The Inadequate Heir, page 47
Aren seemed to believe her genuine, for he said, “If you knew my mother so well, then you had to have known her dream for Ithicana and its people.”
“Freedom? Yes, she told me.” Her aunt shook her head. “But I agreed with your father in that it wasn’t possible. Ithicana’s survival was always dependent on it being impenetrable, or at least, nearly so. To unleash thousands of people who knew all of Ithicana’s secrets would see them secret no longer.” Her gaze hardened. “And worse still to allow others a view from the inside. But then, you learned that lesson, didn’t you?”
Aren gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement, likely thinking of the wife he’d left downstairs.
“And yet not only do you allow Silas Veliant’s weapon to live, you keep her close. Why is that?”
“She’s not his weapon. Not anymore.” Aren was on the defense. Which was exactly how the Empress wanted him. “She broke me free of Vencia, and after that, I needed her to survive the trek across the Red Desert.”
“It could be another ruse, you know. Ithicana has not yet fallen—a fact that sorely grieves Silas. How better to take Eranahl than to deliver into it the woman who cracked the defenses of the bridge?”
She was seeding doubt in his mind, but to what end, Zarrah wasn’t certain. Then her aunt added, “It would be nothing for us to rid you of that particular problem. She could disappear,” and Zarrah saw to the heart of her strategy. She was going to predicate her assistance on terms she knew Aren would never agree to.
And as predicted, the king went still. “No.”
“Your people will never accept her as queen. She’s the traitor who cost them their homes and the lives of their loved ones.”
“I am aware. The answer is still no.”
Silence.
“And if I say that Valcotta’s support is contingent on her death?”
“No.”
The Empress shoved away her glass, rising to her feet in a flurry of motion, feigning anger even though she was getting her way. “Even now you put Maridrina first.”
Aren rose as well. “I put the chance of peace before old grievances. Which is something you might consider.”
The Empress whirled back around, eyes flashing with true anger. “Peace with Maridrina? Son of my friend or not, in this you go too far. On my life, I’ll not lay down my staff until Silas Veliant lays down his sword, and we both know that will never happen.”
“It won’t,” Aren agreed. “But Silas won’t rule forever. And neither will you.”
A flicker of fury rose in her aunt’s eyes, but she smiled as Aren pressed a hand to his heart, saying, “It was an honor to meet the friend of my mother, but now I must take my leave. Tonight, I sail to Ithicana.”
He departed, but Zarrah remained, waiting for her aunt to speak.
“He’s wrong, you know,” the Empress finally said. “My will and rule will continue after I’m gone—through you, my dearest. The Valcottan Empire will grow and expand in its power; and united in mind and desire, you and I will destroy our enemies.”
Except we are not united, Zarrah thought. You will sacrifice honor and decency to have your way. Will allow a nation to be crushed, families torn from their homes and children orphaned—like I was—by violence, all for the sake of achieving power and revenge.
But she bit her tongue, because in order to stop her aunt, Zarrah needed her to believe she was complicit. So Zarrah inclined her head. “I understand your will, Imperial Majesty.” But I will have no part in seeing it done.
“They need to be on a ship north now.” Her aunt stared into the space between them, too caught up in her own thoughts and schemes to notice what Zarrah had not said. “The Magpie’s spies will know they are here, and it won’t be long until an attempt is made on their lives. Posting guards around their accommodations will imply I’m protecting them, which won’t do, whereas if they are escorted onto a ship and dumped across the border, my stance on Ithicana is clear.” She snapped her fingers, and a guard stepped into view. “Arrange an escort for the rulers of Ithicana. I want them at the harbor within the hour.”
When he departed, the Empress turned back to Zarrah. “The sooner Aren stirs the conflict with Maridrina over the bridge, the sooner we can attack. Which is why you need to return to Nerastis. We’ve three Maridrinian vessels that we’ve captured, and I want you to fill them with soldiers and sail north on the heels of Aren and his woman. Mark my words, the moment his people have him back, Ithicana will rise up, and Silas will be forced to commit his reserves.”
