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Her heart beat like a war drum as she made her way to the dining room, guards hurrying to keep up with her long strides.“Wait for the attack before you make your move against Silas,”Coralyn had cautioned.“Do it before all is in place, and you’ll ruin any chance of escape.”
“When will they attack?”
“You’ll know when the moment is right,”was the only detail she’d been given, then Coralyn had pressed the precious nail into Zarrah’s hand before saying, “Don’t fail this time,” and leaving Zarrah in the care of the servants.
She wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t fail, because this wasn’t just vengeance. It was about saving Keris’s life.
And saving her own.
“I told you to get yourself to Nerastis!” Silas’s voice slapped her in the face as the doors swung open, the king turning to glare at her before rounding back on Keris, who stood before him with his arms crossed. It seemed a lifetime since she’d seen him, and her stomach flipped as she looked him over, struggling to feign disinterest.
“I haven’t finished packing.”
“You’ve got an army of servants! Use them!”
Keris shrugged. “Some things are too valuable for me to allow others to pack. Far better for me to do it myself.” His eyes flicked to Zarrah, meeting her gaze steadily before moving back to his father. “I’ll finish after dinner tonight.”
It was a message.
“Forget dinner,” Silas barked. “Get back to your rooms, pack up your useless drivel, and get on a ship south. Am I understood?”
“A deal for passage has already been struck with the captain.” Keris glanced at Zarrah again, and there was a hint of desperation in his blue eyes that didn’t match his bored tone. “Bastard negotiated hard—his family will be eating well for the next few months. Apologies for committing you to the expense without permission.”
“Least of my fucking concerns!”
Keris wasn’t talking to his father—the words were for her. He was trying to tell her something that couldn’t be said in front of his father, and the fact that he was risking it at all meant it was urgent. Before Zarrah could puzzle her way through his coded language, Silas rounded on her. “I will have silence from you tonight, woman. You’re attending this dinner as proof your heart still beats, lest your aunt claim otherwise.”
He’s nervous.Nothing in Silas’s expression betrayed the emotion, but Zarrah felt it. Smelled it in the stink of the sweat dampening his collar. And she wondered if some primal part of him sensed that countless individuals who desired him dead would soon descend on him. If he sensed that this night would be his last.
“At least the mob outside our gates doesn’t care about her,” Keris interjected. “They only care about Aren Kertell. Perhaps you ought to follow his lead, Lady Zarrah. People will do all sorts of things for you if you promise to deliver them from hunger.”
Another message, but she had no idea what it meant.
Silas snorted in disgust. “That mob outside is your sister’s doing, Keris. Hers and Ithicana’s desperate attempt to get Aren out in the open. But I’ve never pandered to the masses, and I won’t now. If she wants him, she’ll have to come and get him.”
“My only regret is not being here to see it,” Keris said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve packing to get to.”
Inclining his head to his father, Keris strode from the room, not giving Zarrah so much as a passing glance.
Leaving her alone with Silas and her guards.
No shackles bound her wrists or ankles, and Zarrah’s muscles quivered with the desire to move. To slip the nail hidden in her belt between her fingers, then swing hard, driving the steel into his skull.
As if sensing her thoughts, Silas’s eyes fixed on her, his hand drifting to the sword at his waist. The last thing she needed was to be shackled to the table because Silas finally recognized her for the threat she was.
“You seem nervous, Your Grace,” she purred. “Please don’t tell me that thegreat Silas Veliantis afraid of an unarmed woman.”
The guards heard her and stepped forward, but Silas lifted a hand, and they stopped in their tracks. Then he moved.
Zarrah saw it coming. Could have blocked the blow or dodged, but instead she allowed his fist to slam into her cheek.
The blow sent her staggering and she nearly fell, pain ricocheting through her face and her eyes watering. Then he had her by the hair, slamming her down on the table. Glasses shattered, the vase of flowers at the center toppling sideways and spilling its contents across the tablecloth.
“You believe you are untouchable”—his breath was hot against the back of her neck—“but you’re not. It serves my purposes to keep you alive, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. Doesn’t mean I won’t make your life a living hell.” He twisted his hand in her hair, her neck screaming as he forced her to look up at him. “Once Eranahl falls, I will turn my eyes south to Valcotta. And when I march, I have every intention of carrying your corpse as my banner.”
He jerked her like a rag doll, forcing her down in her chair. “Get a servant in here to clean her up,” he snarled at the guards. “Before the ambassadors arrive.”
Her face ached, and her skull burned where he’d torn out her hair, but Zarrah still struggled not to smile as he strode from the room, her wrists and ankles remaining unshackled.Your pride will be your downfall,she silently whispered, then sat still while a servant woman repaired her smeared cosmetics, several others hastily setting the table to rights.
