Zarrah felt her stomach drop and her hands turn to ice even as Silas demanded, “Why not?”
“Because it was burned,” Serin answered. “And the ashes were tossed in the sewers with the rest of the shit.”
The world spun in and out of focus. In the sewers…
“My regrets, Lady Zarrah,” Silas said. “I’ll be sure to make the proper arrangements if any more of your people attempt rescue, although I’d not hold my breath.”
She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. “You monster!” She flung herself at Serin. “I’m going to rip out your goddamned heart.”
Then she was flying backward, her shoulders aching from the force the guard had used to jerk her chains. She ignored the pain and lunged again, but the guard was strong. He kicked her in the back of the legs, knocking her to the ground, his boot between her shoulder blades.
Zarrah felt hot breath against her cheek, and she twisted her head to see Silas bent close. “You are expected at dinner with the ambassadors tonight. Be on your best behavior.” Then he rose. “Lock her in her room.”
The guards dragged her backward, kicking and screaming, but as the door slammed shut between them, she met the King of Maridrina’s gaze and made a silent vow.
Tonight, Silas Veliant would breathe his last.
49
KERIS
Serin was trying to kill him.
Which meant his father was losing patience with Keris’s ploys, and that meant time was running out. Though whether that would see his father dead or Valcotta dead, he wasn’t sure.
There had been no missing the promise of murder in her eyes—a fate his father had earned, but if she managed to follow through, the consequences would be catastrophic. If his father’s guards didn’t slaughter her, which was unlikely, her life would still be forfeit. The people would demand her death, and even with the crown on his head, he’d be in no position to deny them. It would necessitate him trying to escape with her, which would border on an impossible task.
Not that he wouldn’t try.
And the Endless War would be catapulted into a fevered pitch, his father a martyr fueling Maridrina’s wrath and the Empress, from what he was learning, more than happy to return in kind. Especially if Valcotta ended up on the executioner’s block.
His mind spiraled down and down, imagining worse and worse scenarios, until he felt sick with anxiety. He needed to talk to Valcotta, needed to explain to her that Aren might be the key to her escape, but getting her alone was nearly impossible. A few more hours was all he needed, for the harem had a plan to allow Coralyn a moment to speak to Aren over dinner and gain the man’s support.
Which had to work.
Keris pressed his fingertips to his temples, his head aching and every muscle in his body tense, hating that he was dependent on the Ithicanian king. On that man whose error in falling for Lara’s duplicity was the cause of all of this. “He’s desperate,” he told himself, stomping down on the guilt that rose in his chest. “You’ve seen the proof of that.” Desperate enough to take his own life to keep any more of his people from dying trying to rescue him, but the desire to live was still there, else he wouldn’t have taken the bait Keris had left him with that book. Aren was looking for options, and if the harem could connect him to his people, options he would have.
Unless Zarrah tried to stab his father with a dinner fork.
“Fuck,” he muttered, resuming his pacing, visions of her screaming in rage as she was dragged from his father’s office rolling through his mind’s eye. What were the chances she’d gained control over her grief in the intervening hours? What were the chances she was seeing clearly? What were the chances that the burning need for vengeance hadn’t consumed her entirely?
None.
The clock at the base of the tower tolled the seventh hour, the loud bong causing him to jump. A message. He needed to somehow give her a message that she’d see prior to dinner. He picked up a piece of paper, then discarded it as too risky. Swearing, he snatched up a book on economics and flipped through the pages until he found a section on the bridge. In pencil, he scribbled, Take no action until after the meeting. Then he tucked the volume under his arm and left the room.
The sky was yet clear, but in the distance, the gathering clouds suggesting an incoming storm, the breeze carrying the faint scent of rain. Servants moved through the gardens, lighting the lamps along the path, glowing lanterns already floating in circles in the fountains. And along the base of the wall, torches burned every few feet, leaving no shadows for anyone to hide in, the guards standing high above, ever vigilant.
Please let this work, he silently prayed as a guard opened the door to the harem’s building and he rose the steps to the second level where the dining room was located. Only to stop in his tracks.
Valcotta descended from the upper floor, one hand holding the skirts of her blue silk gown, the other resting on the banister. All signs of the rage she’d exhibited earlier were gone, her face serene as she walked past him. The silk was thin enough that he could see the outline of her legs, the back cut to just above the curve of her ass. He jerked his gaze from her swaying hips, only for his eyes to fix on the long column of her neck, golden clips holding her black curls at the base of her head. Unbidden, his mind drew forth the taste of her lips on his, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, her laugh in his ears. What he wouldn’t give to go back to that perfect moment in Nerastis before everything had gone to shit.
Before she’d known his name.
Blood running hot, he strode into the room and sat on the chair next to the one a servant was pushing under Valcotta, then promptly opened to the page he’d written on, pretending to read, though nothing registered. There was no chance she’d miss his message—she was too observant for that. Valcotta said nothing, but the scent of her filled his nose with every inhale, causing his cock to stiffen.
He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to touch her. But there was no chance they weren’t being watched, so he continued to scowl at his book.
Three noblemen who were long supporters of his father’s reign entered the room, but Keris barely noticed, every muscle in his body tensed as he anticipated whether she’d say something. Whether she’d do something.
But Valcotta remained silent, not so much as moving until guards trooped into the room, Aren Kertell in tow. The guards chained his manacles to the legs of the table, then took away the glassware within reach, a servant returning with a small tin cup, which was filled with wine.
As the men stepped away, Valcotta rose, and from the corner of his eye, Keris watched her press her hand to her heart in respect, not sitting until Aren gave the slightest of nods. Which meant all eyes were on her when the real player in this game had entered the room.