Page 88 of The Inadequate Heir (The Bridge Kingdom 3)

She looked up, eyes picking out the innumerable hand- and toeholds where time and weather had eroded the masonry. An idea formed in her head, difficult enough to verge on impossible, which meant it was nothing any of them would expect.

Keris might not be willing to climb down.

But that didn’t mean Zarrah couldn’t climb up.

47

KERIS

“You’ve had no response from Petra, I take it?”

The question was inevitable. It had been weeks since Keris sent his letter south to Valcotta, but thus far, the only response was silence. And given what Yrina had told him, silence was the best he could hope for.

Keris shifted his weight in the chair, ever unnerved by his father’s eyes, which were currently fixed on him. “No. But the winds have been southerly, so the Harendellians might well be delayed in returning with the Empress’s response.” An excuse that would only satisfy for another handful of days, but Keris made it anyway.

“You’ve put all your eggs in one basket,” his father said. “And I fear you’re destined to find them all broken.”

He had. But the basket was not the Empress of Valcotta but rather the King of Ithicana. He only said, “It’s rumored the Valcottans lost another three merchant vessels to the Tempest Seas, so the Empress may be feeling pressure to ease her restrictions on using your bridge. It’s not only goods lost, but lives. Her own people will insist she lift the embargo. Perhaps Serin has heard whispers of that already.”

The Magpie made a face. “Of course, but she’s also doing an admirable job of fueling the fires of hate toward Maridrina using her niece’s imprisonment. They are willing to suffer for the sake of harming our revenues with the continued embargo.”

His father gave a soft snort. “More likely they know how their Empress handles dissent, especially dissent against the Endless War. Those who speak against it soon speak no more.”

Again, Keris was struck by the incongruity between the Empress’s reputation and how his father spoke of her. Rising to his feet, he went to the window and looked out over the city. “There’s another fire. Looks to be in the Warf Market.”

Cursing, his father rose and joined him, his face darkening. “Malcontents. Nothing suits them. They demanded food and I got it for them. For my troubles, they burn my city. I should let them starve for their spite.”

Serin coughed, and Keris had to fight to curb a smile as the spymaster said, “That is not the source of their discontent, Your Grace. It’s that they believe you’ve executed Aren Kertell, and they are demanding proof he is still alive.”

They believedthatbecause Keris had been out gambling and drinking every night, subtly sowing rumors that Aren was being tortured for information. His goal was to incite the Ithicanians enough to keep up their rescue attempts. The unintended side effect was that he’d also incited his own people. All of Maridrina was in a frenzy over their king’s perceived behavior toward the man who’d saved them from starvation, and thanks to an expensive bottle of wine, a pretty courtesan, and a memorable night for the Harendellian ambassador’s manservant, the ambassador himself was now demanding proof that the Ithicanian king’s heart still beat.

“Tell them he’s very much alive.”

In the reflection of the glass, Keris watched Serin’s jaw tighten. Probably because he’d love to see Aren Kertell killed in the most gruesome of manners. The spymaster’s lust for blood was part of what kept Keris up all night. If Serin accidentally killed Aren, Keris’s plan to free Valcotta would be ruined, and it was not lost on him that it was only his father’s insistence that Aren remain alive that kept him so.

“I have my people giving assurances that Aren is alive and well, Your Grace,” Serin answered. “Unfortunately, the people seem… uninclined to believe our assurances.”

They didn’t believe them because Keris hadalsostarted a rumor that Aren’s death had been an accident that the King of Maridrina was desperate to keep silent. “You could always tour Aren about Vencia and give them proof.”

“Don’t be a damned fool,” his father snapped. “I’ll not pander to those who dare to call me liar, never mind that this is Ithicana’s doing. They’re starting rumors to incite the masses. Have the malcontents thrown in prison and we shall see the end to it.”

Keris shrugged. “Was only a suggestion.”

“With respect, Your Grace,” Serin said. “Perhaps we might pursue a different approach. One that would silence the malcontents without giving them the sense they hold any power. If we were to invite the Harendellian ambassador, who is a neutral party, to see that Aren Kertell is well, he might then provide comfort to the people.”

“The bastard has been demanding a meeting for weeks,” his father snarled. “I’ll no more pander to Harendell than to the people. Already, they squawk over terms on the bridge. We cannot show any sign of weakness.”

“Then arrange it under the guise of something else,” Keris suggested, gently guiding his father’s thoughts. “And don’t include only the Harendellian; include all others in the city of note, most especially the ambassador from Amarid, because that will truly grind the Harendellian’s nerves.”

“You propose a social engagement?”

“You know how the Harendellians love pomp. And entertainment.”

His father rubbed his chin. “True. This has merit.”

“I mislike this idea, Your Grace,” Serin said, his voice grinding at Keris’s nerves. “Within the sanctum, we have total control. The moment we bring Aren outside of it, we risk—”

“Then we host it within the sanctum. Tonight, so no one has the time to conspire.” His father smiled. “Have Coralyn arrange it. The old hag understands pomp, if nothing else. And it will give the harem something to do other than complain. See it done, Serin.”

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