Page 32 of The Winner's Curse
“I gave him house privileges,” she said, knowing that her tone was defensive. “He also often serves as my escort into the city.”
Enai swallowed some syrup and made a face. “Yes, I heard from the others. Does society talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About Smith. Does society talk about him appearing as your escort?”
“Not to my knowledge. There was some gossip about the price I paid for him, but everyone’s forgotten that.”
“That may be, but I would think he’d still draw attention.”
Kestrel searched the woman’s face. “Enai, what are you trying to say? Why would people talk about him?”
Enai studied the very plain syrup pot. Finally, she said, “Because of how he looks.”
“Oh.” Kestrel was relieved. “Once he’s dressed in house attire he doesn’t appear so rough. He holds himself well.” This thought seemed ready to give rise to other thoughts, but she shook her head. “No, I don’t think he would give anyone cause to complain about his appearance.”
Enai said, “I’m sure you’re right.”
Kestrel had the sense that the woman’s words were less an agreement than a decision to let some unspoken matter drop.
15
Enai’s words troubled Kestrel, but not so much that she changed her ways. She continued to bring Arin with her on visits into society. She enjoyed his sharp mind—even his sharp tongue. She had to admit, however, that their conversations in Herrani created a false sense of privacy. She thought this was due to the language itself; Herrani had always felt more intimate than Valorian, probably because after her mother’s death her father had had little time for her, and it was Enai who had filled the void, distracting Kestrel from her tears by teaching her the Herrani word for them.
Kestrel frequently had to remind herself that Arin knew her language as well as she did his. Sometimes, when she caught a glimpse of him listening to an absurd dinner conversation, she wondered how he had mastered Valorian so completely. Few slaves did.
Not long after her second game of Bite and Sting with Arin, they went to Jess’s home.
“Kestrel!” Jess embraced her. “You’ve neglected us.”
Jess waited for an explanation, but when Kestrel mentally sifted through her reasons—the strategy lessons with her father, hours of practice at piano, and two Bite and Sting games that took up much more time in her mind than they had actual hours—she said only, “Well, I’m here now.”
“And ready with an apology. If not, I shall take my revenge on you.”
“Oh?” Kestrel followed Jess into the parlor, listening to Arin’s footsteps behind them soften as he moved from the marble hallway to the carpeted floor. “Should I be afraid?”
“Yes. If you don’t beg my forgiveness, I won’t go with you to the dressmaker’s to order gowns for the governor’s Firstwinter ball.”
Kestrel laughed. “The first day of winter is ages away.”
“But your apology, I hope, isn’t.”
“I am very, very sorry, Jess.”
“Good.” Jess’s brown eyes glittered with mirth. “I forgive you, on the condition that you let me choose your gown.”
Kestrel gave her a helpless look. She glanced at Arin, who was standing against the wall. Though his expression was bland, she had the impression he was laughing at her.
“You dress too modestly, Kestrel.” When Kestrel began to protest, Jess caught one of her hands with both of hers and shook it. “There. It is agreed. It is done. A Valorian honors her word.”
Kestrel sank onto a sofa next to Jess, admitting defeat.
“Ronan will be sorry to have missed you,” Jess said.
“He is out?”
“He is visiting Lady Faris’s household.”
