An icy chill ran down her spine. Not possible.
They’d entered the Red Desert with no supplies. No camels. No goddamned water. Yet somehow, Lara and Aren had made it to an oasis at the midpoint of the desert and were headed south.
South.
Zarrah’s mouth turned sour, understanding rippling through her. They weren’t just running from Silas—they had a destination in mind. Aren, whom she’d made a deal with in exchange for escape. Aren, who knew it was actually Keris who’d gotten her free. Aren, who fucking knew about her and Keris’s relationship, was headed to Pyrinat.
And Zarrah had no doubt in her mind whom he intended to meet with once he got there.
“What do you suppose the chances are,” Bermin rocked on his heels, “that this pair of violent lovers are the king and queen of Ithicana?”
She’d bet money on it.
“I need to speak with the Empress.” Spotting a vessel starting to push back from the dock, she sprinted toward it, shouting, “Pyrinat?”
One of the sailors nodded, so she jumped the gap, landing on the deck of the ship. The sailors stared at her as she smoothed her clothing. “I need passage. And I’ll pay triple if you make haste.”
Because if Aren made it there ahead of her, everything she’d sacrificed would have been in vain.
76
ZARRAH
She had a residence in the city, a towering sandstone home with large windows filled with stained glass that she hadn’t stayed in for more than a night for longer than she could remember, but Zarrah didn’t bother stopping there to clean up.
Instead, she headed straight to the palace.
The headwind had fought the ship all the way to Pyrinat, leaving Zarrah to pace the deck as her mind ran through every possible scenario. From Lara and Aren succumbing to the desert to them beating her to Pyrinat and using the damning information against her in an attempt to negotiate for the Empress’s aid in retaking Ithicana.
For there was no doubt in her mind that assistance was what they’d ask for, though what her aunt’s response would be, Zarrah was not so certain.
But she was about to find out.
Her boots thudded against the bridge as she crossed the moat surrounding the Empress’s palace, the guards at the entrance recognizing her uniform before they latched on her face. Hands pressed to their hearts, they opened the doors ahead of her.
The heavy doors swung inward, revealing an expansive courtyard with a large fountain at the center of it. Dispatching a young boy to deliver word of her arrival, the guard led her across the open space, through a pair of bronze gates on the far side, and into the palace.
Instinctively, her eyes went up to the twisted iron of the ceiling, which was wrought into delicate curving shapes containing the finest colored glass, the light passing through it casting rainbows across the pathways of translucent glass tiles that wove through gardens, filled with blooming flowers.
Her aunt’s steward approached, flanked by a girl carrying a bowl of water and lavender toweling, the man remaining silent as Zarrah cleansed her hands. Then he said, “The Empress has been made aware of your arrival, my lady.” Smiling, he added, “We are most pleased to have you returned. We feared the worst with so much time having passed since you escaped Vencia with no sign of you.”
A flicker of guilt ran through Zarrah, because she could have been here weeks ago if not for Keris’s choice of vessel. And not once had she considered that anyone would be concerned for her well-being. “The journey took longer than anticipated, I’m afraid. And I couldn’t risk sending word.”
“All that matters is that you are here, my lady. Her Imperial Majesty will be overjoyed.”
Zarrah could only pray that was true as she followed the steward.
If Lara and Aren had already arrived, someone would have mentioned it, which gave Zarrah some degree of relief as she followed the steward out into the open air of the Empress’s gardens. They walked down the pathways in silence, Zarrah deep in thought. This had once been her home, and as a child, she’d raced through these gardens. Streams crisscrossed the space in mimicry of Pyrinat’s canals, tiny bridges built to look identical to those in the city allowing one to cross, though she’d always favored leaping onto the stepping stones or swimming where the water pooled. Even now, some of her second and third cousins swam under the watchful eyes of servants, who knew it would mean their lives if harm came to the royal children.
As they passed toward the rear of the palace, Zarrah made out the familiar clacking of practice weapons colliding. Sure enough, her aunt was sparring with her bodyguard, a massive man who’d served in the position as long as Zarrah had been alive. Welran was twice the Empress’s size, and tremendously skilled, but as Zarrah watched, her aunt got under his guard, staff catching him behind his knees and sending him spilling to the ground.
The Empress snapped, “You grow lax in your old age. There was a time I would not have been capable of doing that, and my skill has not grown in recent years.”
“Apologies, Majesty.” Welran rose to his feet, and Zarrah flinched at the shame in his eyes. The man bore dozens of scars earned in defense of his empress and did not deserve chastisement. Then her aunt pulled the staff from his hands and twisted, throwing it at Zarrah. “Let’s see how soft you’ve gotten in Maridrinian care.”
Zarrah caught it easily, stepping onto the sand, saying nothing as they circled each other. Her aunt’s jaw was tight and her gaze cool, but if she’d intended to send Zarrah walking back out the doors of the palace, she wouldn’t have bothered with the sparring.
This time, Zarrah wasn’t exhausted. Wasn’t hungover. But more than that, she could tell her aunt expected her to be weak from months of captivity.
Zarrah wasn’t weak.
She immediately attacked, and she saw the surprise in the Empress’s eyes at the force of it. “Angry at me for not rescuing you, are you, child?”
“I’m not a child, Auntie.” Zarrah knocked the staff from her aunt’s hands. “I had no expectations of rescue.”
She waited for her to retrieve the weapon, then went on the attack again, but this time, her aunt was ready. They drove each other back and forth across the training yard, Zarrah’s pulse roaring as she hunted for an opening. But the Empress didn’t give her one.
Sweat rolled down her cheeks, kicked-up sand sticking to her face, but Zarrah barely felt the discomfort. Barely noticed other members of her large extended family coming to watch, the children laughing and cheering.
There.
Seeing an opening, Zarrah rolled, catching her aunt behind the knees with her weapon and sending her sprawling into the sand.
Everyone fell silent, waiting to see what the Empress would do, but the older woman only rolled onto her back, spitting out sand.