“I mislike this idea, Your Grace,” Serin said, his voice grinding at Keris’s nerves. “Within the sanctum, we have total control. The moment we bring Aren outside of it, we risk—”
“Then we host it within the sanctum. Tonight, so no one has the time to conspire.” His father smiled. “Have Coralyn arrange it. The old hag understands pomp, if nothing else. And it will give the harem something to do other than complain. See it done, Serin.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Serin bowed, the spymaster’s irritation palpable as he shuffled from the room, though whether it was over the king ignoring his counsel or whether he sensed a plot not his own was afoot, Keris wasn’t certain. There was little to be done other than to press forward.
Keris had done his part to ensure all the key players would be at the same table, and now it was up to Coralyn to make the most of it. “I’m sure whatever she arranges will be a roaring success. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve—”
“You will attend as well, Keris. I grow weary of your aunts’ complaints about your whoremongering in the city. And bring the Valcottan—might as well strike two birds with one stone and ensure Petra knows we aren’t negotiating with a corpse.”
Keris couldn’t help but stiffen. Since Yrina’s death, he’d done his best to avoid Valcotta, their one encounter proof that he couldn’t control himself around her. Telling her the truth would be a disaster, but he was unable to look her in the eye with deception in his heart. And instead of each day growing easier, it had felt like every passing hour, he swallowed another mouthful of poison. That the deception was for the sake of her freedom, for the sake of her life, was no balm, because he knew she wouldn’t see it that way. All she’d see was a murderer.
Swallowing the sourness in his mouth, Keris said, “I’d rather not. I have some new books that need to be shelved.”
“It wasn’t a request,” his father answered. “Be there, or I’ll burn every last volume to teach you a lesson.”
A sacrifice Keris would’ve gladly made, but given the same threat had been used successfully against him dozens of times before, he needed to allow it to work now or raise suspicions. Grinding his teeth, Keris left the room, ignoring the guards as he went down flight after flight of stairs before reaching the door to his chambers. Unlocking it, he went inside, twisting the bolt behind him.
Everything depended on Aren Kertell. Without an alliance with the Ithicanians, there would be no rescue, which meant Keris had to do whatever it took to make this meeting between Coralyn and Aren come to pass. Even if it meant sitting next to Valcotta through dinner and lying through his teeth that everything was as it should be.
Going to the window, he ripped aside the drapes and swung open the pane, then immediately regretted it as a wave of stink slapped him in the face. Clenching his teeth, Keris searched the paths for her, but the harem was notably absent.
The reason for which became apparent as his eyes lighted upon Aren.
The King of Ithicana was chained to his bench, staring at his rotting countrymen dangling from the wall. How he personally felt about the man, Keris wasn’t entirely sure. Once, before he’d met him, he’d been disgusted by how Aren ruled his kingdom, keeping his people locked inside like prisoners. Then he’d been disgusted by the man’s stupidity for trusting Lara, for loving the woman who was more Silas Veliant’s progeny than any other. But now…
Now he felt equal parts pity and admiration for the king. For Keris knew the pain of this particular torture, and it had been visited upon Aren eighteenfold. Yet despite his obvious grief, the Ithicanian remained defiant. Time and again, he tried to escape, using guile and strength and skill. But though he had successfully killed two guards and injured several more, a prisoner Aren remained.
“I’ll get you out,” Keris muttered. “Just don’t get yourself killed before I do it.”
There were too many risks to the man’s life.
Serin taking things too far.
A guard accidentally killing him.
Yet as he watched Aren straighten, expression grim, Keris realized there was a third threat to the King of Ithicana’s life that he hadn’t considered: the man himself.
A look of determination filled Aren’s face, every muscle in the man’s body tense as though in preparation for action. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Panic rose in Keris’s chest because he needed the king alive. “Don’t you dare take your piece off my board!”
He had to do something. Had to find a way to give Aren a reason to keep his heart beating until Coralyn could speak to him at dinner.
Everything depended on it.
Except Serin or his lackeys would be watching, which meant Keris had to do it in a way that wouldn’t burn his plans to the ground by revealing his allegiances.
Think! he screamed at himself. A clue! Something, anything, that will give him a reason to hold on a few more hours.
But there was nothing.
Then a gust of wind whistled past. The corpses swayed and danced, scattering the carrion birds that had been pecking at them.
Birds.
Rushing to his shelves, he tore into them, searching for a particular volume.
There.
He flung it open, flipping through the pages until he found the familiar illustration of a magpie, his eyes dancing over the words, opportunistic, they will feed on the chicks of songbirds.
Slamming it shut, Keris tucked the volume under his arms and left the room, struggling not to take the stairs two at a time. A pair of guards opened the doors at the base, and he strolled out into the gardens, schooling his face to blankness.
Please don’t let me be too late.
His heart pounded as he wove through the paths, then stuttered as his eyes latched on the still-living Ithicanian king.
Aren’s whole body was tense, his eyes full of the resigned determination of a man ready to end his life because he saw no other path forward. He leaned, readying to dash his own skull against the hard stone of the table, and it was all Keris could do not to throw himself at the man to restrain him.
But Serin was always watching, and he dared not give himself away.
Aren closed his eyes and took a breath, and Keris clenched his teeth to keep from screaming, “Don’t do it!”
Step. Step. Step. He put weight into his stride, hoping the noise would cause the man to look up, but Aren only gripped the table with his manacled hands, knuckles turning white, the resolve in his expression so great that Keris wondered if stopping him was even possible.
But he had to try, so he said loudly, “The wives are starting to complain about the smell. Can’t say that I blame them.”