Page 98 of The Winner's Curse
What if they were a distraction?
* * *
Kestrel rested her forehead against a window in her sitting room and gazed out at the empty courtyard. She willed the cold glass to freeze her brain, because she didn’t think she could bear her own thoughts for much longer—or her own ineptitude. How was it that she was a prisoner still?
She was cursing herself when a hand stole up the nape of her neck.
Her body knew how to react before her mind did. Kestrel stamped her heel down on the man’s instep, punched an elbow into the spot below the ribs, slipped under a thick arm—
—and was caught by the hair. Cheat dragged her to him. He used his whole body to push her away from the windows and up against a wall.
His hand pressed down on her mouth. She twisted her head to the side. Cheat’s thumb dug in under her chin and jerked her face to meet his.
The other hand found her fingers and squeezed hard.
“Don’t struggle,” he said. “Soft things don’t break.”
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He tried to pull her down to the floor. She wrenched a hand away and drove the heel of it into his nose. She felt it crunch. Blood spurted between her fingers.
Cheat grunted, gasped. His hands flew to the broken nose, muffling sounds, catching blood.
Freeing Kestrel.
She pushed past him. She was thinking, Knife. Her makeshift ceramic knife, hidden in the ivy. She had a weapon, she wasn’t defenseless, this wouldn’t happen, she wouldn’t—
Cheat backhanded her across the face.
The blow knocked Kestrel off her feet. Then she was on the floor, cheek against carpet, blinking at the woven patterns. She forced herself up. She was shoved back down. She heard a dagger scrape out of its sheath, and Cheat was saying things she refused to understand.
Then there was a crash.
Kestrel couldn’t wonder what that sound was, couldn’t even breathe under Cheat’s weight. But he suddenly scrambled to his feet. He was no longer looking at her.
He was staring at Arin, who had slammed through the door.
Arin strode into the room. His sword was raised. His face was so pale and tight that it seemed to be made only of bones and fury.
“Arin,” Cheat said soothingly. “Nothing happened.”
Arin swung, and his blade would have cut Cheat’s head from his neck if the other man hadn’t ducked. Cheat began speaking as if they were arguing over a game whose rules had been forgotten. He said that it wasn’t fair that Arin had the bigger weapon, and that old friends shouldn’t fight. The Valorian girl had attacked him.
“Look at my face,” Cheat said. “Just look at what she did to me.”
Arin thrust his sword into Cheat’s chest. There was the grind of metal on bone. A choking sound, a rush of blood. Arin pushed in up to the hilt. The sword’s point pierced through Cheat’s back and the man sagged, folding in on himself, pouring red onto Arin, but Arin’s expression didn’t change. It was all hard lines and murder.
Cheat’s eyes went wide. Disbelieving. Then dull.
Arin let go. He knelt on the floor next to Kestrel. His bloody hand lifted to her bruising cheek, and she recoiled at the wet touch, then let herself be gathered into Arin’s arms, held gently against his raging heart. She inhaled.
A gulp of air. Sharp. Shallow. Again.
She began to shake. Teeth rattled in her head. Arin was saying Shh, as if Kestrel was crying, which made her realize that she was. And she remembered that Arin wasn’t shelter but a cage.
She pushed herself away. “Key,” she whispered.
Arin’s hands fell to his sides. “What?”
