Otis appeared, his face splattered with blood that she could only guess was from the man he’d whipped to death. “Have you lost your mind, Keris? Do you have any idea how dangerous she is?”
His voice was light as he said, “So everyone keeps telling me.” Keris rose. “But thus far I’ve been rather disappointed. All she’s done is faint. What did the physician say?”
“That she’s concussed and will either die tonight or live to meet her end in Vencia.”
“Let’s pray for the latter,” Keris answered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m somewhat short of sleep and in need of a nap. Make arrangements to transport her north by road—the Valcottans are thick upon the seas, and they’ll be after us as soon as they learn we have their general.”
“It will be done,” his brother answered, but he remained where he was as Keris strode off, humming a tune.
The princeling watched his brother go, then turned back to her, the blood splattering his face at odds with the words written to him in those love letters. As was the hate in his eyes. “You and yours are a scourge upon this earth,” he hissed. “You took those I loved most and slaughtered them. Don’t think there won’t be a reckoning.”
Pulling herself upright, Zarrah stared him down as best she could with the world slowly turning to black around her. “Perhaps so. But it seems it won’t be coming from you.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he said, then darkness once again pulled her under.
35
KERIS
The carriage bounced up the road, Keris’s teeth rattling with each rut and rock a wheel hit, his ass already bruised despite the thick cushion on the seat.
But none of it registered.
Not with Valcotta sprawled on the bench across from him, her wrists and ankles bound, and her eyes glazed from the head injury she’d taken. She drifted in and out of consciousness, the out a mercy, because when she was awake, he could see the pain in her eyes, her jaw clenching and unclenching.
And there was nothing he could do to make it better, even his words of comfort silenced by the soldier who sat next to him on the bench.
Otis had insisted. “I’m not allowing you to ride alone with her. She’s dangerous, Keris. All of this could be an act to get you alone and kill you.”
“I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were! But she’s a trained soldier, and I’ve seen firsthand how well she fights. And you’re… well, you’re you.”
“How flattering.” But Keris didn’t bother with further argument. Once he was on the road and away from his brother’s overprotective tendencies, he’d resolve the issue.
That had been days ago.
Days of watching Zarrah grow progressively worse, no longer able to stand, her skin burning hot with fever. She tossed and turned, crying out often. Although much of what she cried was indecipherable, there was no mistaking her begging her aunt to help her, to come for her, not to leave her. Yet as the days progressed, her delusions turned to someone named Yrina, whom she begged over and over for forgiveness. The servant girl he’d brought with them did her best to get her to drink, but he didn’t need to be a physician to know that she was dying.
And she was doing it surrounded by her enemies, because the Valcottans had made no move to rescue her. The farther north he took her, the less likely it was that they would.
“Won’t be long now, Your Highness,” the guard sitting next to him said. “Valcottan bitch has got one foot in the grave. Might as well turn back to Nerastis so that she still looks herself when we throw her corpse across the Anriot.”
White-hot fury burned through Keris’s veins, the desire to pummel the man making his hands ball into fists and his vision turn red. But that would accomplish nothing, least of all sparing Zarrah this fate.
Pulling open the window of the coach, he banged on the side. “Stop. Stop right here.”
“Is there a problem, Your Highness?” asked one of the soldiers riding close to the precious cargo. “Has the prisoner—”
“The prisoner is the same. But I’m tired and in need of a nap.” He gave a pointed look at the man sitting next to him. “Find a horse or ride with the coachman. I care not.”
“But—”
Keris flattened his gaze, and the man blanched, swiftly acceding to his request without further argument.
It was a power that came from fear. The power his father wielded so well, everyone around him too terrified of what he might do to ever argue. A power that Keris had never wanted to have, and yet in one act, he’d gained it. His stomach twisted, but instead of yielding to the sensation, he pulled the curtains shut and then knelt next to her.
“Valcotta?” He pushed her sweat-soaked hair off her face. “Can you hear me?”
She stirred, then her eyes cracked to reveal dilated pupils that stared at him without focus. “Where…”
“A few days south of Vencia. And there has been no sign of your people.”
Her lip quivered. “Good.”
“I dislike fatalism, Valcotta,” he said, because if he didn’t speak, he’d crack. Would break down and scream, because he’d done everything right. Had ensured that dozens had seen her alive. Ensured there was no secrecy surrounding his intent to take her to Vencia. The Valcottans knew what had happened and where she was, yet had done nothing to retrieve her.
Which meant they’d abandoned Valcotta to her fate.
“Your comrades are cowards. Every last one of them.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Angry your little plan didn’t work, Princeling?”
Though the sentiment was not unexpected, her words still stung, with the knowledge that nothing he could say, nothing he could do, would ever be a match for the distrust his name provoked in her. Not just distrust… hate. Hate placed in her by his father and then compounded by his brothers, and by his cursed sister, ensuring that the world believed that all who possessed the Veliant name were monsters.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to pound his fists against the floor of the carriage, wanted to put a knife in his own heart, because everyone he cared about met this end. His affection was murder, his name poison, and he couldn’t escape it. “Is there anything I can do that will make you believe that I want you both alive and free? Anything that will make you believe I don’t conspire against you or your people?”
Valcotta opened her mouth, then closed it again, staring at him in silence for so long he thought she refused to give him any answer at all. Then she whispered, “Give me your knife.”
His heart skipped, hope rising in his chest only for it to be dashed as she said, “Let me go out there and die fighting. Die on my feet. And then make sure my people know it, so they’ll not suffer my shame. You do that, and I’ll die knowing you are a different man than your father.”