The endless war, p.9
The Endless War, page 9
Color drained from Lara’s face, but she said nothing.
“And then she sailed her fleet into a typhoon to try to come to your aid.” His voice cracked. “Would have fought for you to the bitter end, if she’d been given the chance.”
“But you took that chance from her, despite knowing it was what she wanted.”
Keris’s mouth was dry as sand, his chest hollow, because he didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want Lara to know the truth, for it would only make her think worse of him, which wouldn’t help Zarrah’s cause. Yet confession rose to his lips. “Every person I’ve ever cared about has died a brutal death. A violent death.”
His mother. Raina. Coralyn. Otis.
His father.
“I…” The truth strangled him, but he forced the words out. “I couldn’t let it happen. Not to her.”
The wind had risen, and it drove droplets of rain against his face. Just as well, for it hid the tears burning in his eyes.
“Yet you could let it happen to me,” his sister whispered, the wind stealing the words the moment they were spoken.
But not before he heard. The accusation ripped the veil from his eyes, forcing him to see past the warrior to the woman beneath.
Grief. Exhaustion. Hurt. Though it hadn’t been so very long since he’d seen her on the beach outside Nerastis, Lara was painfully gaunt, her bare arms stick thin and her face hollow.
Don’t look, some awful part of him shrieked. She’s a liar and a traitor. A murderer who deserves no one’s pity!
She was his sister.
You don’t know her! She’s a stranger! She’s nothing to you!
Except every time he blinked, he saw her as a child running through the harem gardens. Chasing butterflies and picking flowers when she thought their mother wasn’t looking. A tiny blond girl who sat at his elbow while he read and who’d sneaked into his room at night when she’d been scared by shadows. His sister, who’d screamed for their mother when the soldiers had taken her away.
Who’d screamed for him.
“I—” He bit down on his tongue, silencing explanations. Justifications. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t enough, not after what he’d done, so he added, “You deserved better from me.”
No one spoke, the only sound the wind and the rain and the roar of his own pulse.
Her eyes searched his, then, slowly, Lara lowered her knife. “I already caused one war,” she said. “I’ll not start another.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her stride marked with a limp that hadn’t been there before. Ahnna glanced at her brother, then followed Lara into the city.
Aren stood unmoving, arms crossed and expression unreadable. Close enough to have heard the entire exchange. To have intervened. Yet he’d kept silent throughout. Keris met his stare, uncertain what to expect.
The King of Ithicana said nothing.
The rain intensified, falling in great sheets, and Keris expected his ship would soon have to retreat to calmer waters, if it hadn’t already. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t returning to Vencia.
Finally, Aren cleared his throat. “You look like you need a drink.”
He needed a whole goddamned bottle. “I need an answer, Aren. Because if it’s a no—”
“If it’s a no, you’re fucked,” Aren interrupted. “Valcotta executes traitors, but instead of taking off Zarrah’s head, Petra put her on an island as bait for a trap. She wants war with Maridrina. Wants to defeat you. With most of your fleet in ruins on the bottom of the Tempest Seas and a third of your army in the bellies of Ithicana’s sharks, if you go head-to-head with her, Maridrina will lose. I know you know this. But I also know you’ll do it anyway.” Aren gave an exasperated shake of his head. “Defeating Maridrina won’t be the end of Petra’s ambition, so it won’t be long until she shows up at Southwatch with all the information I provided Zarrah’s sailors about how to get in.”
Keris’s hands balled into fists, his pulse thrumming with anticipation. Yes or no, he wanted to scream. Give me an answer.
“There are reasons for and against helping you. Reasons that a good king would think long and hard about.” Aren exhaled a long breath. “But what it comes down to is that Petra Anaphora once tried to blackmail me into killing my wife, and I think it’s long past time she paid for the offense.”
Relief flooded Keris’s veins, nearly driving him to his knees. “What makes you a shitty king also makes you a good man.”
The King of Ithicana lifted one shoulder in a shrug, gesturing for Keris to follow him up the path. “I’m not a good man, Keris. And if you insult Lara again, you’ll find out just how bad I can be.”
13
ZARRAH
Kian grabbed her arm. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”
Instinct took over, and Zarrah jerked out of his grip, howling, “Attack!”
His eyes widened. “Mad fool!” Then he lunged at her.
Zarrah scrabbled backward. Lashing out with her heels, she caught him in the chest. Kian stumbled sideways, and she rolled, on her feet in a flash with her fists raised. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It will be the death of you when they learn your identity,” he snarled. “Don’t you know what they are?”
Her heart lurched. How did he know her identity? Had one of the guards told him?
“Kill him!” Daria shouted, and Zarrah glanced over her shoulder to see her and Saam nearly upon them, more rebels on their heels.
Spears flew, forcing Kian to dive to the ground to avoid being impaled. “Retreat!” he shouted as his eyes locked on Zarrah. “Get out while you can! We’ll protect you!”
