Page 134 of The Endless War

“You’ve seen the day,” Keris answered. “I want the war to end. Though if I’ve learned anything, it is thatwantingsomething will not make it so.” Squaring his shoulders, Keris raised his voice so that it would carry out over the crowd. “One must fight for it.”

Knowing that he was close to losing them, he shouted, “Petra Anaphora is not the lawful ruler of Valcotta. On his deathbed, Emperor Ephraim voiced his desire for Valcotta to know peace and named his younger daughter, Aryana, heir to his throne because he knew that under Petra’s rule, the fires of war would only burn hotter. Instead of acceding to his wishes, Petra usurped the throne …” Zarrah’s story poured from his lips, the crowd watching with rapt eyes as he unveiled the truth.

“It is true that I was not in Ithicana negotiating terms of trade,” he continued. “But it was Ithicana who aided me in sailing south to rescue Zarrah, allowing us to join the rebels who have fought so tirelessly against Petra’s rule. Zarrah commands them now, with the intent of challenging Petra for the crown, but they cannot hope to defeat her alone.”

Sweat ran in rivulets down his spine as he paused, because this was the moment. This was when he needed to ask Maridrina to fightfor the very people who’d just destroyed their homes, whose blades had been the death of those in the grave before them. “You.” He pointed at the woman who’d spoken. “You claim that Maridrinians have long wanted this war to end. Have wanted the fighting to cease. Have wanted peace, but my family wouldn’t allow it. That it continues only because of Veliant pride. Do others share that belief?”

Nods and shouts of agreement rolled across the crowd, a rising tide of vitriol against his warmongering family.

“What if I told you that Valcottans feel the same way?”

The crowd fell silent.

“Like you, they wish for the end of the war, but under Petra’s rule, they are forced to fight. Forced to send their young people to join the Imperial Army’s ranks, many of them never seen alive again. And while she wears Valcotta’s crown, Petra will never allow the war to end. It is her pride, her identity, her legacy, and to seek peace is beyond comprehension to her. Valcotta is at the mercy of a tyrant, but so is Maridrina. If Petra will not allow her empire to stop warring against us, we are forced to fight back, forced to send the youth to the border to fight and fight and fight. And no matter how much I might wish to do otherwise, I’ll be forced into the role of my father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, for like you, I will have no other choice!”

His mouth was dry, throat hoarse, but it was worth it, because he could see that the women were listening.

“Maridrina did not liberate itself from my father,” he shouted. “Ithicana fought that battle for us. Their queen, my sister, defeated him, and in doing so, offered me the opportunity to change this kingdom for the better. And my greatest error has been underestimating the villainy of those like Petra who see the Endless War as a way to maintain their power, even if it means standing on the backs of countless dead. She will not be defeated with passivity, will only grow stronger if our complacency leaves her free to destroy those who rally against her. So I ask you, will you stand not just with me, but with Valcottans, and lift arms to bring Petra Anaphora’s tyranny to an end? Will you fight for peace?”

“You’ll let us fight?” the woman at the front of the crowd asked.“You’ll allow women to defend our families?”

“You have always fought,” he answered. “Always defended them. It would be an honor to have you in my ranks as we cross the border to put an end to this war for good.”

She stared at him, this woman he’d never met, never seen, whose name he might never know, and Keris’s heart felt like it was in his throat. Then she gave a nod. “All right, then. If you say that Petra is the one to blame for this”—she gestured at the smoking ruins of the city—“then I’ll gladly march for her blood. Though what about her?” She jerked her chin at Lestara, who was still standing, pale-faced, in the grave.

Keris considered his father’s wife, who was a traitor to the nation and who deserved to be executed. But he was trying to take Maridrina down a different path, which meant trying something different than heads on a spike. “Death seems a paltry punishment for what you’ve done, Lestara, for I don’t think you fear it. I think you fear irrelevance. I think you fear powerlessness. I think you fear failing to secure the destiny that a witch whispered in your ear as a child. And there is one place I can think of where you will face all three of your fears day after day after day.”

All the color drained from Lestara’s face.

“The Harendellians revile your people, Lestara, but none more than Queen Alexandra herself. So I think I’ll ask a favor of my friends in the north and request they take you into their care, where you will be fed and clothed like a lady but looked upon as one does shit discovered on the sole of one’s shoe.”

“No!” Lestara dropped to her knees, tears flooding down her cheeks. “Please, Keris. Just kill me. I’d rather die than go there!”

“Which is why it is the perfect punishment.”

Lestara screamed and screamed, but her shrieks were drowned out by the sea of voices, all declaring that they’d march. That they’d fight.

That they’d bring Petra Anaphora to her knees.

“Ithicana stands with you as well,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “We will join this alliance against tyranny.”

Keris turned, his chest tightening as he found Aren standing behind him, Lara at his side.

Farther down the slope from them stood Dax and Jor at the head of hundreds of armed Ithicanians. As Keris’s eyes moved over them, the winds gusted, clearing fog out over the water and revealing dozens upon dozens of ships. Fishing boats and merchant vessels and naval vessels that Ithicana had collected over the years, few of which would be good in a fight but all of which were capable of carrying an army south.

Turning back to his people, Keris said, “Let us to war. And by God, let’s make it the last war fought in our lifetime!”

NOT KNOWING WASthe purest form of torture.

Every minute that passed since Keris had left was filled with preparation for the conflict to come, but as she helped train fighters, secure supplies, and rally more to the rebel cause, Zarrah was screaming in wordless fear. Every messenger who arrived sent a bolt of terror down her spine that word had come about what had happened in Vencia. That it had been sacked, the hundreds of thousands of civilians living there now dead. That those who’d survived had turned on Keris, blaming him for their ruin.

That he was dead.

And for all her certainty and faith in Keris himself, her hope that he’d be able to deliver an army to join the rebellion’s fight dwindled with each passing day.

“You keep lowering your guard,” she said to one of the women she was instructing, a baker who’d lost her husband because he’d been vocal against the Usurper. She’d never held a sword until now, wouldn’t last a minute against a trained soldier, but Zarrah was in no position to send her away. For this was the sort of soldier joiningher ranks. Civilians who’d been pushed too far or lost too much and whoneededto fight back. There was power in that. Strength in having an army that wasn’t just being paid to fight, but that wanted to fight. Whose very survival depended on victory.

A party on horseback appeared, and Zarrah stepped away from those she was training when she saw her father in their midst. He broke from the group and trotted in her direction, nodding at those who saluted as he passed. “Imperial Majesty,” he said, dismounting. “A word?”

---