“The whispers faded,” the man—Aster—answered. “I’m not sure I heard much of anything about Aryana until years later when Silas cut off her head, turning her into a martyr in the Endless War.
Even when Zarrah came of age, it was almost forgotten that she wasn’t Petra’s own daughter.”
Zarrah had loved her like a mother; Keris knew that. Had seen the hollowness left behind when she’d realized Petra was abandoning her for the sake of politics. His father had been a piece of shit, but at least he’d never pretended otherwise. Never deluded any of his children into thinking that he cared, and in Keris’s mind, that made him the lesser evil.
“As fascinating as I find rooting through Valcotta’s dirty laundry, perhaps you might explain to me why we give a shit,” Jor said, crossing his arms. “And the answer had better not be that we intend to meddle.”
“Agreed,” Lara said. “I’ll help get Zarrah out of that place, but no more.”
during her reign except when we started choosing sides. She was close with Aren’s mother. I’m going Aren frowned, staring at the liquid in his glass. Then his eyes flicked to Keris’s. “What are you planning?”
He had no plans beyond freeing her from that place, everything afterward a dream that he’d never given voice. “I have no right to plan Zarrah’s future. Only the intent to give her a chance at one.”
Or die trying.
“Then why bring up her right to the crown?”
“Because he’s playing a long game.” Lara poured a glass of wine, sniffed the contents, and then wrinkled her nose, setting it aside. “He wants her on the Valcottan throne. Firstly, because he thinks she deserves it, and secondly, because it’s the only chance for this war to end in our lifetimes. The only way the Valcottans will support Zarrah’s claim is if we reveal the information about Aryana.
Except this is Zarrah. Her honor will demand vengeance, and her first thought will be to put a knife in Petra’s heart, not politics. Her last thought will be to listen to reason from the man who betrayed creature’s eyes as he delivered the truth, relishing Keris’s horror as he fell down and down to splatter her trust and destroyed her chance to redeem her honor with Ithicana.”
Lara picked up the bottle nearest to Keris and sniffed it, frowning. “All this wine is off. How are you drinking it?” She waved a hand at him before he had a chance to answer. “Never mind. Aren, Keris wants you to temper Zarrah’s instinct to race to Pyrinat to try to kill her aunt and then for you to back her bid for the crown, politically and militarily. Have I missed anything, Keris?”
“The wine is fine,” he answered, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “There’s something wrong with your nose.”
spoke. “There was a rumor, once, that Aryana had been the Emperor’s choice.” Resting his elbows on
“It smells like wet dog, but suit yourself.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and gave her the table, he added, “He was sick for many years before he died, and Petra ran the empire in his stead husband a measured glare. “The worst part isn’t that he’s trying to manipulate you, but that you are considering doing exactly what he wants.”
“I said nothing, committed to nothing,” Aren protested. “And this wine is from one of the finest wineries in Amarid. It cost a bloody fortune.”
“And you brought it out of the cellar just for me?” Keris examined the bottle, which was indeed an excellent vintage. “I’m touched.”
Jor shook his head and said, “You were an idiot child, boy. My every waking breath in that era was
“I brought it out for me. ”
“Of course you did, Your Grace. Nothing like a bit of wine to calm your nerves over hosting a king with a bigger palace than yours.”
Aren’s eyes bulged. “You think I care … Why would you think … Piss off, Keris.”
Amusement rose in Keris’s chest, but he caught his laughter before it could escape. You’re drinking Raina’s father. It was no wonder he’d been glowering at Keris, given that he’d been culpable in her fine wine in a palace with all the food you can eat while Zarrah starves on a barren, frozen rock.
Focus.
Lara drummed her lacquered nails on the table. “A passenger ship, Jor.”
“Ain’t got one.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Aren shifted in his seat. “What about the Cardiffian ghost ship?”
Unease prickled Keris’s stomach at the mention of Cardiff, for it made him wonder what Lestara was plotting. All he could do was hope that Sarhina kept her in check.
“No.” Jor scowled. “That ship has a hex on it. It’s full of ghosts.”
“It’s not,” Aren answered, then looked to Keris. “We found it floating in our waters, all the passengers aboard dead in their beds, crew missing. Nana said they’d all consumed poisoned wine, but Jor here is convinced a Cardiffian witch hexed the ship. It’s nonsense.”
Keris’s unease tripled at the mention of witches. It reminded him of Lestara’s prophesy. But it didn’t sound like they had any other options. “How soon after the storm can you retrieve it?”
Every Ithicanian looked at him in confusion except for Aren, who chuckled. “This isn’t a storm, Keris. Just a bit of rain. But there is a typhoon brewing, and we’ll want to get out ahead of it.” He nodded to Jor. “I want it ready by morning. You handpick the crew, and keep in mind that we need to pass as Cardiffians, so a bit of sun-deprived skin wouldn’t be remiss.”
The old Ithicanian rose. “We’ll just have His Grace here patrolling the deck. His lily-white ass should do the trick.”
The jab went in one of Keris’s ears and out the other, his eyes on the contents of his glass.
Tomorrow. He mentally calculated the days it would take to reach the island prison, the number like a vise around his chest, denying him breath. Too long.
The room around him fell away, his mind descending into visions of what Zarrah was enduring at this very moment. Cold. Hunger. A fight for her very life.
“Keris?”
Everyone was standing, Lara holding rolled maps under one arm, her eyes shadowed with
exhaustion. “We’ll leave at dawn.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t suppose there is any chance of convincing you to leave this in our hands? After all, if something happens to you, Ithicana will be blamed.”
“Will you do whatever it takes to save her, including sacrificing your own life?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Shaking her head, Lara exited the room, the other Ithicanians following so that only Aren remained.
“It smells like wet dog, but suit yourself.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and gave her “Take what you want,” the other king said, gesturing to the platters of food. “I’ll have someone wait outside to show you to your rooms when you’re ready.” Aren hesitated, then added, “Get some sleep, Keris. If your mood stays this bad, Lara is likely to murder you within a day of setting sail.”
Keris snorted softly. “She wouldn’t be the first to try.”