There was an edge of frustration in Serin’s voice as he said, “You were supposed to have returned to Nerastis. You need to study with your father’s generals.”
Words of wishful thinking. It was unusual for the spymaster to make such a slip, which made Keris uneasy, but he played along. “My father’s generals are boring.”
“Boring or not, it’s a necessary part of your training.”
“Mag, mag, mag!” Keris mimicked a magpie call, laughing inside as the man’s eyes lighted with fury. He hated the moniker, and especially hated the woman who’d given it to him. “No wonder the harem wives christened you so, Serin. Your voice truly does grate on the nerves.” He rose to his feet. “Was a pleasure meeting you, Aren. But you’ll have to excuse me, the smell is making me quite nauseous.”
Turning, he sauntered across the courtyard as though he hadn’t a care in the world despite his heart being in his throat. Despite his nerves being stretched so tight he thought he’d vomit. Inside the cool confines of the tower, he lost control of his pace, the need to ensure Aren had taken the bait making him leap up the stairs three at a time, rounding the corners at dizzying speed.
Unlocking the door to his rooms, he strode to the window, looking down. And hissed between his teeth as another corpse was dragged across the garden, Aren watching in silence as the guards hung it on the wall.
Please, he prayed. A few more hours. A few more hours, and we can make this stop.
Then Aren squared his shoulders, and Keris knew his efforts had been in vain. That he was about to watch a man die, and with him, all of Keris’s plans. Frustration flooded him, but also guilt that he’d not done more. And grief that yet another life would fall beneath his father’s boot heel.
Yet instead of dashing his skull against the stone of the table, Aren reached out and opened the book, flipping through the pages before pausing. Reading.
Keris didn’t have a chance to see how the King of Ithicana reacted as a familiar voice said, “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”
48
ZARRAH
“This is a kindness,” she said to Coralyn, accepting the folded garments. “Thank you.”
“You’ve ruined three gowns in as many days with your exercises,” the harem wife sniffed. “Perhaps these will show more longevity. Although allow me to make myself abundantly clear—you will not wear these scandalous items outside your room, or I will have them burned. Understood?”
“Yes, Lady Coralyn.” Zarrah waited for the woman to remove herself, then unfolded the garments. Voluminous trousers and a snug bodice made of black silk, cut in Valcottan style. She sighed as she slipped them on. Not only for the familiarity after weeks of wearing Maridrinian garments, but because she had been growing concerned that she was going to have to assassinate Silas Veliant wearing only her undergarments, for her plan wouldn’t accommodate billowing skirts.
Going to the window, she stared up at the tower where her enemy lurked, blissfully unaware that this was the last day he’d draw breath. For tonight would be a moonless night, and under the cover of darkness, she would make her move.
Her hours of effort removing the mortar securing the stone block had finally been rewarded, and all it would take now was pushing the block out and she’d have her method of escape, her own body serving as the weapon she’d use to take Silas’s life, for she’d not managed to secure another.
But it would be enough. It had to be enough.
Unbidden, her eyes moved from Silas’s glass-enclosed office at the top to a window at the midpoint.
Keris’s room.
She’d only seen him a handful of times since their encounter on the day he’d taken his sister riding, and always from a distance. Though she’d had weeks to get used to his choice to avoid her, the sting hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown worse.
Because she didn’t know the reason.
Was he losing the negotiation with the Empress? Had he realized that escape was impossible? Or had Keris just become bored with her, which was certainly fitting with his reputation?
Why did it matter to her at all?
She was here to kill his father, which meant all of Keris’s efforts ran counter to her own, as did any form of relationship between them. It was better he was avoiding her. It was good that they had nothing to do with one another. Because it would make what she was about to do all the simpler.
Then the curtains moved, and logic disappeared as Keris stepped to the window, looking out.
God spare her, but he was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever set eyes on, and that he had a mind to match seemed unfair. Knowing that the glare on the glass of her own window would hide her, Zarrah stared at him in a way she couldn’t when subject to prying eyes. His honey-blond hair was loose, the breeze catching at it, and a yearning to brush the silky locks back from his face hit her like a battering ram.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Zarrah took several measured breaths. You must focus, she reminded herself. Tonight, you will achieve the vengeance you dedicated your life to.
Not with war. Not with raids. But by killing the man who’d murdered her mother with his own hands.
The moment she opened her eyes, her gaze shot back to the window. But Keris was gone. Biting at her lip, she rested her hands on the sill, only to have a flash of blond hair catch her attention. Keris was in the garden.
“Stay put, Zarrah,” she said to herself. “Leave well enough alone.”
Except she realized that while the gulf between them might be for the best, knowing that it was so was not enough. She needed a reason for Keris’s choice. Needed the truth, even if the truth hurt. And today would be her last opportunity to hear the truth from his lips.
Ripping off her new garments, Zarrah pulled on a gown and then hammered on the door until one of the guards opened it. “I wish to go to the gardens,” she said. “Now, please.”
Not waiting for a response, she squeezed past them, her bare feet silent on the carpet as she walked as quickly as she could, for breaking into a run would raise alarm. And she couldn’t risk them stopping her, as this might well be the last chance she ever had to speak to Keris.
To know the truth. To—though she couldn’t voice the words—say goodbye.
Shoving open the doors at the bottom of the stairs, Zarrah wove through the garden paths, then slid to a stop.
Keris sat across from Aren, who was glaring at him like he’d like nothing better than to wring his neck. They were speaking, but she was too far away to hear what they were saying. Keeping behind a hedgerow, she watched them through the leaves, ignoring the mutters of her guards.
What were they talking about?
A smell filled her nose, sour and stale, and Zarrah’s skin crawled. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder, her palms turning to ice as she found the Magpie standing behind her.