“You have always fought,” he answered. “Always defended them. It would be an honor to have you in my ranks as we cross the border to put an end to this war for good.”
She stared at him, this woman he’d never met, never seen, whose name he might never know, and Keris’s heart felt like it was in his throat. Then she gave a nod. “All right, then. If you say that Petra is the one to blame for this”—she gestured at the smoking ruins of the city—“then I’ll gladly march for her blood. Though what about her?” She jerked her chin at Lestara, who was still standing, pale-faced, in the grave.
Valcotta. On his deathbed, Emperor Ephraim voiced his desire for Valcotta to know peace and named Keris considered his father’s wife, who was a traitor to the nation and who deserved to be executed. But he was trying to take Maridrina down a different path, which meant trying something different than heads on a spike. “Death seems a paltry punishment for what you’ve done, Lestara, for I don’t think you fear it. I think you fear irrelevance. I think you fear powerlessness. I think you fear failing to secure the destiny that a witch whispered in your ear as a child. And there is one place I can think of where you will face all three of your fears day after day after day.”
tirelessly against Petra’s rule. Zarrah commands them now, with the intent of challenging Petra for the All the color drained from Lestara’s face.
Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine as he paused, because this was the moment. This was when he
“The Harendellians revile your people, Lestara, but none more than Queen Alexandra herself. So I think I’ll ask a favor of my friends in the north and request they take you into their care, where you will be fed and clothed like a lady but looked upon as one does shit discovered on the sole of one’s shoe.”
“No!” Lestara dropped to her knees, tears flooding down her cheeks. “Please, Keris. Just kill me.
I’d rather die than go there!”
“Which is why it is the perfect punishment.”
Lestara screamed and screamed, but her shrieks were drowned out by the sea of voices, all
declaring that they’d march. That they’d fight.
That they’d bring Petra Anaphora to her knees.
“Ithicana stands with you as well,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “We will join this alliance against tyranny.”
Keris turned, his chest tightening as he found Aren standing behind him, Lara at his side.
Farther down the slope from them stood Dax and Jor at the head of hundreds of armed Ithicanians.
As Keris’s eyes moved over them, the winds gusted, clearing fog out over the water and revealing dozens upon dozens of ships. Fishing boats and merchant vessels and naval vessels that Ithicana had collected over the years, few of which would be good in a fight but all of which were capable of carrying an army south.
Turning back to his people, Keris said, “Let us to war. And by God, let’s make it the last war fought in our lifetime!”
kingdom for the better. And my greatest error has been underestimating the villainy of those like Petra
“You have always fought,” he answered. “Always defended them. It would be an honor to have you Keris’s heart felt like it was in his throat. Then she gave a nod. “All right, then. If you say that Petra is different than heads on a spike. “Death seems a paltry punishment for what you’ve done, Lestara, for I failing to secure the destiny that a witch whispered in your ear as a child. And there is one place I can
“The Harendellians revile your people, Lestara, but none more than Queen Alexandra herself. So I think I’ll ask a favor of my friends in the north and request they take you into their care, where you will be fed and clothed like a lady but looked upon as one does shit discovered on the sole of one’s shoe.”
“No!” Lestara dropped to her knees, tears flooding down her cheeks. “Please, Keris. Just kill me.
I’d rather die than go there!”
“Which is why it is the perfect punishment.”
Lestara screamed and screamed, but her shrieks were drowned out by the sea of voices, all
declaring that they’d march. That they’d fight.
That they’d bring Petra Anaphora to her knees.
“Ithicana stands with you as well,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “We will join this alliance against tyranny.”
Keris turned, his chest tightening as he found Aren standing behind him, Lara at his side.
Farther down the slope from them stood Dax and Jor at the head of hundreds of armed Ithicanians.
As Keris’s eyes moved over them, the winds gusted, clearing fog out over the water and revealing dozens upon dozens of ships. Fishing boats and merchant vessels and naval vessels that Ithicana had collected over the years, few of which would be good in a fight but all of which were capable of carrying an army south.
Turning back to his people, Keris said, “Let us to war. And by God, let’s make it the last war fought in our lifetime!”
NOT KNOWING WAS the purest form of torture.
Every minute that passed since Keris had left was filled with preparation for the conflict to come, but as she helped train fighters, secure supplies, and rally more to the rebel cause, Zarrah was screaming in wordless fear. Every messenger who arrived sent a bolt of terror down her spine that word had come about what had happened in Vencia. That it had been sacked, the hundreds of thousands of civilians living there now dead. That those who’d survived had turned on Keris, blaming him for their ruin.
That he was dead.
And for all her certainty and faith in Keris himself, her hope that he’d be able to deliver an army to join the rebellion’s fight dwindled with each passing day.
“You keep lowering your guard,” she said to one of the women she was instructing, a baker who’d lost her husband because he’d been vocal against the Usurper. She’d never held a sword until now, wouldn’t last a minute against a trained soldier, but Zarrah was in no position to send her away. For this was the sort of soldier joining her ranks. Civilians who’d been pushed too far or lost too much
and who needed to fight back. There was power in that. Strength in having an army that wasn’t just being paid to fight, but that wanted to fight. Whose very survival depended on victory.
A party on horseback appeared, and Zarrah stepped away from those she was training when she saw her father in their midst. He broke from the group and trotted in her direction, nodding at those who saluted as he passed. “Imperial Majesty,” he said, dismounting. “A word?”
The title still felt, at best, unearned, at worst, stolen, but she understood the importance of using it.
“Of course.”
She followed him a distance away, Daria and Saam, her ever-present shadows, standing with their backs to them to give a semblance of privacy.
“Vencia has been sacked,” he said softly. “Our spy approached the city right after Petra abandoned it, took stock, then headed south at all speed to give us the news. Nothing left but rubble and ash, the Veliant tower a broken ruin.”
The muscles in her jaw worked as Zarrah fought to maintain composure. “Casualties?”
“The regent, Sarhina Veliant, was able to evacuate the city in advance of the attack. It appears she had some level of warning, which saved countless lives.”