Bermin let go of the rope.
Bending her knees, Zarrah jumped, fingers catching the edge of the pier, the current dragging at her feet and trying to pull her loose.
Zarrah struggled to keep her grip on the wet rock. Climb, she ordered herself. Get your leg up. But then she felt warm breath against her bare hands. “Bermin,” she gasped. “I know you hate me, but think of Valcotta. Think of the lives that could be saved if she were removed from power.”
Her cousin’s dark eyes regarded her for a long moment, and then he whispered, “I agree, little Zarrah. Valcotta needs fresh blood on the throne to keep it strong.” A knife appeared in his hand, and he sliced through the bindings on her wrist before straightening to his feet. Zarrah sucked in a breath of relief as she steadied her grip on the edge, about to pull herself upward.
“But it won’t be you.” Bermin’s boot lifted, then came down with crushing force on her fingers.
Zarrah screamed as she lost her grip and frigid water closed over her head, the current immediately dragging her backward.
Swim.
Her legs churned, driving her to the surface, only for panic to flood her veins as the current took her toward the opening in the cliffs. Her eyes fixed on her cousin, who stood with his arms crossed as she was sucked into the devil’s maw.
“WHAT DO YOU mean we can’t set sail?”
“There’s a typhoon.” Dax pointed out the windows of the office. “If you look hard,
you can see it.”
Keris was perfectly aware of the black skies over the harbor, the gutters of Vencia’s streets full of water rushing down to the Tempest Seas. “It’s just a squall.”
The captain of his guard strolled to the door to the balcony and unlatched it, turning the handle. The door immediately wrenched out of his hand, slamming against the wall with enough force that Keris was shocked the thick glass didn’t crack. Wind roared into the room, sending papers flying off the desk even as an explosion of thunder caused the whole tower to shudder.
“You’re right, Your Grace,” Dax shouted. “Just a squall. I’ll tell the captain to grow some balls and ready his ship.”
Cursing, Keris caught hold of the door, forced to throw his weight against the frame to shut it. The whirlwind of papers slowly settled to the floor. He stared out the window at the crackling lightning,
at the spray rising higher than the enormous seawall that protected the harbor from the worst of the surge. A ship killer, and yet if there’d been a way, he’d have sailed into it.
Cursing again, he twisted away and went to the sideboard, bypassing the wine and going straight for the whiskey. It hadn’t been long since word had come of Zarrah’s fate, but given the time it had taken the spy to travel from Pyrinat to Vencia, she might already have been delivered to Devil’s Island. Might already be in that hellhole filled with the worst of Valcotta’s criminals, from which no one had ever escaped. All while Keris stood in the comfort of his palace, drinking his father’s whiskey.
A fresh flood of rage surged through his veins, and in a violent motion, he hurled the glass against the wall. It exploded, amber liquid dripping down the golden paint.
“You’re really embracing your rise in status, Your Grace,” Dax commented. “Not just wearing the crown but truly emoting it.”
“Fuck off,” Keris snarled. “Didn’t I fire you?”
“Possibly.” Dax picked up the decanter and two glasses, carrying them to the desk. “You talk a lot, and truth be told, I don’t listen to half of what you say.”
A thousand retorts rose on Keris’s tongue, but given that Dax was the only person he could speak relatively freely around, alienating him was not in his best interest. Especially given he actually liked the man.
Keris sat in his father’s chair, hating how the stuffed leather molded to him as though he were meant for the seat. Taking the glass from Dax, he stared pensively at the contents, his mind sinking down and down. A typhoon of this size could rage for days, and with storm season in full swing, another could swirl in on its heels, forcing all ships to keep close to the coast. Which meant potentially weeks before he could even hope to secure the assistance of Lara and Aren, if they agreed at all.
You have a navy; go get Zarrah yourself, a voice whispered inside his head. Every day you delay is a day she remains imprisoned.
Keris drained his glass, trying to drown the voice because it was starting to grow louder than logic and reason. For one, there was every chance his men would mutiny once they learned where they were going and why. Two, even if he did manage to force them to bend to his will, he’d be playing right into Petra’s hands.
The Empress wanted war. Wanted war now, while Maridrina was weakened from the conflict with Ithicana. Except support for it among her people was flagging, which meant she wanted Keris to make the first move.
Then be clever. Pay a mercenary crew to take you.
That was more tempting, if only because it carried fewer consequences for his kingdom. Except it was also a plan that seemed doomed to fail. An untested crew whose loyalty was to coin was not The captain of his guard strolled to the door to the balcony and unlatched it, turning the handle. The what he wished to have at his back, especially given that Petra had to be anticipating that he’d come.
With his luck, he’d fall right into her trap.
Keris rubbed at his temples. He had one chance to free Zarrah, one chance to get this right, and that meant logic needed to take precedence over his emotions. No mean feat, given that there were
“You’re right, Your Grace,” Dax shouted. “Just a squall. I’ll tell the captain to grow some balls andmoments fear and guilt clamped like a vise around his chest, denying him breath. Moments that made his heart beat so rapidly the world spun and he could scarcely stand, much less think. Just as he couldn’t blink, much less sleep, because every time his lids shut, he saw Zarrah’s face. Heard her voice. I never want to see your face again. Never want to hear your voice. And if we cross paths, I will kill you.
“Why are you so eager to go to Ithicana?” Dax’s voice invaded his thoughts, and Keris lifted his head to meet the man’s gaze.
“Pardon?”
“What’s the hurry? The bridge ain’t going anywhere, and allowing the Ithicanians a bit of time to calm their tempers before you go sailing in, making demands, might not be a bad thing.” Dax swallowed the contents of his glass, giving an appreciative nod. “That’s good stuff.”
“Isn’t there a rule against drinking while you’re on duty?” Keris asked, his tone flat because he didn’t have a particularly valid explanation for his plan to go to Ithicana beyond the truth. And the truth wasn’t something he had any intention of revealing.
“Could be.” Dax scratched his unshaven chin. “But given you drink while on duty, I figured it was more of a guideline.”
There were several arguments that Keris could have voiced, not the least of which being that he was king and could do as he goddamned pleased. Instead he reached across the desk and refilled Dax’s glass. The man had almost singlehandedly organized the revolt against Keris’s father, spreading Keris’s rumors about Aren’s treatment that had driven the populace to violent protests and demands for proof the Ithicanian still lived, a critical piece in the plan that had seen Aren liberated. Dax had a relatively freely around, alienating him was not in his best interest. Especially given he actually liked strong dislike for both politicians and aristocrats, which was likely why he and Keris got along, never mind that Keris was both. “I need to mend fences with Ithicana and re-establish trade in Southwatch.