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Though Serin was not alone at fault. Otis’s wife was a casualty of the Endless War. But rather than comfort him, those around Otis had used his grief to fuel his hatred, for it was as keen a weapon as any sword. They didn’t want him to heal, didn’t want him to move past his grief and anger, because then he’d no longer be a pawn they could use to achieve their ends. He’d believed himself righteous—the master of his own destiny—never once seeing that he was a pawn in a war between rulers.
They’d been manipulated in the same way, she and Otis, their grief weaponized to fight a war where the only people who died were those who didn’t deserve to.
As she’d stared at his body, broken and bloody on the ground, the scream that had torn from her lips had not been feigned, the horror slicing through her soul visceral and cutting and cruel, for it wielded the truth.
A female shriek pierced the night, coming from the direction of the tower, jolting Zarrah into action.
She shoved the stone block into the deepest part of the brush, as there was no way for her to replace it, then swiftly scaled the wall. Again, her hips got stuck climbing through the opening, but with a dozen silent curses, she toppled into her room.
Which was exactly how she’d left it, no sign that her absence had been noted.
Though her body was exhausted and aching from the blows Otis had landed, Zarrah swiftly put the room back in order.
Only then did she go to the window.
Topiaries blocked her view of the base of the tower, but light spilled outward from the scene. She didn’t need to see it to imagine it, only prayed for Otis’s sake that his end had come swiftly. Prayed that Keris wasn’t holding himself to blame.
The former was far more likely than the latter.
Her adrenaline faded, leaving her weary and hollow, but Zarrah didn’t move from her place at the window. Through the walls, she heard the wailing of women, felt the pain and grief of a son lost falling over the palace like a pall. But eventually the light around the tower faded, servants and guards retreating until all was still. Silent.
A knock sounded.
Zarrah jerked, turning as the bolts on the door unlatched. Coralyn stepped through with a lamp in hand, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her voice was steady as she said, “I believed you the trump up my sleeve, Zarrah, and I’m rarely wrong about these things.”
An icy chill spread across Zarrah’s skin. For it was not just empresses and kings who used rage and grief as a weapon.
It was also harem wives.
“Why didn’t you do it?” Coralyn set the lamp down on a table, crossing her arms. “You made it to his room. Iwatched youclimb through his window. I gave you the opportunity to see him dead, and yet Silas breathes while another of our sons does not.”
If Coralyn believed she’d killed Otis, Zarrah suspected she’d already be dead. “I had nothing to do with him falling.”
“I never said that you did.”
Zarrah met the woman’s cold stare, her mind racing. Coralyn learning she’d been with Keris would be nearly as catastrophic asSilaslearning the truth, which meant she needed to tread carefully. Especially given that her story needed to align with what Lestara had likely revealed. “I made it to his room when he was still with Lestara and erred in hesitating to kill him while he was in bed with her. Serin arrived, then Otis soon after, and there was no good opportunity.”
“Lestara was attempting to provide you a distraction, you fool.”
Zarrah forced her face to darken with feigned anger. “We might have gotten further if you’d been more forthright about your intentions.”
“I needed proof of those intentions, first. Now I have it, and here we are. What happened next?”
Zarrah debated what course to take and settled on replying, “What difference does it make?”
“Given Otis is dead by Keris’s hand, what happened in the tower tonight makes every difference.”
What had Keris told Coralyn? What reason did he give for the accident? Not knowing meant that Zarrah was walking forward blind, and if she blundered in what she told Coralyn, she might inadvertently step over a cliff edge. “Otis spoke with Serin and then left. After that, I very nearly had the opportunity to kill Silas when he sat down to eat, but then—” A gesture out the window finished the explanation with appropriate vagueness. “You’re a clever one, Coralyn. I didn’t think you’d stoop to using a Valcottan to assassinate your husband.”
The old woman didn’t so much as blink. “What did you overhear? Specifically, what did they say to Otis?”
Rising to her feet, Zarrah took a sip from the water glass next to her bed. “Why would I tell you anything? What’s in it for me?”
“You need me to hide the evidence of your escape.” Coralyn cocked her head, giving Zarrah a considering stare. “And because you need me to facilitate another opportunity to take your vengeance.”
There was no denying it. For one, if the old woman decided Zarrah wasn’t a tool she could use, she would probably find a way to kill her. And two, working with Coralyn was likely the only way she’d get another chance to kill Silas. “Silas went to chastise Lestara, leaving Otis and Serin alone.” She repeated the conversation word for word, finishing with, “I thought he’d left to come here to kill me.”
“But he went to Keris’s room instead?”
