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But she took the book out of his pocket first.
As she walked through the streets, Zarrah flipped through the pages, her eyes drifting over the writing, the stories making her smile.
It was a forgotten joy, reading for pleasure.
One of many things she’d given up in her desire to be strong, in her desire for vengeance, in her desire to please her aunt.
When was the last time she’d done something for no reason other than it made her happy?
Seeing an approaching patrol, Zarrah tucked the book back into the pocket, nodding at her soldiers as they stopped to salute. More salutes as she strode through the empty gates, and Zarrah forced her thoughts to what needed to be accomplished today. To the endless reports she needed to read and drills she needed to oversee.
“Where in the name of God have you been?” Hands closed over her shoulders, pulling Zarrah sideways into a corridor.
Yrina.
Her friend shook a finger in her face. “All damned night, I’ve been searching for you, Zar. All. Night. Had to organize a bloody roundup to hide what I was doing, but you were nowhere to be found.”
Zarrah opened her mouth to lie about where she’d been, but Yrina’s eyes latched on the Maridrinian’s coat. “What’s this?” She jerked it out of Zarrah’s grip, holding it up. “This is aman’scoat.” Her fingers moved over the leather. “Anexpensiveman’s coat. Does it belong to your lover?”
“Give it back, Yrina.” She reached for the coat, but her friend danced backward. “I borrowed it from a civilian friend and didn’t have the chance to return it.”
Yrina lifted the leather to her nose and inhaled. “Bergamot. Ginger. And red cedar, if my nose does not mistake it.” She inhaled again, then rolled her eyes back, groaning. “My God, Zar. If you aren’t sleeping with whoever owns this coat, there is something deeply wrong with you.” Then she frowned. “Except this isn’t… this isn’t a Valcottan cut. It’s—”
“Harendellian,” Zarrah snapped, trying to curb the rising panic in her stomach. “And it takes more than expensive cologne to get my trousers off, Yrina. Now perhaps you might explainwhyyou organized a roundup of Maridrinians for the sake of tracking me down?”
All humor vanished from her friend’s face. “Becauseshe’shere.”
She.The Empress. “When? And why? She was supposed to return to Pyrinat.”
Yrina exhaled a long breath. “She does not keep me in her counsel, Zar. All I know is that she was not pleased to discover you absent, especially given no one knewwhereyou were. And I’m not sure there is a lie in the world that’s going to get you out of this one.”
Shit.Zarrah closed her eyes, knowing that she’d gotten herself into this mess and had no one to blame but herself. “Put those in my room for me, please. Somewhere the servants won’t find them.”
“Those?” Yrina lifted one eyebrow, then fished the book out of the coat’s pocket, reading the cover. Her other eyebrow rose to join its mate. “Stars,” she murmured. “Color me intrigued.” Then she wandered down the corridor, flipping through the pages of the Maridrinian’s book.
Straightening her clothing and praying the smells of her prior night’s activities didn’t cling too strongly, Zarrah headed to the training yard to face her aunt.
Empress Petra of Valcottastood at the center of the nearly empty yard, only her bodyguard, Welran, and a servant holding a pitcher of water in attendance. She wore training leathers, her eyes closed as she moved through the same exercises she’d completed every morning for as long as Zarrah had been alive.
Zarrah stopped at the edge of the sand, standing at attention while her aunt finished, trying to keep her racing heart in check. Not once had she disappointed her aunt, not like this. And though her aunt didn’t know the half of what Zarrah had done, what she did know still smacked of defiance.
Which was something the Empress had no tolerance for.
Without speaking, her aunt went to a rack of weapons and selected two staffs, one of which she tossed to the ground at Zarrah’s feet before accepting a glass of water from the servant. Eyes on Zarrah, she drank deeply before setting the glass back on the tray.
Her mouth dry as the sand they stood upon, Zarrah retrieved the staff and moved to the center of the space, taking her position.
The Empress attacked.
A blinding whirl of wood, which Zarrah barely managed to block, her arms shuddering from the impact. Then another and another, her aunt putting her on the defense and giving her no respite.
She never did.
At her best, Zarrah was barely a match for the older woman, who made up for the strength age had sapped with a lifetime of experience. But today, Zarrah was far from her best. She was exhausted from nights of little sleep, her body stiff from lying on a rooftop, and her mind sluggish from ale.
Crack.
The blow caught her across the ribs, ripping a gasp from her lips and sending her staggering. Zarrah rolled as her aunt swung at her again, trying to give herself the space to regain ground, but her aunt relentlessly pursued.
