“Of course I agree with it.” The words slipped from her tongue without hesitation because her aunt had never led her astray. And yet… Zarrah couldn’t push aside the sourness that came with knowing an entire nation had been sacrificed as a part of her aunt’s ambitions to strike a heavy blow against Maridrina. For all it was strategically brilliant, it felt… lacking in honor. “We just have to do more to protect our borders while the plan comes to fruition.”
Yrina opened her mouth as though to say something, hesitated, then said, “That’s a problem for tomorrow. Care to take a trip into the city for the night? I know a few establishments where the drink is tolerable, and they employ men pretty enough to make you forget your cares for the night. I could arrange an escort?”
The last thing Zarrah wanted was to be in a noisy drinking establishment with people pressing in on all sides. As it was, she felt like she could barely breathe, her stomach twisting with nausea. What she needed was air.
“Another night. I’m tired.”
“It’s always another night, Zar. We’ve been at each other’s sides for half our lives, and yet I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve set aside duty for a night of entertainment. Valcotta isn’t going to lose the Endless War because you took a few hours to relax.”
For a heartbeat, she considered it. Except Zarrah remembered the handful of times—how stepping away from her sworn path, even for a moment, felt like she was betraying her purpose. “Have a drink for me. I need to come up with some strategies to tighten our borders.”
Yrina shrugged, then pressed a hand to her heart. “I’ll leave you, then. Perhaps tomorrow will bring orders to fight. Until then, I drink. Good night, General.”
“Good night,” Zarrah murmured, waiting until the door clicked shut and then moving onto the balcony. A salty breeze blew in from the sea, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, she stared across the city at the illuminated domes of the Maridrinian palace, which was sure to be full of Maridrinian nobility. And the crown prince who had given the order for the raid today, vermin, just like the rest of his bloodline.
Drip.
A warm droplet splattered against her forehead. Zarrah gasped, stumbling back and swiping her hand across her skin, certain she’d see blood.
It was only water.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look up, irrationally certain she’d see her mother’s rotting corpse hanging above her. But it was only droplets of beaded water that had collected on the overhang from the earlier rains. Yet panic still crawled in her belly, dragging her back to the moment when she’d been tied up and helpless. And God help her, but she hated it. Hated the Rat King.
Hated that whole goddamned family.
When the princeling gets himself killed… we strike. Her aunt’s voice echoed through her head, and a thought followed on its heels.
She could kill him.
As long as she made it look like either an accident or like he’d been assassinated by one of his grasping younger brothers, no one would be the wiser. With Prince Keris dead, the men who had been sent with him would likely be recalled north immediately, which would mean the raids would ease. And then it would be nothing to wait until her aunt was ready for her to attack.
The life of one murderous Veliant prick to spare the lives of potentially hundreds of Valcottan innocents.
Retreating inside, Zarrah dug through the piles of papers on her desk until she found a description. Possessed of little military acumen. Notorious whoremonger with a fondness for wine and flamboyant attire. Shoulder-length blond hair. Medium height and light build. Eyes of Veliant blue.
Memories of eyes that color filled her head, along with Silas Veliant’s laugh. Zarrah shivered, then scowled at herself for the reaction.
She was no longer a child to be intimidated, especially not by a princeling.
Pulling off the dark-purple coat of her uniform, which was marked with Valcotta’s crest and signifiers of her rank, she tossed it inside, the wind brushing her bare arms, raising goose flesh on her skin. Strapping her staff to her back, Zarrah flipped a leg over the balustrade so that she was sitting on the edge.
The Empress had ordered her to keep the Valcottan forces to this side of the Anriot. But she’d said nothing about Zarrah herself remaining so contained.
Taking a deep breath, she jumped.
5
KERIS
Keris rolled onto his back, heart thundering and sweat beading on his brow, his breathing as ragged as that of the woman next to him on the silk sheets.
“Feel free to leave. There’s coin in the pocket of my trousers, wherever they are.”
The courtesan raised herself up on one elbow, pushing her golden-brown hair back over her shoulder. “Most men like to talk afterward, Your Highness.”
“Most men are idiots.” He moved onto his stomach. “But I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”
She made a humming noise that indicated neither agreement nor disagreement. “But not you, Your Highness. They say you’re very clever.”
Keris snorted, the sound muffled by the pillow. “I’m sure they say a good many things about me, but nothing quite so flattering as that.”
She shifted on top of him, her thighs pressing against his sides, her fingers digging skillfully into the knotted muscles of his back. But having had knives stuck into those very muscles, Keris tensed at the contact, rolling so that he was in a position to defend himself, if need be.
“You should go,” he said. “I’m not interested in conversation.”
The courtesan straightened from where she’d been kissing his throat, her eyes narrowing. “Why? You think because I’m paid company that I’m not clever enough to do more than lie on my back?”
“On the contrary. From what I’ve ascertained from our few hours together, you’re clearly clever enough to know that saying anything interesting around me is dangerous. Your mistress caters to patrons on both sides of Nerastis, and girls who get caught talking too much tend to find themselves floating facedown in the Anriot.”
“As if I’d take the coin of Valcottan scum.”
He smirked, amused by what was likely false patriotism. “Just the coin of Maridrinian scum.”
She was quiet, seeming to contemplate his words, green eyes regarding him thoughtfully. “Why do you take up with paid girls at all, Your Highness? You could have an entire harem of beautiful young wives whose loyalty was ensured. You’re going to be King of Maridrina one day.”
Catching a lock of her hair, Keris twisted it around his finger. “Did you know, lovely, that I had eight older brothers? And that for a moment in time, each of them was going to be the King of Maridrina one day. Tell me, do you know what happened to my brothers?”
Her jaw tightened. “They died, Your Highness.”
“Precisely. So what do you think the odds are that, of all of Silas Veliant’s sons, I’ll be the one to survive long enough to take the crown? What do they say about that?”
Silence. Then, “They say that you’ll be in a grave before the year is out.”
“And they are very likely correct.”