“I am. Sadly, her father sees only her flaws.” The woman glanced down at the girl, who was embroiled with a wooden puzzle. “She is to be sent away to the church.”
Not the worst life, but a hard one. And not one, Zarrah thought, suited to the girl’s temperament, which meant she would suffer. Judging from the way her mother’s jaw quivered, she was in agreement. Part of Zarrah recoiled from confessing anything to these people, yet she found herself saying, “My mother was taken from me, so Sara has my sympathy. It is a harsh thing for a girl to grow up absent her mother.”
“There is nothing I can do.”
Likely true, but Zarrah despised the passivity. The resignation and acceptance of defeat before the battle had even been fought. “My mother begged for me to be spared right until the moment your husband cut off her head.”
The woman flinched, then looked away. “I’m sure she was a great warrior and prepared for such sacrifice.”
Staring at the bodies hanging from the wall, Zarrah closed her eyes, trying to remember her mother’s face while she’d been living but seeing her only in death. “She’d never lifted a weapon in her life. But all good mothers will die for the sake of their children.” Then she inclined her head. “If you’d excuse me, my lady. I’ve spent too many days confined, and I would walk some more.”
She started to move away, but the mother caught her wrist. “Zarrah.” Their eyes met, and the mother swallowed. “I spent a year in the room where you currently reside. During that time, I came to appreciate the tapestry that hangs behind the bed. It has the most exquisite… depth.”
Zarrah felt her curiosity flicker to life, because if this wife had once considered herself a prisoner… “I will give it close attention. Enjoy your afternoon.”
43
KERIS
What in the name of God had possessed Coralyn to dress Valcotta like that?
Waiting for the guards to open the gates to allow him to pass, Keris scrubbed his hands back through his hair, trying and failing to push away the image of Valcotta in that scrap of bronze silk under which she was clearly wearing nothing at all. He’d been hard within an instant, and if not for Coralyn insisting that Sara accompany them, he’d have spent the entire walk searching for a way to get her alone.
Stepping through the gates, he accepted his knives from the guards, tucking them into various hiding places on his person. He needed to get out of these walls, but with Vencia boiling hot over an increase in taxes, he had no intention of walking its streets unarmed.
“Your Valcottan looks like her mother.”
Keris straightened with a jerk, eyes snapping to where his father was handing over the reins of a horse to one of the stable hands. “I suppose you would know, Your Grace. I understand you personally cut off her head.”
His father chuckled. “A kill handed to me on a silver platter. And unlike Petra, Aryana was no warrior, though she did fight. When that didn’t work, she begged.”
For her daughter’s life, Keris thought, but said nothing.
“I’m sure Aryana would be horrified to learn what a violent, murderous woman her daughter has become,” his father continued. “She and Petra spent their lives at odds, and I can’t help but wonder if Petra raised Zarrah as she did to spite her sister. For how better to do so than to turn the daughter of the woman who fought so tirelessly for peace into a leader in the Endless War?”
Valcotta had never mentioned that her mother had been a proponent of peace. It made him wonder if she had even known. “Is there something I’m supposed to be gleaning from this, or are you merely regaling me with a favored war story?”
“I only wish to impart information about your adversary.” His father slung an arm around Keris’s shoulder, and it took effort not to pull away. This was how his father behaved with Otis and his other brothers, but never with him. Neither of them had desired the familiarity.
What are you up to? he silently asked as his father pulled him with unrelenting strength in the direction of the training yard.
“Petra is a hard woman. If you believe her swayed by sentiment, you are sorely mistaken.”
“You speak as though you know her.”
His father smiled. “In a manner of speaking, I do. But in this case, my words come from the lips of a more concrete source.”
Keris’s blood chilled, every muscle in his body tensing as his father opened a door and headed down a set of narrow steps into the outer palace’s sublevels. It was dark and damp and smelled of mold.
And blood.
Vaguely, Keris had known that there were cells down here. That Serin’s workshop was down here. But he’d never had cause, nor desire, to explore the spymaster’s domain. Why had his father brought him here?
“We’ve a new prisoner,” his father murmured, as though sensing his thoughts. “One I believe in which you’ll take a personal interest.”
Keris’s pulse roared, the walls pressing in as his father nodded at a guard outside a cell door. “Open it.”
The hinges creaked, the cell swinging open to reveal nothing but blackness. Taking up a lamp, his father stepped inside, leaving Keris no choice but to follow. And as the pool of light moved farther into the space, he had to stifle a sharp inhalation as a Valcottan woman was illuminated.
She was passed out, the chains around her wrists and ankles bolted to the floor, her clothing soiled and torn. And the torture that had been inflicted on her body… Twisting away, Keris vomited against the wall, a wave of dizziness washing over him.
“Weak stomach,” his father said with disgust, and Keris forced himself to straighten. To wipe his mouth on his sleeve.
“Who is she?”
“Yrina Kitan, a captain in the Nerastis garrison. And if what Serin tells me is true, a personal friend of Zarrah Anaphora.”
Yrina. Memory flooded him, of Zarrah whispering the name over and over when she’d been poisoned, begging for the unknown person’s forgiveness. Keris’s skin turned cold, his eyes moving over the broken woman. Her injuries were not something she could survive. But he had to try.
“What do you hope to gain from this, Your Grace? We’re in the midst of negotiating with the Empress, and you allow Serin to ply his craft on a Valcottan soldier? This is not just cruelty; it is folly.”
His father snorted. “The Empress has little ground to stand on, given one of her soldiers broke into my palace and killed four of my men.”
The woman stirred, her remaining eye opening to fix upon Keris and his father. “I see you brought one of your princelings, Your Grace,” she said around a mouthful of broken teeth. “Teaching him your ways?”
“I’d once believed that a lost cause,” his father answered. “But his capture of your princess has given me new hope.”
Keris stiffened, a fresh wave of sickness rising in his stomach, because this was the first time he’d ever heard a word of praise from his father. And it was because of this.