The path had, indeed, led to a road, and the road to the city of Arakis.
What Keris profoundly hoped it led to next was a bed.
Exhaustion blurred his vision, his body ached, his wound itched, and every inch of him felt frozen solid by the cold. It was only force of will that kept him moving, every part of his mind consumed with taking another step.
Which left little energy for him to appreciate the size of the city.
For obvious reasons, he’d never visited Valcotta, his venture to the south side of Nerastis with Zarrah his one sojourn across the border. One night of drinking and reading stories about stars, only to be pursued by soldiers until they could hide on the rooftops. Later, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and looking back, Keris knew that was when he’d handed her his heart. Days and nights when everything had felt possible and his shoulders light.
Now, venturing into the streets of another Valcottan city with her, Keris felt the weight of all that had happened since pressing him into the cobbles.
Possessed of a large harbor, Arakis was a center of trade, and merchants from every nation crowded the streets. For all he’d been blasé about being recognized, it was no small relief to see that he was far from the only Maridrinian in the city, his people differentiated from those from Harendell and Amarid by the cut of their coats and dresses, the style of the weapons they carried, and the marriage knives belted at the women’s waists. The Valcottans seemed unconcerned as they bartered with them at market stalls, showing none of the hate for his countrymen that their empress encouraged. Whether it was because of the distance from Pyrinat or that the rebels held sway in the city, he wasn’t certain, but it eased the fear he felt whenever a Valcottan’s gaze fell upon him.
The streets were packed with people, and Keris winced every time he was jostled. It took more effort than it should to remain at Zarrah’s side as she pressed deeper into the city. “You been here before?” he asked, nearly forced to shout over the din of voices and animals.
“No.” Zarrah stepped closer to him to be heard, her shoulder pressing against his arm as a round matron carrying a goat collided against her, the woman cursing them to get out of the way. Instinct demanded he wrap an arm around Zarrah and pull her aside, but Keris only shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
“I was never sent south.” Zarrah twisted sideways to make room for a man pulling a handcart full of dirty straw. “I never questioned it, because my focus was always the war with Maridrina, but now I wonder if it was purposeful on her part.”
“Seems likely.” He scanned the signs hanging from the fronts of buildings, looking for an inn, only for his eyes to land on uniformed soldiers on horseback, grim eyes scanning the crowd. “Head down.”
“I see them.” Zarrah maintained her steady pace at his side, allowing the flow of traffic to draw them forward. “I want to get a look at their uniforms.”
Breaking away from the crowd would only draw attention, so Keris kept his head down and shoulders slumped as they moved closer to the four horsemen than common sense suggested was wise.
“Move!” one of the soldiers snarled, lashing at the crowd with the ends of his reins. The civilians flinched out of the way, muttering curses and glaring at the soldiers.
“Pig fuckers!” someone shouted. “Go back to Pyrinat! The Usurper misses your ass licking!”
“Who said that?” The soldier whirled his horse, the animal’s hindquarters slamming into Zarrah. She stumbled sideways as the irritated animal kicked out, hooves striking another woman, who screamed. Keris caught Zarrah around the waist, his injured shoulder protesting as he kept her upright. The crowd swiftly turned to a mob, civilians fighting to get away from the horses, only to be shoved back into them.
The animals panicked, eyes rolling as they reared and twisted, hooves lashing out as they fought their riders.
Keris’s heart raced; his fingers latched on to Zarrah’s clothes as they were shoved from all sides, people falling beneath feet. He tripped over a body, then stepped on another, horror filling him as whoever it was screamed in agony.
But there was no way to help, for to try to drag them up from beneath the weight of so many would only see him pulled beneath the heavy heels of the mob.
Just keep your feet, he told himself. Hold on to her.
And then they were out of the thick of it, the street widening and terrified civilians stumbling free, weeping or swearing. Sucking in breath after breath, Keris caught hold of the edge of a building, only for Zarrah to grab his arm, leading him down the street. “Imperial guard,” she said. “You can tell from the pattern on the brass on their sleeve.”
“Information most definitely worth risking one’s life for,” he muttered, ignoring her sharp glare.
“They are her most trusted and vaunted soldiers, not a city patrol. They’d have only been sent here for a specific and important purpose.”
“Which you nearly handed to them,” he snapped. “What if your hood had been pulled back? I can only assume that every single one of those soldiers knows your face.”
“Obviously,” Zarrah answered. “But it’s not me they are here for. At best, word of my escape will only reach Arakis today, more likely tomorrow. Pyrinat is farther away, so she won’t yet know. The imperial guard is here for a different purpose.”
