“The fumbling of soldiers. Whereas a man like him uses seduction with the adeptness of a
courtesan. You never had a chance, and that is my fault, dear one.” Her voice dripped with pity. “I should have made arrangements so that you’d have had the experience to resist his charms.”
Zarrah’s cheeks burned, and she cursed herself for allowing her aunt to get to her. “He had no idea who I was when we met and didn’t learn my identity until … after.”
“After you had sex with him?” The Empress sighed. “You claim a woman’s experience with men but speak of intimacy like a girl.”
Zarrah clenched her fists, aware that she was rising to the bait but unable to stop herself. “I can—”
Her aunt held up a hand, silencing her. “The rat knew you were Valcottan. That you were a soldier.
Your speech would have told him you were from a certain class, and therefore a certain rank. All of which made you a challenge worthy of his attention. A prize to be claimed, and a prize to be used once he learned just how valuable you truly were.”
“You pretend knowledge of something you know nothing about.” Why was her aunt pursuing this angle? What was her goal? What was the point of delving into Keris’s intentions when Zarrah had already forsaken him?
“If you were just a lover and not a prize worth keeping, why did he take you to Vencia? Why not arrange for you to escape?”
“He tried,” Zarrah retorted even as she debated whether it was better to fight or remain silent, or if it mattered at all. “You ordered that I be abandoned; Yrina told him so when she was captured.”
Her aunt sighed and drew back her hood, revealing her halo of curls, the silver strands gleaming in Silence.
“Have you stopped to consider that the rat is the source of everything you hold against me?” her aunt asked. “He manipulated you, Zarrah. Put his deft fingers between your legs and played you until her throat, and the faint scent of her floral perfume drifted into Zarrah’s cell. Placing the lantern down you forgot who truly loved you. Forgot what really mattered to you.”
on the deck, the Empress then sat with her back against the wall opposite Zarrah’s cell with her knees
“That is not true.” Zarrah wasn’t certain whether she was defending Keris or herself, only that her aunt’s words twisted the past year of her life into something dark and ugly. “You speak of things that you don’t know.”
“I know that all the things he did to make you sing made him King of Maridrina and you a traitor to your people,” her aunt answered. “I know that he sits in luxury in Vencia while you sail toward Devil’s Island. While you defend him, he entertains himself with orgies, showing particular favoritism for a woman named …” She drew a scrap of paper from her pocket and glanced at it.
“Lestara. A Cardiffian princess, she was the youngest of Silas’s wives. Very beautiful, I’m told, and well trained in the arts of the bedroom. He’s made her the head of his house, and there is speculation he might make her queen, though I think that is wishful thinking. Maridrina never allows women that much power.” Tucking the paper away, she added, “You will starve and suffer while he fucks and feasts.”
Zarrah clenched her teeth, Lestara’s face rearing in her mind. It was no secret to her that the harem wife had long had her sights set on Keris. It would seem she’d finally gotten her way, for her aunt’s spies wouldn’t give her unconfirmed gossip. Her stomach hollowed, pain tightening around her chest like a vise, and her aunt shook her head. “I know this grieves you, dear one, for he no doubt made promises of forever. But they weren’t promises; they were lies. Surely you see that now?”
Sickness swam in Zarrah’s stomach, for though she had no right to expect Keris to maintain any level of fidelity after she’d threatened to kill him, her heart seemed to have believed he would. Her heart was a fool.
“You are Keris Veliant’s victim.” Her aunt’s hands balled into fists, and she moved onto her knees, eyes locked on Zarrah’s, the intensity in them matching the fierceness of her voice as she said, “I intend to make him pay for what he has done to you. What he’s done to us.”
Zarrah’s eyes stung, anger and guilt and shame threatening to choke her, but she managed to get out,
“If I’m his victim, then why are you sending me to this place? If it’s Keris you’re so angry with, why am I the one you are punishing?”
“Because it’s the only way you’ll learn.” Her aunt reached through the bars to wipe the tears from Zarrah’s face, then cupped her cheek. “If there are no consequences, what is to stop you from making the same mistake again? What is to stop you from being lured back into his bed with sweet words and Zarrah clenched her fists, aware that she was rising to the bait but unable to stop herself. “I can—” promises of pleasure?”
Nothing. And everything.
“You’re sending me to a prison for murderers and rapists to learn a lesson about the ways of men?”
Zarrah spat in her aunt’s face. “Fuck you.”
Quick as a viper, the Empress caught hold of Zarrah’s shirt and jerked her against the bars. Her breath seared Zarrah’s cheek as she shouted, “You’re going to the island because you betrayed Valcotta. Because you allowed yourself to be duped by a Veliant. Because you allowed the blood of the one who slaughtered your mother—my beloved little sister—to fill you with his seed.”
Zarrah cringed, trying to pull away, but she couldn’t get leverage with her wrists bound together.
Wood creaked as though someone approached. She willed them to hurry, but the passageway
“He tried,” Zarrah retorted even as she debated whether it was better to fight or remain silent, or if remained empty.
“But despite all that you have done, I still love you.” Her aunt’s voice quivered with emotion. “You have been my everything, the daughter I never had, Zarrah, so while others counsel me to put you down, instead I am giving you a chance to earn back your place at my side. To prove yourself worthy of once again being Valcotta’s heir. Every hardship you endure, know that it is because of him that you suffer. And every moment you survive, know that it is because of my love that you live.”
The anchor chain rattled, lowering into the depths, and Zarrah’s pulse throbbed with renewed fear.
“You’re mad if you believe I intend to fight for your forgiveness.”
“They say love is a form of madness,” her aunt murmured. “And despite all the pain in my heart, there is no one I love more than you, dear one. Nothing I look forward to more than being reunited with you again.”
There was no denying the faint tug in Zarrah’s heart, a longing for a time when her aunt had been a bastion against every hurt, the warrior who had delivered her from the enemy and promised
vengeance against those who’d torn their world apart. For all her aunt twisted words to serve her ends, it was the truths within them that held the most power.
Heavy footfalls echoed down the passageway, and then Bermin appeared. Her cousin inclined his head to his mother. “It’s time, Imperial Majesty.”