Saam laughed. “Fortified wine, Your Grace. Will put hair on your chest, and soon you’ll look like me!” The rebel lifted his shirt, revealing a chest that boasted a full carpet of dark hair.
“You put me to shame, my friend,” Keris answered, though his eyes had moved back to Zarrah. Her father had joined her and was escorting her around the chamber, introducing her to his following. Her eyes were bright, the grin on her face authentic and more full of joy than he’d seen in longer than he could remember. Surrounded not just by her people, but by individuals who shared her vision, her dream. Who would help her see it become reality.
Taking another sip of the sweet wine, Keris leaned back against the cavern wall, watching her own the moment. Saam joined him, a bottle in hand, which he used to refill Keris’s glass. “How long will you stay?” the rebel asked.
Forever, was the first thought that came to Keris’s mind, but he pushed it away. “I’ll stay until we have the basis of a plan, an idea of timing, and then I’ll need to return to Maridrina.”
Saam nodded, then took a mouthful directly from the bottle. “You really believe that your people will fight for us?”
The sweet wine turned sour in Keris’s stomach, because that was the question this entire venture depended on. The war between the nations had gone on for so long that it had become a way of life, the enmity his people felt toward Valcottans ingrained in their bones. To ask his army to march into Valcotta not as raiders but as allies would require them to set aside those feelings, which would not be easily done. “If they see that it is in their best interests. The war takes as much of a toll on Maridrina as it does on Valcotta. Endless lives lost to back-and-forth raids that net nothing of value, their voices. Too many who have done the latter have been murdered in their homes or sent to Devil’s much of the country going hungry as people fear to farm the best lands north of Nerastis. Peace would bring prosperity and a better future, and that is what I need to make them see.”
Young people conscripted from Arakis are sent to the worst locations, most lost to battle, accident, or
“Do you think they will?”
“Who can say?” Keris drained his glass. “The war has been reduced to a simmer in recent years, contained to the territory around Nerastis, rather than the all-out conflict that occurred in the past when whole armies and navies collided. The cost of those battles has faded in memory, become less visceral, especially in comparison to recent battles with Ithicana. If there were ever a time to push for peace, now is it.”
Saam made a noise of agreement, and they stood in silence. Keris could feel the eyes of the rebels on him, curious but unwilling to approach. Though he knew that he should be putting in some effort to charm them, he didn’t move from the wall, content to watch Zarrah in her element. She laughed at something a woman said to her, and though the room was loud with noise, it was all Keris heard.
“Do you enjoy handball?” Saam asked, and the oddness of the question caught Keris’s attention. He subsequently realized that the other man was trying to fill what had been an awkward silence, so he asked, “Is that a game?”
“The superior sport,” Saam answered. “One day, when all this is over and Zarrah overturns the law forbidding matches, I’ll take you to the whispering courts at Meritt, the greatest stadium on the continent.”
Saam continued to prattle on about the game, including a lengthy description of the ingenious architecture the stadium builders had employed in service of acoustics and the escape tunnels for the game masters when the spectators rioted. Keris only half heard, for at that moment, Zarrah’s eyes locked with his. A single look that somehow conveyed a thousand words, and what they said stole the breath from his chest.
Then people moved between them, blocking her from sight, the crowd growing rowdier as they dragged the tables to the sides of the cavern, more musicians joining the original two. As they struck
up a swift-paced song, the rebels began dancing, spinning one another around in circles with wild abandon.
“You put me to shame, my friend,” Keris answered, though his eyes had moved back to Zarrah. Her Daria appeared in front of him. “People are going to think you strange if you insist on lurking in the father had joined her and was escorting her around the chamber, introducing her to his following. Her shadows, Keris.”
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “Saam is teaching me the rules of handball, as well as sharing strategies for improving the quality of my chest hair.”
She blinked, then shook her head. “That does not help your cause. Come dance!”
Taking another sip of the sweet wine, Keris leaned back against the cavern wall, watching her own A laugh tore from his lips at the idea of it, and he said, “Daria, you would have more luck convincing me to fly than you will trying to get me to dance. Dancing is for—”
“Women?”
He’d been about to say “the entertainment,” but both were accurate. “Maridrinian men do not dance. I don’t even know how.”
“Valcottan men do,” she answered. “And it is known that if a man is a poor dancer, he is also likely to be a poor lover.”
“Ha ha!” Saam shouted, then punched his fist into Keris’s side. “A well-landed blow. It’s true, though.”
The other man writhed his way in among the other dancers, distinctly off rhythm, and Keris turned to Daria. “My condolences.”
She shrugged. “He compensates with enthusiasm.” Then her eyes turned serious. “You’re supposed to be breaking down the barriers between nations, not shoring them up.”
much of the country going hungry as people fear to farm the best lands north of Nerastis. Peace would A point he couldn’t very well argue, so he held out a hand to her. “Fine. But you must show me how.”
Daria grabbed hold of him with an iron grip, dragging him among the dancers. A heartbeat later, he was being spun around and around, new hands, male and female, grasping hold of his only to pass him on to the next. Shouts of delight over having “danced with Maridrina’s king” were loud in his wake.
“Drink!” Saam shouted, pushing a tiny pink glass of spirits into Keris’s hand, then linking arms visceral, especially in comparison to recent battles with Ithicana. If there were ever a time to push forwith him to drag him in a rotation.
Keris drank, the world spinning; then Saam let go of him and shoved his back. Keris stumbled a few steps, finding himself standing in front of Zarrah. Her cheeks were flushed, dark curls clinging to her forehead from exertion. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Valcotta will keep your dancing talents a secret for you.”
Because you have to go back, the voice in his head whispered. Back to Maridrina.
“Do you enjoy handball?” Saam asked, and the oddness of the question caught Keris’s attention. He Keris shoved it away and held out his hand. “Would you honor me, Imperial Majesty?”
Her palm was warm against his as she took it, and then she was spinning him in a circle. No one pulled him away from her, or her from him, the other dancers stepping wide around them as the world fell away. Zarrah’s hands were gripped tightly in his as they went round and round, her head tilted back as she laughed.
I don’t know what is worse. Her words in the brothel filled his head. To stop now and endure the pain of what might have been or to keep going, knowing that there will come a moment when I lose it all.
To have this moment was worth any amount of pain, for this memory would hold him through even locked with his. A single look that somehow conveyed a thousand words, and what they said stole the the darkest of nights.
The musicians eased the beat of their music, Daria joining them. Taking a long mouthful of ale, she cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice slow and mournful.