She was quiet, eyes searching his for a long moment before she said, “The circumstances surrounding Otis’s death caused me to reconsider. When I learned Lara was with them, I realized she could be of use to us. If we give her the opportunity, she’s more than capable of killing your father. And more than willing.”
“You’re suggesting we use Lara to assassinate my father?” He frowned, pushing aside his anger in an effort to think clearly. “That’s why you are agreeing to work with them? Not to rescue Aren Kertell but because you believe she will use the opportunity to take revenge? And then… and then the expectation is that I’d use my newly gained crown to free him if he’s not escaped already?”
“Correct.” Coralyn stopped in front of him, her perfume thick in his nose. “Aren is a good man, and I believe the world will be better for his freedom. But I’ll sacrifice his life in a heartbeat if it sees Silas dead, Serin along with him, and you on the throne.”
Ignoring the last part of her statement, he said, “There has to be an easier way to murder him. One that holds less risk for the harem.” And one that didn’t involve his sister.
“You think I haven’t tried? For years, I’ve been trying to sneak poisons into the inner sanctum. Only twice have I succeeded, and both times, your father’s poison testers fell while he lived. I can’t even get a weapon larger than a butter knife through those gates.”
“But you think you can get Lara and her companions in?”
Coralyn nodded. “I’ll take a select group of the wives shopping. But it will be Lara and her sisters who return with me. I’ll choose women who look alike, and the younger women always keep their faces concealed outside the palace. Then I’ll hide them in the harem until it’s time.”
“That’s a piece-of-shit plan, Coralyn. What if the guards checking them for weapons notice they aren’t the same women?”
She glared at him. “For someone with an enormous vocabulary, you do tend to dig from the bottom of the barrel. But as to your question, you’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
It occurred to him that if Coralyn had desired Valcotta free, she probably could have arranged it. But the harem’s hatred for the enemy nation ran too deep for that to ever be a possibility. Keris bit at his thumb, slowly warming to the plan, which did show much more artistry than his intended coup. “You’re certain Lara will kill him? Because if she just takes Aren and runs, it will be you and the rest of the harem who pay the price. My father might be an idiot, but Serin isn’t. He’ll know you arranged it.”
“Lara gave her word. She hates your father every bit as much as you do—I believe she’ll die before leaving with your father still alive.”
And Lara was a trained assassin. “You have a plan for getting her in. But what about out? It isn’t as though I’ll have instantaneous control, which means my father’s soldiers will kill her, Aren, and whoever is with them. As it is, I’ll look culpable if I just allow Lara to walk away. And she’s not going to agree to any of this without an escape route.”
“Lara believes Aren will have insight once presented with expanded resources.”
Keris shook his head, seeing the flaw in the plan. “Aren will never agree to this. One, Lara is involved. Two, it puts his people at risk, which is something he’s desperate to avoid.”
“Think of a way to convince him.”
The only way to convince Aren would be to make the reward worth the risk, which meant the reward had to be greater than his own freedom. “What if I promise I’ll withdraw our army from Ithicana if he and his people manage the assassination during the escape?”
“Do you believe he’d trust you?” Coralyn asked. “Easy enough for you to deny making any such promise when you take the crown, leaving him with only with his freedom for his efforts, which you’ve suggested isn’t enough incentive.”
“True.” Keris bit at his thumbnail again, barely feeling the pain or tasting the blood as he considered the problem. Not only did he need a worthwhile incentive, but he also needed to give Aren a reason to trust that the promise would be delivered upon.
Which meant the incentive needed to come from someone whose word was gold.
And Keris knew just the woman.
Catching his aunt by the elbow, he flipped the shade over her head to block the rain and then tugged her out of the gazebo. “I think it’s time I had another conversation with Aren Kertell.”
57
ZARRAH
Coralyn was not one for idle threats.
True to her word, the woman had kept Zarrah locked in her room since the night of her failed assassination attempt, the only people she saw being the servants who brought her food and bathwater. The stone block had been mortared back into place in the wall, though how the harem had managed it without being seen, Zarrah didn’t know.
It was maddening, being imprisoned this way.
With nothing to read and nothing to do, Zarrah spent hours exercising, pushing her body to the limit, with Yrina’s imagined voice driving her on until she collapsed into bed at night, exhausted. But that was better than the waiting.
Waiting for Keris to come to an agreement with her aunt.
Waiting for Serin to try to kill her again.
Waiting for Coralyn to present another opportunity to rid the harem of Silas.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to fight her way out. Wanted to be able to rely on her strengths instead of being forced to face her weaknesses, of which patience was her worst. Where she dominated was the battlefield, with soldiers and weapons and strategies, not in political machinations.
You played your hand, Yrina’s voice whispered in her ear. Now you must see how the other players respond.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she answered, knowing that she spoke to a ghost. That she spoke to herself. “I need out of this room. Need to fight.”
Then you’re going to lose.
A knock sounded on the door.
Zarrah twitched, rising shakily to her feet as one of the guards stepped inside. He looked her over, his mouth curling in disgust. “Make yourself presentable. The King orders you to attend him.”
“I’m a prisoner, not one of his wives,” she answered, ignoring the flutter of nerves in her chest. “How I look matters little. Take me to him now.”
The man opened his mouth to argue, then huffed out a breath and gestured for her to exit the room.
Ignoring how her trousers and blouse clung to her sweaty body, Zarrah moved into the corridor, her bare feet making no sound as she was led to the doors to the covered walkway, where two of the king’s bodyguards waited.
As did an unexpected noise.
Glancing to the walls, Zarrah frowned at the roar emanating from beyond them. It sounded to her like an angry mob. And not one that numbered in the dozens, but rather one that numbered in the hundreds. Possibly thousands. “What’s going on?”
“Not your concern,” the guard snapped. “Hands behind you.”