But maybe there was another path.
Rising to his feet, Keris turned north. The only way to prevent Zarrah from committing treason was to eliminate the opportunity. Which meant ensuring Vencia was well defended enough to ruin the Empress’s plans to sack it, as well as withdrawing Maridrinian forces from Ithicana, which would remove Zarrah’s need to fight on Aren’s behalf.
Except Zarrah was right: His father would risk Vencia before willingly relinquishing the bridge. It was the obsession that had dominated his life, and he finally had it in his grasp. What were the lives of everyone in Vencia compared to that?
Which left only one option.
Keris’s skin crawled, his stomach twisting with nausea, because it was honorless. And unfamiliar.
But if it worked, it would save Vencia. Would stop the escalation of the Endless War in its tracks. And it would save Zarrah’s life.
“Fuck honor.”
He broke into a run toward Nerastis.
Keris galloped through the balance of the night and through the morning before trading a farmer for a fresh horse.
He’d left instructions with Philo to retain all the ships and men, warning him to be ever vigilant, as Valcotta intended to attack. He could only pray that it would be enough, if not to stop Bermin from making a move then at least to stop him from pressing north into Maridrina. There was nothing more he could do for them now.
For days, he rode, stopping only to switch horses or for a few hours of fitful sleep in the brush before pressing on. By the time Vencia’s walls came into view, Keris was so exhausted he could barely think, his clothes stained to the point of ruin and his stomach as empty as his pockets. The two men manning the gates didn’t recognize him, allowing him to pass through with all the rest of the merchant traffic heading into the city.
The harbor was dominated by naval vessels flying the Maridrinian flag, and on the docks, hundreds of soldiers waited to be loaded. Though Keris had known this was his father’s intent, he was still struck by the sight. Ithicana could not survive this without Zarrah’s help, and even with it, it would be a battle for the ages.
At the palace, new gates had been installed to replace those destroyed by Ithicanian explosives during the escape—sturdier ones that were shut despite it being midday, the walls crawling with soldiers.
“Halt,” one of them shouted at him, and Keris pulled up his shaggy mount in deference to the arrows currently leveled at his chest. “There is no entrance to the palace. Be on your way!”
Pulling back his hood, Keris looked up at the soldiers. “Open the fucking gate! And ensure someone has a drink waiting for me in the courtyard. All I can taste is dust, and my ass is never going to recover from riding this creature.” He switched his glower to the horse, which was the most mean-spirited creature he’d ever encountered. It seemed to sense his ire, turning to try to bite his foot. “I’m going to feed you to the dogs.”
He looked back up at the soldier.
The man stared at him for a heartbeat, then finally seemed to see past the filth and shaggy horse, recognition dawning in his eyes. “Your Highness?”
Patience shot, Keris only glared until the gate slowly swung open, allowing him to trot inside. Sliding off the horse, he tossed the reins to a stable boy. “Give the bastard a good rubdown and an extra helping of oats.” He swiftly rinsed his hands in the waiting basin of water. “Where’s my father?”
“In his war room, Highness.” The servant carrying the bowl hurried along next to him, water splashing. “But perhaps you’d care to bathe and change before attending him?”
“Later.” Keris cut left and then entered the building, ignoring his aching body and taking the steps two at a time to the second level. Unlike the inner sanctum, which was lavished with creature comforts, the outer palace was austere and cold, the walls devoid of art and the floors naked stone. A reminder that this building was a fortress that had repelled more than one attack during Maridrina’s tumultuous history. He made his way to the war room where his father met with his generals, his boot heels thudding from the speed of his stride.
“I need to see him,” he said to one of the guards outside the door. The man ducked inside, then reemerged and gave Keris a nod.
Taking a fortifying breath and praying his nerves wouldn’t betray him, Keris stepped into the war room.
Though he’d only been in here a handful of times in his life, the room remained almost identical to how it had been in his childhood. One wall contained a series of narrow windows set with frosted glass, the opposite wall holding a framed map of Maridrina. A heavy circular table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by what Keris knew to be extremely uncomfortable chairs, and along the side wall was a cabinet containing bottles of liquor, each expensive enough to feed a family for a year.
His father sat at the table in the company of several officers in the Maridrinian army, judging from their uniforms, but at the sight of Keris, he waved a hand at them. “We will continue later. I would speak with my son.”
The men rose without argument, bowing to his father before abandoning their glasses of expensive drink on the table as though they expected to return to them shortly. Keris waited until they’d left and was about to speak when the skin on the back of his neck prickled. He turned in time to see Serin step out of the shadows, his robes trailing along the floor as he made his way to the table.
“You really need to cease crawling out of the corners,” he said to the spymaster. “It’s quite an off-putting behavior.”
“Only to those with something to hide.”
Keris leveled him with a long stare. “The dramatic statements are no better.”
“Enough, Keris,” his father snapped. “Instead of filling the air with useless chatter, explain where my ships and soldiers are.”
“Nerastis.”
His father was on his feet in a flash, his right hand balled in a fist. “You go too far, boy. I’ll tolerate your complaints over my plans to hold the bridge but not you actively sabotaging them.” He swore loudly, then slammed his fist down on the table, making all the glasses bounce. “Aren Kertell and your witch of a sister are rumored to be back in Ithicana and rallying forces. The Amaridian queen is withdrawing her support, and her goddamned navy, once storm season begins. Which means I have a matter of weeks to destroy what remains of the Ithicanian resistance, and your peddling to a fool’s ideals,” his volume increased to a shout, “may have ruined it!”