Page 39 of The Winner's Curse
Kestrel realized that she had drawn close to the window. The chill from the glass breathed onto her skin, and her nails were digging into the grain of the sill. She drew back. She wasn’t eager to be caught spying. She pulled her velvet robe more tightly around her and let the view of the rosy sky fill her eyes, but still it seemed that all she saw was Lirah’s frank adoration.
Kestrel sat in front of her dressing table’s hinged mirror, then wondered why she had done such a foolish thing as to look at herself. The mirror’s reflection only proved her displeasure. And why should she care about what she had seen in the garden? Why should she feel that some trust had been breached?
Her reflection frowned. Why should she not feel that way? She had a duty to the well-being of her slaves. There was something dishonorable in Arin accepting Lirah’s attention when he had a sweetheart. Kestrel doubted Lirah knew about the woman in the market.
Kestrel’s hand pushed the oval mirror, spinning it on its hinges until it faced the wall and she stared at its blank, mother-of-pearl back. She refused to consider this anymore. She would not become one of those mistresses who tracked her slaves’ movements and gossiped about them for lack of anything interesting in her own life.
Later that day, Arin came to the music room with a request to visit the city. Kestrel was especially gracious. She gave him her seal ring and told him to take as much time as he liked, so long as he was back by curfew. When it seemed that he might linger, she sat at the piano, making her dismissal clear. Yet she didn’t play until he had left and she felt that he had already walked out of the villa, and was some distance away.
* * *
When Cheat saw Arin, he greeted him in the way Herrani men used to do, with a palm pressed briefly to the side of his face. Arin smiled and did the same. He had known Cheat for years, since he was a boy and had just changed hands from his first slaver to his second. They had met in a quarry outside the city. Arin remembered how the gray rock dust had made everyone look old, powdering hair and drying out the skin. Cheat, however, had seemed almost viciously full of life, and there was no question in the slaves’ quarters at night who led them.
“Things are going very well,” Cheat said to him now. “Almost every household in the city has Herrani devoted to our cause—and now, thanks to you, they are armed.”
“I’ll drop the latest batch of weapons over the wall tonight, but I’m not sure how many more I can make,” Arin said. “No one’s noticed what I do on the side because I fill the steward’s orders on time, but if someone decides to check, it’ll be clear that iron and steel have gone missing.”
“Then stop. Your position is too important to risk. I’ll arrange for someone to raid the city armory before the new captain is appointed to replace Oskar.”
Cheat had been a city guard before the war. He had taken one look at the twelve-year-old Arin, called him a puppy with big paws, and said, “You’ll grow into them.” After curfew, he would teach Arin how to fight. Arin’s misery eased, though some of it came back when Cheat flattered and connived his way out of the quarry after a stint of only two years. But the skills Cheat had given him remained.
“You should plan to raid the armory after the new captain is appointed,” said Arin. “If it’s noticed then that weapons are missing, it will make him look incompetent.”
“Good idea. In the meantime, you and I will keep meeting. We need our moment at the general’s estate. You’ll give it to us.”
This was when Arin should have told Cheat that Kestrel was beginning to see a pattern of events. He should have revealed that she found something strange in the death of the captain, though she couldn’t know that two of the captain’s slaves had held him while another knelt on the ground with the man’s sword, waiting for the final push.
Arin should have said something to his leader. Yet he didn’t.
* * *
He kept his distance from the villa. It was too easy to slip in Kestrel’s presence.
One day, Lirah came to the forge. Arin was sure that he was being called to serve as Kestrel’s escort somewhere. He felt an eager dread.
“Enai would like to see you,” Lirah said.
Arin set the hammer on the anvil. “Why?” His interactions with Enai had been limited, and he liked to keep them that way. The woman’s eyes were too keen.
“She’s very sick.”
Arin considered this, then nodded, following Lirah from the forge.
When they entered the cottage, they could hear the sounds of sleep from beyond the open bedroom door. Enai coughed, and Arin heard fluid in her lungs.
The coughing subsided, then gave way to ragged breath.
“Someone should fetch a doctor,” Arin told Lirah.
“Lady Kestrel has gone for one. She was very upset. She’ll return soon, I hope.” Haltingly, Lirah said, “I’d like to stay with you, but I have to get back to the house.” Arin barely noticed her touch his arm before leaving him.
Reluctant to wake Enai, Arin studied the cottage. It was snug and well maintained. The floor didn’t creak. There were signs, everywhere, of comfort. Slippers. A stack of dry wood. Arin ran a hand along the smooth mantel of the fireplace until he touched a porcelain box. He opened it. Inside was a small braid of dark blond hair with a reddish tinge, looped in a circle and tied with golden wire.
Although he knew he shouldn’t, Arin traced the braid with one fingertip.
“That’s not yours,” a voice said.
He snatched his hand away. He turned, his face hot. Through the open bedroom door, Arin saw Enai staring at him from where she lay. “I’m sorry.” He set the lid on the box.
