Page 102 of The Endless War

Simultaneously, the woman announced, “A pleasure house.”

Reaching the second level, she led them down a carpeted hallway lined with doors. Hedonistic whispers filtered through the walls, but they were dominated by the pounding drum, the rhythm making it seem as though the building had a heart throbbing at its core. They passed an open door, and Zarrah glanced inside, her eyes widening at the sight of a masked woman with three men before Keris pulled her onward.

“In here,” the woman—Miri—said, opening the door at the end. The room was nearly filled by a silk-covered bed, cords fastened to the posters, the table across from it covered with things Zarrah had heard of but never seen with her own eyes. Climbing on the bed, the woman opened the window on the wall above it. “Climb across the roofs,” she said. “Seek an inn tonight called the Wounded Lioness, and you will find those you are searching for.”

Scrambling up next to her, Zarrah looked at the climb that would be required and then back to Keris, who had wrapped the towel around his waist. “Not happening. He’s injured.”

“I’ll manage,” he said, but she didn’t miss how his jaw tightened as he looked out.

“You’ll end up broken on the cobbles.” Zarrah pulled the window shut. “We’ll hide.”

A knock sounded, and a man dressed in silk trousers that left nothing to the imagination appeared. “Miri, they are here to search. General Welran is in the streets, covered with blood. They say he was stabbed by a Maridrinian.”

Zarrah felt her eyes bulge. “What?”

“That’s a lie.” Keris tried to cross his arms, only his towel slipped. “The blood is from the man he beat to death.”

“God have mercy on us all.” Miri waved her hand at the man. “Slow them down, but don’t be obvious about it.”

“I’ll climb,” Keris said. “There’s no other choice. There’s nowhere in here to hide.”

“No.” Zarrah scanned the room, but it offered no solutions. “We need to backtrack. Get to the streets.”

The moment the words left her lips, the thud of boots on stairs filled the air.

“If you won’t climb, you’ll need to hide in plain sight.” Miri gestured at Keris. “In this house, women are served, not men. She is the patron.”

Zarrah’s stomach flipped, and Keris gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’ll climb.”

He moved onto the bed, reaching to unlatch the window, but Zarrah caught his wrist. “Now is not the time to cling to morality. Too much is at stake.”

“It won’t work,” he said. “They saw my face.”

“Then I suggest you keep it well hidden,” Miri snapped. Going to a closet, she dug through the contents and threw a mask at Zarrah. “Most of the highborn women wear them to hide their identity.” Then she went to the hearth, picking up a handful of ash, which she rubbed into Keris’s hair, turning it from blond to grey before knotting it behind his head. With a bit of soot, she swiftly rimmed both his eyes. “I could use a pretty face like yours, if you’re ever in search of work. We would have you trained, and you’d fetch a fortune.”

Zarrah’s face burned, but Keris said, “It’s always nice to have options.” His smirk vanished as Miri ripped away the towel, using it to wipe clean the mud splattered on his legs before tossing it into the fire.

She handed a lace robe to Zarrah, the one from the bathhouse joining Keris’s towel. “On the bed, girl. Against the pillows.” Heart pounding, Zarrah obliged, allowing the woman to arrange the robeartfully so that it covered her breasts, though her whole body burned as Miri parted her knees.

The tread of heavy boots drew closer, orders to search every room clearly audible, but Keris remained where he stood, eyes on the opposite wall. “Your prudishness will get you killed,” Miri snapped at him. “Face between her legs, now!”

A soft growl escaped his lips, but as Keris shook his head, Zarrah said, “We are out of options.”

“Fine.” He knelt before her. Lowering his head, he rested his cheek against the inside of her thigh. Miri lifted one of Zarrah’s legs to wrap it around his neck, murmuring, “To hide the injury.”

Stepping back, she straightened her leather skirts as she eyed the scene. “They’ll have seen similar in the other rooms. Make it convincing.” Then she turned on her heel, the door clicking shut behind her.

Zarrah tried to relax, but her whole body felt stiff as a board, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Where did you go?” she whispered, because the thought of remaining in this position in silence was more than she could bear. “What happened? Why did you attack Welran?”

More importantly, why was her aunt’s most trusted soldier and bodyguardhere?

“I saw some officers going into the bathhouse with the glass tigers.” His breath was warm against her naked skin, each exhale sending a quiver through her. “I followed them in and was listening to their conversation, their plans, when a messenger arrived with news about what transpired on Devil’s Island, including Bermin’s fate.”

“Oh, God,” she breathed, understanding filling her.

“The big one, Welran, lost his head. Beat the messenger to pulp while he cursed the rebels and theirMaridrinian master.I was attempting to extricate myself when the barber kindly pointed out my nationality to save his own skin. Welran went after me, and I fled. You know the rest.”

Zarrah squeezed her eyes shut, horror filling her. “There will be a reckoning.”

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