The alarm bells rang loud enough to make her head ache, but it served well to cover their passage as they strode through the corridors. “How much did he tell you?” Aren asked her.
“Only to follow your lead.” At least, to a point. Keris’s voice rippled through her memory: Some things are too valuable for me to allow others to pack. Far better for me to do it myself. However Aren planned to get out of the palace, she wouldn’t be going with him—Keris had a different plan.
As if hearing her thoughts, Aren asked, “Do you trust him?”
With my heart. “With my life.”
They ran down the hall, carpets muffling their footfalls as they exited into one of the covered walkways. The interior was dark, but the smoke of the recently extinguished lamps still hung on the air. Outside, thick mist rose from the fountains, the effect eerie and strange.
Entering the tower, the group raced up the stairs, but Zarrah slowed as they reached the door to Keris’s chambers. He knew the plan. Knew they’d be coming this way, so it would make sense that he was here.
Zarrah lifted a hand to reach for the handle, but before she could grasp it, the door opened and Keris stepped out.
And nearly lost his head to Lara’s blade. Zarrah lunged, but Aren was faster, catching his wife’s wrist, hauling her back.
“Who is he?” Lara demanded.
Keris inclined his head. “It’s been a long time, little sisters. I wish we could’ve reunited under better circumstances.”
Lara’s eyes widened, the queen clearly unaware that her brother had been involved in the scheme. “Keris?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Zarrah wondered if Lara noticed. If she cared.
“You’re helping us?” Lara asked.
“I’m helping myself,” Keris answered. “But tonight, our interests are aligned.”
His gaze moved past his sister to Zarrah, and she instinctively stepped toward him, closing her eyes as his hand curved around her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Are you all right?”
Her skin stung from a dozen little burns inflicted by the explosion, and her eye was nearly swollen shut from Silas’s punch, but Zarrah barely felt the pain through the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “It’s nothing.”
He gave a slight nod, then said to Aren, “This is where you part ways with the general.”
“I don’t think so,” Aren snapped. “Zarrah’s coming with us. I intend to make sure she delivers on her end of the deal.”
Make her? Zarrah ground her teeth at the insult, but Keris had already stepped between them. “There’s too much chance of you being caught or killed. And her life is more important than yours. While everyone is pursuing you, I’ll get her out.”
There was merit to them splitting up, for it meant more chance of one of them getting out alive. Which meant more of a chance that someone would escape to help the Ithicanians starving in Eranahl.
Which Aren had to know, yet he showed no signs of conceding.
“I’m just your goddamned decoy?” he snarled.
Keris tensed, radiating irritation, though nothing showed on his face as he said, “Precisely. But given my plan is more likely to achieve that which you desire, perhaps you’ll refrain from whining. Time is short.” Keris pushed Zarrah toward the open door, but before she could move, Aren caught her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.
Zarrah’s temper flared, then softened as she saw the desperation in the Ithicanian king’s eyes. His need to know for certain that this wouldn’t be for nothing.
“On my word, if I get out alive, I’ll have supplies delivered to drop points in Ithicana where your people can reach them.” Zarrah touched her hand to her heart. “Good luck, Your Grace.”
And then, knowing this might be the last time she ever saw Aren Kertell alive, Zarrah stepped into the room.
64
KERIS
Aren took a step as though he intended to follow Valcotta into the room and drag her back out again, and Keris’s temper flared. He blocked the man’s path. “Time for you to carry on. But before you go, I need you to make it look like I at least tried to stop you.”
Not his favorite part of the plan, but if he was to get Valcotta out of the palace safely, it was necessary that his innocence in what happened tonight be unquestioned.
Aren opened his mouth as though to argue, then huffed out a breath. “Gladly.” Then he swung.
Instinct demanded that he dodge, but instead, Keris held his ground, taking the blow.
Pain lanced through his face, and Keris stumbled backward, catching himself on the doorframe. He touched his swelling cheek, a black eye inevitable. “You have ten minutes until I start down to alert the guards. Make them count.”
He didn’t watch them continue up the stairs, instead stepping inside and shutting the door, which he bolted. He turned to ensure Valcotta was truly all right, but before he could say a word, her arms were around his neck, her mouth on his.
Zarrah claimed his lips as though she intended to claim his very soul, though in truth, she possessed it already. Even if she were the devil herself, he was too bespelled by her, too lost in the feel of her, too captivated by the sound of her ragged breathing to care. She pulled on his lower lip with her teeth, driving his lips apart. Logically, Keris knew this wasn’t the time, but he yielded to her anyway. The kiss deepened, her tongue slipping into his mouth, sliding over his. He groaned, wanting to pull the clothes from her body, wanting to taste her, to lose himself in the scent of her, because her presence had turned his blood scalding with the need to have her. To push her against the wall and claim her as thoroughly as she had claimed him.
The clock on the wall chimed, and his eyes flicked to it. Everything was on schedule. Everything was going to plan. They had a few moments before he needed to head downstairs, and there was a great deal he could do in a few moments.
Then Valcotta pulled her mouth from his and said, “Your father is still alive.”
Keris’s skin turned to ice even as his stomach dropped. “What?”
“At least, I believe he is. There is a chance that he was killed in the blast, but I don’t think we’ll get that lucky.”
“Lara,” he seethed, furious at himself for having trusted she’d deliver. Furious that he’d allowed himself to rely on a woman notorious for betrayal. “That was the deal. Our help in exchange for her putting a knife in my father’s heart.”
Valcotta blew a breath out between her teeth. “The deal according to whom?”
He blinked. “Coralyn.”
“She lied—Lara made no such promise.” Valcotta took a step toward him, then hesitated as though she wasn’t certain how he’d react. “She likely deceived you because she knew the only way you’d agree to this scheme was if you believed your father wouldn’t survive it.”