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But as dawn warmed the sky, he saw nothing but empty waves. Heard nothing but the shouts and curses of sailors and soldiers.
She was gone.
Sucking in a deep breath, he turned from the window, starting toward the door. But then he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. He stared at his reflection for a heartbeat, then twisted toward his packed trunk, casting off his coat as he did. Digging into the depths, he extracted his uniform jacket, which was festooned with markers of rank that he hadn’t earned. He donned it anyway before digging to the bottom and pulling out the sword.
He stared at the weapon, jewels glittering on the pommel and the edge gleaming sharp. A gift from his father, and he hated it. Wanted nothing more than to go to the window and toss it into the waves.
Instead, he belted it around his waist. Zarrah had sacrificed everything in a bid for peace, and that could only be achieved if Maridrina was willing.
Which meant that he needed to bring war upon his father.
And this time, it wouldn’t be fought with words.
73
ZARRAH
For a long time after she reached the beach, Zarrah lay in the sand, just breathing.
Beyond the edge of the harbor, she could just make out the ship she’d abandoned Keris on, flanked by a naval vessel watchfully monitoring the unloading of passengers and cargo via longboat.Had he already reached shore?she wondered.Is he on his way to the palace?
Part of her wanted to remain where she was, watching. Yet she knew that Valcottan patrols would soon cross over this stretch of beach, and she could not be connected to the ship or to Keris. So Zarrah staggered to her feet and made her way into the city.
Nerastis was always the quietest at this hour, but she still crossed paths with dozens of her countrymen and women going about their business, her ears filling with the familiar lilt of Valcottan voices, her nose with the scent of grilled meat and savory spice, her mouth watering despite it not being long since she last ate.
It occurred to her that this was the first time since her capture on the north side of the Anriot that she’d walked alone. That she’d walkedfree.Stopping in the center of the lane, Zarrah breathed, tasting the sweetness of the flavors, relishing the moment. Yet like iron to a loadstone, her eyes drew north, catching sight of the glint of sun off the domed towers of the Maridrinian palace.
Was he already inside? What was he doing? How were the soldiers, many of whom had been loyal to Otis, reacting to his return?
Unease flitted through her stomach, but Zarrah tamped it down. They both had their own paths to follow to reach their mutual goal, and neither could do anything to help the other. But God help her, shehatedthat he was alone among vipers. Hated that she’d abandoned him. Hated that she wasn’t there to watch his back.
“You made your choice,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t let it be for nothing.”
So she started walking, eventually finding a vendor who sold clothing and purchasing trousers, a blouse, and a pair of rope sandals. She swiftly changed into the dry clothes, then carried the bundle of Keris’s garments toward a burning pile of trash. Her fingers stroked the fine linen, wanting to lift the fabric to her nose to see if it retained any vestiges of his scent, but she refrained, instead waiting until the street was clear before tossing the clothes on the fire. They smoldered, steam rising, but eventually the fabric blackened and charred, the last physical vestiges she had of Keris turning to ash.
Telling herself the stinging of her eyes was from the smoke, Zarrah squared her shoulders and turned toward the palace garrison she’d once ruled, wishing she knew for certain whether what she found there would be welcome.
Everyone stoppedin their tracks as she walked through the gates, eyes widening and whispers of astonishment filling her wake, her name on everyone’s lips.
But no one stopped her. No one contested her right to walk into the palace itself, her sandals making soft pats against the tiles as she made her way to the commander’s offices, the two soldiers outside gaping at her as she approached. One managed a salute, but the other hesitated, then pressed a hand to his heart.
A symbol of respect, yes, but one granted only to nobility.
And to the dead.
“Who is in command?” she asked, though she already knew. Could smell the hot scent of fried batter that her cousin adored emanating from under the door, and in her mind’s eye, she could picture him eating it, greasy fingers leaving marks on the reports.
“His Highness, General Bermin,” the soldier who’d saluted answered. “We… He… After you were taken prisoner… We wanted to go after you, my lady, but—”
“I understand the decisions made.” She gave him a half smile. “And I think it best to leave the explanations to the general. Would you ask if he has time to see me?”
Once, she’d have barged in. Demanded answers. Allowed her anger out in full force. But Zarrah had learned more than just patience during her time in Vencia.
The soldier knocked, then stepped inside. Whatever he said caused an eruption of motion from within, boots thumping on the tile; then the door flung open, and her cousin filled the doorway. “Little Zarrah!” he shouted. “You’re alive!”
Then his arms were around her, squeezing her so hard Zarrah could barely breathe, her face unfortunately pressed into his sweaty armpit. He pounded her twice on the back before lifting her into the air, twisting her this way and that, examining her. “We received word days ago that you’d escaped with the Ithicanian, but it’s been crickets since, so we feared the worst. Are you well? Did they harm you?”
Before Zarrah could answer, he set her on her feet with a thud and rounded on the soldiers. “Have food and drink brought, and lots of it. Look how skinny she is.” Bermin laughed, loud and booming. “Apparently, Vencia is so starved even the Rat King’s palace is going without. Look at her!”
