Galloping into the villa with her war party, she’d been the one to cut Zarrah loose. To clean the filth from her body and hold her close night after night as the terrors took hold. Who, after witnessing weeks of weeping, had put a staff in Zarrah’s hand and said, “Tears will not bring your mother back. Put all your sorrow and all your rage and all your passion into becoming a weapon, and fight to prevent this fate from ever befalling another Valcottan child. I promise you, we will make Silas Veliant bleed for what he has done.”
Zarrah had never put the staff down, her desire to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves fueling her day after day. Had struggled and trained under the best arms men in the Empire, become a warrior few would pit themselves against. Ruthless and dangerous, hundreds of Maridrinian raiders dying at her hands. And yet for all of that, more nights than not, she still woke with the echoing sensation of blood dripping on her face, and of Silas Veliant, azure eyes cold as a reptile’s, laughing while she screamed.
A knock sounded at the door, and a moment later, her aunt’s bodyguard, Welran, entered. “Empress.” He bowed low. “Your entourage is ready to depart.”
“Our time together is always too brief, dear one.” The Empress stood, the gold bangles on her arms jingling as she straightened her voluminous lamé trousers. “But if I abandon Pyrinat for too long, the nobility will cease their quarrels with one another and turn to conspiring against me until they receive a reminder of who rules. Which is why I have several villas to visit on my journey back—best they remember I know where their families live.”
“You are beloved by the people, Auntie.” Zarrah rose to her feet. “They’d not dare move against you.”
“The nobility are not the people.” Her aunt tapped Zarrah’s nose. “And love means little in politics.”
Together, they strode through the corridors of the palace, a large honor guard waiting for them in the courtyard. Her cousin, Bermin, stood waiting with them.
“Mother.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I came to bid you farewell and safe travels.”
“Our parting will be brief if I hear you aren’t abiding your cousin’s orders, Bermin,” the Empress snapped. “She is my chosen, and when you dishonor her, you dishonor me. Am I clear?”
Zarrah winced internally, but Bermin only inclined his head. “As you say, Mother, so shall it be.”
“Good.” The Empress paused next to her waiting horse. “Much goes into victory, dear one, but timing might well be the most critical piece of all. You will keep our forces to this side of the Anriot, no matter what provocation.” Then she leaned closer, breath hot against Zarrah’s ear. “And when the princeling gets himself killed and his men return north to fight Ithicana, we will strike.”
Zarrah pressed her hand to her chest. “Yes, Empress. Safe travels.”
Her aunt mounted in one swift motion, and without another word, led her escort out into the city.
Only to be passed by a rider galloping in.
A scout.
“Raiders,” the man gasped out, slipping off his lathered mount. “They hit a village.”
The Maridrinians never raided twice in one day. Zarrah’s stomach plummeted. “How did they get past our scouts?”
“We think they traveled south along the edge of the desert and then cut inland, returning by the same path. They were gone by the time our patrols arrived. Forty-three dead, all farmers and their families.”
Forty-three. “Children?”
The scout gave a grim nod, and Zarrah had to clench her teeth to keep from vomiting.
“Cowardly vermin,” Bermin snarled. “We must retaliate immediately. Attack their garrison and make them pay in blood.”
“No.” Zarrah swallowed the taste of bile. “The Empress was clear in her orders. We will not cross the Anriot for any reason.” She looked to Yrina. “Increase patrols.”
“Yes, Gen—”
“To do nothing makes us look weak,” Bermin interrupted. “It dishonors the dead.”
Frustration and guilt bit at her guts, but Zarrah only flattened her palms against her thighs, looking up at him with a measured expression. “And yet that is what the Empress has ordered me to do.”
“Forty-three dead, Zarrah! Many of them children! The Maridrinians are rats that deserve nothing more than extermination!”
The ferocity and passion in his voice were the reason soldiers loved to follow him into battle, but Bermin saw no farther than the length of his sword. “We will avenge them when the time is right, but that time is not now, cousin.”
He eyed her coldly, looming over her with his enormous bulk, his voice patronizing as he said, “Good little Zarrah. Perfect little Zarrah. Always listening to Auntie’s orders even when it means sacrificing her own honor.”
Zarrah exhaled a slow breath. Since he’d been removed from command, Bermin’s efforts to goad her into making mistakes had increased. But unlike him, she possessed a modicum of self-control. “Increase the eastern patrols. We might not be able to avenge the dead, but at least we can protect the living. If you catch them, show them no mercy.” She added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, the hour is late, and I’ve work yet to do.”
She heard Yrina give the orders, and then the sound of footfalls as her friend ran to catch up. They walked through the corridors together, and only when they were in Zarrah’s suite, the doors shut, did Yrina say, “I’d sooner believe you’re related to a lump of rock than that idiot. Did her Imperial Majesty drop him on his head when he was an infant? Perhaps more than once?”
Rubbing her temples, Zarrah said, “His bravery is unparalleled, and his soldiers would follow him into fire. That is no small thing.”
Yrina lifted up one hand. “Bravery.” Then she lifted the other. “Stupidity. They can follow him where they like—I wouldn’t follow him across a room.”
Not answering, Zarrah went to the expansive windows to look out at the growing night. The Valcottan palace was perched on a hill on the southern edge of Nerastis, giving her an unimpeded view of the massive city. At night, it was beautiful: a sea of colored lights and flickering flames, the river Anriot flowing through its center like a serpent. Yet the shadows concealed that most of the buildings were rubble, the streets reeked of waste, and the marshy edges of the Anriot were home to countless rotting corpses that had yet to be consumed by the river’s inhabitants.
“What reason did the Empress give for her orders?” Yrina asked. “It’s unlike her not to desire retaliation.”
Zarrah explained the Empress’s intent, but Yrina’s frown only deepened. “It’s a good strategy, but it’s going to cost us. If the Maridrinians don’t fear retaliation, their appetite for raiding is only going to increase, and we can’t stop them all. We could lose hundreds of civilians waiting for Silas to withdraw his men to reinforce his armies in Ithicana.”
“The Empress is wise.” Zarrah wasn’t sure if her words were for Yrina or herself. “And she knows how to fight Maridrina—she’s been doing so all her life.”
“But do you agree with this plan?”