“Given that man called Petra the Usurper, one can only assume that the rebels have been stirring up dissent.”
Zarrah’s eyes narrowed beneath her hood. “Keep your voice down. If that’s indeed why they are here, they’ll have men out of uniform serving as eyes and ears.”
“I’m aware,” he muttered, annoyed at being chastised, given the risk she’d taken, but feeling too ill to fight about it.
They ventured on until they found an inn, Zarrah opening the door to reveal a common room packed with people. Much like in Nerastis, the ceiling was decorated with strings of lamps formed of colored glass, though these were black with soot and neglect. The bar was at the center of the room, low tables stretching out from it like spokes on a wheel, all of them laden with small plates of food and dirty glasses of the dark beer Valcottans favored. There were only two windows, one with stained glass depicting a crowned woman with dark curling hair, though it was hard to see the details through the filth. The other was boarded over. A large stone hearth dominated the wall at the rear; the amount of smoke spewing from it suggested the chimney desperately needed a cleaning, but above it hung a mirror with a gilded frame. A once-fine establishment now fallen into disrepair, the air smelling of smoke, vomit, and bodies deeply in need of a bar of soap.
The people appeared primarily Valcottan, possessed of dark hair and skin of various hues of brown, men and women both dressed in the baggy trousers and loose shirts he’d seen in Nerastis, though there were individuals from other nations as well. Maridrinians sat on the stained cushions used in lieu of chairs, and he heard the accents of Harendell and Amarid, though never together. “Looks like I’ll fit in just fine.”
“Only if you keep silent.” Zarrah approached the bar. “We need two rooms,” she said to a woman filling a glass with foaming ale.
“Full up,” the woman announced. “Not a room to be had in all of Arakis. Got four to a bed. Try one of the camps outside of the city.”
“Why is the city so full?”
The bartender paused in her pouring, giving Zarrah an appraising once-over. “Because of the raids. Whole villages burned to the ground, so people have come to the city for shelter.”
“Burned by whom?” Zarrah demanded, but the woman only shrugged, looking away.
She was afraid.
Keris had seen such a reaction countless times before in Maridrina. People afraid to speak out about violence because the instigator was the one who wore the crown. It was Petra’s soldiers who were doing the burning, likely on the whispers of rats selling out those who dared to stand against her.
“I see,” Zarrah answered, and though her face was unmoved, the tension in her shoulders revealed that she saw as clearly as he did. “I’ll pay double.”
The bartender shouted, “Anyone wanting to sell their room for double the price you paid me?”
Keris winced at having so much attention drawn to them, but no one even looked up. “Triple?” the bartender shouted, smirking at Zarrah, who had made no such offer.
“I’ll sell you my room,” a greasy man with red hair said. “Three silvers for the night, and I’ll keep myself warm with the ladies at the Minx till sun-up.”
Zarrah’s eyes shifted to the bartender, who nodded. “He’s got the attic. No hearth, no bed, no blankets, but it’s out of the snow.” Right at that moment, a gust of wind carrying flakes of white followed the latest patron through the door. “I’ll send up a bucket of hot water so that you can wash away the pinch of paying so much for so little.”
“Fine,” Zarrah answered. “Boiling water, as well as food and drink.”
The bartender snorted. “He didn’t pay for such.”
Shaking her head, Zarrah fished a few coppers out of her pocket and handed them over, then turned to the greasy man. “Key.”
The man drained his ale cup, then held out his hand, and Zarrah grudgingly handed over the silver.
“Enjoy,” the greasy man said, handing her a key. “I’ll put your coin to good use.”
Zarrah didn’t answer, only headed toward the stairs. They climbed in silence, and for Keris’s part, it was because he was out of breath, his shoulder throbbing in time with his rapidly pounding heart. As they reached the top floor, it was to find a footstool against one wall and a trapdoor in the ceiling.
Dragging over the stool, Zarrah stood on her tiptoes to unlock the trapdoor, the fabric of her trousers stretching tight against her bottom as she reached. Keris forced himself to look away, knowing his thoughts should be on how he was going to climb into the attic.
Lowering the trapdoor, Zarrah grasped the edges of the opening, but then paused. “Do you need me to lift you?”
Humiliation turned his cheeks hot, but he was spared having to answer as the bartender appeared, carrying a heavy bucket of steaming water. She set it on the ground, then said, “There’s a ladder up there, if you need it. One of the girls will be up with your food.” Without another word, she departed.
