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His heart pounded as he wove through the paths, then stuttered as his eyes latched on the still-living Ithicanian king.
Aren’s whole body was tense, his eyes full of the resigned determination of a man ready to end his life because he saw no other path forward. He leaned, readying to dash his own skull against the hard stone of the table, and it was all Keris could do not to throw himself at the man to restrain him.
But Serin was always watching, and he dared not give himself away.
Aren closed his eyes and took a breath, and Keris clenched his teeth to keep from screaming, “Don’t do it!”
Step. Step. Step.He put weight into his stride, hoping the noise would cause the man to look up, but Aren only gripped the table with his manacled hands, knuckles turning white, the resolve in his expression so great that Keris wondered if stopping him was even possible.
But he had to try, so he said loudly, “The wives are starting to complain about the smell. Can’t say that I blame them.”
The King of Ithicana twitched hard enough that his chains rattled against the table, his bloodshot eyes fixing on Keris, recognition filling them.
“It’s a terrible practice.” Keris squinted at the bodies lining the walls, their putrefying flesh crawling with insects, drawing old, painful memories to the forefront. “Never mind the smell; it invites flies and other vermin. Spreads disease.” Feeling his stomach twist, he looked back to Aren. “Though I expect it’s far worse for you given that you know them, Your Grace. Especially given they died trying to break you free.”
Aren’s hazel eyes darkened, and it seemed he hadn’t noticed Keris’s use of his title despite it being forbidden. “You are…?”
“Keris.”
“Ah.” Aren’s tone was flat. “Theinadequateheir.”
Given you’ve proven yourself to be a particularly inadequate king, that seems a tad self-righteous,Keris wanted to say, but he hadn’t come here to needle the other man. He’d come to facilitate an alliance and achieve an end, which meant every word needed to be chosen with care. Setting the book on the table, he said, “Eight older brothers who fit the mold, all dead, and now my father is stuck trying to weasel his way out of naming me heir without breaking one of his own laws. I’d wish him luck in the endeavor if not for the fact that his and Serin’s weaseling is likely to see me in a grave next to my siblings.”
The king leaned back in his chair, the chains on his manacles rattling, reminding Keris that the man was dangerous, even when restrained. “No desire to rule?”
“It’s a thankless burden,” Keris replied, knowing it was no answer.
“True. But when you have the crown, you can change the décor.” Aren gestured at the corpses lining the garden walls.
Keris laughed despite himself, wondering if under other circumstances, he’d have liked this man.Probably not.“To rule is a burden, but perhaps especially so for a king who enters his reign desirous of change, for he will spend his life wading against the current. But you understand that, don’t you, Your Grace?” The guards who were listening in on the conversation would believe he spoke solely of Aren’s reign, but he prayed the Ithicanian was more intelligent than that.
“You’re the philosopher,” Aren said. “Or was that, too, part of the deception?”
A flicker of confusion ran through him, and then Keris understood. Aren was referring to the part Keris had played in the invasion of Ithicana.
It had been Aren who’d given Keris and his entourage permission to travel the bridge, and it was unlikely that the Ithicanian king was aware that Keris’s participation in the invasion had been unwitting. Aren believed him complicit, which meant he’d not see Keris as a potential ally. But perhaps the truth would sway him. “I think Serin took particular glee in using my dreams in such a perverse fashion. It is one of the only instances in which he has successfully pulled the wool over my eyes, the shock of being trussed up and stuffed in a corner while myescortinvaded Ithicana not one I’ll soon forget. Even still, I might have forgiven the duplicity if my father had allowed me to carry on to Harendell in pursuit of my studies, but as you can see”—he stretched his arms wide—“here I am.”
“My condolences.”
Not enough. He needed to do more to sway the man’s opinion of him.“Imagine a world where people spent as much time philosophizing as they did learning to swing weapons.”
“I can’t,” Aren answered bitterly. “The only thing I know well is war, which doesn’t say much given that I’m on the losing side of this one.”
“Losing, perhaps…” Keris knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, given this conversation would be reported back to Serin. And to his father. “But not yet lost. Not while Eranahl stands, and not while you still live. Why else would my father insist on these theatrics?”
“Bait for his errant daughter, I’m told.”
“Your wife.”
The only answer he got was a glower, and Keris found himself questioning his aunt’s belief that Aren still cared for Lara. Except Coralyn was a master at reading people—and manipulating them—and he’d never known her to miss her mark. Which meant he needed to dig deeper.
“Lara.” Keris rubbed his chin, forcing his face into a mask of idle curiosity. “She’s my sister, you know.”
“If you meant that to be a great revelation, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.”
Keris chuckled even as motion in the distance had him scanning the garden for spies. But it was only a bird splashing in a fountain. “Not my half sister. We have the same mother, too.”
Aren straightened, interest rising in his gaze. And something else. “What of it?”
