The Winner's Curse (13 page)

But he merely struck a match and touched it to the wick of a lamp. He was soaked with rain. His skin glittered with it.

When she looked at him, he flinched. “Kestrel.” He sighed. He rubbed a hand through his wet hair. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“You meant it.”

“Yes, but—” Arin looked weary and confused. “I would have been angry if you did
not
weep for her.” He held out the hand that rested at his side in the shadows, and for an uncertain moment Kestrel thought he would touch her. But he was only offering something on his uplifted palm. “This was in her cottage,” he said.

It was a braid of Kestrel’s hair. She took it carefully; even so, her smallest finger brushed his wet palm. His hand instantly fell.

She considered the braid, turning the bright ring in her fingers. She knew that it didn’t choose sides between her truth and Arin’s. It wasn’t proof of Enai’s love. Yet it was a comfort.

“I should go,” Arin said, though he didn’t move.

Kestrel looked at his face glowing in the lamplight. She became aware that she was close enough to him that her bare foot rested on the damp edge of carpet where Arin stood, seeping rainwater. A shiver traveled up her skin.

Kestrel stepped back. “Yes,” she said. “You should.”

*   *   *

The next morning, her father strode into her visiting room and said, “This seclusion of yours has gone on long enough.” He stood in front of her chair, feet planted. He often took this stance when he would rather pace. “I know your attachment to your nurse, and I suppose, all things considered, it’s understandable. But you’ve missed a training session with Rax, a lesson with me, and I didn’t raise you to fall apart at the slightest difficulty.”

“I’m fine, Father.” Kestrel poured a cup of tea.

It was only then that he truly looked at her. She was sure there were hollows under her eyes, but she was impeccably dressed for a late autumn day in society.

“Well,” he said. “Good. Because I sent for Jess. She’s waiting downstairs in the parlor.”

Kestrel set the cup on its saucer and rose to greet her friend.

“Kestrel.” The general touched her shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. “It’s every child’s duty to survive her parents. My profession isn’t a safe one. I would like—Kestrel, when I die, do not mourn me.”

She smiled. “You do not command me,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

*   *   *

Jess was in her element. She whisked Kestrel away in her carriage and stopped in front of the city’s finest dressmaker. “You promised,” she warned Kestrel as they stepped from the carriage.

Kestrel eyed her. “I promised to let you choose the fabric for my gown.”

“Liar. I get to choose
everything
.”

“Oh, all right,” Kestrel said, because Jess’s enthusiasm made her own sadness ebb. How much damage, anyway, could Jess do?

When they entered the shop, Jess waved away the fabrics Kestrel would have chosen, and sketched designs for the dressmaker that made Kestrel’s eyes widen. “Jess. This is for a
Firstwinter
ball. I am going to
freeze
. May I please have sleeves?”

“No.”

“And the neckline—”

“Be quiet. Your opinion is not needed.”

Kestrel gave up, and stood on the block while the dressmaker pinned cloth around her and Jess gave instructions. Then the two young women left Kestrel alone, ducking into the supply room where bolts of fabric shimmered on shelves. Jess whispered, the dressmaker whispered back, and as Kestrel strained to understand their excited confederacy, she began to suspect that Jess was arranging for not one but two dresses.

“Jess,” called Kestrel, “did I hear you say that you wanted the evening dress to be embroidered,
and
the ball gown to be plain?”

“Of course. You need a new evening dress, too, for Lord Irex’s dinner party.”

A pin jabbed into Kestrel’s waist. “He’s having a party?”

“It is high time. He hopes to be a senator someday, so he must begin to show his friendly side to society. Plus, his parents have traveled to the capital for the winter season. He has the house to himself.”

“I’m not going,” Kestrel said flatly.

“You
have
to go.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“Obviously you were. You are General Trajan’s daughter, and if now is the first time you have heard of the party, it’s only because you haven’t opened your letters in more than a week.”

Kestrel remembered Irex’s threatening leer. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But why?”

“I don’t like him.”

“What does that matter? There will be scores of people, and his house is certainly large enough for you to avoid him. Everyone will be there. How will it look if you are not?”

