The Winner's Curse (The Winner's Trilogy, #1)(18)

Lady Faris began listing in thrilled tones the possible punishments for the senator, who had been imprisoned until the capital could be reached for instructions. “My husband himself has gone to discuss the matter with the emperor. Oh, what shall happen to Andrax? An execution, do you think? Banishment to the northern tundra at the very least!” Faris’s circle of admirers joined in, concocting punishments so wildly cruel they became morbid jokes. Only Ronan was silent, watching Faris’s baby clamber onto Kestrel’s lap and drool on her sleeve.

Kestrel held the child, her eyes trained on but not really seeing his fine white hair, stirring in the faint wind like dandelion fluff. She dreaded her father’s return. She knew what this news would bring. He would be appalled at the senator’s betrayal and would use the news to urge Kestrel to see the necessity of adding loyal soldiers to the empire’s ranks. His pressure on her would increase. She could not breathe.

“You’re good at this,” said Ronan.

“What?”

He leaned to touch the baby’s head. “Being a mother.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Ronan looked awkward. Then he said glibly, “Nothing, if you don’t like it.” He glanced at Benix, Faris, and the others, but they were discussing thumbscrews and nooses. “It didn’t mean anything. I take it back.”

Kestrel set the baby on the grass next to Faris. “You cannot take it back.”

“Just this once,” he said, echoing her earlier words during the game.

She stood and walked away.

He followed. “Come, Kestrel. I spoke only the truth.”

They had entered the shade of thickly grown laran trees, whose leaves were a bloody color. They would soon fall.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to have a child someday,” Kestrel told Ronan.

Visibly relieved, he said, “Good. The empire needs new life.”

It did. She knew this. As the Valorian empire stretched across the continent, it faced the problem of keeping what it had won. The solutions were military prowess and boosting the Valorian population, so the emperor prohibited any activities that unnecessarily endangered Valorian lives—like dueling and the bull-jumping games that used to mark coming-of-age ceremonies. Marriage became mandatory by the age of twenty for anyone who was not a soldier.

“It’s just—” Kestrel tried again: “Ronan, I feel trapped. Between what my father wants and—”

He held up his hands in flat-palmed defense. “I am not trying to trap you. I am your friend.”

“I know. But when you are faced with only two choices—the military or marriage—don’t you wonder if there is a third, or a fourth, or more, even, than that?”

“You have many choices. The law says that in three years you must marry, but not whom. Anyway, there is time.” His shoulder grazed hers in the teasing push of children starting a mock fight. “Time enough for me to convince you of the right choice.”

“Benix, of course.” She laughed.

“Benix.” Ronan made a fist and shook it at the sky. “Benix!” he shouted. “I challenge you to a duel! Where are you, you great oaf?” Ronan stormed from the laran trees with all the flair of a comic actor.

Kestrel smiled, watching him go. Maybe his silly flirtations disguised something real. People’s feelings were hard to know for certain. A conversation with Ronan resembled a Bite and Sting game where Kestrel couldn’t tell if the truth looked like a lie, or a lie like the truth.

If it was true, what then?

She paused, nursing that glow of a laugh that remained inside her, the question she had posed to herself unanswered.

Someone—a man—came up behind her and snaked an arm around her waist.

Not flirtation. Aggression.

Kestrel sidestepped and spun, pulling her dagger from its sheath.

Irex. His dagger was drawn, too.

“A fight, dear Kestrel?” His stance was easy. He didn’t know how to play Bite and Sting, but his skill at weapons outmatched hers.

“Not here,” she said stiffly.

“No, not here.” His voice was soft. “But anywhere, if you want it.”

“Exactly what do you think you are doing, Irex?”

“You mean, a moment ago? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I was trying to pick your pocket.” His tone hinted at a coarse double meaning.

Kestrel slid her dagger into its sheath. “Theft is the only way you will get my gold.” She walked from the cover of trees and saw, with shaky gratitude, that the party was still there, that the sound of porcelain and spoons still tinkled over low talk, and that no one had noticed anything.

No one, except perhaps Arin. He was waiting for her. She felt a flash of something unpleasant—embarrassment, perhaps, as she wondered how much of this afternoon he had overheard. Dismay to think that he might have witnessed that last exchange with Irex, and misunderstood it. Or was she troubled by something else? Maybe it was the thought that Arin knew perfectly well what had been taking place behind the trees and had made no move to interfere, to help.

It was not his place to interfere, she reminded herself. She had not needed his help.

“We are leaving,” she told him.

*

She let her bad mood seethe into the silence of the carriage. Finally, she couldn’t bear the vicious cycle of her thoughts, the way they kept returning to Irex and her stupid decision to humiliate him at Bite and Sting. “Well?” she asked Arin.