Aren ignored the mockery. “The Maridrinian people don’t want the bridge.”
“That they do not. They’ve gained nothing from it, but it has cost them a great deal.”
Aren had been so focused on his own people that he’d not stopped to think about the Maridrinians. Had not stopped to consider what possessing the bridge meant for them.
The bridge was as much a burden as it was an asset, demanding that its master shake hands with the same people who’d raid given the opportunity. Demanding impartiality when dealing with nations despite one being friend and the other foe. Demanding the blood of good men and women to protect it from those who’d take it, and then, and only then, would it provide. But Silas was denying the Valcottans. Favoring the Amaridians over the Harendellians. The only thing he was giving it was Maridrinian blood, but it wasn’t enough.
Trade had dried up.
The bridge was empty.
“I imagine this is how parents feel when their child learns to speak,” Keris said. “It’s tremendously satisfying to see this display of intelligence from you, Your Grace.”
“Be quiet,” Aren replied absently, considering the complex twist of politics in play, though it was difficult with the noise the children were making.
How long would the Maridrinians accept paying in blood for something they didn’t want? Something that yielded them nothing? How long until they pulled Silas from his throne and replaced him with someone more aligned with their way of thinking?
Someone like the prince sitting in front of him.
“When will the money run out?” Aren asked, knowing the Amaridian queen wouldn’t allow the continued use of her navy if she wasn’t being paid. Especially if tensions were rising between Amarid and Harendell.
Keris smiled at a pair of his little sisters as they twirled past him. “The coffers, I’m afraid to say, are completely dry.”
“You seem remarkably pleased to be heir to a nearly bankrupt kingdom.”
“Better that than a grave.”
Aren made a noncommittal noise, tracing a crack in the table with one fingertip as he thought. But for once, Keris seemed too impatient to wait.
“If Eranahl surrenders, my father won’t need the Amaridian navy any longer,” the prince said. “And given he’s unlikely to be merciful to those surrendering, Ithicana will no longer be a threat to Maridrina’s control of the bridge. My father’s position will be the most powerful it has ever been. So you see, Your Grace, a great deal is dependent on the continued survival of your little island fortress.”
“First and foremost, your ability to take the Maridrinian crown from your father by way of a coup.”
Keris didn’t so much as blink. “First and foremost, my life. The coup and crown are merely a means to an end.”
“You’re risking a great deal telling me any of this,” Aren said. “And I fail to see to what end. My involvement changes nothing. If anything, my death will serve to turn your people further against your father. But I also know we wouldn’t be having this conversation if there wasn’t something you wanted from me.”
Keris was silent. And despite the fact that the entire conversation had been circling in on this precise topic, he could feel the reluctance the prince felt to give voice to his request. No . . . not reluctance. Unease. Maybe even fear. “Zarrah.”
Keris gave the slightest of nods.
“You want me to arrange for her escape.”
Another nod.
“Why do you believe I’d risk my own people to save her when I’m not even willing to risk them to save my own skin?”
“Because,” he answered, “if you do it, she’s promised Eranahl will be supplied with enough food to outlast my father’s siege.”
It was an offer better than Aren could’ve dreamed of. Especially given he’d burned Ithicana’s relationship with Valcotta to the ground when he’d broken their blockade around Southwatch. “I can’t see the Empress agreeing to that.”
“Zarrah’s a powerful woman, and the deal is with her, not the Empress. Take it or leave it.”
“Allying with your kingdom’s greatest enemy to win the crown.” Aren gave a low whistle. “If your people discover that bit of information, it will cost you.”
“Agreed. Which is why it’s much better for both of us if it’s perceived that you and yours were responsible for liberating her.”
It was a gamble. One that could potentially cost dozens of his people their lives if the rescue attempt went sour. But Zarrah was under much less intense scrutiny than Aren was. And if his people managed to get her free, it would mean potentially saving everyone in Eranahl.
But there was still one thing that troubled him. “You’ve access to my people now. You don’t need me for this.”
Keris grimaced. “Serin doesn’t trust me, so I’m under near-constant surveillance when I leave the palace, which means I can’t contact your people directly. I need the harem to facilitate communication. But here’s the rub: They despise Valcottans as much as any Maridrinian, so there isn’t a chance of them agreeing to this plan of mine.”
“And your solution to this rub?” Aren asked, seeing exactly where the prince was going.
“The harem won’t help me free Zarrah. But they will help free you.” Keris smiled, his eyes gleaming. “Which is why you’re going to use them to help orchestrate your own escape, and when you run, you’re going to take Zarrah with you.”
17
Aren
For days since his conversation with Keris, Aren had spent every waking minute studying the palace’s defenses, swiftly recognizing what he already knew: There was no way out. At least, not for someone as well guarded as him.
Eight men always within a few paces of his person. Another dozen watched over any route that accessed him. Countless more were waiting to reinforce them if needed. And for Aren, only the very best soldiers were employed. There wasn’t a chance of his people silencing them all without an alarm being raised, and the moment those bells began to ring, the true defenses of Silas’s inner sanctum fell into place.
Gates barred and locked from both inside and out.
Dozens of men deployed to the top of the inner wall.
Countless more soldiers sent to patrol the base.
The list of contingencies seemed endless, much to Aren’s frustration, because every single day, he’d tried a different route of escape. Not because he had any chance of succeeding on his own, but because the only way to reveal all of the inner sanctum’s defenses was to trigger them.
Test after test after test, all of which left him battered and bleeding, but nothing he tried yielded anything other than the truth: Escape was impossible.
For all of his adult life, he’d been part of making Ithicana impenetrable, putting himself into the mind of his kingdom’s enemies to try to understand how and where they’d attack. How best to repel them. And most of all, how to identify weaknesses in Ithicana’s defenses. But no matter how much time he spent trying to put himself in Silas’s shoes, Aren couldn’t come up with a solution.
But that didn’t mean he had any intention of giving up.