In the distance, Keris picked up on the sound of horse hooves, no doubt a Maridrinian patrol. And without breaking stride, the Valcottan woman cut into one of the abandoned buildings across the street.
Curiosity piqued, Keris folded his cards and scooped his winnings of copper and silver into a purse, which he tied tightly to muffle the jingle of metal. “Good night,” he said to the other players. “And good fortune.”
If any of them answered, Keris didn’t hear, his attention all for the building the woman had entered. Walking on silent feet, he ducked inside, stepping carefully over debris, wrinkling his nose at the stench of rat droppings and mildew. Moonlight filtered through holes in the floor of the second level, and peering upward, he noted that the ceiling had collapsed during one of the bombardments. One of the walls was canted inward at an alarming angle, and to his right, the floor had fallen into the cellar. The whole damn structure was probably a good windstorm away from collapsing entirely, but hearing the squelch of a wet boot, Keris pressed on.
The soft leather of his own boots made no sound as he climbed the stairs, stepping over the body of a dead bird, one hand extracting a knife in case he ran into trouble. His heart beat at a steady clip, and he paused at the top of the stairs, eyes searching the shadows, but what remained of the room was empty.
Where had she gone?
The floor groaned under his weight as he crossed to one of the walls. Bending his knees, Keris leaped up, catching hold of the edge and praying it would hold as he heaved himself on top, the shadows from the neighboring building cloaking his motions. He crouched in place, scanning the rooftops of Nerastis until he picked up a flicker of motion.
You should report her to a patrol, a voice whispered in his head. A sober Valcottan soldier on this side of the banks only means trouble.
But if he reported her, she’d be captured, and the best she could hope for was to be killed quickly. It wouldn’t matter if she’d done anything wrong or not: she was the enemy.
You could let her go.
Except that would mean if she got Maridrinian blood on her hands, it would be on his as well.
Which left only one option. To deal with her himself.
Keris ran down the length of the wall and leaped onto the next building, following her path through the city toward his palace.
8
ZARRAH
Sweat mixed with the drying water of the Anriot as Zarrah meandered across the rooftops of Nerastis, the sound of music, laughter, and drunken soldiers covering any sound she made as she leapt from building to building, heading toward the palace.
The princelings always had their rooms at the top of the main tower. Given her spies reported that, unlike his predecessors, Keris Veliant rarely left his rooms, she assumed that was where she’d find him. Climbing the stairs of that tower would be impossible, but the repair scaffolding running up the side was another matter. Like her own palace, most of the windows were broken, so gaining access would be easy. Then she’d find his room, smother him in his sleep, and escape, with no one the wiser.
Her bare foot was scraped and bruised, but Zarrah ignored the pain, pausing on the roof of one of the garrison barracks and surveying the wall that encircled the palace. The Maridrinians loved walls. But her people loved tearing them down, and she could see the sloppy repairs that had been made of damage from the last major battle, broken and uneven blocks of stone mortared together, platforms of wood placed across them for the patrols that circled the ramparts. And beneath one such platform, there was a gap. A gap just large enough for a slender woman to squeeze through.
A scraping sound caught her attention.
Dropping low in the shadows, Zarrah scanned the rooftops around her, but there was no sign of motion. Just a cat, she told herself, easing over the edge. Or a bird.
Climbing down the side of the building, she pressed her back against it, eyeing the thirty feet of open space between her position and the base of the palace wall. It was not well lit, and there was still debris from the last battle large enough to provide some cover.
Watching the progress of the soldiers patrolling the wall, Zarrah waited until a pair had passed, and then crawled to the first pile of debris, lying flat in its shadow. Another patrol passed, and she repeated the exercise until she was able to roll against the base of the wall.
Her pulse was a dull roar, but her fear had fallen away, replaced by the intense focus she felt going into battle. Glancing up, she listened for the thud of passing boots, then climbed the rough wall, moving as fast as she dared until she reached the gap beneath the platform. Wriggling under, she paused to catch her breath, taking the moment to peer down into the courtyard surrounding the building.
There were at least a dozen wagons, soldiers working to unload knives, swords, and other weapons, the metal glittering in the moonlight. All the Harendellian steel the Rat King had spent a year transporting through the bridge, which, if the rumors were to be believed, was integral to the invasion of Ithicana. And now he intended to repurpose it against Valcotta.
Waiting for another pair of soldiers to pass over her, Zarrah jumped, landing in a pile of hay. Rolling down the side, she took several quick steps to hide behind two barrels. There were endless shadows this late at night, and she moved between them until she reached the base of the palace, where the decorative stonework created two parallel walls about two feet deep. Resting her shoulders against one, she braced her feet against the other, slowly working her way higher and higher, trusting that the soldiers on the walls were more focused outward than inward.
Reaching the top of the main structure, she crawled to one of the towers, which had scaffolding running up the side that she swiftly scaled, her eyes on an open window, curtain flapping in the breeze. Cautiously, she looked over the sill and into the darkness inside.
A lamp burned on the table next to the bed, but the blankets were untouched, the room empty of life. Rolling inside, she crouched behind heavy velvet drapery, sucking in a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart before she stepped out into the room.
In the years she’d served in Nerastis, they’d sacked this palace a total of three times, but in none of those battles had Zarrah actually gone inside this infamous structure.
It was not what she expected.