Keris ran his tongue across his lips, eyes distant for a heartbeat before they focused on Aren. “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.”
Lara’s mother was dead.
A twinge of pain filled Aren’s chest. This truth would hurt Lara enormously, especially given that her mother had died in her defense.
He abruptly shoved the thought away. What did he care if she wept? She’d lied to him. Betrayed him. Destroyed everything that mattered to him. She was his enemy. Just like this man sitting before him.
But if what Keris said was true, he was an enemy who might be turned into an ally. The prince had cause to both hate and fear his father, which meant he, like Aren, had a vested interest in seeing Silas dead. “What game are you playing, Keris?”
“A long one, and you are but a singular piece on the board, albeit one of some significance.” The prince watched him, unblinking. “I sense that you’re considering removing yourself from the game. I ask that you might reconsider.”
“As long as I’m alive, they’ll keep trying to save me. And keep dying in the attempt. I can’t allow that.”
Keris’s eyes went over Aren’s shoulder, a flash of hate rolling across them at whatever he saw. “Keep playing the game, Aren. Your life isn’t as worthless as you think.”
Before Aren could answer, an irritatingly familiar voice spoke. “A questionable choice of company, Your Highness.”
Keris shrugged. “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.”
“You were supposed to have returned to Nerastis,” Serin replied, naming the much-beleaguered city near the contested border between Maridrina and Valcotta. “You need to study with your father’s generals.”
“My father’s generals are boring.”
“Boring or not, it’s a necessary part of your training.”
“Mag, mag, mag!” Keris reproduced a shockingly realistic magpie call. “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.”
Without another word, Prince Keris sauntered across the courtyard, leaving Aren alone with the Magpie.
“His Majesty desires your presence at dinner this evening.”
“No.” The last thing Aren wanted was to make small talk with Silas and his wives.
Serin sighed. “As you like. I’ll leave you in the company of your countrymen. I believe another has come to join your party.” He snapped his fingers, and a moment later, several guards appeared dragging a still form wrapped in a bloodstained sheet.
“Sadly, this one took his life when he realized he was caught.” Serin shook his head. “Such loyalty.” Then he strolled in the direction Keris had gone.
Aren watched as the soldiers heaved the corpse up the wall, fixing it in place to one of the cornices. Gorrick. His friend since childhood and one of the few remaining of Aren’s bodyguards.
His shoulders curled in on themselves, and Aren clenched his teeth, trying to hold back the sob of anguish rising in his chest, to keep down the nausea rising in his stomach. Why? Why did they keep coming for him? Why couldn’t they let him go? He didn’t deserve their loyalty. Didn’t deserve their sacrifice.
He had to make it stop.
Eyes burning, Aren blinked furiously, fixing his gaze on the smooth stone of the tabletop, steeling himself. Then he hesitated.
Keris had left his bird book.
Magpie.
Manacles rattling, Aren reached for the book, slowly flipping the pages until he found the chapter on Corvidae, scanning the text until he found a drawing of the bird common to the eastern coast of Maridrina. He read the description, pausing when he reached the bird’s feeding habits. Opportunistic, the magpie will kill and eat the chicks of songbirds . . .
Aren closed the book and pushed it away. Keris said the harem wives had christened Serin with his moniker. But not, Aren thought, because of the rankling nature of the spymaster’s voice. The wives knew it was Serin, on the orders of the king, who had taken Lara and her sisters. And they had not, he suspected, forgiven the Magpie for his crimes.
His dead countrymen watched him. They’d died trying to win him freedom, and until this moment, Aren had been intent on taking his own life before allowing another to perish on his behalf. But if the wives were willing to help him, perhaps he could get word to his people to stop their attempts to rescue him. And maybe with that respite Aren could, as Keris put it, play the game.
The trouble was: Aren was forbidden contact with the wives. And any attempt he made would rain scrutiny down upon the woman in question. Unless . . .
Aren turned to one of the guards standing at the entrance, barking, “You! Get over here.”
Face sour, the man came before him. “What do you want?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Aren said. “Tell your king that I’d be delighted to join him for dinner tonight.”
12
Lara
“You sure this is it?” Sarhina asked, tugging on the reins and drawing the cart they rode to a halt.
“It’s where Jor told me to come.” It was the only specific detail he’d been willing to give her, still not trusting Lara enough to compromise the Ithicanian presence on Maridrinian soil. “He gave me a code to provide the barkeep, who will know how to get in contact with them.”
“Then I suppose we better go order a drink.”
Despite her large belly, Sarhina swung down from the cart with a nimbleness that still stunned Lara, even having been on the road with her sister for over a week. For much of that time, Ensel had accompanied them, partially to help dissuade anyone from attacking them along the journey, but mostly to reduce any questions people might have about two Maridrinian women traveling alone. He’d started back this morning, and the swelling around her sister’s eyes from the resultant tears had only just faded, the good-byes they’d exchanged sounding permanent enough that Lara had considered trussing Sarhina up and sending her back home.
After tying the mule to a hitching post, Lara led the way into the common room of the inn, the scent of spilled beer and spicy food washing over her as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. It was a rough establishment suited to the small fishing village, the ground covered with sawdust and the furniture showing signs it had endured more than a handful of brawls. Two old men sat at a table in the corner, both more engaged with their bowls of soup than with each other. Otherwise the only other person in the establishment was the barkeep, who stood behind the counter polishing a glass.