Before she could answer, he spun on his heel and joined his men racing up the slope. Seconds later, rebels who’d been away from the camp appeared, summoned by the sounds of alarm.
“Pursue?” Saam demanded, but Daria only shook her head. “No. I’ll not go rushing into one of Kian’s traps.” Her eyes fixed on the body of her comrade, spear still embedded in the woman’s chest. “See how many we lost; then call everyone in and double the guard.”
Saam moved out to meet the incoming warriors, and Daria rounded on Zarrah. “Told you he wouldn’t give you up without a fight, which is why you aren’t to go off alone.”
“I…” What the hell was she supposed to say? Because admitting that Kian believed he was rescuing her from rebels who’d kill her if they learned her identity wasn’t it. “I’m sorry.”
Daria knelt to close the glazing eyes of the dead woman, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t have believed he’d be that bold just to get his hands on a woman. What did he say to you?”
Kian’s words repeated in her head, none of what he’d said making any sense. While he wasn’t a rebel, Zarrah highly doubted that Kian was enough of a patriot that he’d risk life and limb to protect a member of the royal family. Which meant she had some other form of value to him—something other than him wanting another woman to have his way with. But what?
Daria was staring at her, and Zarrah realized she hadn’t answered the question. “He told me to come with him. Said my life was in danger if I stayed with you.”
Daria gave a slow blink. “Did he say why?”
“No.” And because Daria still seemed suspicious, Zarrah added, “Maybe because you’re going to think I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
The suspicion in Daria’s gaze faded, and she gave a sad shrug. “Death happened before you came, and it will come after. Just…just don’t wander, all right?”
Zarrah nodded, but her suspicions were piqued. There was more to the island politics than was being admitted, and for some reason, she’d managed to get caught in the middle of it. All she could hope was that it didn’t get her killed before she had a chance to escape this place.
14
KERIS
“Either you’ve a pair of stones the size of boulders or you’re touched in the head, coming into Ithicana like this, boy.”
Keris regarded the stout old woman standing in the foyer of the palace like she owned it, hearing Aren exhale a long sigh. “Keris, this is my grandmother, Amelie.”
He inclined his head to the Ithicanian matriarch. She wrinkled her nose as though smelling something bad and reached up to tug at the bloodied collar of his shirt, eyes flicking to her grandson. “Your wife’s work, I take it? Blades first and her brain second, as always.”
Aren tensed with visible annoyance, but all he said was, “Stitch him up, please. We’ve business to discuss.”
She snorted. “Business, you say. I say another king making a mess of things over a woman.”
A servant with a tray approached, and Aren snagged both glasses off it and shoved one into Keris’s hands. “You might prefer to bleed to death over listening to her acid tongue. The choice is yours.” Swallowing the contents of his own glass, Aren set it on the tray. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Keris didn’t answer, only watched as the other king took the stairs two at a time, rising to the top floor and then disappearing down a hallway.
“Idiot boy,” the old woman muttered before turning her scowl on Keris. “Come on, then. You’re dripping blood all over the clean floors.”
He followed her to the second level of the palace and into a small room, the windows at the rear shuttered against the storm. Keris pulled off his coat, then tugged his shirt over his head, tossing both on a chair.
“Not quite as sedentary as the spies claim,” the old woman said, looking him up and down in a way that made his cheeks warm. “You seem quite fit for someone who supposedly spends his life hiding in the stacks.”
“Books are heavy.”
She barked out a laugh. “You are most definitely Coralyn’s protégé—she always did love keeping secrets for the sake of it.” Rising on her toes, Amelie frowned at his throat. “Already closed itself, so we’ll leave it alone. Turn around.”
Exposing his back rarely ended well, but there was no helping it, so Keris turned.
“What befell Coralyn?” Amelie asked, hands cool against his back as she assessed the wound. “Our spies have been otherwise focused, but I asked for them to watch for her.”
Keris’s jaw tightened, and it had nothing to do with the pain of his injury. He debated what to say, the part of him that would never forgive his aunt for what she had done to Zarrah demanding a voice, but he shoved it away. “My father was supposed to die during Aren’s rescue. When that didn’t happen, someone needed to take the fall. Should’ve been me, but Coralyn beat me to it and confessed to having orchestrated the whole affair. My father intended to allow Serin to ply his trade on her for more details, but Coralyn was never one to let him have his way. Drank two bottles of his finest and then silenced herself.”
“And they say Maridrina has no queens.” Amelie immediately segued with, “This needs to be stitched. Do you want something to bite down on?”
Keris shook his head, taking a seat on the bench she gestured to. He allowed his mind to drift down into itself, barely feeling the bite of needle and thread as he relived the memories the conversation had brought to the surface. Of Coralyn in the hole beneath the palace, face bruised and gown covered with dirt as she said, I resolved to kill Zarrah. Aided her quest for vengeance for her mother’s death.
God help him, but he’d hated Coralyn in that moment. Hated how she’d justified her villainy with her desire to protect him. To protect their family. The hypocrisy of his fury was not lost on Keris now, for he’d done the same to protect Zarrah, only to earn her hatred. A vicious circle of behavior where the ends always justified the means, yet he couldn’t step clear of it. Couldn’t accept the consequences that would come with being anything other than a villain.
