Page 88 of The Endless War

She had no friends.

Didn’t know how to be a friend.

So it was far more comfortable to gravitate toward individuals like Aren and the other Ithicanians. They were also soldiers. She understood them. Understood how tobearound them.

But not Lara.

Lara was a warrior of a rare and dangerous skill, but she wasn’t a soldier. She was a queen, but she wasn’t Zarrah’s queen. And for reasons Zarrah couldn’t quite explain, her inability to categorize Lara had left her uncertain of how to behave around the other woman. Especially given Zarrah’s initial distaste for Lara’s role in the invasion of Ithicana.

But Aren had forgiven her.

Ithicana had accepted her.

What right had Zarrah to continue to hold Lara’s actions against her? The answer was that she had no right at all, yet instead of seeking friendship, Zarrah had allowed uncertainty and prejudice to place Lara in the only other category she had: an adversary.

An enemy.

And she’d done a good job of ensuring that Lara shared the same sentiment. Zarrah had erred, and it was past time to stop blaming her flawed upbringing and do something about it.

“Damn it,” she whispered, and before she could lose her nerve, Zarrah opened the door to the captain’s quarters.

Lara had been curled in a chair reading a book, but at Zarrah’s entrance, lifted her head.

And reached for her knife.

“Your Grace.” Zarrah pressed a hand to her heart. “I was hoping to speak to you.” Her eyes flicked to Keris’s form, the rise and fall of the thick blankets both filling her with relief and stealing her breath. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”

Azure eyes regarded her for a long moment, and then Lara rose to her feet. She reached a hand to check Keris’s breathing, then crossed the room. She had a slight limp that Zarrah hadn’t noticed before, though whether it was an injury from the recent battle or from before, Zarrah didn’t know. And wouldn’t ask.

Wordlessly stepping past Zarrah, Lara called out, “Jor? Would you please sit with my brother?”

The older Ithicanian abandoned the net he’d been untangling, nodding at the pair of them as Lara led Zarrah to the fore, where the galley was located. It was empty, lit only by small windows and the glow of the stove. Lara lit a lamp, then frowned as her boot crunched on something. There were several broken teacups on the floor.

“This ship was found floating in Ithicana’s waters,” Lara said. “Everyone aboard was dead. Jor thinks it’s haunted, as do many of my crew members. Perhaps they are right.”

A disconcerting notion, but the revelation that they sailed upon a ship potentially filled with Cardiffian ghosts who smashed teacups somehow broke the tension that was strung between them, and Zarrah said, “I wondered why you were all dressed in sealskin.”

“Originally it was for disguises, but it has all come in handy for the cold weather. No one on this ship tolerates it well.”

“The Cardiffians certainly know cold.”

“None the least from the frosty relationship they have with Harendell. Tea?”

Nodding, Zarrah took a seat at a scarred wooden table. “I want to apologize,” she said as the Queen filled a kettle with water, then set iton the stove to warm. “For how I behaved when I came aboard, and for all the times before.”

A flicker of surprise passed through Lara’s eyes. “You helped us when no others would.”

“I helped Ithicana and its king,” Zarrah corrected. “Not you. Nor have I offered you any real kindness, and I’m sorry for that. You helped me escape Vencia. Helped rescue me from Devil’s Island. I …” She cringed internally at her awkwardness, unsure of what to say to make this situation better, only that apologies weren’t enough.

“In fairness, I had no intention of rescuing you from my father,” Lara said, her mouth quirking in a half smile that was eerily reminiscent of Keris. “That was a plan concocted by my husband and my brother, and I clearly recall thinking we’d be better off leaving you behind. So don’t place me on too high of a pedestal.”

Zarrah laughed softly. For a heartbeat, levity dispelled her anxiety, but then it slipped away. “You risked so much coming to aid me, Lara. Yourself. Your husband. Your people. Your heir.” Her eyes flicked to the other woman’s stomach, and Lara curled a hand around it protectively. “I am truly grateful. For the rest of my life, I will always come to your aid, if you need it. But—” Her throat clenched, refusing to allow her to speak about the true source of conflict between them.

Lara rose and removed the boiling kettle from the stove. Filling a chipped pot with tea, she added the steaming water and placed two cups between them. As though Lara were equally unwilling to speak of what Zarrah had left unspoken, she did not bring up Keris but rather said, “We didn’t do it alone. The rebels were desperate to free you, particularly the commander himself.”

Memory of the man filled Zarrah’s mind. It had been dark, difficult to see clearly, but she focused on his image. Perhaps twenty years her senior, shaved head, thick beard. Tall and broad. A description belonging to any number of Valcottan men, yet he’d been wholly familiar to her. “Did he give you his name?”

Lara shook her head. “Neither of us was particularly forthcoming as to our identity. We caught sight of their ship doing reconnaissance, knew it was no naval vessel. Jor and I sneaked aboard and overheard their plans, offered an alliance.”

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