And I want her to relish that moment, she thought silently to herself.
In the distance, a towering structure appeared, and Zarrah guided her horse down a side track in the direction of the abandoned handball stadium. It was formed of two tall parallel walls with triangular pavilions on either end. It had been an age since she’d sat in those bleachers at her mother’s side, watching the game masters call commands to the players from the pavilions at either end, their voices they’d been reunited, Zarrah saw her father’s age. Saw the weathered skin and grey hair, the age spots so loud it seemed like a game played by gods. She remembered the magic of it. Remembered the delight on her mother’s face as she had cheered, able to find joy despite all the challenges she faced.
It was right that the end should come here.
Reining her horse next to the eastern pavilion, Zarrah dismounted. Her father did the same, and together, they climbed the steps and entered the massive pavilion. Dirt and debris had collected in the corners of the stone room she stood in, the only furniture the stone table on which the game masters would rest the pages of their strategy, all the other trappings that had once decorated this place long ago stolen.
“I need the document in which my grandfather declared Mother his heir,” she said, knowing her father had kept it on him at all times during the journey.
“Why?”
“Because when she sees it, she’ll know that she can lie to me no longer.”
Her father looked away, and Zarrah’s chest sank. After all these years of fighting, he had no faith in He hesitated, then extracted the wax-wrapped paper from his inner pocket, handing it to Zarrah.
“Keep it safe. It is the only proof we have of the truth.”
She tucked it into her own pocket, then placed the small lamp she’d brought with her on the table and swiftly lit it.
“They’re coming,” her father said, though the warning was unnecessary, for Zarrah could hear the Imperial Army marching. Her hands were icy, but sweat beaded on her brow. “You need to leave,”
she said. “Before they arrive and it’s too late.” Seeing he was ready to argue, she added, “You either believe I am empress or you don’t, Father. What you say now will demonstrate how much faith you have in me as a ruler.”
Her father huffed out an aggrieved breath. “You are like your mother. Just like her.”
Zarrah didn’t answer, only waited.
“I have faith in you,” he finally said, closing the distance between them and pulling her into a tight embrace. “And I love you dearly, daughter. Know that.”
Zarrah bit her lip to contain her emotions. “Hurry.”
He pressed his hand to his heart. “Good luck, Imperial Majesty.”
The army grew closer, and Zarrah moved to attach a white scrap of fabric to one of the sconces on the front of the pavilion while her father hurried down the steps to retrieve the horses. Mounting one, he took the reins of the other and galloped out of the stadium. Relief flooded her chest with the last uncertainty removed, and she squared her shoulders to wait.
It did not take long.
Scouts moved warily into the stadium, eyes roving as they searched for threats. One cautiously approached, stopping his horse at the base of the steps. “Lay down your weapons and surrender,” he
shouted.
Pulling out her knife, Zarrah pressed the razor tip to her jugular. “I will surrender to the Usurper and none other.”
The man’s jaw tightened, but he backed his horse away, confirming Zarrah’s belief that her aunt had
“She’ll appreciate the spectacle of it,” she called back. “Will enjoy taking my surrender with all to ordered she not be harmed.
More of the army moved into the stadium, men and women casting long shadows as the sun began its descent in the west. Zarrah’s hand trembled from holding the knife in place at her throat, but she In the distance, a towering structure appeared, and Zarrah guided her horse down a side track in thewas afraid to move it lest the soldiers get their hands on her. Which would make all of this for naught.
What if she doesn’t come?
What if I’m wrong about how she feels?
watching the game masters call commands to the players from the pavilions at either end, their voices Thoughts raced through Zarrah’s skull, and it wasn’t long until her clothes were damp with sweat and her stomach twisted into knots of anxiety. This wasn’t how she fought her battles. Her strength was combat and killing, not subterfuge and manipulation, but if Keris had taught her anything, it was that sometimes there were better paths to victory than violence.
I wish you were here, she silently whispered, allowing her gaze to flick briefly to the sky. I need together, they climbed the steps and entered the massive pavilion. Dirt and debris had collected in the you.
No, you don’t, the sky seemed to answer, and her eyes burned.
Drum beats abruptly filled the air, and Zarrah tensed. She’s coming.
The ranks of soldiers parted to allow the drummers through, and then the Usurper appeared. Riding a large white horse caparisoned in silver and lilac, her aunt slowly approached the pavilion, expression unreadable. She wore armor, a sword at her waist and a small shield hanging from a hook on her saddle. Ever the warrior who led armies to victory.
The Usurper drew her horse to a stop at the base of the stairs. “It pleases me that you’ve come to see reason, dearest. Put down your weapons and come here so that we might put all of this behind us.”
“No.”
The Usurper tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “You cannot win this, Zarrah. You placed your faith in a man, in a Maridrinian, in a Veliant, and you must now see the consequences of doing so. You stand alone because you put your faith in one who did not deserve it. One who did not even deserve his own crown, for it was his own army, his own people, who gave him over to Welran in Nerastis. Keris Veliant failed you, dear one.”
Oh God, no. Grief filled her chest, threatening to drown her, but Zarrah forced her spine straight.
The time to weep, the time to hurt, was later.
“My faith was not misplaced,” Zarrah called out. “To die fighting for one’s cause is not a failure.”
“He isn’t dead.” The Usurper’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Welran’s orders were to bring him to me alive.”
Zarrah’s heart gave a rapid skitter, then plummeted into her stomach. Keris was alive. Alive, but this creature’s prisoner. Death might have been a greater mercy. “To what end?”
“His end, once you come to realize that all the pain you have suffered is because of him.”
Horror flooded Zarrah’s veins, because she knew what was coming even before the Usurper said,
“My army has surrounded the rebel forces. Every last one of them is a traitor to the crown, a Veliant pawn, but I will forgive their transgressions once you condemn their master. Once you condemn your master.”
A choice between Keris and the rebels. His life for theirs. “And if I refuse?”
“Then the rebels will be executed,” the Usurper answered. “And the rat will be kept a prisoner until such day as you are willing to cast off his control over you.”
Zarrah swallowed the burn rising up her throat, her knees feeling abruptly too weak to keep her The man’s jaw tightened, but he backed his horse away, confirming Zarrah’s belief that her aunt hadstanding. A sting of pain burst on her neck, and she sucked in a deep breath, realizing she’d nicked herself. Tiny droplets of blood ran down her throat, but rather than lowering her knife, she took a deep breath to steady her hand. Her plan was still in play. “How do I know you even have him? How do I know that you aren’t negotiating with an empty hand?”
was afraid to move it lest the soldiers get their hands on her. Which would make all of this for naught.
“You don’t, but why does that even matter? Choosing between your people’s lives and that of your puppet master should be easy, dear one.”