Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine, the steady throb of his pulse loud as they rolled through the gates of the palace, the carriage rocking as it came to a halt, causing Zarrah to sit upright.
“We’re here.” He searched her face for a hint of her thoughts, but she only gave a grim nod, then squared her shoulders. He had to fight the desire to take up a weapon and attempt to get her away. Except the time for weapons had passed, and now he had to rely on his wits to keep her alive long enough to find another path to escape.
Someone opened the door, and Keris exited the carriage, his heart thundering. One of the soldiers reached up to catch hold of Zarrah’s bound wrists, but she jerked herself free and stepped out of the carriage, chin high. Even in her rough woolen dress, her hair unwashed and tangled, she looked like an empress, not a prisoner.
I will get you out of this, he silently promised her. No matter the cost.
Turning to one of the servants who was offering towels to wipe the grime of travel from his hands, Keris asked, “Is he here?” There was no need to be specific. In this palace, only one man mattered.
“Yes, Your Highness.” She accepted back the soiled towel. “In his office. I’ll send word to him that you have arrived with the…” Her gaze flicked to Valcotta, expression darkening.
“Prisoner?” he supplied before the servant could come up with anything disparaging. “No need. I’ll go to him directly.”
But before Keris could move, a scream split the air, loud and piercing and full of fear.
A scream that had come from the inner sanctum of the palace. Where all of his aunts and youngest siblings resided.
Uneasy, Keris motioned for the soldiers to bring Valcotta and strode across the stable yard to the gates of the inner walls. As he drew nearer, his eyes landed on two hooded figures on their knees, wrists bound. “Who are they?”
The soldiers guarding them exchanged looks, then one reluctantly replied, “Ithicanian prisoners, Your Highness. Serin is…” The man trailed off, and Keris’s mouth soured. God, but he despised that creature.
“Does my father know the Magpie is playing with his toys in the garden?” He immediately waved a hand at the man, silencing any need for response. “Never mind. Of course he knows.”
The soldiers swiftly searched him for weapons, then swung open the gate. Keris moved into the sanctum, the scents of flowers and misting fountains filling his nose even as his eyes filled with the sight of Serin ripping the fingernails off a hooded woman’s hands, an unfamiliar man chained to a bench before them.
What madness was this?
“How do we get into Eranahl?” Serin’s words reached Keris’s ears. “No? Let’s see how she holds up to losing her fingers.”
“Pull out the damned gate!” the chained man screamed, and Keris fought the urge to intervene.
This was happening on his father’s orders, which meant he was powerless to stop it. To try would have consequences he couldn’t risk with Valcotta’s life at stake.
“How do we manage that?” Serin picked up another tool, and the chained man fell to his knees.
“Please.” The desperation in the man’s voice made Keris’s stomach twist. Especially since he knew this was the least of the horrors Serin was capable of conjuring. He was a sadist of the first order.
“A strategy, Aren,” the Magpie crooned. “Give us a strategy, and this will all be over.”
Aren. The Ithicanian king.
Realization struck Keris, but before he could react, the woman being tortured twisted free from the guards holding her. She threw herself at the Ithicanian king, then reached up with her bound hands and pulled the sack from her head.
At the sight of her face, the Ithicanian king’s eyes widened in surprise before quickly turning to horror. Not whom he’d expected, apparently, but most assuredly someone he knew.
“Idiots,” Serin hissed at the guards. “Get her back!”
The men stalked closer, their eyes wary despite the king being chained and outnumbered. And Keris knew the hesitation would cost them as resolve flashed over the Ithicanian’s face—an unwillingness to allow the young woman to suffer any further. Serin saw it, too, and he shrieked, “Stop him!”
But it was too late.
With a quick twist of his muscled arms, the Ithicanian king broke the woman’s neck, the crack audible. As was Zarrah’s soft intake of breath from where she stood at his elbow.
An act of mercy. That was what it had been. But from the look in the king’s eyes, it would still weigh upon his soul.
“Hang her up,” Serin ordered, and Keris pressed his hands to his thighs to keep them from fisting, forcing himself to watch as the men dragged the dead girl over to the wall, leaving streaks of crimson in their wake. One of the soldiers above dropped a rope, which they fastened around her neck, the trio hauling her up until she dangled out of reach from one of the cornices, the blood dripping from her foot splattering against the green of the lawn. A wave of dizziness ran through Keris, old and painful memories rising to the forefront of his thoughts at the sight.
Then Serin said, “Bring out the other two prisoners.”
Enough. He’d watch no more of this.
Crossing his arms, Keris snapped, “Good God, Serin! Don’t you have holes and dark places where you conduct this sort of business? What’s next? Beheadings at the dinner table?”
Displeasure rose on the spymaster’s face at the sight of him, but that didn’t stop Keris from picking his way closer, avoiding the splatters of blood on the path.
“Your Highness.” Serin gave a slight bow. “You are supposed to be in Nerastis.”
As though the bastard hadn’t known Keris was coming. And whom he had with him. “Yes, well, we captured ourselves quite a prize. It seemed prudent that I ensure she arrive in one piece. Broken things make for less valuable leverage.”
Serin’s gaze went past Keris, his bushy grey eyebrows rising in recognition, his shock masterfully feigned. “General Zarrah Anaphora, the Empress’s niece. You’ve outdone yourself, Highness. You’ll be in your father’s favor.”
“I doubt that.”
Serin’s eyes gleamed in unspoken agreement. “Now that you’ve delivered her, I assume you’ll be returning to Nerastis immediately.”
Ignoring the statement, Keris pushed his hair behind one ear, focusing on the king, who remained kneeling on the ground. He was both tall and broad, the heavy muscles of his arms visible even through his clothes. As formidable as was rumored, and rather obnoxiously good-looking. “Is this the Ithicanian king, then? I must say, he’s less terrifying than I anticipated. I’m rather disappointed to see that he does not, in fact, have horns.”
“The former king. Ithicana no longer exists.”
Keris glanced at the corpse hanging from the wall, this performance suggesting a rather different truth than the one the Magpie offered. Suggesting that both Ithicana and its king remained very much a problem. But involving himself in it was not something Keris could afford to do. “My mistake. Do carry on.”