Page 143 of The Winner's Kiss
Roshar’s horse flicked its tail, shifting. The prince eyed the forest. “Those trees turn this place into something resembling a ravine. We won’t have much room to maneuver.”
“Neither will they.”
The morning light was sheer and fresh, as pale as the flesh of a lemon. Arin imagined squeezing it down his throat. It would taste like how he felt: stingingly alive.
Kestrel couldn’t count them, couldn’t see how the guards carved open the bodies of the Dacran soldiers, couldn’t fathom Risha’s speed, the way the princess had shoved Kestrel against a wall, creating a halo of safety around her. The snick of Risha’s knife against a windpipe. Her swivel and dance. Unerring strike. Counter. Bodies thumped to the floor.
“Hold,” someone called. “I want to see.”
The Valorians pulled back. Risha’s knife flicked blood as it arced through the air. She had no intention of obeying the voice. Kestrel caught her arm. The princess spun, her face frustrated, as if she’d been listening to a voice whose last words had been lost in the interruption.
The emperor stood at the threshold where the antechamber flowed into the rest of the suite, his posture light and easy. For a moment, there was no sound but the rain on the roof. “You,” he said wonderingly as his gaze found Risha.
Then Kestrel.
His eyes widened in delight. “And you.”
He laughed.
The day blazed. The sun seemed to soar into the sky, all the way to its height.
Arin waited.
Nothing.
Waited.
Nothing.
He touched the hard leather shell of his armor. Hidden beneath it: his chest. His lungs. Skin. A speckled yellow feather tucked inside his tunic pocket, right above his heart.
Forget the feather, death said. You are the road.
The sun.
The sky.
The horse beneath you.
Comforted, Arin said, The gods used to walk among us.
True, said death.
Why did you leave?
Ah, sweet child, it was your people who left us.
“Lady Kestrel, you look like a dirty little savage. What are you doing here?”
She tried to speak.
“Did you hope to murder me in my sleep?”
Her throat was too dry.
“Maybe you’ve come for court gossip. Surely the barbarian princess has told you every thing of interest. No?”
Kestrel swallowed. She saw her hand gripping her dagger. The knuckles were white knobs.
