“Perhaps she’s biding her time? She knows you’re free—maybe she’s waiting for an offer of alliance?”
Aren grunted softly. “An alliance with Ithicana was always a possibility, even with me imprisoned. There are others who could’ve brokered a deal, and she knew that, but chose not to.”
“Do you believe she’s still angry about Ithicana siding with Maridrina and breaking the Southwatch blockade?”
Actions that were taken based on her advice. And it was advice Lara didn’t regret giving. The months of Ithicana filling Maridrinian bellies had not only saved lives, it had also won Maridrinian hearts.
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
They approached the gates to the walled palace, and Aren muttered, “Let me do the talking for once. They won’t be apt to listen to a Maridrinian, especially one with eyes like yours.”
Heavily armed guards watched as they approached, one holding up a hand until they stopped a few paces from him. “Your identities and your purpose, if you please.”
“King Aren of Ithicana,” Aren said. “I’m here to see the Empress.”
The soldier’s jaw dropped in surprise that mirrored Lara’s. This hadn’t been part of the plan. By midday, the whole damn city was going to know they were here, and then her father’s assassins would be after them. What the hell was Aren thinking?
“Your Grace.” The soldier pressed his hand to his heart, the Valcottan way of showing respect. “We were not aware that you were in the city. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Aren inclined his head. “No forgiveness necessary. For reasons I’m sure you’re aware, announcing my presence would’ve posed an obvious risk.”
“I understand, Your Grace.” The soldier’s brown eyes flicked to Lara, hardening. “Then this is . . .”
“Lara.” Aren’s tone was cool, effectively shutting down whatever comments the man might make about Lara’s identity.
The soldier nodded, but Lara didn’t fail to notice that he offered her none of the courtesy he had to Aren. Not that it mattered. They could hate her Maridrinian guts all they wanted as long as they forgave Aren and Ithicana. “This way, Your Grace.”
The heavy doors swung inward, revealing an expansive courtyard with a large fountain at the center of it. Dispatching a young boy to deliver word of Aren’s arrival, the guard led them across the open space, through a pair of bronze gates on the far side, and into the palace.
It was a building quite unlike anything she’d ever seen, mostly because it could barely be called a building at all. Above, iron was wrought into delicate curving shapes containing the colored glass for which Valcotta was famed, the light passing through it casting rainbows across the pathways of translucent glass tiles that wove through gardens filled with blooming flowers.
“This way, Your Grace,” the soldier said, leading them to the left, following one of the paths to a gazebo. At the center of it was a low table surrounded by large pillows encased in jewel-colored silk, the tiered fountain to one side filling the air with a gentle music.
“The Empress is currently occupied. But if you’ll wait here, refreshments will be brought.” The soldier touched his hand to his heart, then backed away before turning to walk briskly down the path.
Two young boys appeared with glass bowls filled with water, towels dyed in Valcottan amethyst draped over their arms.
Lara carefully washed her hands and dried them on the towel, then seated herself on one of the cushions, smoothing the fabric of her wide trousers. A girl with coiled braids wrapped with gold offered her a long glass flute filled with sparkling liquid, and another brought a plate filled with chocolate truffles that smelled of mint.
Lara nibbled on a truffle. “They are taking no chances that you aren’t who you say you are.”
Aren drank deeply from his glass, then frowned at the contents and set it aside. “The Valcottans are a polite people, but they have no tolerance for dishonesty. If it’s discovered I’m lying, they’ll have me executed before the sun sets.”
Eating one of the chocolates, Lara tilted her head skyward to admire the chandelier above her. Countless tiny basins hung on delicate chains, scented oil burning within them, the light reflected off the ceiling, which was plated with silver. Bushes with wide leaves framed the gazebo on three sides, giving a semblance of privacy, but through them, Lara could make out the figures of the guards who were watching them.
“Quit pacing,” she murmured at Aren, who’d already crossed back and forth across the space a half dozen times. “It makes you look nervous.”
He ignored her and kept pacing, not stopping until soft footsteps approached. A stunning young woman dressed in military attire appeared, a wide smile blossoming on her face at the sight of Aren. Lara immediately recognized her as the woman who’d joined them for part of their escape from her father’s palace.
“Good to see you alive, Your Majesty,” Zarrah said, touching her hand to her chest. “I heard you ran into some trouble after we parted ways outside the gates of Vencia.”
Lara kept her face smooth at the woman’s lie. Obviously she had told her people that Ithicana was solely responsible for her escape, keeping Keris’s involvement a secret. It was, in Lara’s opinion, a smart move, and one that could only work in Aren’s favor.
Aren’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he only said, “Likewise—I’m pleased to see you are well.”
“I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you, so allow me to do so now. Perhaps there will come a time when I might repay you.”
“I think we’re even.”
Zarrah gave a slight shake of her head, eyes full of warning even as she smiled. Her delivery of supplies to Eranahl was clearly not something she wanted known, which meant she’d done it without the Empress’s approval. Lara glanced at Aren to see if this revelation concerned him, but his face was unmoved.
Zarrah waved a hand at the guards beyond. “Stand down. His Grace is who he says he is.” Then her head cocked sideways, dark eyes meeting Lara’s. “As is she.”
Silence stretched as they stared each other down, taking each other’s measure. She was more beautiful than Lara had had the chance to appreciate during their escape, her short brown curls revealing high, rounded cheekbones, and large brown eyes that Lara might have described as doe-like on another woman. But Zarrah was no more prey than Lara was herself, her tall body possessing the strength and grace of a panther on the hunt, her fingers flexing around the staff she held. Then she said, “I enjoyed your dance very much, Your Majesty. Though not as much as I enjoyed watching you kick wine into your father’s face.”
Lara inclined her head. “I enjoyed that as well.”
Zarrah’s attention shifted back to Aren. “Come, come. My aunt wishes to know the face behind the name. I expect she’s also looking forward to a chance to berate you for every choice you’ve made in your reign.”
Zarrah led them down the path, Aren walking next to her, Lara trailing behind. “Silas has been spreading rumors of your death, Aren. Up and down the coast, though the story of how you died changes with every telling. We, of course, questioned the veracity of the claims. Silas is a braggart, and no Ithicanian heads adorn Vencia’s gates.”