“Do you enjoy handball?” Saam asked, and the oddness of the question caught Keris’s attention. He subsequently realized that the other man was trying to fill what had been an awkward silence, so he asked, “Is that a game?”
“The superior sport,” Saam answered. “One day, when all this is over and Zarrah overturns the law forbidding matches, I’ll take you to the whispering courts at Meritt, the greatest stadium on the continent.”
Saam continued to prattle on about the game, including a lengthy description of the ingenious architecture the stadium builders had employed in service of acoustics and the escape tunnels for the game masters when the spectators rioted. Keris only half heard, for at that moment, Zarrah’s eyes locked with his. A single look that somehow conveyed a thousand words, and what they said stole the breath from his chest.
Then people moved between them, blocking her from sight, the crowd growing rowdier as they dragged the tables to the sides of the cavern, more musicians joining the original two. As they struck
up a swift-paced song, the rebels began dancing, spinning one another around in circles with wild abandon.
“You put me to shame, my friend,” Keris answered, though his eyes had moved back to Zarrah. Her Daria appeared in front of him. “People are going to think you strange if you insist on lurking in the father had joined her and was escorting her around the chamber, introducing her to his following. Her shadows, Keris.”
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “Saam is teaching me the rules of handball, as well as sharing strategies for improving the quality of my chest hair.”
She blinked, then shook her head. “That does not help your cause. Come dance!”
Taking another sip of the sweet wine, Keris leaned back against the cavern wall, watching her own A laugh tore from his lips at the idea of it, and he said, “Daria, you would have more luck convincing me to fly than you will trying to get me to dance. Dancing is for—”
“Women?”
He’d been about to say “the entertainment,” but both were accurate. “Maridrinian men do not dance. I don’t even know how.”
“Valcottan men do,” she answered. “And it is known that if a man is a poor dancer, he is also likely to be a poor lover.”
“Ha ha!” Saam shouted, then punched his fist into Keris’s side. “A well-landed blow. It’s true, though.”
The other man writhed his way in among the other dancers, distinctly off rhythm, and Keris turned to Daria. “My condolences.”
She shrugged. “He compensates with enthusiasm.” Then her eyes turned serious. “You’re supposed to be breaking down the barriers between nations, not shoring them up.”
much of the country going hungry as people fear to farm the best lands north of Nerastis. Peace would A point he couldn’t very well argue, so he held out a hand to her. “Fine. But you must show me how.”
Daria grabbed hold of him with an iron grip, dragging him among the dancers. A heartbeat later, he was being spun around and around, new hands, male and female, grasping hold of his only to pass him on to the next. Shouts of delight over having “danced with Maridrina’s king” were loud in his wake.
“Drink!” Saam shouted, pushing a tiny pink glass of spirits into Keris’s hand, then linking arms visceral, especially in comparison to recent battles with Ithicana. If there were ever a time to push forwith him to drag him in a rotation.
Keris drank, the world spinning; then Saam let go of him and shoved his back. Keris stumbled a few steps, finding himself standing in front of Zarrah. Her cheeks were flushed, dark curls clinging to her forehead from exertion. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Valcotta will keep your dancing talents a secret for you.”
Because you have to go back, the voice in his head whispered. Back to Maridrina.
“Do you enjoy handball?” Saam asked, and the oddness of the question caught Keris’s attention. He Keris shoved it away and held out his hand. “Would you honor me, Imperial Majesty?”
Her palm was warm against his as she took it, and then she was spinning him in a circle. No one pulled him away from her, or her from him, the other dancers stepping wide around them as the world fell away. Zarrah’s hands were gripped tightly in his as they went round and round, her head tilted back as she laughed.
I don’t know what is worse. Her words in the brothel filled his head. To stop now and endure the pain of what might have been or to keep going, knowing that there will come a moment when I lose it all.
To have this moment was worth any amount of pain, for this memory would hold him through even locked with his. A single look that somehow conveyed a thousand words, and what they said stole the the darkest of nights.
The musicians eased the beat of their music, Daria joining them. Taking a long mouthful of ale, she cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice slow and mournful.
“It’s an old ballad,” Zarrah said softly, her hand slipping around his neck as she moved closer to him. “A lament for the fallen. It’s tradition to sing it on the eve of battle.”
Daria appeared in front of him. “People are going to think you strange if you insist on lurking in the Instead of answering, Keris moved his hand to her lower back, drawing her closer. They’d always concealed their relationship, but no longer. No cloaks or shadows or anonymous identities to hide
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “Saam is teaching me the rules of handball, as well as sharing strategies their forbidden union from the eyes of their people. From his periphery, he could see the other dancers watching them, the weight of what they were witnessing slowing their steps.
“Our world is changing already,” Zarrah said softly. “I can feel it.”
Yet it was the most fragile of changes, easily undone, and Keris pulled her closer even as he heard a faint commotion at the edge of the cavern, tension erasing the moment of quiet calm as Arjun approached, a woman at his side.
It was Miri, the matron of the pleasure house.
“There is news,” Arjun said. “We should speak in private.”
“Valcottan men do,” she answered. “And it is known that if a man is a poor dancer, he is also likely Unease bit at Keris’s skin, and he let go of Zarrah to follow Arjun and Miri out of the gathering.
They wove through the maze of tunnels, eventually reaching a chamber barricaded with a wooden door that had been cunningly shaped to fill the opening.
Inside, Keris found a table surrounded by inexpensive stools, though the carpets on the floor were thick. Wooden walls had been fabricated to cover the stone, though not an inch of surface wasn’t covered with paper. Maps and reports, sketches of individuals, including one of himself. The artist She shrugged. “He compensates with enthusiasm.” Then her eyes turned serious. “You’re supposed had filled in his eye color with a paint that was uncannily close to what Keris saw each time he looked in the mirror. There was also a portrait of Zarrah, though it was oil work done with incredible detail. No … no, he’d been mistaken. It wasn’t of Zarrah, which meant—
“Mother.” Zarrah pressed past Keris to stare at the painting for a long moment before rounding on her father. “Where did you get this? My aunt … the Usurper removed all portraits of my mother from was being spun around and around, new hands, male and female, grasping hold of his only to pass himthe palace. Said they were too painful to look upon.” Her face abruptly twisted with disgust. “Though in hindsight, I suppose it was because every time she looked upon one, she felt guilty for what she’d done.”