A knock sounded.
Zarrah jerked, turning as the bolts on the door unlatched. Coralyn stepped through with a lamp in hand, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her voice was steady as she said, “I believed you the trump up my sleeve, Zarrah, and I’m rarely wrong about these things.”
An icy chill spread across Zarrah’s skin. For it was not just empresses and kings who used rage and grief as a weapon.
It was also harem wives.
“Why didn’t you do it?” Coralyn set the lamp down on a table, crossing her arms. “You made it to his room. I watched you climb through his window. I gave you the opportunity to see him dead, and yet Silas breathes while another of our sons does not.”
If Coralyn believed she’d killed Otis, Zarrah suspected she’d already be dead. “I had nothing to do with him falling.”
“I never said that you did.”
Zarrah met the woman’s cold stare, her mind racing. Coralyn learning she’d been with Keris would be nearly as catastrophic as Silas learning the truth, which meant she needed to tread carefully. Especially given that her story needed to align with what Lestara had likely revealed. “I made it to his room when he was still with Lestara and erred in hesitating to kill him while he was in bed with her. Serin arrived, then Otis soon after, and there was no good opportunity.”
“Lestara was attempting to provide you a distraction, you fool.”
Zarrah forced her face to darken with feigned anger. “We might have gotten further if you’d been more forthright about your intentions.”
“I needed proof of those intentions, first. Now I have it, and here we are. What happened next?”
Zarrah debated what course to take and settled on replying, “What difference does it make?”
“Given Otis is dead by Keris’s hand, what happened in the tower tonight makes every difference.”
What had Keris told Coralyn? What reason did he give for the accident? Not knowing meant that Zarrah was walking forward blind, and if she blundered in what she told Coralyn, she might inadvertently step over a cliff edge. “Otis spoke with Serin and then left. After that, I very nearly had the opportunity to kill Silas when he sat down to eat, but then—” A gesture out the window finished the explanation with appropriate vagueness. “You’re a clever one, Coralyn. I didn’t think you’d stoop to using a Valcottan to assassinate your husband.”
The old woman didn’t so much as blink. “What did you overhear? Specifically, what did they say to Otis?”
Rising to her feet, Zarrah took a sip from the water glass next to her bed. “Why would I tell you anything? What’s in it for me?”
“You need me to hide the evidence of your escape.” Coralyn cocked her head, giving Zarrah a considering stare. “And because you need me to facilitate another opportunity to take your vengeance.”
There was no denying it. For one, if the old woman decided Zarrah wasn’t a tool she could use, she would probably find a way to kill her. And two, working with Coralyn was likely the only way she’d get another chance to kill Silas. “Silas went to chastise Lestara, leaving Otis and Serin alone.” She repeated the conversation word for word, finishing with, “I thought he’d left to come here to kill me.”
“But he went to Keris’s room instead?”
Zarrah shrugged. “Of that, you know more than I do. I used the commotion caused by his death to get back here undetected.”
There were holes in her story. Inconsistencies that Coralyn undoubtedly noticed, but as long as she didn’t arrive at the truth, that was all that mattered.
Silence.
Coralyn finally said, “If I give you another opportunity, will you take it?”
She didn’t trust Coralyn as far as she could throw her, but they did have the same goal: Silas’s death. With the woman’s help, it was possible she might achieve her goal and get out alive, but that meant showing Coralyn that she wasn’t going to tolerate being used. Giving Coralyn a considering look, Zarrah drained her water. “Maybe I negotiate my freedom instead by offering Silas information about which of his wives is trying to have him murdered.”
Coralyn snorted. “If my death is worth so much to you, then by all means. But it won’t earn you your freedom.”
A fact of which Zarrah was well aware, but if Coralyn believed Zarrah would do her dirty work without something in exchange, she had another thing coming for her. “I’ll kill Silas, Coralyn. But only if you find a way for me to escape afterward.”
“That’s not possible.”
Maybe it wasn’t. Keris hadn’t found a route for escape. Neither had Aren. But Zarrah’s instincts told her that Coralyn had the cunning to achieve what the men had not. “Put your mind to it, my lady. Until then, I’ll continue to enjoy your hospitality.”
The old woman’s eyes darkened with fury, her hands fisting. It was the first time Zarrah had ever seen Coralyn’s control fracture, and she wasn’t certain whether to feel triumphant or worried. Probably the latter.
“I will think on it, Zarrah. But in the meantime, you will remain confined to this room at all times.”
Not ideal, but better than dead, which might well be the alternative.
Coralyn retrieved her lamp, then held out her hand. “Give me the nail.”
Zarrah didn’t want to give it up. Tiny as it was, it was still the only weapon she had. But if she wanted Coralyn to believe her a willing ally, she needed to provide some proof. So Zarrah handed it over.
Coralyn gave her a cool smile. “Let’s hope I find reason to give it back to you in the future. But until then, I hope you continue to enjoy my hospitality.”
55
KERIS
He needed to get out of the palace. Away from the endless stink of corpse, the judgmental eyes of the wives and servants, away from the goddamned silence. Because in the silence, he heard the same noise over and over.
Thud.
The sickening wet thump of his brother hitting the ground replayed through his head, his eyes filling with the sight of crimson pooling around Otis’s body. Of the look of betrayal in his eyes.
Thud.
Keris flinched, glancing to his right, where men tossed heavy sacks onto a cart, rainwater splattering with each impact. His stomach roiled, and he looked back to the slick cobbles ahead of him, swallowing the sourness. What he needed was somewhere loud. Somewhere busy. Somewhere his face wasn’t known. Somewhere he could be someone other than who he was.
You’re a goddamned coward.
He should’ve stayed in the palace. Valcotta was in a precarious position, for if it were discovered she’d gotten out of her room, his father might kill her for the infraction. But he just couldn’t stay. Couldn’t be there. Couldn’t spend the night cleaning up the mess created by the fight, endlessly replaying his final words with his brother.
Thud.