She rose to her feet. “I see you are too deep in your cups and self-pity to see reason, so I’ll leave you. But when you’ve climbed out of this useless pit of morosity, we will speak again. Good evening, Keris.”
That conversation had been hours ago. Curfew had passed, the windows of the harem’s house all dark. Lured out of his rooms by the quiet and the need to be away from the bottle, Keris sat on the bench where the Ithicanian king was so often chained, rain pouring from the sky. Unlike Aren, he ignored the corpses, his eyes instead fixed on Valcotta’s window.
He needed to confess.
Except she’d hate him for it. His father had murdered her mother, and now he’d murdered her closest friend. And if he didn’t find another way to get her out of this mess, Valcotta would lose her life as well.
Find another way.
But all he could think of was apologizing to her. Of explaining that there had been no choice, or at least, no better choice. Of begging for her forgiveness.
Rising to his feet, Keris walked toward the base of the harem’s building, ignoring the sheets of rain slapping him across the face as he reached down to grab a handful of pebbles.
But his nerve failed him.
Swearing softly, he sat against the wall of the building, staring upward. “She deserves the truth,” he muttered as thunder rolled, the rain like icy pellets striking his skin. “Don’t be a coward.”
Find another way.
His eyes went to the corpses of the Ithicanians swaying in the wind, his stomach contents rising as he wondered what had been done with Yrina’s body. It was more of the same—people who’d been willing to die to rescue the person they cared for. But unlike Valcotta, Ithicana showed no sign of giving up hope. They kept coming, despite knowing they’d most likely die.
What would happen if they had help on the inside?
The thought struck him like a punch to the stomach, and Keris straightened.
The Ithicanians were working blind, none of them familiar with the interior of the palace or where Aren was being kept, which meant they were destined to fail. But what if they were given the information they needed? What if he helped them orchestrate an escape for Aren?
And what if Aren took Valcotta with him?
A thrill of excitement raced through his veins, even as the countless obstacles to such a plan shouted that it was impossible.
He had no way to get in contact with the Ithicanians, especially given that Serin would have him followed every time he left the palace. And even if he somehow managed it, the Ithicanians had no reason to listen to him. Would probably slit his throat and toss him into the sea for his trouble.
Unless their king ordered them not to.
Wheels turned in his head, pushing aside the haze of wine as Keris considered how to make such a thing happen. And then it struck him.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Scrambling to his feet, Keris climbed out of the foliage and strode down a path, once again steady on his feet. Ignoring the protests of the guards at the harem’s quarters, he went inside, rising the stairs two at a time. The guard at the top said, “Highness, with respect, it is after curfew—”
Keris pushed past him. “How the hours fly.” His boots squelching, he strode down the corridor, opening the door to Coralyn’s rooms and navigating the dark room to reach her bedchamber.
A lamp burned low on a table, revealing his aunt sound asleep among piles of silken cushions. “Auntie?”
She jerked upright, blinking at him. “Keris?” Then her face hardened. “Have you lost your bloody mind, boy? You cannot be in the harem after curfew—your father will think you are carrying on with one of the women and have your head.”
“I’m too drunk to fuck, but thankfully not so drunk I can’t think. I’ve had an idea.”
“Foul-mouthed child!” She swung her legs out of the bed, reaching for a dressing gown. “What is it that you want?”
“This isn’t about what I want.” He dropped onto a chaise. “It’s about what you want.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“You want to know what Aren knows about my sister and her whereabouts.”
“Sisters.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand at her to sit. “But he’s no reason to give us anything, much less information about the wife he foolishly still loves.”
“Keris…”
He ignored the warning in her tone. “So you will have to offer him something in exchange.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“An end to his people getting themselves killed trying to rescue him.” Her mouth opened to respond, but Keris kept going. “If you offer to facilitate communication with the Ithicanians ordering them to stand down, I think he’ll give you the information the harem wants.”
That was only the first step. He’d need to gain Aren’s trust before the man would ever agree to an organized rescue attempt. And Keris needed time to convince Coralyn that the harem should risk their own lives to help a foreign king.
His aunt’s brow furrowed, then she shook her head. “If I suggest as much, he’ll believe me a pawn in one of Serin’s tricks to try to catch the Ithicanians who are undoubtedly in Vencia. He’s no fool.”
“Debatable,” Keris answered. “But in any case, that’s why you aren’t going to offer him anything—you’re going to wait for him to ask for it, which he will.”
“Why? He has no reason to trust us and many reasons not to.”
“Because you’re going to give him certainty with the knowledge you have a common enemy.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “The Magpie.” At his nod, she cocked her head. “And what, pray tell, is in this for you?”
Possibly nothing. Possibly an alliance that would see Valcotta freed of this place. “I’m merely fulfilling my half of our agreement. This was what you wanted in exchange for keeping Zarrah Anaphora under your wing while I negotiated with the Empress.”
“Bullshit, boy. You weren’t sitting out in the rain fretting about your deal with me. What are you up to?”
Rising to his feet, Keris held his arms wide. “Playing the game, Auntie.” And without another word, he left the room.
46
ZARRAH
Zarrah tried not to scowl as the servants gathered the cutlery used for the garden lunch, one of the guards carefully counting each piece before following the servant to the kitchens, where everything was washed and locked up for the next meal. It was the same for glassware and every other mundane object the harem might require that could potentially be used as a weapon: kept under lock and key and strictly accounted for. And though she’d been here for days, she’d hadn’t been able to steal so much as a spoon without them noticing.
It’s no matter, she reminded herself. A length of fabric torn from a sheet is a weapon. The clasp on a broach is a weapon. A pillow is a weapon.
I am a weapon.
Seated next to her, Sara shifted restlessly, eyeing a plate of desserts at the center of the table, of which she’d already had three. Zarrah asked, “Would you walk with me?”