Page 98 of The Endless War

A glance at the window revealed the snow had eased, the faintest glow of dawn pinkening the sky. The ladder and the belts still held the trapdoor firmly in place, but she still scanned the space for intruders.

“Where have you goddamned been?” a woman’s shout echoed up from the room below them. “Out all night and stinking of cheap perfume, you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?”

A man’s voice grumbled a penitent response, and Zarrah gave a faint smile as the woman continued to berate him. That had been what had woken her, not a threat.

Another door slammed, and Keris stirred. Not wanting him to realize she’d slept next to him, Zarrah moved away, pretending to fuss with the tray of plates from the prior night while he fully roused. Then she asked, “How do you feel?”

“Like I slept on a cold floor.” He cautiously rotated his shoulder. “I was made for feather beds and hot baths, yet last night was the first time I’ve slept well in …” He trailed off, then gave a shrug. “A long time, at any rate.”

“Narcotics have their uses,” she mumbled, feeling his eyes on her as she unbuckled their belts from the ladder. Had he woken to find her curled around him? Should she say something? Tell him it was because she hadn’t wanted him to freeze to death?

Better to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Gather up your things, and we’ll get something to eat.”

“If we’re going out, you’ll need this.”

She looked up to find him holding out her cloak. Bloody hell, she’d left it draped across him, which meant heknew.

“It was cold.” She reached out to take it from him, and their fingers brushed together, sending a spark jolting through her. “I didn’t want you to freeze to death.”

“Because I’m irreplaceable?” Humor sparkled in his azure eyes.

“Insufferable is what you are.” She fastened her cloak around her neck. “Let me check your bandages.”

Keris dutifully pulled off his coat and shirt, and Zarrah’s toes curled in her boots at the sight of his chiseled torso, every muscle perfectly defined, down to the V of abdominal muscles disappearing into his trousers. She peeked under the bandages and saw that the wound looked better than the night before. “It’s healing.”

“More scars for the collection.”

His breath brushed her cheek as she tightened the bandages, her pulse accelerating because scars were a mark of survival. A symbol of the strength to endure, and rather than detracting from his appearance, they only made him more formidable. “Shall I find you a handkerchief to dry the tears of your injured vanity?”

He made a noise of amusement, then put his clothes back on. “What’s our plan? I assume it isn’t to go into the common room and announce that we’re looking for the rebel commander.”

“Definitely not.” Sitting on her heels, Zarrah frowned. “We can assume that word of our escape will soon arrive in Arakis, if it hasn’t already, which means my aunt’s soldiers will be looking for us. We need to find the rebels before that happens.”

“Look for dissenters?” Keris pulled his hair back, tying it behind his head. “Those picking fights with the soldiers, like we saw yesterday?”

Realizing she was staring, Zarrah handed him his belt before fastening her own. “I don’t think any well-connected rebel would risk drawing that sort of attention down upon themselves. They’ve survived this long by being hard to catch.”

Rubbing at the scruff on his chin, Keris frowned. “Somewhere we can hear gossip, then.” His frown abruptly disappeared. “Bathhouse.”

Her cheeks warmed, because while Keris might not know thenature of Valcottan bathhouses, she certainly did. “You’re just in want of a razor.”

“True, but much like bartenders, barbers know all the gossip. I would know, because I went through Serin’s accounts after he took his last flight, and he had at least a dozen of each on the payroll.”

“Bartenders seem a better choice,” she said, heat moving from her cheeks to her chest. “Drunks talk.”

“True, but do you really think the men and women we need to find are alehouse drunks?”

“Probably not.” Sighing, she opened the trapdoor. “We’ll do it your way, but there’s something you should know.”

“Oh?”

Forgoing the ladder, Zarrah jumped down and then looked up at him. “In this region of Valcotta, bathhouses are communal.”

HE WOULD NOThave suggested it if he had known.

Stepping over a pool of slush, Keris scowled as a cart proceeded to trundle by and splash him, cold water soaking his clothes. The streets were as crowded as they’d been yesterday, only today he noted how many of the people seemed to be wandering without purpose, more than a few camped in alleys with all their worldly possessions. And he also noticed the drawings. Dozens of walls and fences bore white paint depicting a woman in a crown walking over piles of corpses, cutting the throats of children, and looking up at the sky while starved figures lifted pleading arms to her. Under the scowling eyes of a soldier, two women were trying to scrub paint that saidDeath to the Usurperoff a wall, and Keris marked dozens of smaller paintings showing people enacting various forms of violence against a crowned figure.

For all the rebellion had been growing for years, this rise in visible dissent had to be relatively recent, for gossip of this nature traveled far. It suggested the conflict was coming to a head, and he wonderedif it was Petra who willed it so, or the rebels themselves. The question made him want to quicken his pace to catch up with Zarrah, but they’d agreed it best if they traveled separately to the bathhouse.

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