“And when he does?”
The Empress’s eyes gleamed. “Then you will enact our revenge, dear one. You will sail your ships into the Vencia harbor and attack. Will burn the city, tear down the palace, and make sure every last man, woman, and child bearing the Veliant name is put to sword.”
Sickening horror filled Zarrah’s stomach, but she nodded, watching as her aunt moved to her desk, writing on a sheet of paper. “Give this to Bermin. Silas will pull soldiers from Nerastis soon, if he has not done so already. Once they are gone, Bermin is to take the northern half of the city. His orders are the same: ensure every Veliant in the city is put to death, with special care given to the crown prince.” She lifted her head to meet Zarrah’s gaze. “Keris Veliant will suffer for what he did to you, dear one. My son will make sure of that.”
Ice ran through Zarrah’s veins, and it felt as though she was seeing her aunt for the first time. Finally seeing her for the villain that she was. Yet what made Zarrah want to vomit was that she also still saw the woman who’d rescued her. Who’d cared for her. Who’d brought her back from the edge and made her strong. And seeing her flaws, Zarrah still loved her. “I understand.”
“You are to share our intentions for Vencia with no one, General,” her aunt said. “Your excuse for sailing north is reconnaissance and the protection of Valcottan merchant vessels, and you’ll reveal the true plans to your soldiers and crew only at the final hour. The Magpie has spies everywhere, and we cannot risk word of our intentions reaching Silas in Vencia.”
Zarrah nodded. “I’ll keep your confidence, as always.”
Her aunt sealed the letter and handed it to her. “Get Aren safely to the north side of Nerastis. His ability to rally Ithicana is critical to my plans—nothing can happen to him. Or to that woman.” A flicker of a smile crossed her face. “Ithicana suffered under Veliant hands. Let them have their own revenge.”
So much hate.
There was no tempering it. No argument that would cause the Empress to see reason. No speech that would make her understand that her actions benefited nothing but her own pride. There was nothing Zarrah could do, especially in the short time that she had, to convince her aunt to change her plans for war with Maridrina.
Which meant the time for words was over.
“I’ll take my leave.” Zarrah pressed a hand to her heart. “I love you, Auntie. I hope you know that.”
“Of course, dearest.” Her aunt had returned to her desk and was staring at a map, eyes distant. “And I, you.”
Hopefully enough to one day forgive me, Zarrah thought, and left the palace. In pursuit of an alliance with Ithicana.
And treason to Valcotta.
KERIS READ THE page containing his father’s orders, frowned, then tossed it across the table to Philo. He waited for the grey-haired man to read the contents, then asked, “How many men will that leave us with to defend the border?”
“A little more than a hundred.” Philo set down the page. “And only two ships.”
Not nearly enough to defend Nerastis if Bermin made a move, which was a large concern. But what worried Keris more was that by emptying the barracks here, his father would have the ships and men he needed to end the war with Ithicana and kill every last Ithicanian he found alive. His father would be victorious, the master of the bridge, and Keris’s plans to use the dissent of the Maridrinian people to overthrow him would be in shambles, which meant peace with Valcotta would be a distant dream. And knowing how much Zarrah had given up in pursuit of that dream, Keris refused to allow that come to pass.
Ithicana, even with its rulers lost to the Red Desert, needed to endure.
“That is problematic.” Keris rubbed at his temples, his head foggy. His dreams had been plagued with nightmares about Zarrah, and exhaustion weighed upon him. “We risk losing Nerastis.”
Faces darkened, and he dropped his hands, fixing the men with a cool stare. “Am I wrong? Is one of you actually going to sit there and argue that we are capable of repelling the Valcottans should they choose to cross the Anriot?”
They shifted uncomfortably, and Philo finally said, “You aren’t wrong, Your Highness. With such low numbers, if the Valcottans made a move, we’d be forced to retreat.”
