Page 93 of The Endless War

She waited for him to point out that was a goal, not a plan, but Keris only pulled the hood of his cloak forward, obscuring his face. “Seems like a good place to start.”

THE PATH HAD,indeed, led to a road, and the road to the city of Arakis.

What Keris profoundly hoped it led to next was a bed.

Exhaustion blurred his vision, his body ached, his wound itched, and every inch of him felt frozen solid by the cold. It was only force of will that kept him moving, every part of his mind consumed with taking another step.

Which left little energy for him to appreciate the size of the city.

For obvious reasons, he’d never visited Valcotta, his venture to the south side of Nerastis with Zarrah his one sojourn across the border. One night of drinking and reading stories about stars, only to be pursued by soldiers until they could hide on the rooftops. Later, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and looking back, Keris knew that was when he’d handed her his heart. Days and nights when everything had felt possible and his shoulders light.

Now, venturing into the streets of another Valcottan city with her, Keris felt the weight of all that had happened since pressing him into the cobbles.

Possessed of a large harbor, Arakis was a center of trade, and merchants from every nation crowded the streets. For all he’d been blasé about being recognized, it was no small relief to see that he was far from the only Maridrinian in the city, his people differentiated from those from Harendell and Amarid by the cut of their coats and dresses, the style of the weapons they carried, and the marriage knives belted at the women’s waists. The Valcottans seemed unconcerned as they bartered with them at market stalls, showing none of the hate for his countrymen that their empress encouraged. Whether it was because of the distance from Pyrinat or that the rebels held sway in the city, he wasn’t certain, but it eased the fear he felt whenever a Valcottan’s gaze fell upon him.

The streets were packed with people, and Keris winced every time he was jostled. It took more effort than it should to remain at Zarrah’s side as she pressed deeper into the city. “You been here before?” he asked, nearly forced to shout over the din of voices and animals.

“No.” Zarrah stepped closer to him to be heard, her shoulder pressing against his arm as a round matron carrying a goat collided against her, the woman cursing them to get out of the way. Instinct demanded he wrap an arm around Zarrah and pull her aside, but Keris only shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“I was never sent south.” Zarrah twisted sideways to make room for a man pulling a handcart full of dirty straw. “I never questioned it, because my focus was always the war with Maridrina, but now I wonder if it was purposeful on her part.”

“Seems likely.” He scanned the signs hanging from the fronts of buildings, looking for an inn, only for his eyes to land on uniformed soldiers on horseback, grim eyes scanning the crowd. “Head down.”

“I see them.” Zarrah maintained her steady pace at his side, allowing the flow of traffic to draw them forward. “I want to get a look at their uniforms.”

Breaking away from the crowd would only draw attention, so Keris kept his head down and shoulders slumped as they moved closer to the four horsemen than common sense suggested was wise.

“Move!” one of the soldiers snarled, lashing at the crowd with the ends of his reins. The civilians flinched out of the way, muttering curses and glaring at the soldiers.

“Pig fuckers!” someone shouted. “Go back to Pyrinat! The Usurper misses your ass licking!”

“Who said that?” The soldier whirled his horse, the animal’s hindquarters slamming into Zarrah. She stumbled sideways as the irritated animal kicked out, hooves striking another woman, who screamed. Keris caught Zarrah around the waist, his injured shoulder protesting as he kept her upright. The crowd swiftly turned to a mob, civilians fighting to get away from the horses, only to be shoved back into them.

The animals panicked, eyes rolling as they reared and twisted, hooves lashing out as they fought their riders.

Keris’s heart raced; his fingers latched on to Zarrah’s clothes as they were shoved from all sides, people falling beneath feet. He tripped over a body, then stepped on another, horror filling him as whoever it was screamed in agony.

But there was no way to help, for to try to drag them up from beneath the weight of so many would only see him pulled beneath the heavy heels of the mob.

Just keep your feet,he told himself.Hold on to her.

And then they were out of the thick of it, the street widening and terrified civilians stumbling free, weeping or swearing. Sucking in breath after breath, Keris caught hold of the edge of a building, only for Zarrah to grab his arm, leading him down the street. “Imperial guard,” she said. “You can tell from the pattern on the brass on their sleeve.”

“Information most definitely worth risking one’s life for,” he muttered, ignoring her sharp glare.

“They are her most trusted and vaunted soldiers, not a city patrol. They’d have only been sent here for a specific and important purpose.”

“Which you nearly handed to them,” he snapped. “What if your hood had been pulled back? I can only assume that every single one of those soldiers knows your face.”

“Obviously,” Zarrah answered. “But it’s not me they are here for. At best, word of my escape will only reach Arakis today, more likely tomorrow. Pyrinat is farther away, so she won’t yet know. The imperial guard is here for a different purpose.”

“Given that man called Petra the Usurper, one can only assume that the rebels have been stirring up dissent.”

Zarrah’s eyes narrowed beneath her hood. “Keep your voice down. If that’s indeed why they are here, they’ll have men out of uniform serving as eyes and ears.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered, annoyed at being chastised, given the risk she’d taken, but feeling too ill to fight about it.

They ventured on until they found an inn, Zarrah opening the door to reveal a common room packed with people. Much like in Nerastis, the ceiling was decorated with strings of lamps formed of colored glass, though these were black with soot and neglect. The bar was at the center of the room, low tables stretching out from it like spokes on a wheel, all of them laden with small plates of food and dirty glasses of the dark beer Valcottans favored. There were only two windows, one with stained glass depicting a crowned woman with dark curling hair, though it was hard to see the details through the filth. The other was boarded over. A large stone hearth dominated the wall at the rear; the amount of smoke spewing from it suggested the chimney desperately needed a cleaning, but above it hung a mirror with a gilded frame. A once-fine establishment now fallen into disrepair, the air smelling of smoke, vomit, and bodies deeply in need of a bar of soap.

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