Page 84 of The Inadequate Heir (The Bridge Kingdom 3)

The balance of her day was a maddening combination of stilted conversation or being outright ignored by the harem, and Zarrah used her time to watch and listen. Yet as the day progressed into evening, she found herself thinking more about what Sara’s mother had said, wondering what secrets hid in the tapestry in her room, her mind conjuring thoughts of weapons woven into the threads or instructions for some secret route of escape.

By the time she’d forced another over-salted dinner down her throat, Zarrah was vibrating with anticipation, pleading exhaustion until Coralyn allowed her guards to escort her back to her room.

The second Zarrah pulled off the cursed heels that were murdering her feet, she ran silently to the tapestry, which hung floor to ceiling behind the headboard. Old and faded, it depicted two women weaving, the work mediocre and the subject dull. Frowning, Zarrah glanced at the door, then knelt next to the bed. The area where the fabric was tacked to the wall showed wear, as though it had been refastened many times. Yet it was dusty enough that she doubted it had been removed for cleaning in years.

Unfastening the corner, Zarrah pulled it away from the wall as much as the bed would allow, peering into the dark space. But she could see nothing in the dim light, so she shoved her hand behind the tapestry, the stone wall cold against her overheated skin. She was nearly at the limit her arm could reach when her fingers brushed a deep groove. Her heart racing, she traced along the groove, realizing that someone had carved away the mortar around one of the large stone blocks in the wall.

And left behind their tool.

Withdrawing her hand, Zarrah stared at the small nail, the tip dull from endless chiseling. Easing the bed away from the wall, she crawled behind it, lifting the tapestry to stare at the block, seeing a dozen names carved into the surface. A dozen women who, over the years, had all worked to create an escape from this place.

And they’d very nearly made it. Beneath the block and around the sides, the mortar was gone, and sunlight shone through. There was only the mortar along the top still holding the block in place.

Zarrah scratched her name on the block. Set the nail back in its groove. Fixed the tapestry into place. Tonight, she’d pick up work where the other women had left off, and when she succeeded where they had failed, she’d have the first step in her plan.

Going to the window, she looked up at the tower where Silas slept.

And she smiled.

45

KERIS

He was drunk.

Which, contrary to the rumors about him, was something Keris never allowed himself to become. It lowered his guard, loosened his lips, and risked sleep so deep that he’d never hear the assassin coming. But tonight, that was the oblivion he sought. To escape the endlessly replaying sensation of his knife siding into Yrina’s throat, hot blood spraying him in the face, and her words in his ears.

Find another way.

Except therewasno other way. The sanctum was locked down, even trusted servants forbidden from exiting the inner gates, and the inner walls were thick with guards whose attention never wavered. Not with the Ithicanians ceaseless in their attempts to reach their king. And not with Yrina having killed four of their own in an effort to reach Valcotta.

Coralyn had come to see him at some point during the afternoon. She’d eyed the empty wine bottles with disapproval before moving books aside to sit on a chair. “I saw the blood. Who did your father kill?”

“He didn’t kill anyone.” Keris drained his cup and promptly uncorked another bottle. “I did.”

The silence that stretched made him sick, the anticipation of what his aunt would say making him want to shout at her to get on with it. To say what she needed to say.

“What did you think would happen, Keris? The moment you arrived in Vencia with Zarrah Anaphora in tow, you stepped into the arena. Now you have a choice: you can fight for the crown, or you can lie down and die.”

“I never wanted to be king,” he answered, staring blindly into the distance. “Ran from it all my life, because I knew I was ill-suited for the role.”

“I’m aware.” Coralyn sat on the sofa next to him. “And I’ve long done my best to support you in your flight from duty, even if I didn’t agree with it. If you’d kept your head down, you might have outlived your father and inherited, then abdicated to one of your brothers. But in showing a willingness to play the game, you’ve removed that option. Your father’s eyes are on you, but worse, theMagpie’seyes are on you. Which means you must either bend to their power or take it from them.”

“I’d gladly carve out both their hearts, if I could manage it.”

Coralyn snorted. “I didn’t raise you to be a drunken fool, boy. You cannot murder your father, nor can you be seen as complicit in his death. The former would see you executed, and the latter would have the people label you a coward. You must find another way.”

“What other way?” he shouted, those cursed words triggering him. “There is no other way!”

She rose to her feet. “I see you are too deep in your cups and self-pity to see reason, so I’ll leave you. But when you’ve climbed out of this useless pit of morosity, we will speak again. Good evening, Keris.”

That conversation had been hours ago. Curfew had passed, the windows of the harem’s house all dark. Lured out of his rooms by the quiet and the need to be away from the bottle, Keris sat on the bench where the Ithicanian king was so often chained, rain pouring from the sky. Unlike Aren, he ignored the corpses, his eyes instead fixed on Valcotta’s window.

He needed to confess.

Except she’d hate him for it. His father had murdered her mother, and now he’d murdered her closest friend. And if he didn’t find another way to get her out of this mess, Valcotta would lose her life as well.

Find another way.

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