“Retreat how far?” Keris asked, despite knowing the answer.
Philo opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Unless we received reinforcements, as far as they wished to push us.”
What madness consumed his father that he was willing to take such a loss? Keris wanted to shout, but strategy demanded otherwise. He needed the criticism of his father to come from these men, not from him. “You’re telling me that by sending these resources to my father to use in his fight against Ithicana, we risk losing Nerastis and miles of the best farmland in Maridrina?”
Yes. He could see the answer in their eyes. Yet also that their fear of his father still kept them silent. Capitalize upon this, a voice whispered in his head. Turn them against him. “The Empress is notoriously opportunistic,” he said. “How long can we keep our weakness hidden from them?”
Not long at all was the answer, but he waited for them to discuss it among themselves, Philo finally sighing. “A day, perhaps.”
Keris said nothing, allowing the weight of that fact to sink in.
“The Valcottans haven’t raided in months despite us being undermanned,” one of the other men argued.
“Because we had the Empress’s niece as our prisoner.” Rising to his feet, Keris paced the length of the room. “But Serin’s own creation got the better of him, and we lost that asset.” It made him ill to speak of Zarrah that way, but it was a necessary evil.
“What would you have us do, Highness?” Philo asked. “The order comes from the king himself. We cannot refuse.”
“No, we can’t.” Keris stopped pacing, toying with the pommel of his sword. “And yet if we lose Nerastis for lack of men, it will be we who are held accountable.”
Turning, he pretended to stare at the map on the wall, waiting. As he’d predicted, Philo said, “His Majesty puts us in a position where we are destined to face his ill will regardless of what action we take.”
The other men growled their agreement, and Keris felt their anger growing. Not new anger, for this wouldn’t be the first time his father had put them in such a position, but anger they were only now speaking aloud. He smiled at the map, allowing them to mutter for a moment before turning. “What choice has he? For more than sixteen years, my father schemed to take the bridge, and now he has it. Would you have him give it up for the sake of a city of rubble?”
Eyes darkened at the word schemed. Not at his use of it, but that their king had used lies and subterfuge and his own daughter to win his prize.
“It’s not Nerastis that has value, Highness, but the land north of it. The best land in Maridrina,” Philo answered, not seeming to realize he was parroting Keris’s words back at him. “Already Vencia goes hungry. If we were to lose those farms …”
Keris gave a slow nod. “I expect my father anticipates making up the shortfall through imports via the bridge.”
Imports that would cost a fortune only a landed nobleman could afford, which none of these men were. They were career soldiers, and every last one of them had a family in Vencia that would go hungry if all of this came to pass.
Philo was on his feet in a flash. “Imports that no one can afford! This is madness driven by an excess of pride, Keris. The bridge has been nothing but a curse. Hundreds of lives lost trying to hold it, and for what? The bridge of untold riches has been rendered profitless by the politics between nations and the squabbling of kings and empresses, but it is the common people who starve.” He gave Keris a pleading look. “You understand, don’t you, Highness? You were against the taking of the bridge—that is well known. And it is said you listen to the concerns of the people. Even that you espouse the virtues of peace.”
A flicker of an emotion Keris couldn’t name filled his chest, for, once, these very things had earned him these men’s scorn. “What I think or don’t think matters little—I am as beholden to the will of the king as any of you, and just as subject to the consequences of crossing him.”
Silence filled the room, the tension rising.
Then Philo said, “That hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
Keris returned to his seat, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re suggesting I ignore orders from my father? From the king?”
“It would save lives, Highness. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of Maridrinian lives. And the cost …” Philo glanced sideways at his comrades, whose eyes were full of agreement. “If your father loses the bridge, well … maybe that’s for the best.”
Elation filled Keris’s stomach, his pulse hammering and his skin hot, but he kept all of it from his face. “Then let us be united in our defiance.” He leaned forward, finally allowing a smile to form on his face. “But know this, my friends: this step is only the beginning.”
