But he couldn’t. This was not his moment—it was hers, and Valcotta’s—and though it would kill him to remain silent, Keris vowed to do so.
The boat rode up on the bank of the river, several rebel soldiers holding it steady while they climbed out. Relief filled Keris at the sight of Daria’s familiar face, though the rebel’s expression was grim as she approached them. “The Imperial Army entered the city about an hour ago,” she said.
“Aren and Lara went with them under a white banner of truce, though they’ve yet to send word of the city’s sentiment.”
Keris tensed, disliking the notion of either of them taking such a risk, but before he could say anything, the army stirred, a commotion rising in the distance. Moments later, an exhausted-looking Jor approached, a folded and sealed letter in his hand. He said nothing, only handed the letter to Zarrah.
Please, Keris silently prayed. Please be the answer she wants.
Cracking the seal, Zarrah opened the letter.
HER HANDS TREMBLED as she took the letter from Jor, cracking the green wax holding the
imprint of Aren’s signet ring. She started to unfold it, but then paused, afraid to read.
Everyone had fought and bled for this moment. Many had died for this moment. Yet Zarrah
found herself suddenly unsure what outcome she truly wanted, for both came with sacrifice. Both came with hurt.
Be brave, she silently whispered, then looked down at the page containing Aren’s familiar scrawl, ever informal in his prose.
Zarrah,
Your right to the throne has been recognized, and you are invited to enter the city and claim it in your name.
Aren
Her fingers quivered, and because words were impossible, she handed the page to Keris. He
swiftly read the lines, then met her gaze. “Congratulations.”
Realizing that she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled and then sucked in another one, none of the air seeming to reach her lungs. Vaguely, she was aware that word of the city’s decision was spreading through the army, men and women cheering, but it felt like the two of them stood alone.
Was this what she wanted?
For Valcotta, could she give him up?
Emotion churned in her chest, different futures playing out in her mind, and she didn’t know the answer.
Then Keris said, “Do what you need to do to live with yourself, Zarrah.”
She needed him, and it was past time she stopped believing otherwise. Past time she stopped believing that she needed to stand alone to be strong. But Valcotta desperately needed her. Zarrah’s voice cracked as she said, “I’m sorry.”
The corner of his mouth turned up, and he bent his head, lips near her ear. “This is who you are, Valcotta, and I love you for it.”
Zarrah shuddered, fighting tears, but Keris straightened. “We need horses.”
THEY RODE INTO Pyrinat side by side, Valcottans lining the streets and cheering. It felt like she’d stepped into a dream, only the pain of her injuries reassuring her that they were grounded in reality.
As they approached the gates of the palace, Zarrah lifted her face to the sky to look at the banners flying overhead. Valcotta, Ithicana, and Maridrina, united in peace for the first time in history.
Familiar faces greeted them in the courtyard. Aren and Lara stood together, the swell of the Queen of Ithicana’s belly covered with armor, Keris’s sister clearly having been in the thick of it. A beautiful dark-haired woman stood at her elbow, blue eyes suggesting that this was Keris’s regent and half sister, Sarhina. With them were the members of the Valcottan High Council, and Zarrah’s heart clenched as they all dropped to one knee, hands pressed to their hearts. As did all the rebel forces gathered behind them, a sea of her people giving her respect.
Easing off her horse, Zarrah approached her kneeling people, then dropped to her own knee, hand pressed to her heart. “Without your courage and honor, we would not be here victorious!” she shouted. “Not only do you have my word that I will spend the rest of my life in service to Valcotta, you have my respect.”
Zarrah stayed on her knees, so overwhelmed by the moment that she couldn’t stand until her father approached, drawing her to her feet. Everyone else rose as well.
“In his final hours,” her father shouted, “Emperor Ephraim Anaphora declared his daughter, Aryana Anaphora, as heir to the Valcottan throne. She, in turn, named her daughter, Zarrah Anaphora, her heir.” His hand trembled, then steadied. “The Usurper murdered Aryana before she had the chance to regain the throne and bring peace to Valcotta, but Zarrah has honored her legacy by bringing legitimacy to the throne and ending the war. I ask you all now to bend the knee to the rightful Empress of Valcotta.”
For a moment, no one moved; then, nearly as one, the members of the High Council kneeled,
pressing their hands to their hearts once more as the crowd did the same, shouting their declarations of allegiance.
“It is done,” her father declared, and taking the crown that had been brought forth, he set it on her head. It was cold and heavy on her brow, yet somehow, she felt lighter for having it there.
“All hail her Imperial Majesty, Empress Zarrah! Long may she reign!” her father roared, and all those around them echoed the words.
And not just them.
Like a wave, her name rose from outside the palace and into the streets, crossing the city.
All hail her Imperial Majesty.
Only Keris, Lara, and Aren were not on their knees, but they stood with their hands pressed to their hearts as the sound slowly faded.
“Care to have your first act as Empress be the signing of the peace you fought so hard to achieve?”
Aren asked.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Yes, I would.”
A table was brought forth, an old scribe laying out a thick piece of parchment. Dipping the pen, the man moved to begin drafting a formal agreement of peace, but Keris reached forward and took the pen. “Allow me.”
Zarrah felt her heart constrict as she watched a commitment to peace between the three nations flow onto the paper in his elegant script, and then he turned to her, holding out the pen. “Majesty, would you do the honors?”
His fingers brushed hers as she took the pen, hand trembling as she bent to sign her name. The scribe placed a glob of lavender wax next to it and stamped it with Valcotta’s seal. She handed it to Aren, who swiftly scribbled his name, pressing his signet ring into the green wax Jor supplied.
“Keris,” he said, holding out the pen, “it’s your honor to complete this alliance.”
Keris stared at the pen for a long moment, then stepped backward, shaking his head. “I’m afraid that I cannot.”
A gasp rolled through the onlookers, and Zarrah’s stomach dropped. “Why not?”
of Ithicana’s belly covered with armor, Keris’s sister clearly having been in the thick of it. A beautiful
“Because,” he said, “it should be signed by Maridrina’s queen.” Clearing his throat, he said loudly,
“My last act as king was to change the laws of succession so that the eldest Maridrinian child, regardless of gender, would sit on the throne. Now, allow me to formally announce that I am abdicating the throne of Maridrina. Rule of the kingdom will pass to the next eldest child of Silas Veliant, Princess Sarhina.”
“For which I’m never forgiving you,” the woman in question muttered, but Zarrah barely heard.
“I don’t understand,” she croaked out. “Why have you done this?”
It was as though the whole world fell away as he approached, taking her hands. “A ruler must put their kingdom first,” he said quietly. “That is the cost of the title, to ever and always put the nation and its people before all else, before even those he loves.” His voice caught, and he swallowed before adding, “I find that an impossible task, for nothing in this world or the next comes before you in my
“In his final hours,” her father shouted, “Emperor Ephraim Anaphora declared his daughter, Aryanaheart.”