Zarrah let out the breath she’d been holding. Buildings and towers could be rebuilt, but lives could not. This sacking would have long and catastrophic consequences, but it could have been far, far worse. “The Usurper left after the city fell? She made no attempt to go after the evacuees?”
Her father turned to stare in the direction of the coast. “This was not an attempt to capture Maridrinian territory, not an invasion at all. It was a strike intended to hurt the spirit of the nation, slaughtering civilians but leaving the armies untouched. To ensure their blood boils at the mention of Valcotta, so when they have finished licking their wounds, they bring the fight that she wants, not the fight that we want.” He cast a sideways glance at her, eyes full of pity. “She knew Keris’s plans, Zarrah. Knew that he intended to aid you. This attack was perpetrated to ensure he wouldn’t be able to do so.”
To ensure that he wouldn’t even try, for Zarrah couldn’t even begin to imagine how the
Maridrinians would respond if Keris asked them to march to liberate Valcotta from their tyrant empress now.
Except that she knew he’d have done it anyway.
“There’s more,” he said. “Petra’s fleet is now sailing to make war upon us in Arakis. Even if by some miracle Keris manages to convince his army to march south, they will never make it to us in time.”
The Usurper was ten steps ahead of them.
“We need to abandon Arakis,” her father continued. “Move farther inland, or even consider seeking sanctuary in Teraford until we have the numbers we need to fight her.”
The hundreds of civilians training had stopped and were watching them, sensing the gravity of the conversation even if they couldn’t hear the words. For most, these were the lands they’d been raised on, and to flee would mean abandoning their homes.
Potentially forever.
And for all her certainty and faith in Keris himself, her hope that he’d be able to deliver an army to For two decades, her father had fanned the flames of rebellion. Recruited and trained fighters.
Spread propaganda to undercut the Usurper. Struck at her soldiers in skirmishes and raids. Always preparing for some moment in the future when the stars aligned, and the rebellion could be assured of victory.
Except if there was anything that Zarrah knew, it was that the stars rarely aligned, and that one could not stand paralyzed, waiting for them to do so. Her father would never choose to attack the
Usurper. Would never hold his ground against her. Because the rebellion would never have the strength he needed to take that first step forward.
But she did. “Ready everyone to march. If there is to be a chance of the Maridrinians reaching us in time, we need to move the battleground closer. We choose the ground, and I say, that ground is Pyrinat.”
Zarrah let out the breath she’d been holding. Buildings and towers could be rebuilt, but lives could
“We need to abandon Arakis,” her father continued. “Move farther inland, or even consider seeking
Usurper. Would never hold his ground against her. Because the rebellion would never have the strength he needed to take that first step forward.
But she did. “Ready everyone to march. If there is to be a chance of the Maridrinians reaching us in time, we need to move the battleground closer. We choose the ground, and I say, that ground is Pyrinat.”
“WE’LL BE IN Nerastis in a few hours,” Aren said from the doorway, his dark hair
plastered to his head from the heavy rains that had assaulted the fleet on the journey
south. “You’ll want to prepare yourself.”
“I’m prepared,” Keris said, not looking up from the game board that rested on the table between him, Sarhina, and Lara.
Aren didn’t move from his spot, wind gusting in past him. “What is your plan? It’s one thing to sway civilians with promises of a brighter future, quite another to convince hardened soldiers to fight on behalf of those they’ve spent their lives fighting against.”
A fact of which Keris was painfully aware. “I’ll give a speech, I’m sure.”
“Saying what?”
He’d written countless attempts on the journey south to Nerastis, every word of which he’d tossed in the trash. “Something that will be transcribed into the history books, no doubt.”
“Keris—”
“You focus on getting us to port. I can’t very well give a speech if I’m on the bottom of the sea because you were too busy advising me on speeches when you should’ve been steering the ship.”
“The ship isn’t going to sink, whereas you—” The vessel abruptly tilted sideways at such an angle that everything on the table slid to the floor save the game board, which was mounted to the table itself. Aren cursed, the door slamming shut as he departed.
“I’ve no taste for sea travel,” Sarhina muttered, moving their pieces back into their places. It was a game of strategy that Keris had been forced to learn as a child. He was good. Lara was better. Sarhina kept beating both of them. The eldest of his warrior sisters added, “I thank every higher power daily that it was you who were sent to Ithicana, Lara.”
“You were the higher power that ensured that.” Lara pushed her braid back over her shoulder. His sister was visibly pregnant now, stomach swollen, but the malaise that had plagued her on the journey to Devil’s Island had disappeared. Her blue eyes flicked to Keris. “She had the uncanny ability to be middle of the pack on every test, never the best and never the worst.”
Keris snorted. “I would not have been so easily fooled.”
Both of his sisters rolled their eyes; then Lara rose and came to his side. “Aren’s right. Winning one battle is not winning the war. If you don’t think of a way to convince these men to fight for Zarrah, we will sail no farther than Nerastis.”
He gave a tight nod, and though he knew his sister was less than satisfied with the response, she left the room.
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas?” Keris asked Sarhina.
She frowned at the game board. “None. If I were any of your commanders, I’d refuse the order to march. Petra’s army is massive, well supplied, and rested. Even in conjunction with the rebels, we are outmatched.” She moved a piece, then met his gaze. “Your turn.”
It felt like it was always his turn. His move. And Keris couldn’t help but wonder if this one would be his last. “Before we reach Nerastis, I want to change a law.”
Sarhina blinked. “There is already a law that your subjects must obey you. Another that they can’t kill you. They’ll happily break both, knowing there will be little consequence from Royce when he takes the crown.” She made a face. “He’s such an imbecile, I almost hope someone sneaks into camp and kills him.”
“Do you know who is next in line after him?” he asked, suddenly curious. His brothers were notoriously good at getting themselves killed, and he’d lost track of which of his younger half brothers came after Royce.
“Parix.”
A laugh escaped Keris, stealing some of the tension from his chest, for the last thing he’d heard about Parix was that he’d been caught having inappropriate relations with a sheep and been banished to the middle of nowhere by their father. “Then it’s a good thing it’s the law of succession that I wish to amend.”