Though she could barely see him in the dark, she felt his disdain. His hate. Felt her own rising despite knowing she had no more ground to stand on than he did. They were both killers. Both murderers. “Retreat while you have the chance!”
“Not while you still stand!”
She swung at his head with no intent to hit him, but he rolled, coming up on his feet swift as a cat, sword slicing at her hamstrings. Zarrah jumped, the blade sliding under her boots. But instead of landing on flat ground, her foot slid along a slick tree root, sending her staggering.
Pain seared across her arm, and she gasped, throwing herself sideways and out of range of another blow from his sword. She scrambled to regain her footing, staying on the defense as he drove her backward down the hill.
In her periphery, she could see the Maridrinians falling back to the boats, recognizing this was a fight they couldn’t win, but the stubborn bastard refused to run.
Then one of them shouted, “Highness, we must retreat!”
Highness. This was not a common soldier, not a man here only because he’d been ordered to fight. This was one of the Rat King’s sons. A Veliant prince.
Hate, blistering hot and merciless, boiled up from her heart, driving aside logic and reason, caring nothing for the consequences that would come from killing him. With a wild scream, Zarrah threw herself at him, attacking in earnest where before she’d held back.
Her staff struck him on the arm, sending his weapon flying and him backing down the beach as he fumbled for a knife.
“I’m going to kill you, Veliant,” she hissed. “I’m going to cut out your black heart and feed it to the dogs!”
“Zarrah! Hold your ground!”
She heard Yrina’s shout of warning, saw the Maridrinians racing up the beach in an attempt to rescue their prince. Knew she’d be overrun but found herself not caring.
Another swing of her staff, and he was on his ass, scrambling backward. Pulling her knife, she bared her teeth, moving in for the kill.
Then strong hands caught her around the middle, hauling her back.
“We’ve won, little Zarrah,” Bermin’s voice rasped in her ear. “Allow the rats to scuttle back to their side of the Anriot, where they can lick their wounds in shame.”
“Let me go,” she screamed, but her cousin’s grip was implacable. “He’s a Veliant!”
Her soldiers muttered angrily, demanding pursuit, but Bermin only said, “Do not allow your emotions to rule your good sense, little Zarrah. The princeling’s pride will give you another chance; you need only bide your time. And if it is not this one, it will be another who you bring low.”
She would not stop at just one. For when it came to the Veliant family, her need for vengeance was no spark.
It was an inferno.
23
KERIS
Keris paced back and forth across his rooms, his skin clammy and his stomach twisted into knots.
Of course, Otis had insisted on going. Of course, Otis insisted on being the one to deliver Maridrina’s revenge.
It could be no other way.
Nothing Keris had said in an attempt to dissuade him from joining the raiding party had made a difference, and short of commanding his brother to remain, which would’ve raised questions he couldn’t answer, there’d been nothing he could do to keep Otis from sailing into an ambush.
“Shit.” Visions of his brother’s corpse being laid at his feet filled his eyes. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Otis was more than his half brother—he was Keris’s best friend. His only friend, if he was being truthful. For their entire lives, Otis had protected him. Against their brothers, against their father, against the world. That they didn’t have a damned interest in common and fought more days than not didn’t matter. They were blood, and if Otis were harmed…
A knock sounded at the door. Not bothering to answer, Keris jerked it open, the servant on the other side leaping back in alarm. “Well?”
“You wished to be informed when the raiding party returned, my lord.” He blinked at Keris. “They’ve returned.”
“Is my brother with them?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Only that there are many injured.”
No.
Pushing past the man, Keris ran down the circular stairs, checking his pace only when he reached the bottom. The main level of the palace was a flurry of activity, servants carrying basins of water and bandages toward the rooms that served as the infirmary.
A scream of pain echoed down the corridor, groans and sobs growing louder as he approached. His heart throbbed, his breathing more labored than it should’ve been from the stairs as he entered the room, taking in the sight of soldiers sprawled on cots, physicians and their assistants working to stem the blood that seemed to coat most of the room.
Keris’s eyes jumped from face to face, but none of them was his brother.
None of them was Otis.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, then a loud voice in the distance said, “I’m going to kill that Anaphora girl, mark my words! The next time, she’s not walking away unscathed!”
A wave of relief forced Keris to catch his balance against the wall as the world swam. Giving his head a shake, he rounded a corner, finding his brother in the adjoining chamber with several other soldiers, a physician engaged with stitching up a nasty gash along Otis’s left bicep.
Crossing his arms, Keris leaned against the doorframe. “Things not go well?”
Otis’s gaze flicked to him, then he swore and moved his glower to the physician. “I’ve known tailors to show more care with fabric than you currently show my flesh.”
“Perhaps if you refrained from gesticulating until he’s finished…?” Keris gave his brother a smirk, then laughed when Otis flipped him his middle finger. He could handle his brother’s annoyance because he was alive.
“They were waiting for us, Keris. Had an ambush ready the moment we stepped away from the boats.”
“How could they have known where you were landing?” Keris asked, because not asking would be strange.
“I’m not sure they did.” Otis clenched his teeth as the physician ran the needle through again. “It appears they anticipated a raid by sea and moved the majority of their forces to defend the coast. Though they would’ve had to leave the east exposed to do it.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. “A bold move. If we’d gone by land instead of sea, we could have struck a significant blow against them.”
She’d trusted him. The realization settled into Keris’s core, sending a spill of emotion through him that he didn’t entirely understand. Such a simple act, and yet it had saved how many innocent lives? “What will be our next move?”
“Attack again.” His brother pulled his bloodied shirt over his now bandaged arm. “And soon.”
He’d known it wouldn’t just take one stymied raid to stop the cycle, but Keris still struggled not to grind his teeth at his brother’s response. The stubborn refusal to see any path forward but war. “When?”
Otis rubbed at his temples, then frowned, focusing on him. “Since when do you care?”