33
Keris
Keris tipped his head tothe gray sky, which was producing an annoying sort of almost rain that made him long for home. But riding in the damp was infinitely preferable to riding in the tight confines of a carriage with Lestara.
The journey to Verwyrd was proving to be painfully slow, partially due to the thick mud on the roads, but mostly because the Harendellian royals seemed intent on visiting every nobleman’s estate they passed along the way. Breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner were all at different households, the dinner hosts all accommodating the procession overnight, which meant after-dinner drinks that went into the late hours, necessitating equally late starts to the day. Which might all have been tolerable if it had been productive, except instead of having the opportunity to dig information out of Alexandra or bend William’s ear, Keris had been forced into endless conversation with their various hosts, who all seemed bent on ingratiating themselves with the empress’s consort.
“How do they eat so much?” Saam muttered from where he rode at Keris’s left. “Six meals a day is madness. Who has the time for that?”
“They don’t eat much—it’s all for show.” Keris shifted in the saddle, his eyes on the carriage splashing through puddles ahead of them.
“That’s worse.” Saam scowled, his friend having strong opinions about wasting food, given that he knew starvation and knew it well. “They’re readying to blockade Northwatch and starve Ithicana, all while they let their cream puffs and puddings go to rot for the sake of impressing one another.”
“I suspect the servants eat them,” Keris replied absently, his mind on those very blockades. Aren had been wholly silent, which William had taken for a resoundingnoto his request that Ithicana turn on Ahnna. Which was no great surprise to him. Keris’s messenger would have reached Ithicana already, and while the information he’d sent made Ahnna look damnably guilty, it also made her actions feel justified. That same messenger carried all the information that Keris had learned from Cormac before the man had died, as well as the belief that Katarina was behind the murder. He wasn’t ready to advise that Aren push for a military alliance with Amarid just yet, but depending on what information Bronwyn sent back, his brother-in-law was likely already considering that step.
“My God, Veliant. What a suggestion. I assure you, my good man, the servants do not eat the nobles.”
Keris stiffened, then turned to find Cavendish had ridden up behind them. The man looked entirely too pleased with his jab, grinning as he added, “The cream puffs go to the pigs to fatten them up.”
“Which type of pig?” Saam asked with feral interest, and Keris hid a smile as Cavendish paled, it seeming to occur to him that mocking the Devil’s Island survivors might not be the best of ideas.
Cavendish gave a nervous laugh. “You’ve a sense of wit, my good man. Impressive given your years of incarceration.” His eyes flicked to Keris. “It’s commendable that you took them on.”
Saam’s smile grew to reveal his straight white teeth, but Keris said, “There’s a certain bond that grows out of shared adversity.” He gestured to his guards, every one of them once an inmate at Devil’s Island. “It’s stronger than blood, and it is my honor and privilege to call each of my guards a friend.”
Cavendish gave a forced smile. “No one will ever deny that Veliants have balls.”
Keris yawned, then said, “Most especially my sisters. Speaking of which, Bronwyn has asked me to ensure the well-being of Taryn Kertell. I trust you will arrange for me to see her upon our arrival to Verwyrd.”
“The lady is considered a prisoner of war, so there are restrictions on—”
“You can deal with me or you can deal with Bronwyn,” Keris interrupted. “Choose wisely.”
Cavendish inclined his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The man checked the reins of his horse so that it fell back, but Keris’s focus had already moved to the carriage. William was hanging out the open door and gesturing with irritation at one of his soldiers. The carriage stopped and William stepped down, mounting the soldier’s horse and leaving the man to clamber aboard to sit with the driver.
This would be the first and potentially only chance Keris might have to speak to Harendell’s new king on his own, but he curbed the urge to ride up to the other man. The Harendellians already had the advantage, and Keris had no interest in fueling William’s confidence.
His patience paid off, because it wasn’t long before William drew in his mount, watching Keris approach over his shoulder.
“Give me some space,” Keris muttered to Saam, who responded, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Falling in alongside the king, Keris inclined his head. “Your Grace.”
“I hope you’ll be better company, Veliant. I’d rather fall on my own sword than spend another minute in that carriage.” William stretched back, face tilted to the sky. “I can see why you fled north. Better to negotiate the losing side of a war than to listen to a wife’s endless nagging, am I right? Worse for you, though. At least I outrank Lestara.” He laughed, slapping a gloved hand against his thigh. “Now I understand why my father drank so much. Nothing I do suits them, and they let me know.”
Keris huffed out an amused breath, more interested in establishing camaraderie than in correcting William’s interpretation of his presence.
“I was perfect in her eyes right up to the moment I put a ring on her finger,” William grumbled. “Never said a damned thing against me, though that might be because it’s hard to speak with a cock in your mouth.”
Or a leash around your neck.Keris shoved away the thought, having no interest in developing any form of sympathy for Lestara. She’d dug her own grave.
“I’d have thought your father would have taught her to hold her tongue and that her opinions don’t matter,” William continued. “Mother will train her, of course, but I thought I was getting a well-broke filly. Joke’s on me, and I can only imagine my father is cackling from the grave.”
Silas Veliant had made that abundantly clear to all his wives, with perhaps the exception of Keris’s aunt Coralyn, but Keris was not about to advocate for his father’s methods. “It’s likely the title. My father’s wives had only the titles they came with.Queenhas a certain ring to it, and Lestara has sought that ring for a long time.”
William snorted. “Careful, Veliant. I can say what I want about my queen.Youcan’t.”
