The Winner's Kiss (The Winner's Trilogy, #3)(47)

A little sister. Kestrel had known her at court. Risha, the eastern princess, the youngest child of the three, beloved of the Valorian crown prince . . . who had been engaged to Kestrel.

Kestrel felt dizzy under the lemon-yellow sun. A sour taste in her mouth. Her father had been pleased, she remembered. He had hoped for Kestrel to marry Prince Verex, had hoped for it even when they were babies. His daughter: an empress.

She told herself that now she understood her fascination with the queen. It had been the familiarity, which Kestrel had needed to place. Or maybe it had been discomfort, to be powerless and behold someone with great power.

Maybe. But she still couldn’t explain the rotten ooze in her heart.

Kestrel saw Roshar’s gaze touch upon her, and dwell. He said something only the queen could hear. The woman’s eyes went to Kestrel.

Roshar murmured in his sister’s ear, his smile as light as a little knife.

There was an obvious reason for the way the queen looked at her: Kestrel was Valorian. She was to be questioned, doubted. Picked apart. Kestrel felt the dissecting gaze. She had a sudden image of herself as her namesake: a small hunting hawk, feathers plucked, wings lifted, spread back, pinioned.

Kestrel crossed her arms over her chest. The sun was hot. She was thirsty, throat dry. She stared right back at the woman and understood that the way the queen looked at her wasn’t because Kestrel was Valorian, or her father’s daughter. It was because of a secret Kestrel didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Ah, Kestrel. I hoped to find you here.”

She looked up from currying her horse and glanced over Roshar’s shoulder, but no one lingered behind him. They were alone in the stables. She blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes and kept at her task.

“I have a favor to beg,” he said.

“No need to speak so prettily, princeling.”

“My sister . . .”

Kestrel felt it again: a sore wariness. Something was coming. Something sure to hurt.

“. . . I had thought she’d reside in the palace of the former governor. However, it seems to not quite meet her standards.”

“It’s grander than anything else in the city.”

“She likes this home.”

Kestrel stopped brushing Javelin’s coat. “What does that have to do with me?”

Roshar coughed, clearly uncomfortable. “Your suite.”

“Oh.”

“It’s the only set of rooms suitable.”

“I see.”

“Would you mind?”

With a flash of feeling, she said, “This is Arin’s home.”

Roshar muttered in his language.

“What did you say?”

He met her eyes. “I said, ‘Yes, precisely.’ ”

Javelin knocked his nose against her shoulder. Her fingers tightened around the curry brush. There was no precisely. There were only undercurrents of meaning to this situation that pushed Kestrel into a place she couldn’t name. She forced herself to shrug. “I’ll move my things.” The thought of that day on the horse path rose unbidden in her mind: the fork in the road. The general’s villa. She almost saw the house in her mind. Her house. Then came the fountaining fear, and Kestrel knew she couldn’t go there, she never would, not even if there was no place for her here. “I’ll speak with Sarsine.”

“Yes.” Roshar was relieved. “Thank you.” He moved to leave.

“Did Arin tell you to ask me this?”

Roshar turned, surprised. “Of course not.”

Questions rose within her. She was too proud to ask them.

“Arin,” Roshar added, “is likely to kill me when he returns. But I never have any peace when my sister doesn’t get her way. Death might be preferable. Be a good friend and make my next few days pleasant ones, for they’ll be my last.”

“Then he’ll be here soon.”

“My sister has summoned him.”

Kestrel stared at Javelin’s brown coat. She rubbed a dark dapple on his shoulder.

“Arin turned pirate for a while, but all for the best of causes,” Roshar said. “Now that the queen has assumed command of the city, I won’t linger. Neither will he. We’ll both head south. After his royal audience, of course.”

Her eyes pricked. She brushed a thumb against her fingers and looked at the dust from the ride through the city, then glanced up and found Roshar studying her, his expression sympathetic but also searching, and when she understood what it was he sought she became determined that he not find it. Her eyes cleared. She took the house keys from the pocket of her riding trousers and unhooked the key to the suite in the east wing. She offered it to Roshar. As she dropped it in his palm she knew perfectly well what had hurt her at the sight of the queen.

She did not give him the key to the rooftop garden.

“You’ll share my rooms,” Sarsine decided.

“All right.”

“We can’t offend her.”

“I know.”

Sarsine looked at her closely. “Arin would offend her. He wouldn’t agree to this if he were here.”

Kestrel wasn’t so sure. She thought that Roshar knew a secret about the queen and Arin that Sarsine didn’t. She said, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

But it did.