the structures were nothing alike in appearance, she found herself struck by the similarities to Silas’s tower in Vencia. The thought sent a prickle of unease across her skin, but she ignored it.
“Bermin tells me that you were on the north side of the Anriot spying, and that was how the Maridrinians caught you. Is this true?”
Bermin must have sent a courier the moment she left his office, and whoever it was must have ridden day and night, switching horses, to have beat her ship to Pyrinat. Not unexpected, but still irritating. “Yes. I was caught by a dawn patrol.”
“So you weren’t seeing a man as Yrina suggested?”
Shit. “No. I told her that only so she wouldn’t follow me.”
Her aunt snorted in disgust. “It was her duty to protect you. Perhaps if you’d allowed her to do so, you’d not have suffered the shame of capture, and Yrina would be alive.” The look she gave Zarrah was pointed. “She is dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Her tongue felt thick. “Or so I was told.”
“The Veliants might have killed her, but Yrina’s death is on your hands.” Her aunt spit on the grass. “A waste of a good soldier, but at least she died with honor, fulfilling her oath.”
The pain of Yrina’s death welled hot and fresh, but Zarrah only nodded.
“The Harendellians say you were treated well. Is that true?” Her aunt stopped in her tracks, twisting to grip Zarrah’s shoulders. “Did they touch you?”
She blinked, it taking a heartbeat for her to understand the meaning. “No. I was kept within the harem, surrounded by women. No one … touched me.”
The Empress’s dark eyes searched hers, her grip tight enough that it would leave bruises, spikes of pain running down Zarrah’s arms. “Better to die than to live having been befouled by one of those vermin, do you understand me?”
It was a struggle not to jerk out of her aunt’s grip as revulsion coursed through Zarrah’s body. Not at the suggestion of being forced against her will, as awful as that was, but at the suggestion that it would be better to die than to survive it. “The only time Silas Veliant touched me was to punch me in the face the night I escaped.”
“It’s not Silas who concerns me. He’s loyal to the harem, so if he wants a woman, he marries her first.” She laughed. “And the Maridrinians would rip him apart if he married a Valcottan. But what of the others? What about his sons?”
Too close to home. Far too close for comfort, and a bead of sweat ran down Zarrah’s temple. She prayed her aunt would attribute it to the pain she was causing as she said, “Beyond being beaten when I was captured and nearly dying from the poison on one of the princeling’s blades, no harm was done to me, Auntie.”
“A mercy.” Her aunt eased her grip, then smiled, though her gaze remained flat. Then she pulled Zarrah against her. “It was the worst form of torture knowing he had you, dear one. Every instinct in my heart demanded that I lead my armies north and take you back by force, but I had to think of the good of Valcotta.”
