They’d nearly reached the harbour, and Keris could see longboats coming from a ship. They were going to take her. Were going to take her to Petra, and he couldn’t let that happen.
But Daria’s tribe was already in action, muttering instructions to the crowd to block the path onto the dock, Daria herself stepping up to Welran to say something. Words were exchanged, Keris too far away to hear.
Welran abruptly shoved Zarrah into Daria’s arms, and then the rebel shouted, “Let them go. They have a message to deliver to the Usurper. Arakis bends the knee to Petra Anaphora no longer!”
The crowd parted, the imperial guard rushing toward the longboats, leaving Zarrah and Daria standing alone.
And very much alive.
“It worked!” Saam shouted, slamming Keris on the back hard enough that he staggered. “They’re leaving!”
Keris hunted for the sense of relief that should come with victory, but all he felt was a rising tide of unspent adrenaline. Every muscle in his body was tense to the point it hurt, his heart galloping with such violent speed it seemed on the verge of exploding out of his chest.
The mob was cheering now, chanting “Arakis, ” but through the fists punching the air, his eyes met Zarrah’s. She smiled, the embodiment of ferocity and beauty, but his mind juxtaposed a vision of her dead on the ground, blood pooling around her body while she gasped out her dying breaths.
Nausea rose in his throat, and staggering between buildings, Keris vomited up the contents of his stomach.
Resting his hand against the wall for balance, he forced himself to breathe. It’s fine. She’s fine. The plan worked.
“Are you all right?” Zarrah asked from behind him.
Keris straightened and turned, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “The cost of provoking your people to march was a lot of cheap ale, which my refined palate has no tolerance for.”
She watched him with an unreadable expression. “It worked. Whatever you said to them awoke Arakis.”
“They were poised to explode,” he answered, wishing he weren’t so unsteady on his feet. Wishing that his heart would calm, because he felt seconds away from passing out in his own vomit. “And I’ve The plan had been to get Daria’s tribe behind the imperial guard’s line and for Keris to provoke thea certain amount of experience in stirring up the masses.”
“Even so,” she answered. “Thank you.”
The tension between them made the air thick and unbreathable, as though they both choked on too many things said. Too many things unsaid. Nothing about the moment felt like a victory should, and yet
…
An unfamiliar man appeared behind Zarrah, and Keris instinctively reached for a weapon, only to come up empty, all his knives lost in the bathhouse. The man regarded them for a moment, then said,
“You are to be brought to see the commander now.” He nodded to Daria and Saam, who had
approached with weapons in hand, though they lowered them upon seeing the man’s face. “You two as well. Come with me.”
They were brought back to the inn where they’d started the night, then down into the cellar, which was full of barrels.
“In,” the man, who had told them his name was Remy, said, popping open one of the barrels. “The Keris bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming “Why?” and kept within the masses of people location of the commander’s stronghold is well protected, and your faces are known. We can’t risk being followed.”
Daria climbed into one of the barrels, Saam getting into another. Zarrah shifted uneasily, reminding Keris that she was no lover of confined spaces, but then she took a deep breath and climbed inside a barrel. Remy pounded the lid back into place. He turned to Keris when he was finished. “You staying or going?”
Cursing, Keris clambered into an open barrel, settling into the damp bottom as the lid was secured over his head. It reeked of stale ale and wet oak, and nausea twisted his stomach as Remy tipped the barrel on its side and rolled it up a ramp, then up another into what Keris could only presume was a cart before righting it again. Pressing his ear to the wood, Keris listened as the rest of the barrels joined him, no part of him liking this. He was blind to what was going on, at the mercy of a man he didn’t know, and it wasn’t lost on him that Zarrah could be taken to an entirely different location, and he wouldn’t know until that lid was opened.
The wagon swayed as Remy climbed aboard, the man shouting commands at whatever creature
was harnessed, and they moved forward. Keris rested his head against the side of the barrel as they Keris hunted for the sense of relief that should come with victory, but all he felt was a rising tide ofjolted and bounced, cold swiftly creeping into his bones.
He was exhausted, the weight of injury and events and very little sleep dragging him down and down until the wagon bouncing over a rut jolted him back to the moment.
You need to stay awake, he told himself, knowing he’d fallen asleep and uncertain of how much time had passed. You need to stay alert.
Keris forced himself to sit straighter, absently rubbing at the finger on which he normally wore his signet ring. He found himself wondering how his kingdom fared. No information about Maridrina had reached his ears since he’d left Vencia, and at this point, he’d been gone weeks. He could have been It’s fine. She’s fine. The usurped and be none the wiser, though news of that magnitude would surely reach even this far south.
Was Sarhina still in control? Were negotiations, led by Ahnna in Ithicana, progressing? Was his nation being fed? Were his endless younger brothers causing trouble?
All significant concerns, yet he’d given them little thought.
You’re a shitty king.
Keris rolled his shoulders, wincing as his injury protested the motion. Everything that he was doing was to Maridrina’s benefit. With Petra removed from power, the war would end, and trade would thrive, which meant filling both pockets and bellies. What king in the past hundred years could claim that his heart would calm, because he felt seconds away from passing out in his own vomit. “And I’ve as much?
The logic did little to silence the sourness in his stomach, nor did his reasoning that while Sarhina and his advisors could handle the administration of the country just as well as he could, none of them could accomplish what he intended to accomplish in Valcotta. This is where I need to be, not just for many things said. Too many things unsaid. Nothing about the moment felt like a victory should, and yet Zarrah but for Maridrina, he told himself as the wagon bounced its way to the mystery destination.
Some things can’t be achieved via letters and messengers.
Like getting Zarrah back in your arms?
“Fuck off,” he snarled at himself, then froze as he heard motion outside his barrel. The wagon was still moving, but he swore he heard footsteps and faint scraping. Then his barrel was moving. Tipping
approached with weapons in hand, though they lowered them upon seeing the man’s face. “You two ason its side. He shouted in alarm as it rolled, his body tossed about as the speed of rotation increased, only to come to an abrupt stop with a loud crunch.
He groaned, everything aching, his wound screaming, and his head spinning from being tossed about. But all those concerns fell away as voices approached. Wood creaked as a crowbar was fit into the top, jerking loose the lid. The bottom of the barrel tipped upward, and Keris was dumped face-first into snow illuminated by dawn light.
Scrambling upright, he whirled around to find himself face-to-face with a group of armed
Daria climbed into one of the barrels, Saam getting into another. Zarrah shifted uneasily, reminding Valcottans. At their head was the man who’d led the rebel charge on Devil’s Island, none other than the commander himself.
The commander inclined his head. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Your Grace.”