“Lestara.”
93
Zarrah
Zarrah’s nails dug into Keris’shand. She’d held him back as chaos erupted before them, every warrior’s instinct in her screaming to join the fray. Her heart had pounded against her ribs, not just with fear for her friends, but fear for what their deaths would mean for Ithicana. It was only the empress in her that defied emotion in favor of logic. It would be her crown, not her blade, that would serve her allies now.
And so she’d held Keris back, knowing that if Aren fell, her husband might never forgive her restraint.
The square, moments ago brimming with noise and movement, had become an eerie place of echoes and shadows. Civilians had scattered like frightened birds, slamming doors and shuttering windows. The coppery scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with smoke from a fire burning in the city, the damp scent of the river carried on the wind that swirled Zarrah’s hair. Soldiers had vanished in pursuit of the fleeing Ithicanians, Aren and his fighters melting into the city’s alleys like smoke, leaving behind only the dead, the grieving—and the vultures waiting to feast on power.
In the gallery, Alexandra’s ladies had collapsed in swoons, fansfluttering like dying moths in the hands of frantic maids, but Zarrah didn’t fail to notice that the swoons were feigned. The nobles who had fled at the first sign of violence now crept back like rats to a battlefield, eyes gleaming with the prospect of gossip more lethal than the steel Harendell was famed for.
Ronan stood unmoving, one elbow on the railing, his expression carved from stone. When he met Zarrah’s gaze, his voice was resigned. “There is no honor in this nation, and never has been. They are spiders, every one of them—building webs and waiting for poison to do their work so they can devour the remains.”
Zarrah couldn’t keep the hollowness from her voice as she said, “And now your daughter rules. Queen of spiders.”
The king of Cardiff gave a slow nod. “Her mother cast the bones when Lestara was seven. Calythra saw she would not just be queen—she would rule. But also that death would follow her. Her name would become a curse. We should have killed her then, but Caly also saw that Lestara would give birth to a prince who would deliver our people into a brighter era.”
A gasp from a noblewoman nearby reminded Zarrah they weren’t alone, and that more spiders were listening.
“I thought,” Ronan continued, “that sending her to Silas would dull the prophecy. A nation without queens, a king who refused to grant any woman power. But Caly warned me—you cannot manipulate futures written in the stars. I hoped we could claim the good without the horror.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “But my wife, as always, was right. Lestara has borne the son who may bring a bright future, but all I see right now is death.”
Below them, Lestara rocked, her scream-raw voice cracking as she clutched the crying babe. Her face was soaked with tears, but her arms held the child too tightly, like a crown rather than a son.Does she mourn William,Zarrah wondered,or the loss of his shield?Alexandra still ruled, and Zarrah doubted the dowager queen would suffer Lestara for long.
Alexandra sat on the cold cobbles beside William’s body, his hand clasped in hers, her expression empty. It was not maternal grief Zarrah saw, but calculation derailed—rage unspooling inside a woman whose every plan had shattered.
Movement at the edge of the square drew all eyes.
Virginia Ashford, supported by George Cavendish, limped forward, her cane striking stone with an uneven rhythm. She shoved his hand away and pressed on. Her dress was soiled at the hem with mud, her face streaked with tears.
“William?” she called out, voice trembling. “Will, where are you?”
“Ginny…” Cavendish reached for her arm, attempting to hold her back.
“Will, answer me!” Her voice rose in ferocity like surf in a storm. “You know I hate this game. Please, please, just answer.”
“He’s dead, you idiot girl!” Lestara snapped, her hatred for the other woman palpable. “Ahnna used her confession to poison him. He’s dead before your feet!”
A guttural scream tore from Virginia’s throat, and she dropped to her hands and knees, crawling the last distance to William’s body. She pressed her forehead to his chest, her sobs keening through the square.
The onlookers, noble and commoner alike, stood stunned—frozen between pity and dread.
Spiders,Zarrah thought again, her heart aching.But spiders that loved one another dearly.
A soldier approached the huddle of royals and bowed low. “The Ithicanians have escaped downriver, Your Grace. They had vessels waiting. With wind in their sails, they are already outpacing us.”
“You let them escape?” Lestara lurched to her feet, still clutching the child. It struck Zarrah that she hadn’t looked at her baby’s face. Not once.
Ronan’s exhale beside Zarrah was nearly imperceptible, but she knew he had noticed his daughter’s behavior as well.
“We will relay horses and follow by river,” the soldier said, glancing at the gathering nobles. “They will not get far.”
“If they make it to the Tempest Seas, theywillescape,” she shrieked. “Like snakes slithering into holes, where they’ll bide their time before biting again! Alexandra, do something! Make them fix this!”
Alexandra stirred as though waking from a trance. “Send pigeons to every port,” she rasped. “The birds will outpace the ships.”
“You will do no such thing!” Virginia screamed the words, everyone around her recoiling from the feral rage on the princess’s face.This spider had had enough.
