Get to the horses, he silently willed his sisters, running toward the sanctum’s gate, though he could do nothing to help them at this point. Get into the city.
Because if they got caught inside the walls, his father’s men would know Valcotta was still in here.
The elaborate gates to the sanctum were open, and Keris raced through, carnage greeting him. All around the large courtyard, soldiers screamed and clutched their blown-out eardrums, some—those closest to the gate—lying still, likely never to move again.
A group of his father’s men raced out of the stable, throwing themselves onto their horses and galloping off in pursuit of the decoys outside the wall.
Keris held his breath. Waiting. Waiting.
Then another group on horseback emerged. He clenched his fists, certain the soldiers milling around would see what he saw: figures too small and lithe to be men, and one overlarge form that bounced wildly in the saddle, reins flopping loose in his hands.
Bastard doesn’t know how to ride. Keris ground his teeth, praying that this small, yet critical detail wouldn’t entirely ruin their escape. Then they were gone. What Lara intended to do next, he didn’t know. And to be frank, as long as they didn’t get caught and betray Valcotta, he didn’t fucking care.
“What do you mean, they’ve escaped?”
Keris turned at the sound of his father’s voice, watching him storm out of the sanctum gates, soot staining his face and wine splattering his clothes. But still very much in command.
And very much fucking alive.
Girding himself, Keris approached, but his father was too busy shouting orders to acknowledge him.
“They went up the tower,” he interrupted. “The Ithicanian and a group of women, including Zarrah Anaphora.”
His father’s lip curled, eyes taking in Keris’s swollen face. “And I see you did little to stop them.”
Keris crossed his arms. “I wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face with a group of armed women outside my goddamned bedroom door. How did this happen?”
“Coralyn.”
It took all of Keris’s self-control not to flinch. “What are you talking about?”
“The old bitch arranged it as retribution. Stabbed me in the back.”
“Where is she?”
If his father heard the question, he didn’t bother responding, only shouldered Keris out of the way to take reports from his men.
There was part of him that wanted to press his father for more information about Coralyn. But he’d accomplished what he needed to—bolstering the lie that Zarrah was with Aren and Lara. Which meant that, for now, outside the walls would be the only place they were looking for her, and he could turn toward finding answers about his aunt’s fate.
Keris went first to the destroyed dining room, but the only bodies were those of soldiers, so he headed into the harem’s quarters.
It was eerily silent.
He proceeded down the hall to the grand suite of rooms Coralyn occupied, his heart skipping at the sight of the open door.
Then Serin’s voice reached his ears. “Who else was involved?”
“I already told you, Magpie, we don’t know. This is Coralyn’s doing.”
Lestara.
Pulse hammering in his throat, Keris stepped into the room, finding six of his aunts on their knees before Serin. The wives were all red-eyed and tear-streaked, three of them actively weeping.
His temper simmering, Keris snapped, “You’d better have a good explanation for this, Magpie. And an even better explanation for why the woman you trained has escaped the palace with both of our prisoners. This is a truly spectacular fuck-up on your part. If I were you, I’d be trying to put as much distance between me and my father as possible rather than abusing his favorite wives.”
The Magpie’s eyes darkened. “Coralyn conspired with Lara to free the Ithicanian.”
“So I’ve been told. Yet it isn’t Coralyn you’re interrogating.” Even as he spoke, Keris silently whispered, Please don’t let her be dead.
“She’s indisposed,” Serin replied. “And we’re rather short on time, Your Highness. If we don’t capture them soon, we never will.”
Indisposed could mean any number of things, and none of them eased the twist of fear in his chest. “Then why are you wasting time talking to these women?” Reaching down, he took Lestara’s hand and drew her to her feet. “Instead of punishing my aunts for your failure to predict the actions of the woman you trained, perhaps you might turn your attention to hunting my wayward sister down!”
Ignoring Serin’s glare, he helped the rest of the women rise, motioning for them to leave. Then he rounded on the Magpie. “Where is Coralyn? What have you done to her?”
“Nothing your father didn’t ask me to,” Serin answered. “The old bitch is finally going to get what she deserves for her meddling.”
Keris’s control snapped.
Grabbing the spymaster by the front of his robes, Keris slammed him against the wall, pressing his forearm against the man’s throat. “Where. Is. She?”
Serin glared at him, but as Keris pressed hard enough to cut off his air, the glare turned to panic, and he gave a tight nod. Gasping in a few breaths, he said, “You know where he puts wives that anger him.”
Suddenly, it was Keris who felt like he couldn’t breathe.
They’d put Coralyn in the hole.
65
ZARRAH
The chest pressed in on all sides, the air thick and unbreathable and filled with the scent of her own sweat. Zarrah’s breath came in fast little pants, every part of her wishing that she could be on her feet with a weapon in hand. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to the hole that Keris had drilled in the chest, sucking in mouthfuls of air as she sought some degree of calm.
She was a warrior. Her strengths were tied to the battlefield. Not to scheming and strategizing, and most certainly not to hiding in a box so that she might escape like a piece of contraband.
But if she had another chance to go with Aren and the others, she would still choose to remain. Because she trusted Keris with her life, and because by remaining, she’d prevent Keris from sacrificing himself in a desperate attempt to save his aunt.
She hoped.
Relaxing her aching fingers from around the hilt of the knife she clutched, Zarrah squeezed her eyes shut, seeing Keris’s face when she’d told him about Coralyn. The grief. The guilt. She might have spared him all of that agony by just killing his father when she’d had the chance. But the ambassadors from Harendell and Amarid and all the other nations had been alive and watching from where they’d cowered in the corner. They’d have seen. And short of slaughtering everyone in the room, there’d have been no way to keep silent that the heir to the Valcottan throne had done the killing.