The Winner's Crime(78)

“I wouldn’t.” The physician was affronted. “There’s no need to even ask that. I would never risk a Valorian’s well-being.”

Kestrel tried not to worry. With years of practice at pretending that what really mattered was nothing, she asked the physician about his garden. They discussed his herbs and the earth and the weather.

In war, her father said, the best feint is the one that you mean. If you want to distract your enemy and make him miss a key move, your ruses must be real.

This was Kestrel’s line of play:

She truly wanted to thank the physician.

She truly wanted to know about Jess’s health.

The truth of things, she was coming to understand, has a weight that people sense. She’d given these truths to the physician for him to hold so that while his mind was heavy with them, she could make a move that wouldn’t seem like a move at all.

“I’m amazed at how well your garden is doing,” she said. “The weather is so fickle. Warm one day, chilly the next. I hardly know what to wear anymore.”

“You always dress exquisitely.”

“I do, don’t I? But it’s hard to settle on the right choice. Why, I’ve even changed the plans for my wedding dress.”

He paused midstride. He started to say something, but she carefully missed it. She was helped in ignoring him by the puppy, who came bounding toward Kestrel. It carried a stick in its teeth. The puppy laid it at Kestrel’s feet and barked.

“But … but it’s too late to change your wedding dress,” said the physician. “A new one would never be ready in time. Lady Kestrel, you must reconsider…”

She ignored him as he continued to talk. The puppy looked at her expectantly, wagging its short tail, wuffling with excitement. Kestrel stooped to pick up the slobbery stick. She threw. The stick soared into the blue sky, whipping over itself. The dog raced across the lawn to fetch it. Kestrel smiled, and waited for the stick to be brought back.

*

“Sneaky,” Arin teased her.

Kestrel shrugged a little helplessly at her imagination. She’d come to accept the way her mind would conjure up Arin. She’d come to need it.

She’d left the physician in his garden to walk the lawn alone with her dog. The day had grown warm. Kestrel sat on the lawn. The green scent filled her senses. She seemed to even taste it.

The puppy settled beside her. Kestrel took off her tight shoes. The grass prickled through her stockings. The palace was too large to appear distant. Still, Kestrel felt far from it, at least for now.

“Not far enough.” Arin spoke as if he could read her mind.

She faced her pretend Arin. His scar was healed. His gray eyes were startlingly clear. “You’re not real,” she reminded him.

“I feel real.” He brushed one finger across her lower lip. It suddenly seemed that there were no clouds in the sky, and that she sat in full sunshine. “You feel real,” he said.

The puppy yawned, her jaws closing with a snap. The sound brought Kestrel to herself. She felt a little embarrassed. Her pulse was high. But she couldn’t stop pretending.

Kestrel reached beneath her skirts to pull down a knee-high stocking.

Arin made a sound.

“I want to feel the grass beneath my feet,” Kestrel told him.

“Someone’s going to see you.”

“I don’t care.”

“But that someone is me, and you should have a care, Kestrel, for my poor heart.” He reached under the hem of her dress to catch her hand in the act of pulling down the second stocking. “You’re treating me quite badly,” he said, and slid the stocking free, his palm skimming along the path of her calf. He looked at her. His hand wrapped around her bare ankle. Kestrel became shy … though she had known full well what she was doing.

Arin grinned. With his free hand, he plucked a blade of grass. He tickled it against the sole of her foot. She laughed, jerking away.

He let her go. He settled down beside her, lying on his stomach on the grass, propped up by his elbows. Kestrel lay on her back. She heard birdsong: high and long, with a trill at the end. She gazed up at the sky. It was blue enough for summer.

“Perfect,” she said.

“Almost.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already looking at her. “I’m going to miss you when I wake up,” she whispered, because she realized that she must have fallen asleep under the sun. Arin was too real for her imagination. He was a dream.

“Don’t wake up,” he said.

The air smelled like new leaves. “You said you trusted me.”

“I did.” He added, “I do.”

“You are a dream.”

He smiled.

“I lied to you,” Kestrel said. “I kept secrets. I thought it was for the best. But it was because I didn’t trust you.”

Arin shifted onto his side. He caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. That trailing sensation felt like the last note of the bird’s song. “No,” he agreed, his voice gentle. “You didn’t.”

Kestrel woke. The puppy was draped across her feet, sleeping. Her stockings lay in a small heap beside her. The sun had climbed in the sky. Her cheek was flushed, the skin tight: a little sunburned.

The puppy twitched, still lost in sleep. Kestrel envied her. She rested her head again on the grass.