The Winner's Crime (68 page)

Dacra. “The emperor will get what he deserves.”

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Then the Valorians cut off his ears and nose.

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“There,” Deliah said, snipping the thread. “Thirteen

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stitches, two separate seams: forehead and cheek. I left the

eye alone.”

CRIME

The blood merely oozed now. Arin opened his stinging

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left eye. With both of his eyes open and clear, Deliah didn’t

look like his dead mother at all. She washed her red hands

in a bowl.

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“Nicely done,” said Tensen.

“Don’t ask me to do this again,” she told them, and left.

Tensen pulled a chair up to Arin’s, sat, and began to

dig the glass out of his right hand. After everything else,

the sensation of this was oddly satisfying.

“Deliah had some interesting things to share earlier

today,” Arin said. Tensen’s tweezers caught a big piece and

dragged it out.

“Oh?” Tensen dropped the glass onto a nearby end

table.

Arin told him what she had said. The older man lis-

tened. The bloodstained shards grew into a little heap.

“This is worth looking into,” Arin said.

“I don’t think Lady Kestrel’s choice of dress is Herran’s

greatest priority.”

Arin tightened his hands, then winced as this drove the

glass deeper. Tensen, his tweezers lifted, gave him a cool

look that told Arin he got what he deserved. “You’re wrong,”

Arin said. “The fact that the Senate leader must know

about the dress is important. The winnings from a correct

bet could buy the Senate leader a small island, and none

of the money would come from imperial coff ers. Thrynne

overheard something between the Senate leader and the em-

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peror. What if the emperor was collecting a favor, and

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repaying the Senate leader with a tip for the perfect bet?

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We need to fi nd out what that favor was.”

Tensen prodded a tiny shard to the surface of Arin’s

palm. He inspected it.

“And the ruined dress,” Arin continued. “Something

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dangerous is going on with Kestrel.”

“Vomit on a sleeve and dirt on the knees? Let’s not be

dramatic. So the lady drank too much wine and tripped

during a tipsy stroll through the Winter Garden. It’s none

of our concern.”

“She’s scheming,” Arin insisted. “I can feel it.”

Tensen set down the tweezers. “You’re seeing what you

want to see.”

“No, I’m not. That makes no sense. I don’t want her to

be in trouble.”

“But maybe you’d like her to be
troubled
. Unhappy

with her new life. What would you do then, Arin? Rescue

her from it?”

Arin said nothing.

“She seems happy to me,” said Tensen.

“The dress’s seams were ripped. The skirts were fi lthy.

There’s no mud in the Winter Garden. The garden has

fl agstones. Where did the stains come from?”

Tensen stared at him. “Arin. I don’t mean to be un-

kind, and I know you feel that what Deliah said is impor-

tant, but all I am hearing is an obsession with the prince’s

bride and what she likes to wear.”

Arin closed his mouth. He shivered, suddenly chilled

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by doubt.

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“Please,” said Tensen. “Leave the spying to me.”

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“But you’ve learned nothing. Not since you told me

about Thrynne.”

CRIME

“All in good time.”

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“Is it your new recruit? Has he learned something?”

Arin saw Tensen’s expression change slightly. “Or
she
?”

“Not yet. I’m encouraged that we’ll hear something

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soon.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like how happy you seem about

nothing at all from somebody whose name I don’t know.”

“I think of my in for mant as the Moth.”

“I want a
name
.”

“I see. You’re concerned about whether we can trust

this person. Don’t be. The Moth is highly motivated to

give us what we need.”

Arin slammed his good hand down on the end table. “I

will send you back to Herran. I swear that I will pack you

onto the next ship there if you don’t tell me who your in-

for mant is.
Now
.”

Tensen swept the scattered shards back into their pile.

He relaxed into his chair. His small green eyes were bright.

“I noticed you speaking with Princess Risha the other

night.”

He fell silent, and the silence began to speak to Arin.

“Yes,” Arin said slowly. “She was upset.”

“Of course. What happened in the plains was tragic.

Its people are refugees in the eastern capital. Hundreds

died during the trek from the plains.”

“Are you telling me—?”

“It can’t be easy to be a knife held to the throat of one’s

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own people. That’s why Risha was kidnapped as a child.

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The emperor can make the eastern queen grieve at a mo-

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ment’s notice. I’m surprised the emperor hasn’t killed the

queen’s little sister already— but then again, that’s a card he

can only play once. He must be waiting for the right mo-

ment. I wonder what Risha thinks, while he’s waiting.”

MARIE RUTK

Arin absorbed what his minister was saying— or what

Arin
thought
he was saying. It occurred to him that it might

be wise to suspect one’s own spymaster, who’d been em-

ployed to traffi

c in deceit. And Tensen had been an actor

before the war. But Arin could see no reason for Tensen to

pretend that Risha was his Moth. Arin
could
see why she

would work against the empire.

The old man looked at him, his expression kind. Arin

suddenly craved kindness. He was seized by a horrible feel-

ing, a familiar one. He’d been caught in its fi st for ten

years. He was sick of it. Why couldn’t he outgrow it? He

was no child. He had no business feeling lonely.

