Otis’s voice was tight as he said, “I heard about your plans to negotiate your way into Father’s good graces.”
Otis’s anger wasn’t unexpected. His brother wasn’t interested in negotiating with Valcottans, only slaughtering them. “The situation with Ithicana is dire, Otis. Father has bankrupted himself, including running up an enormous debt with Amarid, in order to secure a bridge that is making almost no money. We need Valcotta to resume trade at Southwatch, and this negotiation could achieve that.”
Otis snorted. “It won’t work, you know. Valcotta is wealthy—just for spite, the Empress will sacrifice a hundred ships to the Tempest Seas rather than pay us a cent.”
Keris did know, but admitting so was counterproductive. “The Empress is beholden to her people. I don’t think they’ll be willing to sacrifice so much for the sake of pride.”
Silence.
“It’s never the simple path forward for you, is it?” Otis said bitterly. “I say cut off the Valcottan bitch’s head and stake it on the gates.”
The threat sent anger twisting through him, but Keris forced himself to laugh as the guards opened the doors for them. “The Empress would retaliate, and with Father embroiled with holding Ithicana, he wouldn’t be able to send reinforcements. I’d lose Nerastis, which I’m fairly certain would see my head spiked on a gate.” Casting a sideways glance at his brother, he added, “You allow your hatred for Valcottans to cloud your judgment, Otis.”
He instantly regretted the comment as Otis scowled. “Easy for you to say, given you don’t seem to hate them at all.”
This was dangerous ground. The Valcottans had killed Otis’s wife when they sank the ship she sailed upon, so for his brother, this was no political grudge. It was every bit as personal as Valcotta’s, and Otis hadn’t half her empathy for those who were harmed in his path for vengeance. “I know this is a bitter tonic for you, brother, but I can’t afford to allow my senses to be muddled with emotion right now.”
They climbed the stairs, Otis silent and Keris’s thoughts twisting over how close he’d come to being caught. His brother would hold his tongue—the consequences of doing otherwise were far too high, for both Keris and Lestara. But it meant that he needed to keep his distance from Valcotta at least until his brother departed, which would hopefully be soon. Otis knew his habits too well, knew him too well, which meant he wouldn’t be fooled for long.
Reaching the door to his room, Keris paused. “Do you want me to come with you to meet with him?”
Otis leaned against the stone of the stairwell. “No, it’s better you don’t. I’ve not your mastery of composure, and I hate listening to his mockery of you, which I know is inevitable.”
Guilt soured Keris’s guts, because his brother was so cursedly loyal. Even when Keris didn’t deserve it. “When you’re through, seek me out. We’ll go find some entertainment in the city.”
“I’d settle with wine and a well-padded sofa. My ass has been too long in the saddle.”
Keris laughed. “I’ll send someone to raid the cellar and then leave my door unlocked. Good luck.” He watched as his brother climbed the stairs two at a time, knowing it wasn’t Otis’s luck that he needed to worry about.
52
ZARRAH
Zarrah waited until it was nearly the tenth hour, then eased her bed away from the wall, revealing the block she’d pushed partially outward. It would be loud when it fell, so she needed to time this just right.
She tucked the nail into her bodice, then braced her heels against the block of stone and waited.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest, her palms clammy, sweat beading on her brow. From fear, yes, but also from anticipation. Tonight, she’d regain the honor she’d lost in capture. Tonight, she’d have vengeance. For her mother. For Yrina. For herself.
Bong.
The first of ten tolls of the clock, and she shoved her heels against the stone, hands braced against the floor. It made a grinding noise as it shifted, then stuck.
“Come on!” She shoved harder as the clock tolled a second, third, and fourth time. But it wouldn’t move. The cursed thing was wedged tight.
Bong!
“Stupid piece of shit!” She tried with her hands, slamming them against the block, but it wouldn’t move.
Bong!
She switched back to using her feet, sweat drenching her skin as she pushed and shoved, the seventh and eighth and ninth tolls rolling through the inner sanctum.
“You can do this!” She slammed her feet one last time.
The block shifted, sliding forward and falling, her feet slipping through the opening in the wall. Heart in her throat, Zarrah clenched her teeth, waiting for the crunch of it hitting the brush below.
Bong!
By fate or luck or intervention of a higher power, the block landed right as the tenth toll sounded, the rolling echo drowning out most of the noise. Still, she held her breath, waiting to see if anyone came to investigate.
But no one did.
There is no going back now.
Checking to ensure she had everything she needed, Zarrah tossed her velvet cloak down. Then she rolled on her belly and stuck her legs through the opening, shimmying backward, swearing as her ass wedged in the opening. Pushing with her palms, she ground her teeth and forcefully pushed her body through, angling her shoulders and allowing her weight to pull her down until she was hanging from the opening by her hands.
She climbed lower, fingers and toes finding all the tiny cracks and grooves Keris used, then easing herself into the bushes. Retrieving the cloak, she ensured the hood was pulled forward. Then she strode onto the pathway, moving with total confidence toward the tower.
Anyone who saw her would believe her a wife summoned to attend the king, but her heart was still in her throat as she passed one guard, then another, both nodding respectfully at her. Instead of going to the entrance, as Zarrah rounded between topiaries, she cut left, keeping to the shadows and making her way to the base of the tower.
Pulling off her cloak, she wrapped it in a bundle that she tied to her waist. Taking a deep breath, Zarrah started climbing.
Time and weather had eroded the mortar between blocks of stone, and in places, pieces of rock had cracked off, giving her endless choices of handholds, but by the time she’d climbed thirty feet, her arms trembled with exhaustion.
And she was not yet halfway to Silas’s window.
Keep climbing, she screamed at herself, for, excluding the risk of falling, her greatest worry was that the guards manning the inner walls would see her shadow on the tower. If that happened, not only was her chance at killing Silas lost, but she’d also get an arrow in her back for her troubles.
This high up, the stink of the corpses on the inner walls was fainter, the smell of the coming rain filling her nose. Yet it was no mercy, because it was carried by a fierce breeze that buffeted her body, threatening to pull her from her perch.