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He departed, and a few moments later, a servant—little more than a child—appeared with a washbasin and what looked like a dress, her eyes wide with trepidation. “I’m to help you wash, miss.”
“I don’t need help,” Zarrah answered, unwilling to admit weakness. But the soldiers ignored her words and pushed the girl inside, locking the door. With their arms crossed, they stood watching with faint smiles on their faces until the girl said, “Please turn your backs. His Highness gave orders she was to be treated with courtesy.”
“She’s dangerous, girl. There is no chance of us turning our backs to her.”
The girl’s face tightened, and reaching for the blanket at the foot of the bed, she held it up to form a screen.
A small act of kindness, though it was no doubt motivated by fear. Either way, it was the most privacy she could expect, and Zarrah grudgingly pulled off her clothes, using the cloth to clean her body, which ached from head to toe with bruises.
When she was as clean as could be managed without a bath, Zarrah eyed her own garments, which were splattered with blood and vomit, then pulled the Maridrinian dress over her head, the thin wool rough against her skin, which was used to silk and leather. The cut left her arms and a large portion of her back bare, and she shivered as a draft struck her. The act of washing had rendered her exhausted, and she slumped down on the cot, her heart racing, the world swimming in and out of focus.
Where is he?she found herself wondering.Is he sitting in his tower, gloating over my capture? Or does he truly care so little that he is, as he alluded, asleep in his bed, with not a thought for me at all?
The girl departed with her soiled garments, returning with a tin cup of water and a crust of bread. The water Zarrah guzzled gratefully, but her stomach revolted at the thought of food, and she left the bread sitting on her cot.
Yrina would be out searching for her by now. Would have raised the alarm, and Zarrah wondered what her friend had told the garrison. Whether she’d given the whole truth, hoping it would aid in the hunt, or if she protected Zarrah’s secret still. Once word of her capture on this side of the Anriot reached Yrina’s ears, her friend would suspect the truth—that Zarrah had been with a Maridrinian. That Zarrah had lied to her.
Shame burned over her skin, briefly chasing away the chill, then footfalls echoed down the corridor, the draft carrying a familiar spicy scent and the voice that had once inspired her dreams. “Please tell me she’s still alive, preferably in one piece.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” one of the guards answered. A heartbeat later, Keris appeared in front of her cell, freshly bathed and dressed immaculately in a deep-blue coat that matched his eyes, trousers pressed, and his boots so polished they reflected the lamplight.
Rising on wobbly knees, Zarrah gripped the bars and faced him. She wanted to scream,How could you?Wanted to hammer her fists against the bars with all the rage in her chest, all the hurt in her heart, if for no other reason than to get a reaction from him. Yet she clung to her composure. “Come to preen?”
Keris shrugged, then brushed a fleck of lint off one shoulder. “Tempting, but better to wait until you’re safely delivered to Vencia. Accidents happen, after all, and I wouldn’t care to embarrass myself by celebrating too soon.” He gave her a weighted look that her battered brain couldn’t process, then waved a hand at one of the guards. “Go. I wish to speak to General Anaphora, and she’s more likely to speak freely without you staring daggers at her.”
“I must advise against you being alone with her, Your Highness. She’s more dangerous than she looks.”
“Then how fortunate she’s locked in a cage.” Keris turned to glare at the man. “Go.”
Given she could barely stand, Zarrah didn’t feel very dangerous at all. And yet she readied herself to reach through the bars. If she could take him hostage, escape might be possible. And if not that, she’d satisfy herself with taking his life before his countrymen took hers.
Heart in her throat, she watched as the soldier’s jaw worked back and forth, a rush of anticipation filling her when he saluted sharply and strode down the hall. Only when the sound of his footfalls had faded did Keris turn back to her, the blithe indifference gone from his face, his expression heavy with concern. “How badly are you hurt?”
“What do you care?” It took concerted effort not to spit the words in his face, but she needed to lure him closer, not drive him back.
“Given I just ordered a man whipped to death in order to protect your life, I’d say a great deal.”
He gripped the metal just above her hands. Well within reach, if she was quick. And yet Zarrah stood frozen in place as he added, “I’m going to get you out of this, but I need your help.”
All the flippancy was gone, his gaze intense. The prince was vanquished, and the Maridrinian stood before her once more. Yet logic screamed at her not to trust him. That this was only a ruse. That she should attack. But Zarrah only stared at him, tasting the blood now dripping from her nose, his face blurring in and out of focus.
“Damn it.” White fabric appeared in his hand to press against her nose. His fingers were warm where they brushed her skin. “I know your head is rattled, Valcotta, but you need to focus. I’ve only got a minute before Otis comes barreling down here in my defense.”
Valcotta.Zarrah’s legs shook, only her grip on the bars holding her upright. And behind the Maridrinian, the light pulsed.
“I can’t keep you here,” he said. “Nerastis is too lawless, too wild. It’s only a matter of time until someone murders you in your cell.”
“Then let me go.” Her tongue felt thick, and it took all her concentration to form the words.
“If I thought they’d listen, I’d give the order,” he said. “But there isn’t a chance of them allowing you to go free, and Otis has half the garrison guarding you for fear of an escape or rescue attempt. To get you free, we must leave Nerastis.”
His voice sounded far away, as though they stood atop the dam with the spillway between them once more.
“I’m going to argue that your value as a political prisoner demands the crown decide your fate, which means bringing you to Vencia. Along the way, I need your people to attack our party to liberate you.”
Her mind sharpened for a heartbeat, seeing the trick. Seeing his endgame. “Kiss my ass.” Her heart was racing so swiftly, she swore it would wrench from her chest. “You think I’m such a fool as to lead my people into an ambush?”
His jaw tightened, likely from anger that her battered brain saw through his plan. “I intend no such thing. Which I realize requires you trusting me, but—”
