It was whether he could convince his people to do it.
Valcotta had been his kingdom’s enemy for generations, and while Keris knew that many were weary of the war, that didn’t mean they’d be willing to fight to liberate their enemy from a tyrant.
His father would have made them do it. Would have put the fear of refusal so deep in their guts that they’d have liberated the devil himself rather than risk disappointing their king, but they didn’t fear Keris that way.
And he didn’t want them to.
Using fear to force them to fight a war they didn’t want would make him the same as his father.
Worse, it would make him the same as Petra. Removing one tyrant only to replace her with himself, and around and around the world circled in the same cycle of horror.
They had to break that cycle, but Keris had no idea how. No idea what he would say, only that the moment was rapidly approaching that he’d have to make his own speeches to his people.
Which, ultimately, meant that he was going to have to return to Maridrina. And leave Zarrah behind.
Keris closed his eyes, listening to the throb of his heart. This was always the way. Walking toward inevitable moments of separation made necessary by duty, circumstance, honor. Every force but their own wills desired them apart, and he’d have given up hope that it would ever be otherwise if not for that hope being what kept his heart beating. What kept him pushing and persevering and fighting for the very things that would again drive them apart. The most vicious of circles, and one from which Keris saw no escape.
“We’re here,” Zarrah murmured, and Keris opened his eyes, taking in the cliff walls full of cave openings. Ladders and scaffolding lined the cliffs, the armed Valcottans on them watching the party’s approach.
“So this is where they’ve been hiding.” Sliding off the back of the horse, Keris reached up to help Zarrah down, caring little when his stupid shoulder screamed in protest. Everyone was watching them, and though life had made him used to scrutiny, Keris still had to fight the urge to move to the shadows.
“The True Empress has joined us,” Arjun shouted to the watching crowd. “And with her, she has brought the most mighty of allies, who has agreed to lend us his strength to tear the Usurper from Zarrah gave him a wry look over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the trail Valcotta’s throne.”
Keris nearly raised an eyebrow, for Arjun had quite recently referred to him as the weakest king Maridrina had ever known, but then the man grabbed Keris’s arm, lifting it into the air. “His Royal Majesty, King Keris Veliant of Maridrina.”
Keris braced himself for the ire his name usually brought, but the rebels lifted their hands and shouted, “Arakis has risen!”
changed her, hadn’t just moved the rebels, for Keris had nearly come undone, his emotions still riding
“This is a moment for celebration,” Arjun roared, “for tomorrow, we make plans to march to war!”
The rebel commander led Keris and Zarrah to a ladder that reached up to the scaffolding. “Can you climb?” he asked Keris. “I know you took an arrow to the shoulder.”
“I’ll manage.” Ignoring the pain, Keris followed him up the ladder to the midpoint of the cliff face, then down the narrow scaffolding running along it. The wood swayed and moved, and Keris caught hold of the rope railing, the ground abruptly feeling far away.
Arjun wasn’t wrong that Keris had made promises that he might not be able to deliver upon. Zarrah
“Unlike you to be troubled by heights,” Zarrah said softly from behind him. “I’m sure it’s quite secure.”
secure either her defeat or surrender. Even after the losses Maridrina had taken in Ithicana, he had the He opened his mouth to deny the flicker of fear in his gut, but instead found himself saying, “It was Otis’s fall. The sound of—” He broke off, discomfited. “I’ve yet to regain my comfort with heights.”
Zarrah was quiet as they climbed another ladder, but then she said, “I can’t tolerate a certain rhythm of dripping water. Though it was a decade ago, the sound takes me right back to when my mother’s blood was dripping down on me. Fills me with the same terror.”
His father would have made them do it. Would have put the fear of refusal so deep in their guts that She’d never told him that before.
Keris glanced over his shoulder, but her eyes were on the boards of the scaffolding.
“The mind clings to unexpected things,” she said, brow furrowed. “Sights. Sounds. Smells. But not always in a bad way.” The corner of her mouth quirked up, and he fixated on the curve of it, the deadly drop beneath them forgotten as he mused over what she might be remembering.
Arjun stepped off the scaffolding and into a cave entrance, where the ceiling was low enough that Keris had to bend to keep from knocking his head. Rather than dampness, his nose picked up the faint scent of woodsmoke and cooking, the stone beneath his feet dry.
“It’s an extensive network of caves,” Zarrah’s father said. “We have worked hard to keep its existence hidden, though with the increased pressure from the Usurper’s soldiers, I’m not certain it will be safe much longer.”
“The civilians supply you?” Zarrah asked, and her father grunted an affirmative.
“They give up what they can. It’s a safer way to support the cause than to pick up arms or raise their voices. Too many who have done the latter have been murdered in their homes or sent to Devil’s Island, and they’re afraid. Yet the Usurper knows that they are our backbone, and she punishes them.
Young people conscripted from Arakis are sent to the worst locations, most lost to battle, accident, or disease within a year. We know it is purposeful, but it’s impossible to prove, and anyone who speaks aloud about it disappears, while those known to support her are granted trade licenses and given choice contracts with the crown.”
“Subversive,” Keris muttered, and Arjun nodded.
“Petra has never been able to tolerate criticism, so she finds clever ways to harm that cannot be traced to her. But let us not tarnish this moment with talk of our enemy. Valcotta is rising, and this is a moment to celebrate!”
The sound of drums and pipes softly echoed down the tunnel, growing louder as they progressed, as did the faint murmur of chatter and laughter of many people. Then the tunnel opened into a large chamber.
Lamps of colored Valcottan glass dangled from the roof, casting a rainbow of light over what appeared to be a communal dining hall. There were many of the low tables the Valcottans favored, cushions and furs used as padding against the stone floor. The tables were laden with jugs of ale and glass decanters of wine, as well as platters of food. Braziers were scattered around the space, the heat putting warmth into Keris’s fingers, which had been numbed by the cold. The drummer and the pipe player paused, and heads turned, everyone falling silent.
“This is a moment for celebration,” Arjun roared, “for tomorrow, we make plans to march to war!”
Zarrah hesitated, then pressed into the chamber, pouring herself a glass of ale. Holding it up high, The rebel commander led Keris and Zarrah to a ladder that reached up to the scaffolding. “Can you she said, “I lift my glass to all of you, who have fought so tirelessly and against every odd. Together, we will remake a better Valcotta!”
The rebels all lifted their glasses and roared, “To the True Empress!”
“To the True Empress,” Keris murmured, taking a sip from the glass Saam had pushed into his hand, only to nearly gag on the sweetness. “Is this syrup?”