Zarrah silently climbed through the trapdoor. A moment later, a ladder descended. “You might regret every life choice when you see what our silver purchased for the night,” she said as she climbed down to retrieve the bucket of steaming water. “Looks like we’ll be sharing with a family of rats.”
Sighing, Keris hefted his bag over his shoulder and climbed the ladder.
The bartender had not been lying, for there was no bed, no washstand, not even a mattress on the floor. Which wasn’t surprising, given the ceiling was so low he’d be risking hitting his head while on his knees.
The only light was from the setting sun, and it was partially blocked by the filth on the glass of the small window. A draft of icy cold moaned around its ill-fitting frame. Pulling up the ladder, he set it aside, what warmth he’d gained in the common room rapidly fading.
“Ay!” a girl’s voice filtered up from below. “Come get your food.”
Zarrah lay on her stomach, reaching down. “Give it here, then.” Though he had no business doing so, Keris found his gaze drifting over the length of her body.
Don’t, he chastised himself. Banish the thought from your skull.
He’d have had an easier time stopping his heart from beating or his lungs from filling with air than quelling his desire for her, but thankfully, Zarrah rescued him from his weak will by sitting upright, tray balanced on her lap. Setting it aside, she frowned at the trap. “I don’t trust that lock. Give me your belt.”
Keris dutifully handed it over, watching her link her belt with his and around the trapdoor before pulling it closed. Dragging the ladder over the top, she threaded the belts through the rungs.
A small lamp burned on the tray, and Keris inspected the offerings. Two relatively clean glasses full of dark beer thick enough to stand a spoon upright, as well as two bowls of something like stew that smelled terrifyingly spicy, plus several pieces of flatbread.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he looked for a spoon.
“Like this.” Zarrah took a piece of the flatbread and used it to spoon the contents of the bowl into her mouth. “It’s good.”
He followed suit, ignoring the grime around his fingernails because he was too hungry to wait. The spice was potent enough that his eyes watered, but it was good, so he kept going, pausing only occasionally to calm the fire on his tongue with ale.
Zarrah stacked the dishes on the tray and set the lot aside. Rounding on him, she said, “Take off your shirt.”
He choked on the last mouthful of ale. “Pardon?”
“I need to look at your injury.” When he didn’t move, she crossed her arms. “At the best of times, you’ve got as much color as a glass of milk, Keris, but at the moment you look…” She shook her head. “Your skin is grey.”
“Bad lighting.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You think I can’t tell that you’re barely able to stand?” Making an aggrieved noise, she scowled at him. “You nearly died from that arrow. Is it bleeding again?”
It was.
But he had no interest in taking off his shirt. Not only was he filthy, but he’d also seen the wound. The cauterization might have sealed it, but it had left behind a burned mess of flesh that seeped fluid. It was disgusting, and he didn’t want her to see it. Didn’t want her to see him like this, because it would give her cause to question what good his presence was to her.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I packed bandages and one of Lara’s nasty salves. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“If it fouls, you’ll die. Take off your shirt.”
“What do you know of healing?”
She gave him a flat stare. “More than you. Shirt. Off.”
The stubbornness in him wanted to dig in its heels, but Keris reluctantly pulled off his coat, then eased his shirt over his head, grimacing in pain as he did. The bandages beneath were still in place, but the white cloth was soddened with blood and whatever else the cursed injury was leaking.
Zarrah’s breath caught, and then she reached for the bucket of water and the cloths the bartender had provided. Keris looked away, staring at the darkness outside the singular window because he didn’t want to see her reaction.
“I didn’t know you were squeamish,” she said, and he noticed a slight tremor in her voice.
“I’m not.” He fought the urge to pull away from her. “But I’m spectacularly vain.”
A faint laugh exited her lips, and he risked a sideways glance to see her smiling, though it fell away as she unfastened the bandage. An awful peeling noise accompanied the sharp sting of pain as she pulled the fabric away from the wounds. Her fingers were warm against his skin. Or perhaps he was just cold.
“Oh, Keris,” she said softly, and he hid his cringe with words.
“It’s vile. Thankfully I heal quickly.”
She caught him by the chin, forcing him to look at her. “You think how it looks is my concern? Do you have any idea how close you came to dying? A finger’s breadth to the right, and nothing Lara could have done would have saved you, and I’d be facing this fight alone.”
“Not alone,” he said. “The rebels will support you. And for all his vagaries, Aren will as well.”
“You think any of them can replace you?” The second the words were from her lips, she looked away, the muscles in her jaw tightening as though she hadn’t meant to say them, though she swiftly added, “Peace is unlikely without you on the throne.”
