The Winner's Curse (The Winner's Trilogy, #1)(30)

“If it was murder, he could have been killed by someone likely to inherit his position as captain.”

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder. “The death may be only what it appears: a suicide. But I’ll discuss our concerns with the governor. This matter bears further thought.”

*

Kestrel, however, had little thought to spare. Enai wasn’t getting better.

“Your cough is starting to worry me,” she told her nurse as they sat near the fire in her cottage.

“I rather like it. It keeps me company. And it brings you to visit more frequently … when you are not playing Bite and Sting.”

Kestrel didn’t like the coy look on Enai’s face, or the fact that it was almost impossible to keep anything that happened in the villa private. Those games were private.

In a sharp tone, Kestrel said, “Let me send for a doctor.”

“He will only tell me that I am old.”

“Enai.”

“I don’t want to see one. Don’t try to order me around.”

That silenced Kestrel. She decided not to press the issue. After all, the feverish glaze in Enai’s eyes had vanished long ago. Kestrel, seeking to change the subject, asked about something that Arin had said. It had been like a needle in a dark part of her mind, stitching invisible patterns. “Did the Herrani enjoy trading with Valorians before the war?”

“Oh, yes. Your people always had gold for Herrani goods. Valoria was our biggest buyer of exports.”

“But did we have a reputation for something else? Besides being rich and savage, with no manners.”

Enai took a sip of tea, peering at Kestrel over the cup’s rim. Kestrel grew uncomfortable, and hoped Enai wouldn’t ask what inspired these questions. But the woman only said, “You were known for your beauty. Of course, that was before the war.”

“Yes,” said Kestrel softly. “Of course.”

*

From the window of her dressing room, Kestrel could see the garden. One morning, her hair still loose, she noticed Arin and Lirah talking by the rows of autumn vegetables. Arin wore work clothes and his back was to the window, giving Kestrel no opportunity to read his expression. Lirah’s, however, was as clear as the dawn.

Kestrel realized that she had drawn close to the window. The chill from the glass breathed onto her skin, and her nails were digging into the grain of the sill. She drew back. She wasn’t eager to be caught spying. She pulled her velvet robe more tightly around her and let the view of the rosy sky fill her eyes, but still it seemed that all she saw was Lirah’s frank adoration.

Kestrel sat in front of her dressing table’s hinged mirror, then wondered why she had done such a foolish thing as to look at herself. The mirror’s reflection only proved her displeasure. And why should she care about what she had seen in the garden? Why should she feel that some trust had been breached?

Her reflection frowned. Why should she not feel that way? She had a duty to the well-being of her slaves. There was something dishonorable in Arin accepting Lirah’s attention when he had a sweetheart. Kestrel doubted Lirah knew about the woman in the market.

Kestrel’s hand pushed the oval mirror, spinning it on its hinges until it faced the wall and she stared at its blank, mother-of-pearl back. She refused to consider this anymore. She would not become one of those mistresses who tracked her slaves’ movements and gossiped about them for lack of anything interesting in her own life.

Later that day, Arin came to the music room with a request to visit the city. Kestrel was especially gracious. She gave him her seal ring and told him to take as much time as he liked, so long as he was back by curfew. When it seemed that he might linger, she sat at the piano, making her dismissal clear. Yet she didn’t play until he had left and she felt that he had already walked out of the villa, and was some distance away.

*

When Cheat saw Arin, he greeted him in the way Herrani men used to do, with a palm pressed briefly to the side of his face. Arin smiled and did the same. He had known Cheat for years, since he was a boy and had just changed hands from his first slaver to his second. They had met in a quarry outside the city. Arin remembered how the gray rock dust had made everyone look old, powdering hair and drying out the skin. Cheat, however, had seemed almost viciously full of life, and there was no question in the slaves’ quarters at night who led them.

“Things are going very well,” Cheat said to him now. “Almost every household in the city has Herrani devoted to our cause—and now, thanks to you, they are armed.”

“I’ll drop the latest batch of weapons over the wall tonight, but I’m not sure how many more I can make,” Arin said. “No one’s noticed what I do on the side because I fill the steward’s orders on time, but if someone decides to check, it’ll be clear that iron and steel have gone missing.”

“Then stop. Your position is too important to risk. I’ll arrange for someone to raid the city armory before the new captain is appointed to replace Oskar.”

Cheat had been a city guard before the war. He had taken one look at the twelve-year-old Arin, called him a puppy with big paws, and said, “You’ll grow into them.” After curfew, he would teach Arin how to fight. Arin’s misery eased, though some of it came back when Cheat flattered and connived his way out of the quarry after a stint of only two years. But the skills Cheat had given him remained.