Shit. “Given you nearly got yourself killed, it’s a matter of personal interest. You’re the only person in Nerastis that I don’t have to pay to tolerate my presence, and I’d feel your absence keenly.”
The frown didn’t smooth from his brother’s brow. “You should attend the next raid. You need not be in the thick of it, but it would be good for morale to have you there after this mess.”
Keris laughed. “Now there’s a jest.”
His brother sighed. “The men believe that you look down upon them, Keris. That you see them as lesser than you for a myriad of reasons. And I understand how they feel, for you treat me in much the same way.”
Keris’s hands turned cold, his stomach hollowing because he could hear the hurt in his brother’s voice. It made him feel ill; there was only a small handful of individuals dear to Keris, and Otis was one of them. “I hold you in high esteem, and you damn well know it.”
“No, you don’t.”
Bewilderment flooded him, because for all they’d butted heads over a million topics during the course of their lives, never had he given his brother cause to believe he didn’t hold him in the greatest of regard.
Before he could answer, Otis said, “You have pit yourself against Father, no matter how much it costs you, and the only people you hold in esteem are those who also stand in defiance against him. Which means you esteem no one, for the rest of us aren’t so willing to risk our lives for ideologies that only work on paper.”
This was utter bullshit. He admired his brother, respected his talents even if they weren’t the sort he aspired to himself. “That’s—”
“The truth, Keris. And most days I admire your stubbornness, but today…” Otis gave a sharp shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just go back to your books, brother. Forget I asked anything of you.”
Except he had asked.
All their lives, Otis had been the only one of his brothers to accept Keris’s refusal to fight. To accept his abhorrence of violence and war, even if he didn’t agree with it. Had defended him against everyone who’d tried to force him to change and protected his back from those who’d tried to kill him for refusing to do so.
What had changed?
Keris knew the answer without asking. He was acceptable to Otis as a brother, but not as an heir. Not as a king. And now that he was heir and in line to become king, Otis, like everyone else, would try to force him to be just like their father.
Keris swallowed the rising ache of grief that threatened to strangle him. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing his brother, but neither was he willing to concede on everything he stood for. And with Otis’s hatred of Valcotta, there was no chance that he’d be able to convince his brother to pursue peace.
But maybe… maybe he could convince him of the merits of avoiding war. For his brother was no fool. If the cost of raiding became too high, the loss of soldiers’ lives too great, he’d desist. And while a stalemate wasn’t the same thing as peace, the results might well be the same. “I’ll think about it. The raid.”
Otis’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ll fight?”
I’ll fight, Keris silently replied. Just not the battle you think. “I was thinking a more observational role, but if I must.” He crossed his arms. “Just… just keep me informed of the plans. You know I hate having things sprung upon me.”
“I’ll involve you with every decision.” Genuine pleasure filled Otis’s dark eyes, more proof that his brother wanted him to be someone other than who he was. But Keris shoved down the hurt. “You’ll have to excuse me now, for I can feel dawn starting to warm the sky, which means it’s time for me to go to bed.”
“Thank you for this concession, Keris. You won’t regret it—not once you’ve earned the loyalty of the men.”
Keris walked away without answering. When it came to standing in defiance of his father, he’d never once conceded.
And never would.
24
ZARRAH
Cheers met Zarrah and her soldiers as they rode back into Nerastis, word that they’d repelled the Maridrinian raid having flown ahead of them. Civilians and soldiers alike lined the streets, hands held to their hearts in respect for those who’d fought, those who’d died, and those who’d come home victorious.
Zarrah could feel the shift in sentiment in her soldiers. Far too often, they arrived on the heels of a raid, too late to do anything but step over the bodies of dead civilians as they pursued the Maridrinians back across the border. But this had been a good, clean fight, and instead of heading straight to the war room to make plans for retaliation, nearly everyone wandered off in search of leisure or sleep, only Bermin following her as she went to her office, a healer waiting to stitch up the deep cut on her arm.
“They sing your praises.” He closed the door behind him. “Victory is sweet, but you and I both know this was luck. If the Maridrinians had come by land, it would have been a very different story.”
“What is it you want, cousin?” What she needed was sleep, yet what she wanted was the sun to be setting, not rising, so that she could meet the Maridrinian at the dam. Already her pulse thrummed, anticipation distracting her as the healer unraveled the sticky bandages and set to cleaning the wound, which stung but wasn’t deep enough to be of particular concern.
The chair across from her creaked as Bermin settled his bulk into it, the dark bruises on his throat vivid in the sunlight shining through the window behind her. Blood splattered his clothing from the battle, and between the two of them, the room was beginning to reek.
“How did you know?” he finally asked, leaning back, his arms crossed behind his head. “You wouldn’t have left us so exposed if you weren’t certain.”
Zarrah shrugged, the healer muttering in annoyance as she fumbled one of the stitches. “After your actions, a significant retaliation was inevitable. With little moon, it’s easier to transport a larger force at speed via the sea. I had our spies in the Maridrinian palace watch the stables and inform me if horses left.”
“They take horses out all the time on patrol.”
“Senior Maridrinian officers don’t condescend to ride patrol, cousin. But they do love the glory of a raid—it was their horses that I had watched.”
Bermin’s brow furrowed, and he rubbed thoughtfully at the few days of stubble darkening his chin. “How did you know it would be last night?”
“I didn’t.” She lifted one hand. “My intent was to keep watch over the shores until the moon lit the sky, then once again split our patrols between east and west. Was only luck that they came the first night we stood watch.”
“Luck.” He dropped his hand from his chin. “Didn’t feel like luck, little Zarrah.”
God, but she hated when he called her that. “If you have a point to make, make it. Otherwise, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve reports requiring my attention.”
“So diligent.” He smiled. “When do we attack again?”