The Winner's Crime(94)

“No.”

“Why not?” Tensen said. “You love him.”

Helplessly, she said, “I love my father, too.”

Tensen looked down at the letter. He turned it over in his hands.

“If you don’t give that to Arin,” Kestrel said, “I will.”

Tensen grimaced. Then he opened his jacket and placed the letter in an internal breast pocket. He refastened the jacket and patted his chest once, just above the heart. Kestrel heard the faint crackle of paper.

“You’ll do it?” she said.

“I promise.”

*

Kestrel’s father was waiting in her suite. He must have sent the maids away. He was alone, sitting in a chair in the outermost receiving room. During daylight hours, the chair had a view of the barbican through which the general had entered months ago on his bloodied horse. He kept his gaze to the window well after Kestrel had entered. Night had fallen and the window was black. There was nothing for him to see.

She stopped wondering whether he had been in the hidden room for some—all?—of her conversation with Arin. She knew. She saw it in his face. Her father had heard more than enough.

A crisis of words rose within her. She wanted to say so many things—to ask what he believed, to plead her innocence, to confess her guilt, to ask if he had reported Arin’s presence to the imperial guard, and if yes, what would happen, and if no, please don’t, Father, don’t. She wanted to say, Love me anyway, even with what I’ve done, even with my mistakes, will you, would you, please?

And what she wanted most was to be small again, to be allowed to call him papa, to reach only his knee, because she remembered, in a flash like light from a curtain yanked open wide, how she used to run and topple against his legs when she was that young, and hug him, and she could swear that he would laugh.

Kestrel slowly crossed the room to him. She knelt beside his chair. She rested her brow against his knee and closed her eyes. Heart in mouth, she whispered, “Do you trust me?”

There was no answer. Then she felt his heavy hand on her hair. “Yes,” he said.





46

Arin hid in the coal room near the furnaces that boiled water to be forced through palace pipes. He had asked a Herrani servant to find Tensen and bring him there, and thought that in the meanwhile he’d dirty himself beyond recognition, but after his first few minutes alone in the room, lit by a lamp set cautiously high on the wall on the far side of the coal pile, Arin realized that simply pacing and breathing was enough to deposit charcoal on him. He rubbed at his scar. His fingers came away grimy. Burnt-tasting dust coated his throat. He coughed, then choked, and somehow that choking turned into a black laugh.

The door unlocked and opened, and Tensen stepped inside. His face was furious. “The god of fools wants you for his own, Arin. What were you thinking, coming to the capital?”

Arin felt unreal, unstrung, bewilderingly light, like a workhorse stripped of his gear and let to wander. He drew breath to speak.

“Don’t bother explaining,” Tensen said. “I know what you’ve been up to.”

Arin frowned. “How?”

“The servants told me. Arin, you are an idiot.”

“I am.” There was that dusty laugh again. “I really am.”

“You’re lucky that the whole palace doesn’t know you’re here—and blessedly lucky that the servants are keeping quiet. So far. Everything in the palace is too quiet. It’s eerie. I don’t like it, I don’t like you here, and you are going to take my news and leave straight for Herran and never return.” Tensen gripped his shoulder. “Swear it. Swear by the gods.”


Arin did. It felt good to make that promise.

Tensen let go. “The treaty was a lie. Every minute we’ve spent here has been part of the emperor’s charade, a distraction to make us believe that our independence was a serious thing, serious enough to demand attendance at court. The emperor wants Herran back. He wants it emptied of Herrani.”

Arin listened as Tensen told him about the poison that had been seeping into Herran’s water supply. Arin felt blood leach from his face. Coal dust caked his lungs. Air rattled in his chest. It was hard to breathe.

“You’ll have to shut off the city’s water,” Tensen said. “Evacuate everyone to the countryside if you have to. Just go. It’s nightfall. You might make it to the harbor with no one noticing.”

“Come with me.”

Tensen shook his head.

“If Sarsine’s sick—if everyone’s sick … Tensen, I need you.”

“You need me here.”

“It’s too dangerous. You must be under scrutiny. Deliah can get word to us, your Moth could use the knotted code.”

Tensen’s face changed. “Deliah and the Moth can’t help us anymore. They’ve done as much as they can.”

“Then so have you.”

“There might be one last thing to learn. What if I’ve missed something?” Tensen’s expression softened. “Don’t you remember when I asked whether you’d choose to help Herran, or yourself? You said you’d put our country first. Haven’t I respected that choice? Can’t you respect mine?” Tensen lifted a hand to Arin’s face and ran a thumb across his cheek. The old man’s thumb came away black. “My boy. You’ve been a little lost, haven’t you?”