Page 138 of The Endless War

Keris swallowed hard, the slam of the gangplank against the dock making him twitch, though a lifetime of practice kept his nerves off hisface. “You will remain with Princess Sarhina,” he said to his soldiers. “She and her family are to be protected at all costs. Am I understood?”

The men blinked in surprise, one of them saying, “But, Your Grace—”

“Sarhina is your charge,” he repeated, then stepped onto the gangplank and strode down to the dock.

Captain Philo stepped out to meet him, bowing. “Your Grace.”

“Captain.”

“We received word about Vencia.” Philo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “We were prepared for an inland incursion to take the land north of Nerastis, which has long been the region Valcotta coveted. Not …” He swallowed again. “We were not prepared, Your Grace.”

“I have learned that it is difficult to prepare against the mind of a monster,” Keris answered. “Petra Anaphora attacked a city full of civilians. A city of little strategic value. A city she knew she couldn’t hold, which is why she didn’t bother to try. But she was not without her reasons for doing so.” His throat tightened, but Keris forced himself to add, “Our enemies exploited my distraction, which means the fault is mine, not yours.”

Philo gave a slow blink, and then his mouth twisted into a grimace.

Blame had already been cast.

A bead of sweat rolled down Keris’s spine, swiftly followed by another, because he deserved to be blamed. It had been his fault, and he deserved their ire. But he couldn’t allow it to fall down upon him now, not when Zarrah was marching to war and expecting him to have her back. Without his army, it would be lambs to the slaughter for the rebels against the full weight of Petra’s army.

Think.

Say something.

“The Valcottans sent an emissary yesterday,” Philo said, breaking the silence. “He told us that the attack on Vencia was retaliation for your involvement with plots to release dangerous criminals imprisoned on Devil’s Island into the civilian population of Pyrinat and your support of a coup in the south.” The captain’s jaw tightened. “The emissary committed to a truce in Nerastis on the condition that we refrain from raiding. And from meddling with Valcottan affairs. The emissarywarned that if we violated the terms in any way, the full might of the Valcottan army would be brought to bear upon this garrison.”

That fucking clever—

“We agreed to it, though with this attack on their fleet”—he gestured to the burning ships in the distance—“I think it fair to say the truce is over.”

Keris exhaled slowly because the alternative was to scream. And scream and scream because Petra had outmatched him, again. Outplayed him, again. And it would be Zarrah and the rebels who paid the price, though it would not stop there … “There won’t be a truce,” he said. “It is merely a stratagem to keep Maridrina from retaliating while she deals with the rebels contesting her rule. By agreeing to it, we would be playing into Petra’s hands. What we need to do is—”

“Support a coup to put your lover on the throne?” a familiar baritone called out from behind the ranks of Keris’s soldiers.

Slowly, the men parted, though they did not need to do so to reveal Welran, Petra’s bodyguard a head taller than all those around. Unarmed, and wearing only a Valcottan uniform, Welran strolled through the Maridrinian soldiers, expression amused. He was the emissary, the one who had duped Keris’s army into believing Petra would hold to a truce. “So we meet again, Your Grace.”

I should have killed you in Arakis,was the first thought that came to Keris’s mind, but he kept the fear from his face and instead dusted an invisible piece of lint from his cloak. “Well, if it isn’t Petra’s inamorato in the flesh. I was so dreadfully sorry to hear of the fate of your progeny, though in fairness, Bermin was a few stones short of a load, so it’s no one’s loss. Shame Petra’s past her prime, else you might have tried again. That was my father’s strategy.”

Welran’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Indeed. Yet for all the warriors Silas fathered, it was you who took the crown. The brilliant, bookish genius who, rather than raising Maridrina up high, has brought it to ruin.”

“It’s—”

“Because,” Welran continued, cutting Keris off, “you are also a whoremongering, womanizing philanderer.”

Keris knew the direction Welran was going, yet there was no pointin denying his words. His reputation was known across Maridrina, and the soldiers in Nerastis had seen it with their own eyes. In and out of pleasure houses, courtesans brought into the palace, parading up and down the stairs to his rooms with no regard to propriety. He hadn’t cared. Or rather, he’d cared so much about being everything his father hadn’t wanted him to be that he’d delighted in his infamy. Coralyn had always told him that there’d be a cost, and Keris had laughed.

He was no longer laughing.

Not as his army shifted restlessly, having no reasonnotto believe everything Welran had told them because the lies were hidden within damning truths.

“A bacchanal,” Welran spat, “who was content to use his kingdom in his pursuit of his own pleasure, no matter the cost to innocent civilians. A debauched gutter rat who left his capital defenseless so that he might use his army to gift his harlot a crown.”

Anger boiled up and burned away Keris’s fear. “Say what you will about me, but speak ill of the Empress again and I will have your tongue.”

Welran roared with laughter “And who,” he demanded, wiping away tears of mirth, “will do the cutting? You?” He slapped his thigh as though the idea of it was the purest form of comedy. “You stand alone, Your Grace, with no one left willing to do your dirty work. Even your demon of a sister is having second thoughts, which is why she and her uxorious husband are hiding on their ship. Look. Look!”

Keris refused to turn. Knew that there was nothing but empty dock behind him.

“Admit it, Your Grace,” Welran said. “Admit to your army that you put a woman before them. Admit to them that you sacrificed their homes and families in a fool’s attempt to put a crown on Zarrah’s head. Admit that you want them to march toward a battle where most of them will die, all on the chance of keeping yourwhorealive to warm your bed again.”

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