Page 110 of The Endless War

Soldiers threw him to the ground, but Welran shook his head as they tore back his hood. “What is this madness?”

“I am Zarrah!” Another woman from Daria’s tribe was allowed past the perimeter of soldiers, just as another man shouted, “I am the rebel commander!”

Soldiers dragged them to the center of the square and shoved them to the ground, removing their hoods, only to shake their heads. “It’s not them!”

But their voices were drowned out by more shouts as Daria’s tribe members all began to step forward, claiming to be Zarrah. Claiming to be the commander. Claiming to be rebels, the confused soldiers pushing them down next to those who had been tortured, it all happening too swiftly for them to be checked for weapons.

Just as Zarrah had intended.

Except it didn’t stop with Daria’s tribe. Civilians were stepping up to the soldiers, Zarrah’s name on their lips. The commander’s. And while there was fear in their eyes, their chins were held high with anger and defiance.

“There is no one a king fears more than his own people,” Keris had said to her before they’d parted ways at the alehouse. “And I think no one the Empress fears more than Valcottans armed with the truth about who she truly is.”

And Arakis had known the truth far longer than Zarrah had. Had known that her aunt was a monster while Zarrah had been staring at her with idolizing eyes, convinced she was a paragon. They’d been poised for a revolt for a very long time; all they’d needed was a catalyst.

And in his grief, Welran had provided it, which, from his expression, he was now realizing.

The square was full of civilians now, the soldiers scattered and expressions panicked, because in allowing people past their perimeter, they’d given up their power. Their advantage. There were armed and angry people surrounding them, and all it would take was one lifting a weapon or fist in violence for this to turn from an angry mob into a bloody riot. And the imperial guard was grossly outnumbered.

Back down,Zarrah silently willed Welran.You can’t win this. Retreat.

She didn’t want this day to end in death, especially not Welran’s. He’d been like an uncle to her, helping her aunt raise Zarrah and train her, and she knew the grief in his heart. Knew that his soul bled for the death of the son he’d never been allowed to claim, but whom he’d still raised, still watched over, stillloved.

Walk away,she repeated.Walk away and live another day.

Instead Welran’s face hardened. Grabbing a girl from Daria’s tribe by the hair, he pressed his sword blade to her throat. “Zarrah!” he roared. “Come out, or she dies. I know you are here! I know this is your doing!”

Zarrah grimaced, cursing his pride because it would cause so much death.

“I know you think you can win this without bloodshed,” he shouted. “That you believe the whole of Valcotta will come to share your delusion that peace with Maridrina is possible. That both nations will lay down their weapons to make your love affair possible, which makes you every bit as mad asher.”

He knows she’s mad.Zarrah’s heart felt like it stuttered, the world swimming around her. She’d been told her aunt was a madwoman by so many. Had told herself. Yet somehow, Welran speaking against the Usurper’s sanity made it the truth in a way it hadn’t been before.

But unlike her, Welran saw no escape from the Usurper’s control, and that was why he hadn’t retreated. Why he was antagonizing a mob of people who already had cause to hate him.

“I’ll kill her, Zarrah,” he roared, and the girl squealed as the blade dug into her flesh. “Don’t think that I won’t!”

She knew he’d do it. Knew that in another heartbeat, the girl would be breathing her last and that countless more would die as all turned to chaos. So despite it being counter to the plan, despite having committed to remaining hidden, Zarrah stepped forward, pulling back her hood.

Welran’s eyes fixed on her.

“Let her go,” she said. “I’m here, which means you have what you want. You don’t need to hurt an innocent child.”

“I doubt she’s innocent.”

The girl sobbed, trickles of blood running down her brown skin.“Please,” she sobbed. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Let her go.”

Welran’s hand was shaking, tears gleaming in his eyes. “You killed my boy. You and yourlover.You’re a traitor to your people in every possible way.”

Zarrah’s heart ached at his grief, the culmination of far more than just Bermin’s death. “I didn’t kill him, Welran. We fought, and though my heart desired his blood, Keris convinced me to stay my hand. But Bermin wouldn’t let it go. Pursued me to the bitter end and made a choice that was his damnation. He chose to make his end on that island.”

“He died with honor!” Welran screamed. “Whereas you will die the traitor that you are!”

All around them, the crowd had fallen still, but whispers filtered outward, all of them saying one thing. “It’s her. It’s Zarrah.”

Zarrah’s eyes met the girl’s, the fear in them reminding her of herself at that age. So quick to throw herself into danger without mind for the consequences. She’d not allow the child to lose the opportunity to learn the wisdom of caution. “Fine. Her life for mine.”

---