Page 79 of The Winner's Crime
“You asked to walk. Here you are, walking. You asked to speak with my queen. You will. You’ve broken our laws three times—”
“Three?”
The man ticked them off, starting with his smallest finger. “You entered our country. You bore the weapon of our enemy. And you struck a member of the royal family.”
Arin stared at him. The man gave a slow smile. “But we have been polite,” he said.
“Who are you?”
The man led the way down a hall lined with palm-size paintings.
“Wait.” Arin caught the man’s arm.
The Dacran glanced down at Arin’s hand on him, then gave a look that made Arin let go. “You are also not supposed to touch a member of the royal family. It’s not so grave an offense as striking me, but still. I don’t know what my sister is going to do with you. The queen can hardly sentence you to death more than once.”
“Your sister?”
“That last offense bears a lesser punishment, though I don’t think you’ll like that one either.”
Arin had stopped, only vaguely aware that they had entered a high-vaulted chamber. “But if you’re the queen’s brother, that means you’re Risha’s brother, too.”
The Dacran stopped as well. “Risha?”
There was a silent energy in this new room that kept Arin from saying anything else.
It was wariness. It was the watchful eyes of guards.
It was the hard expression of the young queen, who looked at Arin as if she had already pronounced his death.
28
“Don’t say that name again,” muttered the skull-faced man to Arin.
The queen asked a sharp question. Her brother’s answer was slow, complicated. It was marked by pauses. Each pause gave life to a new tone of voice.
The rain must have stopped. The peaked ceiling, made from that sheer stone, glowed with sudden sun. Prismatic light lit the room. Arin watched the queen’s changing face as her brother spoke. Her black eyes, lined with elaborate patterns of color, narrowed. She stopped him.
“This is the part where I translate,” the Dacran told Arin, “and you hope that I tell the truth.”
The queen said, “You’ve broken three of our laws”—here, her brother stopped his translation to hold up four fingers—“what keeps you alive is our curiosity. Satisfy it.”
Arin said, “I have a proprosal—”
“No,” the man told him. “Don’t start there. We don’t even know your name.”
So Arin gave it, and his rank.
“Governor is a Valorian title,” said the queen. “You are Valorian.”
The insult went bone deep.
“You cannot deny it,” said the queen. “We have heard of you. Arin of the Herrani, who once bit his masters’ heels, is a tame dog once more. Did you not swear an oath of loyalty to the emperor?”
“I’m breaking it now.”
“Do you so easily break your oaths?”
“Wouldn’t you, for your people?”
