Page 91 of The Inadequate Heir (The Bridge Kingdom 3)

Keris ran his tongue across his lips, reluctant to speak on this, though he knew it was necessary to establish that they had a common enemy. Keeping his voice low enough that the guards would only pick up bits and pieces, he said, “I was nine when my father’s soldiers took my sister—young enough to still be living in the harem, but old enough to remember the moment well. To remember how my mother fought them. To remember how she attempted to sneak out of the palace to go after my sister, knowing in her heart that my father intended her for some fell purpose. To remember how, when she was caught and dragged back, my father strangled her himself in front of us all. As punishment. And warning.”

The only other person he’d told this story to was Valcotta, but now that it was unearthed, it appeared it desired to be shared.

“What game are you playing, Keris?”

It’s good to see you’re clever enough to realize that oneisbeing played, Keris thought, then rested his hand on his chin so that his fingers partially obscured his mouth before saying, “A long one, and you are but a singular piece on the board, albeit one of some significance.” He gave the Ithicanian king a measured stare. “I sense that you’re considering removing yourself from the game. I ask that you might reconsider.”

Disgust flared in Aren’s eyes, and he looked away. “As long as I’m alive, they’ll keep trying to save me. And keep dying in the attempt. I can’t allow that.”

And the time they had for this conversation was over. Appearing from behind a topiary like some sort of village peeper, Serin approached. While he was still out of earshot, Keris said, “Keep playing the game, Aren. Your life isn’t as worthless as you think.”

Then Serin was upon them, his obnoxious voice filling the air. “A questionable choice of company, Your Highness.”

Keris shrugged, knowing that the blasé attitude ground on the spymaster’s nerves. “I’ve always been a victim of my own curiosity, Serin. You know that.”

“Curiosity.”

“Indeed. Aren is a man of myth. Former king of the misty isles of Ithicana, legendary fighter, and husband to one of my mysterious warrior sisters. How could I resist plying him for details of his escapades? Sadly, he hasn’t been particularly forthcoming.”

There was an edge of frustration in Serin’s voice as he said, “You were supposed to have returned to Nerastis. You need to study with your father’s generals.”

Words of wishful thinking. It was unusual for the spymaster to make such a slip, which made Keris uneasy, but he played along. “My father’s generals are boring.”

“Boring or not, it’s a necessary part of your training.”

“Mag, mag, mag!” Keris mimicked a magpie call, laughing inside as the man’s eyes lighted with fury. He hated the moniker, and especially hated the woman who’d given it to him. “No wonder the harem wives christened you so, Serin. Your voice truly does grate on the nerves.” He rose to his feet. “Was a pleasure meeting you, Aren. But you’ll have to excuse me, the smell is making me quite nauseous.”

Turning, he sauntered across the courtyard as though he hadn’t a care in the world despite his heart being in his throat. Despite his nerves being stretched so tight he thought he’d vomit. Inside the cool confines of the tower, he lost control of his pace, the need to ensure Aren had taken the bait making him leap up the stairs three at a time, rounding the corners at dizzying speed.

Unlocking the door to his rooms, he strode to the window, looking down. And hissed between his teeth as another corpse was dragged across the garden, Aren watching in silence as the guards hung it on the wall.

Please,he prayed.A few more hours. A few more hours, and we can make this stop.

Then Aren squared his shoulders, and Keris knew his efforts had been in vain. That he was about to watch a man die, and with him, all of Keris’s plans. Frustration flooded him, but also guilt that he’d not done more. And grief that yet another life would fall beneath his father’s boot heel.

Yet instead of dashing his skull against the stone of the table, Aren reached out and opened the book, flipping through the pages before pausing. Reading.

Keris didn’t have a chance to see how the King of Ithicana reacted as a familiar voice said, “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”

48

ZARRAH

“This is a kindness,” she said to Coralyn, accepting the folded garments. “Thank you.”

“You’ve ruined three gowns in as many days with yourexercises,” the harem wife sniffed. “Perhaps these will show more longevity. Although allow me to make myself abundantly clear—you will not wear these scandalous items outside your room, or I will have them burned. Understood?”

“Yes, Lady Coralyn.” Zarrah waited for the woman to remove herself, then unfolded the garments. Voluminous trousers and a snug bodice made of black silk, cut in Valcottan style. She sighed as she slipped them on. Not only for the familiarity after weeks of wearing Maridrinian garments, but because she had been growing concerned that she was going to have to assassinate Silas Veliant wearing only her undergarments, for her plan wouldn’t accommodate billowing skirts.

Going to the window, she stared up at the tower where her enemy lurked, blissfully unaware that this was the last day he’d draw breath. For tonight would be a moonless night, and under the cover of darkness, she would make her move.

Her hours of effort removing the mortar securing the stone block had finally been rewarded, and all it would take now was pushing the block out and she’d have her method of escape, her own body serving as the weapon she’d use to take Silas’s life, for she’d not managed to secure another.

But it would be enough. Ithadto be enough.

Unbidden, her eyes moved from Silas’s glass-enclosed office at the top to a window at the midpoint.

Keris’s room.

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