Page 44 of The Winner's Curse
“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.
“Only one dance,” Ronan told Benix, and they crossed the room to the twins. The dance began, but Kestrel didn’t seek Jess. She found a chair in the shadows and sat listening, eyes closed, to the flute.
“Lady Kestrel?” said an anxious voice.
Kestrel opened her eyes to see a girl dressed in a Herrani serving uniform. “Yes?”
“Will you please follow me? There is a problem with your escort.”
Kestrel stood. “What’s wrong?”
“He has stolen something.”
Kestrel rushed from the room, wishing the girl would move more quickly down the villa’s halls. There must be some mistake. Arin was intelligent, far too canny to do something so dangerous. He must know what happened to Herrani thieves.
The girl led Kestrel into the library. Several men were gathered there: two senators, who held Arin by his arms, and Irex, whose expression when he saw Kestrel was gloating, as if he had just drawn a high tile in Bite and Sting. “Lady Kestrel,” he said, “what exactly did you bring into my house?”
Kestrel looked at Arin, who refused to return her gaze. “He wouldn’t steal.” She heard something desperate in her voice.
Irex must have, too. He smiled.
“We saw him,” said one of the senators. “He was slipping that inside his shirt.” He nodded at a book that had fallen to the floor.
No. The accusation couldn’t be true. No slave would risk a flogging for theft, not for a book. Kestrel steadied herself. “May I?” she asked Irex, nodding at the fallen book.
He swept a hand to indicate permission.
