Page 55 of The Winner's Curse
Kestrel sank back against the pillows. She had known the sight of Jess would hurt, would remind her that there was a life outside this bedroom. “Ronan isn’t allowed.”
“I should say not! I’m not letting him see you until you’re better. You look awful. No one wants to kiss an invalid.”
“Thank you, Jess. I’m so happy you’ve come.”
Jess rolled her eyes. She started to speak, then her gaze fell on the nightstand. “Kestrel. You haven’t been opening your letters.”
They had collected in a pile, like a nest of coiled snakes.
“What would the letters tell me?” Kestrel said. “That my reputation is as ruined as ever?”
“It’s nothing we can’t fix.”
Kestrel guessed what Jess might say: that she should go with Ronan to the Firstwinter ball. Ronan would be willing. He would be glad. It would stop some of the gossip and start a different kind.
It was a solution of sorts.
Kestrel smiled a little. She shook her head. “You’re so loyal.”
“And clever. I have an idea. The ball is not long from now and—”
“I’m bored, sitting in bed all these hours. Why don’t you distract me, Jess? Better yet, why don’t I do something for you? I owe you.”
Jess smoothed the hair off Kestrel’s forehead. “No, you don’t.”
“You have stood by me. I’ll make it up to you. Once I’m well, I’ll wear whatever you like.”
Jess jokingly pressed a palm to Kestrel’s brow. “You must be feverish.”
“I’ll teach you to play Bite and Sting so that no one will beat you.”
Jess laughed. “Don’t bother. I don’t like games.”
“I know.” Kestrel felt her smile leave. “It’s one of the things I admire about you.”
Jess’s expression turned quizzical.
“You never hide who you are,” Kestrel said.
“Do you think that you do? Do you think I don’t realize that even though you have asked me to distract you, you are trying to distract me?”
Kestrel winced.
“You’d be better at it,” Jess said, “if you weren’t bedridden. And miserable.”
Kestrel reached for her hand and gripped it. “I meant what I said.”
“Then stop playing games. There is an obvious answer to your problems.”
She realized that Jess had more on her mind than the ball. Kestrel’s hand slipped away.
Jess sighed. “Fine. We won’t talk about Ronan. We won’t talk about marriage. We won’t talk about the fact that as much as you like to win, you’re acting as if you’re determined to lose.”
* * *
Arin stoked the forge’s fire. Not for warmth but for color. He craved it in the cold months. He had been a sickly child, and this time of year reminded him most of his home, of feeling cooped up inside, not knowing that one day he would dream of those painted walls, the curtains in a sweep of indigo, the blue of his mother’s dress.
Cold without, color within. This was how it had been.
