“As it is, Yrina,” his father continued, “I don’t think there is anything more of use that you can tell us.”
His eyes flicked to Keris. “The Empress, it seems, was only a day’s ride from Nerastis when you captured her niece. And it was Petra’s orders that there would be no pursuit. No rescue. Which suggests she either fears the repercussions of invading Maridrina to retrieve her niece or that she doesn’t care enough about her niece to bother doing so. And the Petra I know fears nothing.”
Yrina stiffened, telling Keris that she agreed with his father’s sentiments toward the Empress.
“Or perhaps she anticipated that we’d be willing to negotiate. What you’ve done to this woman does us no favors.”
“Perhaps,” his father answered. “Either way, you’ve a point, Keris. It wouldn’t be ideal if this were discovered, so I think it best that we… bury the problem.”
Keris flinched as his father reached over and extracted the knife tucked into his belt. “This is your venture. Your gambit to prove to me that you’re worthy of being my heir. That you’re worthy of the Maridrinian crown. And part of being king is a willingness to do the dirty work.”
He forced the knife into Keris’s hand, squeezing his fingers shut around the hilt. “See it done.”
There was no chance this woman would survive. Even if Keris refused to kill her, his father would do it. Or one of the guards. Or Serin. Or they’d leave her to succumb to her injuries. To do it himself would be a mercy, because at least he would make it quick. So he stepped toward her.
Keris kept his eyes on Yrina, who, though her face was shattered, stared at him in defiance. “Do your worst, little princeling.” Her voice was slurred. “If you have the nerve for it.”
He didn’t have the nerve for it. The proof of that was in the vomit splattered against the wall. In the sweat rolling in beads down his back. In the rapid hammer of his heart.
“Do it.” His father leaned against the wall. “Prove your worth.”
The words echoed in his head: prove your worth, prove your worth, prove your worth. “Fine. But I neither need nor want an audience.”
One eyebrow rose, and his father said, “If this is an attempt to weasel your way out of this, put aside those foolish hopes. I will check that she’s dead. And lest you play the same tricks as your sister, I’ll ensure she remains dead.”
Keris had no notion of what his father was referring to, but neither did he care. “Out.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
The door settled shut with a resounding thud, and Keris swallowed the sourness in his mouth. His palms were clammy, and he flexed his fingers around the pommel of the knife as he dropped to his knees in front of the chained woman, turning the flame down low on the lamp because he knew eyes would be watching through tiny holes in the walls.
And listening.
Yrina watched him warily, and as he stepped forward, she lunged against her chains. Only to fall back against the floor, gasping in pain.
But still dangerous.
Moving quickly, he dropped to his knees, catching her from behind and pulling her back against him. She struggled, cursing and swearing, but went silent as he said softly in her ear, “You and I want the same thing, Yrina.”
“And what is that?” She strained against him, looking for a weakness.
“Zarrah’s freedom.”
“This is a trick.”
“No.” He kept his grip tight, knowing that she’d try to kill him if he gave her a chance. “I know your name, for it was on her lips when she was in the grips of poison-induced delusions. You mean something to her. And she means something to you, else you’d not have come against the Empress’s orders.”
Silence. Which in and of itself was neither confirmation nor denial, but she’d also ceased struggling. Was listening to him. So he pushed forward. “In the days before her capture in Nerastis, Zarrah was disappearing at night. She was seeing me.”
“Lies.” As the words hissed from Yrina’s lips, she twisted out of his grip and wrenched the knife from his hand. In a flash, she was behind him, blade at his throat.
Shit.
He didn’t move, wondering whether it would be better to let her kill him or to scream for help. Then her body stiffened and she whispered, “Bergamot. Ginger. Red cedar. Oh my God.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was afraid to move lest she slit his throat.
“The man she was seeing gave her a book,” she said. “What were the contents?”
Keris squeezed his eyes shut, pain filling his chest, for if Valcotta had shared that with this woman, she was more than a comrade. She was a friend. “Stories about stars.”
“It is you.” She let go of him, slumping to the ground. “Oh God, Zarrah. What a mess you got yourself into.” Then she lifted her face. “Do you care for her?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Very much so.”
She gave a slow nod, and then words poured from her lips. “It’s not Zarrah who should be asking for forgiveness, it’s me. The Empress ordered her not to see you any longer, but I encouraged it. And when Zarrah didn’t return, I told the Empress that I believed she’d crossed the Anriot to see her lover. I hoped she’d allow us to move across in force to search, but I was wrong. She ordered us to stand down, and when word came that you were taking Zarrah to Vencia, she told us that Zarrah had earned her fate.”
Keris clenched his teeth, panic rising in his chest. “If she refuses to negotiate, my father will kill Zarrah.”
“Then you must find another way to get her out.” She pressed his knife into his hand. “And you must silence the truths that both of us have revealed.”
Yrina’s death would crush Valcotta. The knowledge her friend had died trying to save her would be a weight upon her soul, dragging her down. And it was because of him.
Because he’d turned back that night at the dam.
Because he’d pursued her.
Seduced her.
Lied to her.
Failed her.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do that to her.”
“Leaving me alive will do far worse to her,” Yrina answered, lifting his hand so that the knife pressed against her jugular. “I can’t take any more of Serin’s torture. I’ll break and bring you both down with me.”
Think of a way to get her out, his conscience whispered. Save this woman!
“I—”
Yrina jerked sideways, the tip of his knife sliding into her flesh like a hot blade through butter. Blood splashed over his hands, sprayed him in the face, and Yrina slumped in his arms.
“Tell Zarrah that I love her,” she whispered, and then she went still.
A tremor ran through him, and Keris sucked in breath after breath, but it didn’t feel as though any air reached his lungs. He lowered Yrina to the cell floor and clambered to his feet, falling against the door. “Open it!”
He waited for the sound of the bolt opening, for motion, for voices, but there was nothing. His father was going to leave him in here. Leave him in here to stare at the corpse of yet another woman he’d gotten killed. Panic raced through his veins, and he hammered his fists against the wood, screaming, “Open the fucking door!”