Page 117 of The Endless War

“You ask how I have earned the right to call myself Empress?” she shouted. “This is how. While all of you talk of ending the war, of bringing peace to Valcotta, of setting aside enmity, that’s all it is. Talk. Whereas I have lived it. Proven it is possible.”

Every eye was fixed on her, and it felt suddenly too hard to breathe, her claim too great to justify, even though in her heart, she knew it was true. “I …” Words failed her, and Zarrah swallowed hard, the samespiral of emotion that had made her panic in the brothel threatening to rise again. She couldn’t let it. Couldn’t faint off the side of her horse and expect these soldiers to then follow her into battle.

Countless times in her life she’d rallied soldiers, said what needed to be said to motivate them to fight, always wholly confident in her own leadership. In the righteousness of her cause. Only to learn that she’d been a pawn in a tyrant’s game, every goal, every ambition, every desire planted in her mind by the one who’d stolen everything from her. To be freed of her aunt should have been liberating, except Zarrah couldn’t help but wonder what she was without Petra Anaphora.

Breathe.

She sucked in a breath, but none of the air seemed to reach her lungs, the world starting to spin.

Then a hand pressed against her leg. Zarrah squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it was Keris without looking down, every part of her responding to his touch, and the next breath of air she dragged in filled her with strength.

Her panic fell away like the deadfall of winter in the face of spring rain. Allowing the bow in her hand to slip from her grip, Zarrah reached down to take hold of Keris’s hand.

“Petra Anaphora is a tyrant whose desire to be worshipped by all causes her to turn violence upon any who doubt her. Who question her,” she said. “We know this. Know she must be removed from power for Valcotta to ever thrive as it should. Know that she needs to be defeated at all costs. But to defeat an enemy, one must understand the weapons she uses. For the Usurper, her greatest weapon is the Endless War, and the fuel of that war is hate. She needs Maridrina to be the villain so that she might be the savior. Nearly everything she does is with the mind of fueling the belief that every hurt we suffer is at their hands and that we must redeem our honor in vengeance. There is no greater proof of that than in me.”

Keris’s fingers tightened, and she gave the faintest of nods. “I thought I needed to stand alone to liberate Valcotta,” she said, her throat dry from talking but her heart strong in a way it hadn’t been in so long. “Except peace wasn’t a dream I conceived alone, and if I attempt to achieve it alone, I will fail. As will we all fail if we allowher weapon to hold power against us. We must set aside old hatreds and vows for vengeance against Maridrinians, for if we don’t, we give the Usurper power over us. We must join with them and stand united against our common foe in a fight against tyranny. In a fight for a future for our children. Will you lift your weapons and join this alliance? Will you fight for peace?”

No one spoke. No one moved, and Zarrah’s heart sank. Most of these soldiers didn’t know her, and if they did, they knew her from before. Knew her when she was vengeance incarnate, their enemy’s weapon. How could she blame them for not taking the risk of following her?

Then Daria edged her horse forward, shouting, “I joined this alliance back on Devil’s Island. I stand by it now, just as I stand by the rightful Empress of Valcotta!”

“As do I,” Saam declared. “The King of Maridrina has got the biggest balls of any man I’ve met, and I’ll gladly fight alongside him.”

Daria’s tribe members pressed forward, and Zarrah’s throat tightened. They’d proven themselves in Arakis against Welran, shown their bravery and loyalty. Earned a tenuous place back with the rebels, yet they were risking it for Keris. Because he hadn’t just proved himself to her; he’d proven himself to them.

She held her breath as they joined her, afraid it would cost them. But then the soldiers she didn’t know moved to join them, men and women who were strangers to her and yet somehow had faith that she’d lead them to a better future. Arakis had risen for the rebellion, and now the rebellion would rise for Valcotta itself.

Soon everyone present stood behind her and Keris, leaving only the commander of the rebellion, her father, standing in opposition. Zarrah held her breath, because for all these soldiers had declared for her cause, she knew that if he turned his back on her, as he had so many times before, the support would evaporate.

Slowly, her father stepped forward and inclined his head. “I will join this alliance.”

Keris’s hand clutched tightly in hers, Zarrah looked out over her army. “Let the Usurper enjoy her crown while she has it, for we are coming to rip it from her head.”

“ISTAND CORRECTEDon my prior comments about your skills as an orator,” Keris said. “That was magnificent.”

Zarrah gave him a wry look over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the trail they rode upon, guiding the horse they shared through the narrow ravine. The incline sharpened, and he tightened his grip on her waist, the muscles of her abdomen taut beneath his fingers. So, too, were the muscles in his arms as he fought to keep an appropriate distance between them without falling off the back of the trotting horse.

His words were no lie. Listening to her speak, especially about how their time together had changed her, hadn’t just moved the rebels, for Keris had nearly come undone, his emotions still riding high. For a long time, he’d questioned whether he remembered events in Nerastis accurately, or whether he had altered reality to fantasy, a rose-tinted view of the past. Her speech had validated his memories, which should’ve been a relief.

Instead he felt sick with anxiety that Zarrah’s faith in him was misled.

Arjun wasn’t wrong that Keris had made promises that he might not be able to deliver upon. Zarrah depended on his ability to bring his army across the border to pin Petra between two forces and secure either her defeat or surrender. Even after the losses Maridrina had taken in Ithicana, he had the numbers and resources to challenge Petra. That wasn’t the question.

It was whether he could convince his people to do it.

Valcotta had been his kingdom’s enemy for generations, and while Keris knew that many were weary of the war, that didn’t mean they’d be willing to fight to liberate their enemy from a tyrant.

His father would have made them do it. Would have put the fear of refusal so deep in their guts that they’d have liberated the devil himself rather than risk disappointing their king, but they didn’t fear Keris that way.

And he didn’t want them to.

Using fear to force them to fight a war they didn’t want would make him the same as his father. Worse, it would make him the same as Petra. Removing one tyrant only to replace her with himself, and around and around the world circled in the same cycle of horror.

They had to break that cycle, but Keris had no idea how. No idea what he would say, only that the moment was rapidly approaching that he’d have to make his own speeches to his people.

Which, ultimately, meant that he was going to have to return to Maridrina. And leave Zarrah behind.

Keris closed his eyes, listening to the throb of his heart. This was always the way. Walking toward inevitable moments of separation made necessary by duty, circumstance, honor. Every force but their own wills desired them apart, and he’d have given up hope that it would ever be otherwise if not for that hope being what kept his heart beating. What kept him pushing and persevering and fighting for the very things that would again drive them apart. The most vicious of circles, and one from which Keris saw no escape.

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