A lithe woman began to dance, the tiny shakes of her wrists making the bells decorating them jingle softly. She swayed through an elaborate set of steps, hips moving from side to side seductively. Her blond hair was streaked with lighter strands from hours in the sun, but otherwise, was an identical color to Keris’s. The others joined her, replicating her motions in perfect unison, the musicians creating a rhythm, but Zarrah kept her attention on the blond.
She circled the table, bare feet rapidly striking the floor in a complicated series of steps that filled the air with music. She spun, long locks swinging out behind her before falling to brush against her naked lower back. There was a predatory grace to her, and every muscle in Zarrah’s body tensed with certainty that this woman was dangerous.
They all were.
Yet the men at the table were oblivious to the knowledge they were being circled not by women but by hunters. By tigresses costumed to look like house cats.
It was only a matter of time until they pounced, and Zarrah needed to be ready when they did.
The blond woman rounded behind Silas, and Zarrah watched her lift her face, gaze on the opposite end of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Zarrah watched Aren’s face blanch of all color.
It was all the confirmation that Zarrah needed: the woman was Lara Veliant, the traitor queen of Ithicana, Aren’s wife, and Keris’s younger sister.
The thought of him sent a jolt of memory through her. If Lara wants him, she’ll have to come and get him.
What had Keris responded? Zarrah dug into her memory, but the words were already bubbling up to meet her.
My only regret is not being here to see it.
Keris knew Lara was coming tonight. Knew about Coralyn’s plans, despite the woman saying otherwise. Yet he’d been warning Zarrah of what was to come, which suggested he was unaware Coralyn had involved her, otherwise why take the risk? Zarrah stared blindly at the dancers, digging through her memory of the conversation.
A deal for passage has already been struck with the captain. Bastard negotiated hard—his family will be eating well for the next few months. Apologies for committing you to the expense without permission.
The captain… it had to be Aren that Keris had negotiated with, the passage her escape, except she’d already known that. Coralyn had told the Ithicanians her assistance was predicated on them taking Zarrah with them.
Perhaps you ought to follow his lead… People will do all sorts of things for you if you promise to deliver them from hunger. Zarrah silently swore, realizing that Coralyn had lied. The Ithicanians weren’t taking her with them in exchange for the harem’s assistance; they were taking her because Keris had committed her to supplying Eranahl.
And she was supposed to follow Aren’s lead.
Except the King of Ithicana was gaping at his dancing wife, clearly shocked by her presence.
He wasn’t the master of this plan, only a piece on the board of… of whose scheme? Who had masterminded this plan? Keris or Coralyn? Zarrah wasn’t certain, but it was very clear that the two were not entirely aligned.
The drums took on a frenzied pace, finishing the piece with a rattling crash of cymbals as each of the women struck a final pose, though Zarrah’s pulse remained frenetic as she waited for them to make their move.
Because when they did, she’d make hers.
“Well done!” Coralyn cried out, clapping her hands. “Beautifully performed, my lovely girls. Weren’t they stupendous, Silas?”
Silas gave her a sour smile. “Wonderful, if somewhat overloud.” Then he waved a dismissive hand, and the young women backed into the shadows of the walls, heads lowered.
All, that is, but one.
Lara took three quick steps and jumped, landing on the center of the table like a cat, glassware rattling.
“What are you doing, woman?” Silas demanded. “Get down and get out before I have you whipped.”
“Now, now, Father.” Lara walked down the table, kicking over glasses of wine with every step, and Zarrah shivered, hearing Keris in her voice. “Is that any way to greet your most favored of children?”
Silas’s eyes widened as she pulled away the veil concealing her face, allowing it to flutter down onto a plate. Zarrah’s chest tightened, because there was no mistaking her as anything but Keris’s flesh and blood.
“You little fool.” Silas rose to his feet and pulled his sword. “Just what did you think to accomplish by coming here tonight?”
Hard as it was, Zarrah tore her attention from Lara to glance to the shadows where the other women were cowering behind the guards, sobbing in feigned fear and begging the men to protect them.
Lara wasn’t the threat. She was the distraction.
The other dancers moved, hands flitting out to palm knives from the belts and boots of the soldiers whose eyes and weapons were trained on the Ithicanian queen.
“You lied to me. Manipulated me. Used me—not for the benefit of our people, but for your own benefit. To satisfy your own greed.” Lara’s voice filled her ears, and Zarrah felt the other woman’s fury. Knew that fury, because it burned in her heart.
Zarrah tore her gaze from Lara and her sisters and found Coralyn wasn’t watching them. She was staring at Zarrah with such hatred that it was hard not to recoil. Not the political hate between people of enemy nations—this hatred was personal.
Zarrah’s skin turned to ice, dread filling her stomach, some sixth sense telling her why Coralyn despised her so much.
She knew.
Coralyn knew there was something between Zarrah and Keris, and she hated Zarrah for it. Hated her for pulling her precious son away from the path she intended for him.
The path to the throne.
Though Coralyn had been clear of her intentions, Zarrah only now truly understood them. Coralyn hadn’t brought Zarrah here just to ensure Silas died. She’d brought her here to kill any chance of Keris pursuing peace with Valcotta. To kill any chance of Keris pursuing Zarrah by ensuring she murdered Silas in front of the ambassadors, who were impartial witnesses.
Kill him, Coralyn mouthed. Have your vengeance.
Once, Zarrah would have leapt at that chance. Would have seen no greater honor than putting this vile man who’d caused so much harm, had caused her so much harm, in his grave. But now… now she saw how the consequences of her actions would unfold. How word would spread that the King of Maridrina had been slaughtered in his own house by a Valcottan, and Silas would cease to be a monster to his people.
He’d be a martyr.
As Silas’s heir, Keris would have no choice but to march his armies south in pursuit of blood and vengeance, for to pursue peace in the face of his father’s murder would be nothing short of suicide. And the Empress would meet him head to head, generations of hatred culminating in a war of such violence that the ground would be soaked with blood. Thousands dead. Thousands more orphaned.
And for what?
So Zarrah could have a moment of righteous delight in achieving vengeance for her mother’s murder? So that she could go back to Valcotta and be honored by the Empress who’d abandoned her? Was what she’d gain worth the horror she’d be unleashing on so many others?