You are your father’s son. A Veliant to the core.
He tensed, hating that he’d spent his whole life running from something that couldn’t be escaped.
“Nearly done,” Amelie muttered. “That woman is too quick to violence for her own good.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Not a supporter of Queen Lara’s reign, I take it?”
She spat, a glob of spittle striking the smooth tiles of the floor, only for her to immediately curse and toss a cloth over the mess she’d made. “This blasted place grinds my nerves. Give me a good dirt floor, I say.”
Possessed of a significant dislike for filth, Keris disagreed but said nothing as he waited for a response to his question.
“You a forgiving man, boy?”
He shook his head.
“Likewise,” she muttered. “Not a forgiving bone in my body, especially for those who hurt me and mine.”
“Like I did.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her frown as her hands paused in their motions. “It’s different,” she finally said. “You attacked from the outside, whereas she struck from within. It leaves a deeper wound, and while I will accept Lara and respect her for what she has done to atone, I will never forgive her.”
“Is the rest of Ithicana like-minded?”
“Some,” she answered. “And some see her as the one true queen and fall to their knees in her presence, believing her chosen by the guardians of Ithicana. Perhaps even by God himself.”
Keris grimaced, having little tolerance for fanaticism.
“But most are so consumed with rebuilding their lives, with surviving, that they do not think of her at all.”
Reviled. Worshipped. Or forgotten. A rush of pity filled him that Lara, after all she’d done, was faced with a lifetime of such treatment, and on its heels came anger. “You don’t deserve her.”
He started to rise, wanting no more part of this conversation, stitches be damned, but quick as a viper, the cursed old woman caught him by the hair and jerked. As his ass smacked back down on the bench, she said, “Aren shares your views. He wanted to abdicate and take her away, but Lara refused. For better or worse, she has chosen this life, so keep your smart mouth to yourself and let me finish. Ithicana will suffer Maridrina’s wrath the same whether you die from a festered wound or from Aren tossing you to the sharks.”
“My point stands,” he said between his teeth as she jabbed the needle into his flesh. “And…” He silenced the threat rising to his tongue because it was an empty one. “And while I enjoy hairpulling in certain circumstances, you have my assurance that those circumstances are not forthcoming.”
Amelie cackled and slapped a hand against her thigh. “Must be in the blood. Your grandfather loved having his hair pulled when—”
“There are some things I don’t need to know.” Though he’d been aware that this woman had once infiltrated the harem as one of his grandfather’s wives, Keris still hadn’t been ready for such a visceral reminder.
“If it helps, when I was your age, I looked exactly like Ahnna but with bigger tits.” She chuckled, fastening a bandage around him. “Smelly old bastard was putty in my hands.”
It did not help.
“On that delightful note, thank you for your assistance.” Rising to his feet, Keris pulled on his shirt and coat, wanting the security of the leather despite the oppressive heat. “Where can I find him?”
Amelie was focused on packing her supplies into a kit. “Follow the noise. Jor sounds like a braying donkey when he laughs. You may feel free to tell him I said so.”
A real laugh escaped his lips, but Keris immediately bit down upon it. You have no right to laugh, he snarled at himself. No right to experience a heartbeat of happiness while Zarrah suffers in that hellhole for your sins.
Amelie’s eyes narrowed, and not wanting to answer any questions about whatever she’d seen on his face, Keris stepped out of the room and into the corridor. The building had an echoing quality to it, much as did the bridge, and he immediately picked up on the sound of laughter, though it was Dax’s distinct bellow that drew his attention.
“Bloody bastard is already drunk,” he muttered, following the noise down the corridor to the main staircase. Only to slide to a stop as a boy descended, the tail of a long, banded snake in one hand, the hissing creature’s head held away by a hook on a long stick.
“Mind yourself,” the boy announced. “She’s poisonous as they come.”
“Venomous,” Keris instinctively corrected. “Poison is something you ingest.”
The boy gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t rightly matter how it got inside of you if you’re dead, does it?”
The snake’s gaze fixed on Keris, mouth opening wide as it lunged, and he lurched back. “A fair point. Carry on.”
Waiting until boy and snake were down the stairs and out the main doors, Keris made his way to the main level, walking down a wide corridor, the doors lining it closed. A pair of servants passed, one girl curtseying and the other crossing her arms, though curiosity filled both their eyes. He nodded at them and kept walking, irritation filling his core as he faintly heard Dax say, “Took nearly an hour to scrape the bastard off the pavement. For such a skinny little fucker, he splattered like a bag of wet mortar.”
Someone said something in response, too low for Keris to make out, but Dax was gratingly loud as he said, “They were alone, so no one knows for sure. But given he was also alone with his brother when Prince Otis took his swan dive, I think it’s safe to say it’s unwise to piss off His Grace when you are in a high place.”