Kestrel thought of a Bite and Sting game. She had to admit that if Irex’s invitation were a tile and not a piece of paper folded and sealed, she would play it coolly.

Jess drew near and reached for Kestrel’s hands. “I don’t like to see you sad. Come with Ronan and me, and we will keep you away from Irex and make you laugh at him. Come, Kestrel. I won’t give up until you say yes.”

19

When the dress for Irex’s dinner party arrived wrapped in muslin and tied with twine, it was Arin who brought the package to Kestrel. She hadn’t seen him since the first green storm. She didn’t like to think about that day. It was her grief, she decided, that she didn’t want to remember. She was learning to live around it. She had returned to her music, and let that and outings and lessons flow around the fact of Enai’s death, smoothing its jagged edges.

She spent little time at the villa. She sent no invitations to Arin for Bite and Sting. If she went into society, she chose other escorts.

When Arin stepped into her sitting room that was really a writing room, Kestrel set her book next to her on the divan and turned its spine so that he wouldn’t see the title.

“Hmm,” Arin said, turning the packaged dress over in his hands. “What could this be?”

“I am sure you know.”

He pressed it between his fingers. “A very soft kind of weapon, I think.”

“Why are you delivering my dress?”

“I saw Lirah with it. I asked if I could bring it to you.”

“And she let you, of course.”

He lifted his brows at her tone. “She was busy. I thought she would be glad for one less thing to do.”

“That was kind of you then,” Kestrel said, though she heard her voice indicate otherwise and was annoyed with herself.

Slowly, he said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean nothing.”

“You asked me to be honest with you. Do you think I have been?”

She remembered his harsh words during the storm. “Yes.”

“Can I not ask the same thing of you?”

The answer was no, no slave could ask anything of her. The answer was no, if he wanted her secret thoughts he could try to win them at Bite and Sting. But Kestrel swallowed a sudden flare of nervousness and admitted to herself that she valued his honesty—and her own, when she was around him. There was nothing wrong with speaking the truth. “I think that you are not fair to Lirah.”

His brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not fair for you to encourage Lirah when your heart is elsewhere.”

He inhaled sharply. Kestrel thought that he might tell her it was no business of hers, for it was not, but then she saw that he wasn’t offended, only taken aback. He pulled up a chair in that possessive, natural way of his and sank into it, dropping the dress onto his knees. He studied her. She willed herself not to look away.

“I hadn’t thought of Lirah like that.” Arin shook his head. “I’m not thinking clearly at all. I need to be more careful.”

Kestrel supposed that she should feel reassured.

Arin set the package on the divan where she sat. “A new dress means an event on the horizon.”

“Yes, a dinner party. Lord Irex is hosting.”

He frowned. “And you’re going?”

She shrugged.

“Do you need an escort?”

Kestrel intended to say no, but became distracted by the determined set to Arin’s mouth. He looked almost … protective. She was surprised that he should look that way. She was confused, and perhaps this made her say, “To be honest, I would be glad for your company.”

His eyes held hers. Then his gaze fell to the book by Kestrel’s side. Before she could stop him, he took it with a nimble hand and read the title. It was a Valorian history of its empire and wars.

Arin’s face changed. He returned the book and left.

*   *   *

“Where are we going?” Arin stared out the carriage window at the trees of the Garden District, their bare branches slim and violet in the dusk.

Kestrel fidgeted with her skirts. “Arin. You know that we are going to Irex’s party.”

“Yes,” he said shortly, but didn’t tear his gaze away from the passing trees.

Better he look at them than at her. The velvet dress was a deep red, the skirts deliberately crushed in a pattern highlighted by golden embroidered leaves that twined up toward the bodice, where they interlaced and would catch the light. Conspicuous. The dress made her conspicuous. Kestrel sank into her corner of the carriage, feeling her dagger dig into her side. This evening at Irex’s wouldn’t be easy.

Arin seemed to think the same. He held himself so rigidly on the carriage seat across from her that he looked wooden. Tension seeped into the air between them.

