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Rocking on his heels, he called, “I believe you have something of mine. Was the reading of it everything you hoped it would be when you stole it?”
Her cheeks burned. “I didn’t mean to take it.” Though she couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, Zarrah knew he’d lifted an eyebrow, so she hastily added, “I meant to return them all. The one stuck in my pocket. It’s here.” Digging it out, she held the folded paper up to the moonlight.
“I believe you.” He tilted his head. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
God, but he was a bastard.
Except while she was fumbling for a reply, he gestured at her to back up, and before she could shout at him that she was perfectly capable of jumping across herself, he’d retreated a few paces and was sprinting toward the gap.
Zarrah’s heart caught in her throat as he jumped, a dark shadow flying over the deadly water to land beside her on nearly silent feet. A silence broken by a sharp intake of breath, and he pressed a hand to his shoulder before reaching out the same hand to her. “Letter.”
Zarrah silently handed it over, his gloved fingers warm where they brushed hers.
“Thank you.” He backed up several paces, obviously intending to jump across, their exchange over.
Without thinking—which she was starting to believe was an escalating issue for her—Zarrah said, “I risked a great deal under the mistaken belief that I’d found myself a prize worthy of my life, yet you risked your life knowing that scrap of paper contains nothing but bad poetry,O.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I am most certainlynotO.”
“Then why—”
“O is a…friend, of sorts. Those letters are from the wife he lost a year ago to a shipwreck, and they are deeply precious to him.”
“I…” Her stomach twisted with a mix of shame and admiration. Shame at herself for having pilfered such precious items and admiration that this man had risked life and limb to retrieve them for the sake of another. “My apologies. I would never have taken them if I’d known it would cause such hurt.”
“A strange line to draw, given that you took them on the hope they’d give you information that would see him—and his countrymen—dead.”
“I have principles. Whether you understand them matters little.” She needed to be done with this conversation before her pride took any more abrasion, but curiosity held her feet in place even as it gave voice to a question that had haunted her. “Why didn’t you sound the alarm? Why chase me down yourself?”
He was silent, and the moon chose that moment to move out from behind a cloud, clearly illuminating his face, which was every bit as striking as she’d remembered. All high cheekbones and straight lines, though his lips were absent the smirk she’d begun to associate with him. The wind blew softly over them, and her nose caught the subtle scent of spice, the smell of which filled her with the absurd desire to move closer. To breathe deeper.
“If I’d sounded the alarm, they’d have captured you, and a swift execution would’ve been the most mercy you could’ve expected.”
Zarrah had known that crossing the Anriot. Known that if she were caught, she’d have been brutalized before her head was removed and catapulted across the Anriot for her countrymen to find. “Why should you care for the life of your enemy?”
“Because I’ve seen enough death to last me a lifetime, and if I have my way, I’ll never be the cause of it.” His eyes, rendered colorless in the darkness, regarded her steadily. “And just because Valcotta is Maridrina’s enemy doesn’t make you mine.”
That wasexactlywhat it meant, but instead of arguing, she said, “You do not sound in favor of the Endless War.”
He turned to look out over the glowing city, but Zarrah kept her eyes on him, watching as the wind teased a strand of his hair free from the knot at the back of his head. He was in his mid-twenties, was her guess, and while his clothes were nondescript, his cleanliness suggested he enjoyed a certain amount of privilege. Likely one of the endless noblemen who filled the Maridrinian army, there being no other purpose for them.
He gestured at the city. “Explain to me how this place is worth fighting over?”
There were reasons. The land surrounding Nerastis was tremendously fertile, the port large enough to support significant merchant traffic, and the weather calmer than it was anywhere on the continent.
As though sensing her thoughts, he said, “How many men and women do you suppose have died in the war over this city?”
“Who can say?” Though she knew the answer: tens of thousands. It was surprising the earth itself wasn’t stained red, so many had fallen in this place.
“Even if it were only one, it would be too many,” he said. “Because this is a war fueled not by the desire to improve the lives of the people but by the greed and pride of kings and empresses, and no one should have to give their life for that.”
She snorted in disgust. “Perhaps by Silas Veliant’s greed, but the Empress fights for honor and vengeance.”
“I’m sure that’s what she would have her soldiers believe is her motivation. It is likely the reason they tell themselves they fight, because it is much more palatable to face death in the name of honor than because it was the job you were hired to do. It’s certainly what Maridrinian soldiers tell themselves; that I can tell you for fact.”
Zarrah opened her mouth to argue that was ironic, given his people were honorless dogs, but then shut it again, as it was no argument against his point.
“Do you know who started the Endless War, Valcotta? Who threw the first punch?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “No one does,though of surety, both sides blame the other. The only thing that can be said with certainty is that an emperor and a king long dead both wanted this land and had too much pride in their hearts to split it down the middle. And though thousands have died to claim it, Nerastis sits in ruins and much of the land around it fallow. Anyone who thinks it is honorable to continue such a fight is a goddamned fool.”
