“The commander has Zarrah Anaphora with him,” Welran shouted. “Intends to raise her up as a puppet empress, but you should know the nature of the woman. Despite Her Most Benevolent
if I fought my own way out of hell only to die because of a half-Imperial Majesty raising her as a daughter, Zarrah betrayed all of Valcotta for the sake of her lover, Keris Veliant. The King of Maridrina!”
“Shit,” Daria breathed, and Zarrah echoed that sentiment. Grief over Bermin’s death was driving Welran’s actions, not the Usurper’s strategy, and that made him far more unpredictable. Which was not to her advantage.
“The Veliants have been our greatest enemy for generations,” Welran bellowed over the clamour.
“Have caused the deaths of numbers beyond counting, yet Zarrah does his bidding. That is who the rebel commander allies himself with, and you would protect them?” He circled the perimeter of the square, eyes searching. “They’ve abandoned you. While you suffer to protect them, the commander else suffer on her behalf was worse than enduring the hurt herself. It was a sort of cowardice, and not and his puppet hide in their stronghold.”
one a leader could afford. She needed to be able to trust her comrades. Needed to give them a chance
“There will be a reckoning,” someone shouted. “The Usurper’s time is coming to an end! The commander will rip off her stolen crown and put it on a deserving head!”
Zarrah saw anger flare in Welran’s eyes, but his voice was mild as he said, “Is that so? By all means, then, let it begin. Let the commander step forward and make his first move, else prove himself a coward. Let Zarrah step forward and claim the crown.” Drawing his sword, Welran caught hold of the hair of one of the crying prisoners and held the blade to her throat. “If you are here, then show yourselves!”
He was going to do it. Was going to kill an innocent Valcottan for the sake of luring her out. Zarrah clenched her fists, desperate to act. Desperate to stop this.
The crowd stilled, looking among themselves as though expecting Zarrah to step out of the shadows to end this. Or if not Zarrah, then the commander they’d supported all these long years. “Come on,”
Zarrah breathed even as fear made her want to scream a warning to Daria’s tribe to hold their ground.
Shaking his head, Welran said, “Just as I—”
“I am Zarrah Anaphora,” Daria shouted, stepping forward. “I am here to claim my crown!”
Terror flooded Zarrah’s veins, and despite this having been her plan, she reached for the other woman to stop her.
soldier shouted. “We know you are
Daria was too quick. She shoved through the crowd, a pair of soldiers catching hold of her arms and dragging her into the perimeter even as Welran strode toward her, righteous fury in his eyes. He drew his blade, and Zarrah pushed against those in front of her, trying to get to Daria in time.
She’d made a mistake.
She should have taken the risk herself.
The crowd was growing, some brave enough to scream demands that Welran cease this horror, that he Welran lifted his sword, then wrenched back Daria’s hood. At the sight of her face, he spat on the ground. “You think I don’t know Zarrah’s face, fool?”
Before Daria could answer, a hooded man stepped forward. “I am the commander! I am here to fight against the Usurper’s tyranny!”
Soldiers threw him to the ground, but Welran shook his head as they tore back his hood. “What is this madness?”
“I am Zarrah!” Another woman from Daria’s tribe was allowed past the perimeter of soldiers, just as another man shouted, “I am the rebel commander!”
Soldiers dragged them to the center of the square and shoved them to the ground, removing their hoods, only to shake their heads. “It’s not them!”
But their voices were drowned out by more shouts as Daria’s tribe members all began to step forward, claiming to be Zarrah. Claiming to be the commander. Claiming to be rebels, the confused soldiers pushing them down next to those who had been tortured, it all happening too swiftly for them to be checked for weapons.
Just as Zarrah had intended.
Except it didn’t stop with Daria’s tribe. Civilians were stepping up to the soldiers, Zarrah’s name on their lips. The commander’s. And while there was fear in their eyes, their chins were held high with anger and defiance.
“There is no one a king fears more than his own people,” Keris had said to her before they’d parted ways at the alehouse. “And I think no one the Empress fears more than Valcottans armed with the truth about who she truly is.”
And Arakis had known the truth far longer than Zarrah had. Had known that her aunt was a monster while Zarrah had been staring at her with idolizing eyes, convinced she was a paragon. They’d been poised for a revolt for a very long time; all they’d needed was a catalyst.
And in his grief, Welran had provided it, which, from his expression, he was now realizing.
The square was full of civilians now, the soldiers scattered and expressions panicked, because in means, then, let it begin. Let the commander step forward and make his first move, else prove himself allowing people past their perimeter, they’d given up their power. Their advantage. There were armed and angry people surrounding them, and all it would take was one lifting a weapon or fist in violence for this to turn from an angry mob into a bloody riot. And the imperial guard was grossly outnumbered.
Back down, Zarrah silently willed Welran. You can’t win this. Retreat.
She didn’t want this day to end in death, especially not Welran’s. He’d been like an uncle to her, The crowd stilled, looking among themselves as though expecting Zarrah to step out of the shadowshelping her aunt raise Zarrah and train her, and she knew the grief in his heart. Knew that his soul bled for the death of the son he’d never been allowed to claim, but whom he’d still raised, still watched Zarrah breathed even as fear made her want to scream a warning to Daria’s tribe to hold their ground. over, still loved.
Walk away, she repeated. Walk away and live another day.
Instead Welran’s face hardened. Grabbing a girl from Daria’s tribe by the hair, he pressed his sword blade to her throat. “Zarrah!” he roared. “Come out, or she dies. I know you are here! I know this is your doing!”
Zarrah grimaced, cursing his pride because it would cause so much death.
“I know you think you can win this without bloodshed,” he shouted. “That you believe the whole of Valcotta will come to share your delusion that peace with Maridrina is possible. That both nations will lay down their weapons to make your love affair possible, which makes you every bit as mad as her. ”
He knows she’s mad. Zarrah’s heart felt like it stuttered, the world swimming around her. She’d been told her aunt was a madwoman by so many. Had told herself. Yet somehow, Welran speaking against the Usurper’s sanity made it the truth in a way it hadn’t been before.
But unlike her, Welran saw no escape from the Usurper’s control, and that was why he hadn’t retreated. Why he was antagonizing a mob of people who already had cause to hate him.
“I’ll kill her, Zarrah,” he roared, and the girl squealed as the blade dug into her flesh. “Don’t think that I won’t!”
She knew he’d do it. Knew that in another heartbeat, the girl would be breathing her last and that countless more would die as all turned to chaos. So despite it being counter to the plan, despite having committed to remaining hidden, Zarrah stepped forward, pulling back her hood.
Welran’s eyes fixed on her.
“Let her go,” she said. “I’m here, which means you have what you want. You don’t need to hurt an innocent child.”
“I doubt she’s innocent.”
The girl sobbed, trickles of blood running down her brown skin. “Please,” she sobbed. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Let her go.”
Welran’s hand was shaking, tears gleaming in his eyes. “You killed my boy. You and your lover.