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There was logic to her aunt’s words, but they did not ease the sourness in Zarrah’s gut. “That doesn’t mean we need to make it easy for them. If we attacked, it might allow Ithicana a chance to regroup.”
“And their gain would be our loss.” Her aunt’s voice was flat. “This is the first opportunity we’ve had in decades to retake what is rightfully ours without catastrophic losses, and you’d throw it away?”
“I…” Zarrah swallowed, emotions warring between her loyalty to her aunt and her sense of what was right. “Silas shows no sign of reducing his numbers in Nerastis. The latest princeling arrived with three hundred new men, and they’ve been aggressive in their raiding. Don’t we risk them seeing our passivity as a weakness they should exploit?”
Another wave of the hand. “Silas has to put in a good showing for the heir. Once this one dies, which, if what the rumors say is true, is inevitable, Silas will take back those men. And then we will strike.”
“But how many civilians do we risk losing in the meantime?” Frustration slipped into Zarrah’s voice despite her best efforts. “How many Valcottans will die because the Maridrinians believe we won’t retaliate in response to their murders?”
“Courtesy of your fine defense strategies, hopefully not many. But as it is, I dislike your tone, General. Remember whom you speak to.”
Zarrah lowered her eyes, staring at the large silken cushion on which her aunt sat. “Apologies, Empress. I find my emotions running high with a Veliant in Nerastis.”
And not just any Veliant, but Crown Prince Keris. The latest of Silas’s sons to command in Nerastis, the king’s bloodthirsty progeny as vicious in their raiding as their monster of a father. Yrina had reported yesterday that the spies hadfinally caught sight of the Rat King’s heir. Pretty enough to be a girl and, of course, with eyes of Veliant blue.
“You are not alone in your desire to see all the Veliants dead,” the Empress said. “His presence boils the blood of every Valcottan in Nerastis. But we must nurture our rage. Must temper it into a weapon that we will use against the Maridrinians when the time to attack is right. And your rage, dear one”—she reached across the space between them to cup Zarrah’s cheek—“will be the sharpest blade of them all. I have no doubt in my heart that it will beyouwho removes the princeling’s head.”
“It would be an honor.”
“You’re already proving to be a fine general. And, eventually, an even finer empress.”
Empress.Though for years rumors had swirled that Empress Petra favored her niece over her own son as heir to the Empire, this was the first time she’d voiced her intent to Zarrah’s face. “You honor me, Auntie. Truly.”
“You are as a daughter to me, dear one.” The Empress leaned forward to kiss Zarrah’s forehead. “As alike to me in mind and spirit as if you’d been born of my body, and it will be you who carries on my vision for Valcotta when I am gone.” A smirk lit her aunt’s dark-brown eyes. “Although if God is good, he will grant me many more years to guide you to your full potential.”
Zarrah forced herself to smile, though the thought of losing the woman who’d raised her since she was fourteen made her stomach clench, old panic rising in her chest. “I pray for this also, Auntie. Would wish for your immortality, if such a thing were possible.”
The Empress laughed, then pulled Zarrah into her arms, holding her close. Squeezing her eyes shut, Zarrah listened to her aunt’s heart the way she had as a child, her unease receding.
“I know your pain better than anyone, my love,” her aunt murmured. “Your grief is my own. And together, I promise we will have revenge on Silas Veliant.”
A promise that had kept Zarrah going in the dark days after her mother’s murder. She’d been fourteen and had gone with her mother, the Empress’s younger sister, to visit the estate of a friend, not an hour’s ride south of Nerastis. Just before dawn, Maridrinian raiders had struck, slaughtering the guards and estate workers alike. And then they’d turned on the villa.
Like it was yesterday, Zarrah could remember her mother begging she be spared. That she’d do anything if only they’d allow her daughter tolive.And Zarrah’s dreams were haunted by the laughter of King Silas Veliant himself as he agreed. As he hacked off her mother’s beautiful head, his men fixing her body to a cross in the middle of the gardens while Zarrah screamed.
But he’d kept his word.
They’d tied Zarrah to the base of the cross with her mother’s head in her lap. Fortwo days,she’d wept and screamed and struggled against her binds as blood and worse dripped onto her, as the hot sun had turned her mother’s body to rot.
And then the Empress had come.
Galloping into the villa with her war party, she’d been the one to cut Zarrah loose. To clean the filth from her body and hold her close night after night as the terrors took hold. Who, after witnessing weeks of weeping, had put a staff in Zarrah’s hand and said, “Tears will not bring your mother back. Put all your sorrow and all your rage and all your passion into becoming a weapon, and fight to prevent this fate from ever befalling another Valcottan child. I promise you, we will make Silas Veliantbleedfor what he has done.”
Zarrah had never put the staff down, her desire to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves fueling her day after day. Had struggled and trained under the best arms men in the Empire, become a warrior few would pit themselves against. Ruthless and dangerous, hundreds of Maridrinian raiders dying at her hands. And yet for all of that, more nights than not, she still woke with the echoing sensation of blood dripping on her face, and of Silas Veliant, azure eyes cold as a reptile’s, laughing while she screamed.
A knock sounded at the door, and a moment later, her aunt’s bodyguard, Welran, entered. “Empress.” He bowed low. “Your entourage is ready to depart.”
“Our time together is always too brief, dear one.” The Empress stood, the gold bangles on her arms jingling as she straightened her voluminous lamé trousers. “But if I abandon Pyrinat for too long, the nobility will cease their quarrels with one another and turn to conspiring against me until they receive a reminder of who rules. Which is why I have several villas to visit on my journey back—best they remember I know where their families live.”
“You are beloved by the people, Auntie.” Zarrah rose to her feet. “They’d not dare move against you.”
“The nobility arenotthe people.” Her aunt tapped Zarrah’s nose. “And love means little in politics.”
Together, they strode through the corridors of the palace, a large honor guard waiting for them in the courtyard. Her cousin, Bermin, stood waiting with them.
“Mother.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I came to bid you farewell and safe travels.”
“Our parting will be brief if I hear you aren’t abiding your cousin’s orders, Bermin,” the Empress snapped. “She is my chosen, and when you dishonor her, you dishonor me. Am I clear?”