When torches lit the darkness outside the windows and the driver lined up behind other carriages waiting to access the pathway to Irex’s villa, Kestrel said, “Perhaps we should return home.”

“No,” said Arin. “I want to see the house.” He opened the door.

They were silent as they walked up the path to the villa. Though not as large as Kestrel’s, it was also a former Herrani home: elegant, prettily designed. Arin fell behind Kestrel, as was expected of slaves, but this made her uneasy. It was unsettling to feel him close and not see his face.

They entered the house with the other guests and made their way into the receiving room, which was lined with Valorian weapons.

“They don’t belong there,” she heard Arin say. She turned to see him staring in shock at the walls.

“Irex is an exceptional fighter,” said Kestrel. “And not very modest.”

Arin said nothing, so neither did Kestrel. She prepared herself for the moment when the line of guests before her dwindled and she had to thank Irex for his hospitality.

“Kestrel.” Irex took her hand. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He pulled her closer. Although his grip on her hand was painful, she let him. People milled around them, and she didn’t think it would help matters to shame Irex in front of his guests. He said, “Let’s have no bad blood between us.” He smiled, and a dimple bit into his left cheek, making him look oddly childlike at the same time his voice was unpleasant. “Did you never wonder why I wanted to play with you at Bite and Sting?”

“Because you wanted to beat me. But you won’t.” She placed her free hand on top of his that gripped hers. The gesture would look friendly to anyone who watched, but Irex felt her pinch the nerve that forced his hand to release her captive one. “This is a lovely party. My thanks to you equals the grace you have shown me.”

The smile slid from his face. But Lady Faris was behind Kestrel and Arin, eager for attention, so it was easy for Kestrel to step aside and let the woman push close to Irex, saying what a
shame
it was that her husband couldn’t join her.

A slave in serving dress presented Kestrel with wine, then led the way to an open solarium with a low fountain and hothouse flowers. Musicians played discreetly behind an ebony screen as guests greeted each other, some chatting where they stood, others retreating for quiet conversations on the stone benches lining the fountain.

Kestrel turned to face Arin.

His eyes were dazed with anger, his hands clenched.

“Arin,” she began, concerned, but his gaze flicked away and settled on some point across the room. “Your friends are here,” he said.

She followed his line of sight to see Jess and Ronan laughing at something Benix had said.

“Dismiss me,” Arin said.

“What?” she said, though in fact he was the only escort in the room. The slaves who threaded through the crowd were servers, and Irex’s.

“Join your friends. I don’t want to stay here anymore. Send me to the kitchens.”

She took a breath, then nodded. He spun on his heel and was gone.

She felt instantly alone. She hadn’t expected this. But when she asked herself what she had expected, she had a foolish image of her and Arin sitting on a bench together.

Kestrel looked up at the glass roof, a pyramid of purple sky. She saw the sharp cut of the moon, and remembered Enai saying that it was best to recognize the things one cannot change.

She crossed the room to greet her friends.

*   *   *

Kestrel ate little at dinner and drank less, though Ronan, who sat to her right, was attentive toward her plate and cup. She was glad when the last course was served and everyone moved into the adjoining ballroom, for she had begun to feel trapped at the table, and Ronan’s talk had a pattern that was too easy to predict. She preferred listening to music. Even in a crowd, she would take a quiet pleasure in whatever the flutist played for the dance. She thought that Arin would, too, if he were here.

“Kestrel.” Ronan touched her long earring to make it swing. “You are dreaming. What holds your mind so?”

“Nothing,” she told him, and was relieved when Benix strode toward them to claim Ronan’s assistance.

“The Raul twins,” Benix said pleadingly, casting his eyes in the direction of the identical sisters. “One won’t dance without the other, Ronan, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

Ronan looked irritated.

“What?” said Benix. When he glanced between Ronan and Kestrel he waved a dismissive hand. “We are old friends, we three. Kestrel can spare you for one dance.”

Kestrel certainly could. But she pretended to be cross in a way that indicated both that she didn’t mind and that she did, a little, when the truth of the matter was that she didn’t care at all. She told the boys she would find Jess and a corner in which they would gossip.