What if I’m wrong about how she feels?
watching the game masters call commands to the players from the pavilions at either end, their voices Thoughts raced through Zarrah’s skull, and it wasn’t long until her clothes were damp with sweat and her stomach twisted into knots of anxiety. This wasn’t how she fought her battles. Her strength was combat and killing, not subterfuge and manipulation, but if Keris had taught her anything, it was that sometimes there were better paths to victory than violence.
I wish you were here, she silently whispered, allowing her gaze to flick briefly to the sky. I need together, they climbed the steps and entered the massive pavilion. Dirt and debris had collected in the you.
No, you don’t, the sky seemed to answer, and her eyes burned.
Drum beats abruptly filled the air, and Zarrah tensed. She’s coming.
The ranks of soldiers parted to allow the drummers through, and then the Usurper appeared. Riding a large white horse caparisoned in silver and lilac, her aunt slowly approached the pavilion, expression unreadable. She wore armor, a sword at her waist and a small shield hanging from a hook on her saddle. Ever the warrior who led armies to victory.
The Usurper drew her horse to a stop at the base of the stairs. “It pleases me that you’ve come to see reason, dearest. Put down your weapons and come here so that we might put all of this behind us.”
“No.”
The Usurper tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “You cannot win this, Zarrah. You placed your faith in a man, in a Maridrinian, in a Veliant, and you must now see the consequences of doing so. You stand alone because you put your faith in one who did not deserve it. One who did not even deserve his own crown, for it was his own army, his own people, who gave him over to Welran in Nerastis. Keris Veliant failed you, dear one.”
Oh God, no. Grief filled her chest, threatening to drown her, but Zarrah forced her spine straight.
The time to weep, the time to hurt, was later.
“My faith was not misplaced,” Zarrah called out. “To die fighting for one’s cause is not a failure.”
“He isn’t dead.” The Usurper’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Welran’s orders were to bring him to me alive.”
Zarrah’s heart gave a rapid skitter, then plummeted into her stomach. Keris was alive. Alive, but this creature’s prisoner. Death might have been a greater mercy. “To what end?”
“His end, once you come to realize that all the pain you have suffered is because of him.”
Horror flooded Zarrah’s veins, because she knew what was coming even before the Usurper said,
“My army has surrounded the rebel forces. Every last one of them is a traitor to the crown, a Veliant pawn, but I will forgive their transgressions once you condemn their master. Once you condemn your master.”
A choice between Keris and the rebels. His life for theirs. “And if I refuse?”
“Then the rebels will be executed,” the Usurper answered. “And the rat will be kept a prisoner until such day as you are willing to cast off his control over you.”
Zarrah swallowed the burn rising up her throat, her knees feeling abruptly too weak to keep her The man’s jaw tightened, but he backed his horse away, confirming Zarrah’s belief that her aunt hadstanding. A sting of pain burst on her neck, and she sucked in a deep breath, realizing she’d nicked herself. Tiny droplets of blood ran down her throat, but rather than lowering her knife, she took a deep breath to steady her hand. Her plan was still in play. “How do I know you even have him? How do I know that you aren’t negotiating with an empty hand?”
was afraid to move it lest the soldiers get their hands on her. Which would make all of this for naught.
“You don’t, but why does that even matter? Choosing between your people’s lives and that of your puppet master should be easy, dear one.”
It should have been, but it wasn’t.
“Choose now,” the Usurper said. “Or the choice will be made for you, and it will be both. Prove to Valcotta that you value your nation and your people over your lover.”
Zarrah stiffened, for it was as though the Usurper had read her mind. If she chose Keris in front of so many witnesses, she’d lose all credibility. For who would want an empress who valued her lover’s life over that of her people?
She couldn’t save everyone. She had to choose.
Her throat tried to strangle the words, her tongue to freeze in place, but Zarrah’s voice was clear as she said, “I choose my people.”
The ranks of soldiers parted to allow the drummers through, and then the Usurper appeared. Riding The Usurper dropped her reins and pressed a hand to her heart. “I knew you would make the right choice.” Turning her head, she gestured to Sephra. “Send riders on the north road to meet Welran. Tell him to gut the rat on the side of the road, then stake him out as carrion for the scavengers to feast upon.”
Sephra saluted, and the Usurper’s attention moved back to Zarrah. “I will not be so cruel as to make you watch. The rat will disappear from existence, and in time, it will be as though none of this happened.”
A hot tear slipped down Zarrah’s cheek as she watched Sephra leave the stadium. She’d killed him.
The Usurper tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “You cannot win this, Zarrah. You placed your faith in Killed him, and in doing so, cut out her own heart. Honor and duty might carry her forward, but she’d never recover. And she’d certainly never forget.
“Put down the knife,” the Usurper said. “Come to me, and we shall heal from this ordeal together.”
own crown, for it was his own army, his own people, who gave him over to Welran in Nerastis. Keris
“Not yet,” Zarrah answered. “First there are matters you and I need to discuss.”
Silence stretched, the only sound the shuffling of the soldiers. The stomping of horses’ hooves. The Usurper exhaled, and it was written all over her face that this was not a conversation she wished to have. But then she inclined her head. “As you like. Put down the knife and I will come up.”
“Trust needs to be earned, Auntie,” Zarrah answered. “Tell your soldiers to back up and I’ll throw down my knife.”
A huff of annoyance pulled from the Usurper’s lips, but she made a sharp gesture. “Retreat a dozen yards but”—she gave Zarrah a long look—“be wary of a trap.”
“Farther,” Zarrah demanded, heart pounding because her aunt sensed she was up to something, her eyes gleaming with suspicion. “This conversation is between you and me.”
The Usurper hesitated, then gave a curt nod, and soon the ranks of soldiers were retreating down the pitch. Close enough for them to come to her aunt’s aid if there was an attack but far enough away that her aunt could speak freely without fear of being overheard.
Zarrah smiled, then tossed her knife onto the stadium turf, along with her staff. Holding up her hands, she said, “I’m unarmed.”
“You’re too well trained to ever be unarmed,” the Usurper answered. “Move to the far side of the table, dear one.”
She’s afraid of me.
Nodding, Zarrah climbed the steps into the pavilion, circling into the position of the game master, then waited for the Usurper to come to stand on the opposite side of the stone slab.