Page 155 of The Winner's Kiss
His brown eyes warmed. “I’ll visit. Risha, too. She wants to train you in your weapon of choice until you feel properly dangerous.”
Kestrel opened her mouth to say that’d be a useless effort, but then it struck her that it might not be, and whether it was or wasn’t didn’t matter as much as the happiness the offer gave her. “I like her, too.”
They were leaning against the trunk of a very broad tree near the encampment. White spores from its flowering branches floated down. She wondered if a Herrani would think this the sign of a god, and if so, which one.
“I’m sorry,” she told Verex.
He knew what she meant. “I had no love for my father. He certainly had none for me.”
“Still.”
“I’m not sure what else you could have done. If anything . . .” He slouched against the bark. “I feel worst about being relieved.” A spore landed on the tip of his boot, then floated away. In a low voice, he added, “And a bit of a coward. I worry that if I became emperor, I’d become like him.”
“Not you. Never.”
“And guilty, because I’m abandoning a country that might collapse on itself. It’s not clear who’ll rule now.”
“I bet you have some ideas. I can think of a few senators who’d claw their way to power. Or the captain of the guard. I don’t remember every one at court, though, or who owes whom, or bears a grudge. You could give me a clearer picture, and I could . . . well, keep an eye on the situation in the capital.”
He raised his brows. “A spy again, Kestrel?”
“Spymaster, maybe.”
He picked up a thin, fallen twig and snapped it into tiny sticks.
“I think Arin needs one,” she said.
“You’d be the best. I wish, however, that you didn’t always risk yourself. You’re too fond of a gamble.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I am who I am.”
Affection tinged his smile. Then he sobered and said, “I used to believe I could stomach taking my father’s place. But Risha would be miserable. I would, too.”
Kestrel, suddenly fierce, said, “Then be happy.”
“I will,” he said, “if you will.”
Feathery white fluff came down from the tree as he described the political intricacies of the Valorian court, and then told her about how the puppy he’d given her at court had grown into an enormous, sweet-tempered dog living with a family in the foothills of the Valorian mountains. There were small children who adored her, even when she chewed their shoes. Maris—a young courtier Kestrel had intensely disliked until she found that actually, she didn’t—had married well and was gleefully smug about it. As for Jess, Verex said that she had gone to the southern isles at the start of the war. “I wish I knew more,” he said.
Kestrel longed to see her. She wondered if she ever would, and if they could mend the things wrong between them.
“I saw you go to the healers’ tent the other day,” Verex said.
“He won’t talk with me.”
“Try again.”
When Risha and Verex left, two days before the army would reach the city, Kestrel kept her smile as she kissed their cheeks. At first it was hard to be strong in that way, and not let the farewell overwhelm her. But then she noticed Roshar, who had avoided his little sister since her return as if afraid of her, lingering nearby. Risha approached him and whispered something Kestrel couldn’t hear. Roshar’s expression eased. He didn’t speak in reply; he simply clasped Risha’s hands and kissed them.
Kestrel thought that maybe she had been wrong, and Risha had been wrong, about forgiveness, that it was neither mud nor stone, but resembled more the drifting white spores. They came loose from the trees when they were ready. Soft to the touch, but made to be let go, so that they could find a place to plant and grow.
She went to the tent again.
This time, her father spoke before she could. “Give me your dagger.”
Hot tears rushed to her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
“Unbind my hand. Give me your dagger.”
