Pulse racing, she quickened her pace, but her boots kept sliding into gaps in the stones, causing her to stumble. And out of the corner of her eye, she saw faint ripples in the water from the approaching reptiles, eyes glittering in the torchlight.
Idiot, Zarrah silently cursed herself. This is what you get for leaping forward without a proper plan.
Then her foot caught.
Panic flooded her as she tried to pull herself free, but her boot was wedged in debris. She jerked on it hard, using her staff as leverage, only to fall on her ass with a splash, her ankle twisting painfully, the water up to her armpits.
And from all around, there were splashes as more creatures took notice.
Her breath came in fast little gasps as she twisted her foot this way and that, trying to free it. She’d seen what the alligators did, how they worked together to tear apart prey, ripping larger animals into pieces that they gulped down whole. She wouldn’t have a chance.
Her fingers fumbled at the laces of her knee-high boot, her hands shaking. “Come on,” she said between her teeth. “Come on!”
Then it was loose. Grinding her teeth against the pain, she dragged her foot free of the boot. Zarrah scrambled forward right as one of the reptiles lunged.
A gasp of terror tore from her lips, and she fell sideways, water closing over her head.
Swim!
Zarrah kicked hard, aiming toward the bank, her staff still clutched in one hand. Something banged into her leg, and she sobbed, choking on the foul water. Then her knees hit the bottom, and she was crawling up the bank.
But some sixth sense warned her.
Rolling onto her back, Zarrah lifted her staff right as a mouthful of teeth lunged toward her. The weapon went down the alligator’s throat and its jaw snapped shut, head whipping from side to side, tearing it from her grip.
Her heels digging into the mud, she scrambled backward, then flipped onto her feet. Zarrah ran up the bank, not pausing until she reached the tree line and the shattered cobbles of the street emerged from the earth. There she paused, hands resting on her knees as she gasped in mouthfuls of air, her heart pummeling the inside of her ribs.
Her night was not going as planned.
Because she didn’t have a plan, only a goal. To be impetuous was to invite disaster, and she’d proven that tonight. And now she was stuck in enemy territory, soaking wet, down her best weapon, and with only one fucking boot.
But going back the way she’d come wasn’t an option. The collapsed bridge was crawling with alligators lured in by the commotion, which meant either trying one of the other collapsed bridges upstream or waiting for a drunk Maridrinian to attempt to make his way back across, only to find himself met by a few dozen mouthfuls of teeth, thus providing a distraction.
Zarrah debated her options, but as she did, her gaze was drawn to the Maridrinian palace looming in the distance, torchlight flickering off its domes, the highest of which was still under repair, the damage courtesy of a Valcottan catapult.
Good little Zarrah, her cousin’s voice rippled across her thoughts. Obedient little Zarrah. Then his mockery turned into Silas Veliant’s laughter, those cursed azure eyes filling her vision.
With his laughter chasing her, she started toward the home of her enemy, in search of honor.
And vengeance.
7
KERIS
Keris eyed the cup the child handed him, which did not look like it had seen a wash in some time, then shrugged and took a long swallow of the ale.
And nearly spit the contents on the table in front of him.
Eyes watering, he turned to the child. “What is this? Piss?”
“Yes, sir.” The girl inclined her head, a grin rising to her face, which appeared the product of a union between a Maridrinian and a Valcottan. “But I assure you, it is our finest piss. My mother sends me out at every dawn to sit beside the palace sewers to collect the royal offerings, which we serve to only our best of customers. Liquid gold, it is, sir.”
Keris laughed, amused not only at the thought of being served his own urine, but at the thought of being up at dawn to deliver it. Those early hours were the only ones where he slept. Pulling a silver coin out of his pocket, he held it up. “Find me something drinkable, and this is yours.”
The girl’s eyes gleamed with hunger. “I’ll find you something fine enough for Crown Prince Keris himself.”
Keris nearly choked, covering his reaction with another mouthful of the awful ale. “A clean glass, too, if such a thing is possible.”
But the girl was already off running.
“You going to play or keep whining about your drink?” One of the men across the table jerked his chin toward the pile of coins: mostly coppers with a bit of silver mixed in.
Picking up his cards, Keris glanced at them, considered the odds, given what had already been played, then folded.
The establishment was only a block from the River Anriot, the stench of the swampy waters nearly enough to drown out that of spilled drink, vomit, and worse that permeated the air. The building only had three walls, the front having been caved in during the last bombardment from Valcottan catapults, and the tables were all broken doors balanced on barrels, the chairs a mismatched assortment salvaged from around the city. A typical venue this close to the river, which tended to cater to common soldiers, the officers and nobility preferring the more expensive locales around the palace.
Keris liked it, because there was almost no chance of him being recognized.
The girl came back, carefully balancing a glass of wine, which she handed to him.
“Well? Try it!”
He dutifully took a sip. The wine was not nearly as bad as anticipated, and he flipped the silver coin in the girl’s direction, wishing she’d spend it on something worthwhile, like shoes, but knowing it was more likely to go into her mother’s pocket.
The lanterns hanging from the ceiling swung back and forth on the breeze, casting dancing shadows as he played, lost to the rhythm of counting cards and amassing coins that he didn’t need. He enjoyed gambling, but what really lured him out was the opportunity to listen to what people had to say. When they saw Keris Veliant, people filtered their words for fear of offending him, but when they saw an anonymous Maridrinian, men and women spoke their mind. Curiosity had always been his greatest vice, and he plucked and pried tidbits of information from the men around the table, storing them away for later consideration.
Yet as engrossed as he was, habit had him look up as a figure passed the building. A woman, judging from her shape, her chin-length hair concealing her face. A Valcottan woman, given the voluminous trousers. And to top it all off, a soldier, as she wore a high-laced military boot.
Boot. Singular. For her other foot was naked as a babe’s, which, in combination with her soaked clothing, suggested that her crossing of the Anriot had not gone… swimmingly.