“No.” The word jerked from his lips, because gaining her trust only for her to lose her life was nothing he’d ever agree to. He refused to consider it. Refused to sit back and watch his soldiers slaughter her. “You get better and I’ll give you a knife to fight your way out.”
“I’m not going to get better.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “And if you wish to prove to me that all that passed between us was real, you’ll allow me to die with honor, not wasting away like this.”
Every part of him wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that this was a mistake, that she’d recover, that he’d get her free.
Except that was a lie.
She was dying, and would denying her the chance to die on her feet be a mercy to her? Or to him?
Keris slowly pulled a knife from his boot, then pressed it into her palm even as indecision warred in his chest.
Valcotta stared at the knife for a long moment, then lifted her face to meet his gaze, her pupils so dilated that no color remained. “Thank you.”
“It was real.” His chest tightened painfully, making it hard to breathe. “I swear it, Valcotta. Everything I said. Everything I did. Everything I felt.”
“I believe you. But that doesn’t change who you are.”
Nothing would.
Sliding an arm underneath her, he lifted Valcotta upright so that she was sitting, then unfastened the knots binding her wrists, dropping the ropes to the floor.
“Tell them I untied myself while you were sleeping,” she said. “And attacked you.”
“You’ll be dead, so what does it matter what I say?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, the darkness rising in his heart whispering that the world might be better if he joined her in the grave.
“It matters to me.” Clenching her teeth, she dragged herself to her feet, moving behind him, but he was painfully aware that if she hadn’t been holding on to his shoulders, she’d have fallen.
“Call the alarm. Tell them to stop the carriage.”
They’d kill her. It would be over in moments.
And he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stand back and let her die. Couldn’t lose her like that.
“Do it!”
He’d get them to stop the carriage. And then he’d fight to get her away. He’d die trying to give her a chance, even if it was the chance to die free. “Guards!” he shouted. “Stop the carriage!”
The carriage lurched, nearly sending them both sprawling. He caught her, accidentally pulling the bandage loose from her arm, revealing the injury beneath. Rather than having healed into a pink line, the skin around the lesion was the grey of a long-dead corpse, and horror filled him as understanding dawned.
The carriage ground to a halt, and he jerked the knife out of her grip, shoving it in his belt just before the guards opened the door to find Valcotta in his arms. “Get me somewhere with a healer,” he snarled at them. “She’s been poisoned.”
And he knew exactly by whom.
36
ZARRAH
The world was a blur as she faded in and out of consciousness, first too hot and then too cold. Darkness fell, and Zarrah was vaguely aware of Keris lifting her. Carrying her out of the carriage and into a building, his voice loud as he berated the soldiers. Told them he didn’t want them anywhere near her because they’d damaged his prisoner enough.
Then louder still, him shouting, “You will treat her or, for the love of God, I’ll have you hanged in the square for murder!”
“But she’s Valcottan!”
“And I am the Crown Prince of Maridrina.” Through the waves of pain she heard the faint edge of panic in his voice, and it twisted at her heart. “You will do what I say!”
And then nothing.
Zarrah woke to the sound of a rooster crowing, the breeze blowing over her smelling like horse shit and hay. Blinking, she tried to sit up.
Only to find herself tied to the bed on which she lay.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse. “It was the only way they’d agree to leave me alone with you.”
He rose to his feet, retrieving a cup of water and sliding a hand beneath her head to lift it so that she could drink. “Do you feel better?”
Her head still ached, but the nausea and dizziness and fog were mostly gone. “Yes.”
“It wasn’t the blow to your head.” He set the cup down, then pulled back the bandage, revealing the slice she’d taken during her capture. It looked as though it had been cut open again and all the dead flesh removed before it was restitched. It was going to leave a significant scar. “There was poison on the blade of the weapon that gave you this. Nightbloom.”
Poisons were not her forte, but even she had heard of nightbloom. It hailed from Amarid and was very expensive. Slow to act and always fatal, unless properly treated.
“Who cut you?” he asked. “Whose weapon gave you that injury?”
“I think you know.”
“Otis.” His jaw tightened. “He knew you were dying and said nothing.”
It was possible that the other prince wasn’t aware that he’d cut her that night in battle on the beach. It had been dark, and everything had happened so quickly. But her gut told her otherwise.
Keris breathed out a slow breath, then sat back on the chair, elbows resting on his knees. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to reveal his forearms, muscles flexing as he regarded her. In the faint light, she couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, and with his hair pulled back as it was, he again appeared the anonymous Maridrinian she’d made love to. But then her gaze jumped to where his coat was draped over another chair, the brilliant blue fabric barely visible beneath all the gold embroidery, and he once again was the Veliant prince. “What is your intent?”
“Same as it has always been,” he answered. “To help you to escape. And while you were recovering, I think I discovered a way out of this mess.”
Zarrah’s stomach flipped, but she kept her expression neutral. “Why would you take such a risk?”
“I—” He broke off, giving his head a sharp shake. “I care about you, Valcotta. More than you seem to realize.” His face twisted with grief. “Because of my name, because of who my father is, everyone I care about ends up dead. I refuse to allow your face to join their ranks. My dreams are haunted enough as it is.”
He’d said it was real. The moments in the carriage before she’d passed out were blurred with fever and pain, but she remembered that. And with that memory came all the others. Of him pressing a knife into her hand, of him allowing her to hold it to his throat. Logic told her that it was madness to believe a Veliant prince would work against his father, would betray his nation, and yet instinct told her that was exactly what Keris was doing.