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13
KERIS
With night drawing to a close, Nerastis was finally quieting down for a few hours of respite, for which Keris was profoundly grateful as he trudged through the streets.
Everything hurt.
Countless scrapes and bruises, but it was his shoulder that had him gritting his teeth. He’d barely made it across the spillway in time to catch her, but the angle had been bad, and muscles had torn. Climbing anything higher than his own bed would be near to impossible, and already he could feel the walls of circumstance closing in on him. Without his ability to scale walls and secret his way in and out of the palace, he’d be stuck with an escort if he so much as wanted to peek his head outside the walls.
As it was, his favored route was currently ash, the Valcottan having decimated the construction scaffolding he typically used. He could only pray that none of the burning embers had found their way onto anything important in his rooms. Many of his books were irreplaceable, but then again, so were the letters in the inner pocket of his coat.
Striding through the open gates with enough authority that no one contested his presence, Keris unfastened the tie holding his hair back as he entered the palace, sweaty locks falling around his face. Servants and soldiers were running every which way, and above the din, he heard his brother shout, “I don’t want a stone in this city left unturned until we find my brother. There isn’t a chance they got him across the Anriot, which means they have him hidden somewhere in Nerastis.”
Shit.
“We must entertain the real possibility that Prince Keris is dead, Highness,” another voice answered, Keris recognizing it as that of a captain named Philo.
“If they’d only cared about killing him, they’d have slit his cursed throat,” Otis shouted. “He’s alive, but we need to find him before they decide to cut their losses.”
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Keris stepped up to their conversation.
His brother’s eyes widened, then narrowed with growing anger. “Where have you been?”
“With a lovely pair of ladies at the Pink Rose,” he answered, naming the most expensive courtesan house in Nerastis—and one infamous for its discretion. “What happened to my palace?”
“Without an escort?” Otis’s ears turned red. “Have you lost your bloody mind, Keris? This isn’t Vencia. You can’t just go gallivanting around by yourself.”
“I just told you I wasn’t by myself.”
“Keris—”
His exhaustion had eaten away his patience for being treated like a wayward child, so he interrupted Otis. “Was there a fire?”
“Yes, the Valcottans managed to torch the repair scaffolding. No significant damage but—”
He’d had enough of this conversation. Injecting panic into his voice, he shouted, “My books!” Keris broke into a sprint, taking the steps two at a time as he circled to the top level, finding the door to his rooms kicked open, likely courtesy of Otis, and the space filled with servant women sweeping ash off the floor. His gaze went immediately to the chest where he kept his most precious possessions, but it appeared unscathed. “Thank God for small mercies.”
Otis appeared behind him, breathing hard. His brother caught him by the arm and dragged him into the bathing chamber, slamming the door shut behind them. “I thought they’d taken you,” he said in a low voice. “That they’d scaled the scaffolding and stolen you out of this fool’s choice of a bedroom right from under our very noses. But the Valcottans had nothing to do with it, did they? You climbed down of your own volition so that you could go fraternize with the masses as someone other than yourself. Was the fire just a way to cause a distraction so you could get out the gates, then?”
“I—”
“You could’ve gotten someone killed, you know. Several of our men have burns from falling debris, never mind that it’s going to take at least a week to rebuild the scaffolding.”
Guilt bit at Keris’s stomach, for despite not having been the one who’d set the fire, he was responsible for allowing the Valcottan woman close enough to do so.
“I’m tired of this, Keris. I’ve only been back in Nerastis for a day, and I’m already tired of your childish methods of showing your displeasure over your circumstances.” Otis scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I know how much you hate fighting. How much you abhor killing. How much you are against our invasion of Ithicana and our war with Valcotta, but what I don’t understand is why you can’t accept that this is the hand you’ve been dealt. War is in the blood of our people, and you’re heir to the throne, so you need to either become the man this kingdom needs or accept that your life will be a short one.”
Keris crossed his arms. “I have accepted my lot, Otis. It is you who continues to struggle.”
Silence stretched between them, so tense that he wondered if it would come to blows, as quarrels between Veliant brothers often did. Except usually, it was Otis delivering blows on his behalf.
But Otis only stepped back. “There are days I hate you, Keris. And today is one of them. But since I know you’re not going to do a damn thing but go back to being the useless bastard you always are, I’ll go clean up your mess. And then I’ll organize a raid across the Anriot, because it is a far better thing that our men believe a Valcottan got past our defenses than that their crown prince was stupid enough to set his own palace on fire.”
And without giving Keris time to muster a retort, his brother flung open the door and left the room.
Leaning against the wall, Keris balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to take deep, measured breaths, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just concede. To go down to the war room and plan raids across the border. To ride out with the men and coat his blade with enemy blood for the glory of Maridrina. To be the heir his father wanted.
To do what it took to ensure his own survival.