THEY HAD A matter of days to create a plan to take back the bridge from Silas in one blow.
As Zarrah’s ship sped them north toward Nerastis, she spent nearly every waking hour closeted in the captain’s quarters with Aren Kertell and another Ithicanian, an older man by the name of Jor who had a penchant for filthy jokes and was doing a damned fine job of eating and drinking through the ship’s supplies.
“You draw like a toddler,” Jor snapped, jerking the pencil out of his king’s hand and pulling a piece of paper in front of him, brow furrowed as he sketched, pausing from time to time to sip at his glass of wine. But what materialized on the page was a remarkably detailed illustration of Southwatch Island, not just above the water, but below.
“Here.” Aren pointed at the dark circles Jor was shading at the base of the infamous pier. “And here. They are tunnels that come up through the island and let out in storage buildings. You’ll need to use your best swimmers.”
“What about the sharks?”
Aren shrugged as though the formidable maneaters that haunted Ithicana’s waters weren’t a significant issue. “Motivation to swim fast. And it’s the only way—you need to take out the shipbreakers, else you’ll lose two of your three vessels before you reach shore.”
Zarrah listened as he spoke, taking notes of the endless critical details of how to take what was broadly considered to be an unassailable island. An unveiling of secrets that every nation north and south would once have used against Ithicana, but which would now be used to save it, for Southwatch Island was Zarrah’s target. Harendell, she’d learned, would be doing the same at Northwatch with the information provided by Aren’s sister, Princess Ahnna Kertell, and the Ithicanians themselves would manage all the points in between. A union of three nations in a coordinated attack unlike anything she’d seen undertaken, but Aren seemed confident that it would work.
“I need to piss,” Jor announced. “Don’t tell him anything critical while I’m gone, General. Boy’s got a brain like a sieve.”
“I take back everything I said about missing you,” Aren answered, though Zarrah noticed the fondness in his gaze as the older man departed. Then he turned his attention back to her. “Apologies for his language. And his jokes.” He scrubbed his hair back from his face, then glanced at the door as though hoping it would open. “And for the small fortune in wine he’s already consumed. He’s a soldier through and through.”
“Aren’t we all.” She sipped from her own glass, assessing Aren as he again glanced to the door, ever hopeful Lara would walk through it, although Ithicana’s queen was nearly always to be found on deck. A distinct lack of sea legs, Jor had told her, but Zarrah suspected Lara’s motivations for staying out of discussions of strategy were more than just seasickness.
“She’s not returning to Ithicana with you, is she?”
Aren’s jaw tightened. “No. My people … they won’t accept Lara after everything that’s happened. Too many lives have been lost at Maridrinian hands, and for all she didn’t intend for the invasion to happen, there is no denying that Lara came to us a spy. No denying that none of this would have occurred if not for the information she provided Silas. Bringing her with me would be perceived as me demanding my people bend knee to her as queen, and it would … undermine my ability to rally them behind me, which is critical. I need their support if Ithicana is to survive.”
Everything Aren said was the undeniable truth, but the mix of anger and grief in his hazel eyes, and the bitterness in his voice, told Zarrah that he hated that truth. He was being forced to choose between his people and the woman he clearly loved, and though she couldn’t say so, Zarrah knew how that felt. Knew what it was like to lie awake at night, searching for a way to have both. Knew what it felt like to have a wild passion take hold in the darkness and fill you with the certainty that you could make people accept things as you wanted them to be, only to have that certainty vanquished by the dawn light. Knew what it was like to consider turning your back on everything and everyone just for the sake of being with the person you loved.
“I’d bring her back anyway,” he said, and the words sounded like a confession. “But I’m afraid …” He trailed off, throat convulsing as he swallowed hard, so Zarrah finished the thought.
“That they’ll kill her.”
Aren gave a tight nod. “If anything happened to her because I couldn’t let her go, I’d … I couldn’t live with it.”
