Page 23 of The Winner's Crime
The memory of Thrynne welled up. Tell him. He needs to know. Those had been the tortured man’s words. “Who is he to you?” Kestrel asked.
“A friend.”
“You could ask the palace steward.”
“I’m asking you.”
She couldn’t believe it. The mere fact of Arin’s asking was so reckless. No matter that his trust didn’t extend quite so far as to admit the truth of the situation: that Thrynne had been a spy sent to gather information on the emperor, and must be assumed caught. It was nevertheless clear that Arin was the sort of person who would dash safety to pieces. No one with any sense of self-preservation would inquire after the whereabouts of his spy from the emperor’s future daughter-in-law, who had already betrayed Arin once.
But self-preservation had never been Arin’s strong suit.
What would he do with the truth of Kestrel’s engagement?
Where is my honor in all this? he’d asked her once. She didn’t know what honor was to him. She thought that it wasn’t the same as her father’s: monumental, marble-cut. No, Arin’s honor was alive. She sensed the way it moved. She couldn’t see its face—maybe it had many faces—but she believed that Arin’s honor was the kind that would hold its breath and bite its lip until it bled.
If she told Arin the truth, he’d wreck the peace she’d bought. It almost didn’t matter whether he loved her. Arin wouldn’t let someone imprison herself so that he could go free. He’d find a way to end her engagement … and she would let him.
She’d felt it before, she felt it now: the pull to fall in with him, to fall into him, to lose her sense of self.
There would be scandal, and then there’d be war.
Kestrel must keep her secret. She was going to have to lie with her whole self. She could be cold. She could be distant. Even with him.
As for Thrynne … she had a plan.
“Very well,” Kestrel said. “Tell me your friend’s name. I’ll share what I know in honor of the protection you gave me after the Firstwinter Rebellion. A Valorian remembers her debts.”
Arin stayed very still. “I hadn’t realized I had done anything that begged repayment. What I did, I did for you.”
“Precisely. So ask. I will answer. We will be even.”
“Even? If you insist on seeing things that way, you and I will never clear our debts.”
“Do you want your information or not?”
“What I want…” He muttered the words. Then his voice steadied and came clear. “My friend’s name is Thrynne. He cleans. Floors, mostly.” Arin described the man’s features.
Kestrel pretended to think. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t recall seeing someone like him.”
“Maybe if you took more time to consider—”
“Doubtful. There are hundreds of servants and slaves in the palace. How am I to know each one?”
“So you give me nothing.”
“When have I ever given you anything?”
Softly, Arin said, “You gave me much, once.”
“Well,” said Kestrel, “as cozy as this little chat has been, I’d like to get back to my party.” She stepped toward the curtain.
His movement was swift. He blocked her path, hands coming down on either side of her to brace against the balustrade. He didn’t touch her, but was close enough now that she could see the dark shape of his mouth and the angry glimmer of his eyes. He said, “That’s not all I came for.”
She could smell the sea on his skin, stronger now: salty and sharp.
“Kestrel, this isn’t you.”
She pressed back against the chill glass. “I don’t know what you mean.”
