The Winner's Kiss (The Winner's Trilogy, #3)(107)
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.
“You want news of your father, I imagine. Let me tell you. He doesn’t mourn you.”
Kestrel heard the emperor as if from far away.
Doesn’t miss you.
He never did. You remember how little time he spent at home. How awkward he became in your company. You had to beg him to stay in the capital. Oh yes, I heard. And here, a secret for you: he was relieved when you were sent north. I saw how a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
He looked lighter.
Younger.
Free.
The emperor looked from her to Risha to the Dacran soldiers, dead on the bloody floor.
“You’re resourceful, Kestrel, I’ll give you that. You’ve survived the mines, the tundra, the war . . . thus far. You’ve made”—his gaze flicked again to Risha—“interesting allies. But my guard outnumbers you both, and it will take an instant for me to rouse the entire house. I don’t have many regrets, but my decision to imprison rather than kill you smacks of squeamishness . . . or, shall I say, an unnecessary concern for your father’s well-being. Do you know, he hasn’t mentioned you once since he told me of your treason?”
“He wouldn’t, no matter what he feels.”
“Regardless,” the emperor said softly, “I could have you killed right now and he’d never know. And if he did, why would he care? What would the life of one dishonorable would-be assassin mean to him?”
“I didn’t come here to murder you.”
He bit back a thin smile.
She said, “I came to challenge you.”
“Oh?”
“One game of Bite and Sting. If I win, you’ll end the war. Leave. Cross the sea with every last Valorian. Never return.”
The emperor made a surprised half laugh of a sound. He lightly traced the deepest line of his brow, then unfolded his hand in a flourish. “What would I gain, should I win?”
“What you like. What ever I can give you.”
He tapped one finger to his lips, considering. “That’s not much.”
“I’m sure you can think of something.”
“And if I agree, and lose? You’d trust me to keep my word?”
“A Valorian honors his word.”
“Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. “He does.”
“Risha goes free, no matter what the outcome.”
“I’ll wait here,” said the princess. “With your guards, if you like.” She gave them a disdainful look, making clear that she thought little of their chances of survival if she chose to finish what she’d started. “Until the game is done.”
Kestrel said, “We play in private.”
“You set quite a lot of terms,” the emperor said, “but this particular one I wouldn’t have any other way.”
“So you agree?”
“I confess, I’m curious.”
“Do you agree?”
“A fair warning. I’m better at this than you are.”
“We shall see.”
Arin heard a crash in the trees.
A Herrani scout. He ran to Arin, his face shiny with sweat.
The Valorians were coming.
The emperor led her to his bedroom. The summer hangings on the bed were gauzy, the sheets disturbed. She could see the dent left in a pillow by his head. The room smelled of his oils: powdery pepper, bitingly sweet balsam. Rain tapped the black windowpanes.
“Wash your face,” he said.
There was a mirrored basin in the corner. Kestrel did as ordered, though her face wasn’t particularly dirty. She was startled by the stranger in the glass and tried not to stare at herself. She caught a glimpse of shocked, light eyes, made lighter by tanned and freckled skin. A strong face.
She folded the towel and joined the emperor where he stood near an octagonal table. He had produced a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“I’ll serve,” she said, which made him give her a sleek look of amusement. She poured the red wine, but neither of them touched their glasses, and they both knew that the other suspected that some sleight of hand had poisoned the cup.
“Disarm,” he said.