Loss of blood made Arin light- headed. His thoughts

seemed to fl oat and drift.

Tensen rose and brought a fresh bowl of water to Arin,

who sank his right hand into it.

“Risha is very beautiful,” the minister commented.

“Yes,” Arin said. “She is.” It was hard to think. Arin

was so tired.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Tensen said. “Unless I need

to pack for an abrupt departure over the tempest- tossed

winter sea?”

“No. Go to sleep.”

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Tensen smiled and left him.

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Arin sat for a long time in that chair. He considered

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what he knew, what he thought he knew, and what he

knew he didn’t know. Then he reconsidered everything.

CRIME

His thoughts began to take strange shapes. They beat

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their wings and fl uttered away. Arin found himself borne

on those wings and fl own into sleep.

He had dreams where moths were crawling on his face.

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Their legs became black stitches. They laid eggs in a long

line down his forehead and over his cheek. The eggs

hatched.

He dreamed of Kestrel. He dreamed of Risha.

He dreamed that Kestrel had become Risha, that the

sun had become the moon, and he couldn’t tell whether he

was blinded by the light or the dark.

An infection set into the wound. Arin’s fever raged

high.

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16

NO ONE LOOKS AT A SLAVE, ARIN HAD SAID.

Kestrel began to look very closely at hers. She settled on

one. This par tic u lar woman was in fact not a slave but a

paid servant, one of the Valorians selected to be a lady- in-

waiting to Kestrel. It was a mark of high status to be served

by one’s own people; in return, the Valorian ladies- in-

waiting were decently paid and their blue servant dresses

trimmed with white.

Kestrel couldn’t remember the woman’s name. But she

was about Kestrel’s height and size. She would do.

One morning not long after the reception in the impe-

rial gallery, Kestrel contrived to be alone with the servant

and spill a large glass of water on her.

“I’m so sorry!” Kestrel cried. “Oh, I
am
clumsy.”

“No matter, my lady,” said the fl ustered woman. “It’s just

water.”

“But water is very
wet
. You must be uncomfortable.

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Here, change into this.” Kestrel off ered one of her dresses,

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carefully selected for being simply cut, without ornament,

yet made from a rich fabric.

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“I couldn’t,” said the maid.

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“Of course you can! And you will keep it. Do you think

I would miss it? Now, you’ll insult me if you believe that.

Go on, you may use my dressing room.”

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The maid was reluctant, but Kestrel placed the dress

fi rmly in her hands. The woman’s expression changed as

she began to think things through. Kestrel saw her thoughts.

If the maid worked for an entire year, she could still never

aff ord a dress like this. It was a trea sure. She could wear it

and be stunning. Or maybe she would sell it. The fabric

was velvet. It would fetch a fi ne price.

The maid went to try on Kestrel’s dress.

When the woman emerged into the sitting room, Kes-

trel could tell that it took all of her control not to spin

around and feel the skirt swing. “It fi ts perfectly,” the

woman said. “Are you sure I may keep it?”

“Of course.” Kestrel took the woman’s work dress from

her crooked arm.

“Oh. I have to take my work dress back to the house-

keeper.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“But I can’t let you—”

“I insist.” Kestrel smiled. Later, she would apologize to

the house keeper. She’d explain that she had no idea where

she’d put the dress. She’d cover any cost.

After the maid had left, Kestrel took the damp work

dress into her bedroom and dried it before the fi re. She hid

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it in the back of a wardrobe fi lled with summer clothes that

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would remain packed away for the next two seasons.

It was possible that this maid reported to Verex—

or worse, to the captain of the palace guard, or the em-

peror. But Kestrel didn’t think that an exchange of dresses

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would seem noteworthy. It was only the whim of a kind

mistress.

Kestrel waited for a night when she wasn’t called upon to

appear at a function. This took some time. There were din-

ners, game nights, and friendly, bloodless swordfi ghts per-

formed for an applauding audience. The prince’s bride was

expected to attend everything.

The governor of Herran, however, seemed to feel no

such pressure.

Arin never came. More than a week had passed since

she’d seen him in the art gallery. Kestrel didn’t dare to ask

for any news of him. When she met Tensen’s eyes once

across a crowd of courtiers, he shook his head.

Unless she had information to give Tensen, she should

keep her distance— especially after what happened the last

time. Kestrel could still feel the emperor’s nails digging

into her skin.

He hadn’t carried out his threat to her—or so she

thought. But his mood had soured. The entire court felt it.

Kestrel wasn’t the only one relieved when fi nally a night

arrived when no one was expected to put on fi nery and

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gather in the emperor’s presence. A holiday- like atmosphere

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ruled the palace. There were rumors of lovers who would

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meet for frosted kisses in the Winter Garden’s hedge maze.

Some courtiers swore they would crawl into bed early with

CRIME

hot bricks at their feet.

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Kestrel had plans of her own. That night, she wiped

her forehead clean of its engagement mark and tied a scarf