He didn’t answer, and her eyes eventually flicked back up to meet his. The world around them blurred, the noise of the common room below faded away, and the pain in his shoulder became an afterthought in the face of his desire to pull her into his arms. Their connection was endless. Timeless. And though it had been battered and brutalized, the tension between them remained undiminished. As hard to resist as it had ever been.
You gave your word! his conscience screamed at him. Don’t you dare take advantage of a moment of weakness.
She moved closer, almost an imperceptible shift, but every instinct in his body demanded he close the distance. That he kiss her. Make love to her. Do what it took to make her forget all the hurt, and in doing so, take back all that had been lost.
Don’t! His conscience’s screams seemed further away with each passing second. She’s the one who has been hurt. The one who has been betrayed by so many. You are supposed to be the one giving her strength, not the one mining beneath all her defenses.
He forced a smirk onto his face. “If I’m so irreplaceable, then I suppose it’s in both our best interests that you ensure this wound doesn’t decide a reversal of fortune is in order.”
She blinked, a forced smile forming on her lips as she turned her attention to the injury. “Agreed. Did Lara give you anything for the pain?”
“Yes, but I’m not taking it.” Her huffed breath of exasperation drove him to add, “It makes me tired and slow to react. I’d rather suffer the pain than sleep through someone slitting my throat.”
Zarrah was quiet for a long moment as she used the hot water to clean away the mess, and he gritted his teeth, half from the pain and half from her touch undermining the war his conscience had just won. Catching her wrist, he said, “I can do it.”
“Is there a reason you don’t want me to?”
Against his will, Keris met her gaze, her large brown eyes illuminated by the lamplight. He was used to them being filled with confidence, even though he knew it was sometimes feigned. But as he stared into their dark depths, it was uncertainty that looked back at him. Hurt.
How had they come to this? How had they gone from being so aligned in thought and feeling and purpose to barely being able to speak to one another?
Keris knew the answer.
Knew that it was trust that had allowed them to speak freely, and it was the trust between them that had suffered the greatest damage.
Which meant that trust was what they both needed to rebuild, and that required a level of honesty.
Letting go of her wrist, he swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to touch me, because I made a promise to you, and I’m coming to terms with the amount of willpower it will take to hold to it.”
Silence.
Regret threatened to drown him, because when was honesty ever a good idea?
“Do you have enough?” Her eyes flicked to his, then away before he could read their depths. “Of willpower, that is?”
“Yes.”
Zarrah’s brow furrowed; then she retrieved Lara’s salve, smearing it across the injury before moving behind him to do the same on the back of his shoulder. Her fingers brushed his lower back, and he twitched.
“What’s this scar from?”
It took him a moment to understand what she meant. “Oh, it’s from Lara. We had something of a quarrel when I first arrived in Eranahl. This one is from her, too.” He tapped the fading pink mark on his throat.
“Veliants,” she muttered as she looped fresh bandages around him, then passed him his shirt.
Though he was freezing from the draft, Keris first availed himself of both warm water and soap to scrub away the worst of the grime. He desperately needed a shave, but with no mirror and his body consumed with shivers, he’d likely cut off half his face in the process. Pulling his shirt and coat back on, he went to the window and dumped the basin of soiled water into the alley below.
“I’ll turn around,” he told her, taking a seat and rooting his gaze firmly on the wall.
But not watching only heightened his other senses. The whisper of fabric as she disrobed, the splash of water, then the scrub of a cloth against naked skin. Keris bit the insides of his cheeks and squeezed his eyes shut, memory supplying that of which his eyes were deprived.
Were there changes since he’d last looked upon her? New marks and scars from her ordeal to match the wounds inflicted on her heart and mind? He wanted to ask but instead bit his tongue.
“I’m done,” she said, going to the window to pour out the basin of water. “You should get some rest.”
“Likewise.”
She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Later.”
Was she afraid of lowering her guard around him? Afraid he’d take advantage?
Grabbing his bag, Keris pulled out a brown bottle full of liquid. Icy fear pooled in his hands, because he remembered the dreams that had come the last time Lara had given him this. Dreams he’d been powerless to wake from and that had left him vulnerable to the world.
He took a deep breath, then measured five drops onto his tongue. “You’ll have to wake me if there is trouble,” he said, then lay on the floor, pulling his cloak over himself against the chill.
Zarrah didn’t answer.
With each heartbeat, his pain lessened even as his fear rose, because Keris knew what was coming for him. But blackness descended, and though he clung to the light, it took his consciousness down with it.