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“I’m going to kill you, Veliant,” she hissed. “I’m going to cut out your black heart and feed it to the dogs!”
“Zarrah! Hold your ground!”
She heard Yrina’s shout of warning, saw the Maridrinians racing up the beach in an attempt to rescue their prince. Knew she’d be overrun but found herself not caring.
Another swing of her staff, and he was on his ass, scrambling backward. Pulling her knife, she bared her teeth, moving in for the kill.
Then strong hands caught her around the middle, hauling her back.
“We’ve won, little Zarrah,” Bermin’s voice rasped in her ear. “Allow the rats to scuttle back to their side of the Anriot, where they can lick their wounds in shame.”
“Let me go,” she screamed, but her cousin’s grip was implacable. “He’s a Veliant!”
Her soldiers muttered angrily, demanding pursuit, but Bermin only said, “Do not allow your emotions to rule your good sense, little Zarrah. The princeling’s pride will give you another chance; you need only bide your time. And if it is not this one, it will be another who you bring low.”
She would not stop at just one. For when it came to the Veliant family, her need for vengeance was no spark.
It was an inferno.
23
KERIS
Keris paced back and forth across his rooms, his skin clammy and his stomach twisted into knots.
Of course, Otis had insisted on going. Of course, Otis insisted on being the one to deliver Maridrina’s revenge.
It could be no other way.
Nothing Keris had said in an attempt to dissuade him from joining the raiding party had made a difference, and short of commanding his brother to remain, which would’ve raised questions he couldn’t answer, there’d been nothing he could do to keep Otis from sailing into an ambush.
“Shit.” Visions of his brother’s corpse being laid at his feet filled his eyes. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Otis was more than his half brother—he was Keris’s best friend. His only friend, if he was being truthful. For their entire lives, Otis had protected him. Against their brothers, against their father, against the world. That they didn’t have a damned interest in common and fought more days than not didn’t matter. They were blood, and if Otis were harmed…
A knock sounded at the door. Not bothering to answer, Keris jerked it open, the servant on the other side leaping back in alarm. “Well?”
“You wished to be informed when the raiding party returned, my lord.” He blinked at Keris. “They’ve returned.”
“Is my brother with them?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Only that there are many injured.”
No.
Pushing past the man, Keris ran down the circular stairs, checking his pace only when he reached the bottom. The main level of the palace was a flurry of activity, servants carrying basins of water and bandages toward the rooms that served as the infirmary.
A scream of pain echoed down the corridor, groans and sobs growing louder as he approached. His heart throbbed, his breathing more labored than it should’ve been from the stairs as he entered the room, taking in the sight of soldiers sprawled on cots, physicians and their assistants working to stem the blood that seemed to coat most of the room.
Keris’s eyes jumped from face to face, but none of them was his brother.
None of them was Otis.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, then a loud voice in the distance said, “I’m going to kill that Anaphora girl, mark my words! The next time, she’s not walking away unscathed!”
A wave of relief forced Keris to catch his balance against the wall as the world swam. Giving his head a shake, he rounded a corner, finding his brother in the adjoining chamber with several other soldiers, a physician engaged with stitching up a nasty gash along Otis’s left bicep.
Crossing his arms, Keris leaned against the doorframe. “Things not go well?”
