The Traitor's Game

  I put a leg up on the edge of the basin, aware of Trina's eyes on me. By the time she realized what I intended to do, it was too late.

  "Don't you dare!" she cried, leaping to her feet.

  I pressed my foot down and with it came the entire basin. An avalanche of water splashed into the room, soaking everything on the floor and probably already leaking through the floorboards into the servants' quarters below.

  "You are so clumsy today," I told Trina as I opened the door to my room, spilling even more water into the hallway. "Since you're my servant, why don't you clean up this mess and draw me a new bath? I'm going for a walk."

  There would be consequences for what I'd done, no doubt. But whatever they were, as far as I was concerned, it was entirely worth it.

  After a fair amount of searching, I finally found Kestra in the gardens behind Woodcourt, about the farthest she could run without leaving the gates. She was lucky it took so long to find her. Even a minute sooner, and I would've stormed in loud enough for the whole estate to hear.

  She turned to see me, then folded her arms and faced away, suddenly fascinated by a nearby rosebush. She could try her best to ignore me, but it wouldn't work.

  "It took every servant in the household to get that cleaned up!" I wasn't yelling, but my tone was just as harsh. "All that, because Trina wouldn't help you bathe?"

  "Go away." She started to walk deeper into the gardens.

  I crossed in front of her, refusing to let her escape so easily. "You are spoiled and selfish to the core. How dare you compromise our plan?"

  "It's your plan!" She spat the words out, suddenly as angry as I was. "Not mine! None of this is what I want! I shouldn't be here."

  "Well, you are, and you know the consequences if you try to betray us."

  She snorted out a laugh. "The consequences to Darrow, who arranged a meeting for me with the Banished last night? Or the consequences to Celia? Tell me this. When did Celia first betray me?"

  I stopped, unsure of how to answer. Kestra was not supposed to have figured this out.

  In the face of my silence, she continued, "Celia sent a letter here, agreeing on my behalf to accept a marriage of alliance. That's why I was summoned back home. Not because anyone missed me, or cared about my well-being, or whether filthy Corack rebels abducted me on the way home to force me into treason!"

  "Hush!" I did a quick survey of the area, then stepped closer.

  "You knew I'd be on that road last night, and at what time. Celia arranged all of it, didn't she?"

  There was nothing to be gained by lying. I said, "Six months ago, Celia was in town shopping for fabric, probably because you wanted a fancy new dress, right? She struck up a conversation with the clerk, not realizing he was a Corack. The clerk figured out who Celia must have been working for and contacted Tenger. It took some persuasion, but she finally agreed to our plans."

  "Persuasion? Was that in the form of a threat, or a reward?"

  There was no good way to answer that. "Both, I suppose."

  She took a breath, hesitating on her question. "Last night, when Tenger was forcing me to agree to his terms, were her screams real? Or was she only pretending to be hurt so that I'd agree?"

  Celia didn't have a scratch on her and was a better actress than we could have hoped for. But Kestra didn't have to know that, nor was she in control of this conversation. "Celia doesn't matter. What do you suppose will happen if your father discovers you've brought two Coracks inside the walls of his home?"

  "Not by choice!"

  "But you still did it. He won't protect you. He doesn't care for you. I understand now why your father sent you away in the first place."

  I instantly regretted my words. They had come out colder than I'd intended and hit her deep. Her lower lip quivered before she pushed past me and began marching out of the gardens. I followed close behind, calling her name and getting nothing in response. At the entrance, she nearly collided with Gerald. That was no coincidence. Obviously, he was there for Kestra, and didn't seem at all happy to be the one sent to fetch her.

  Cautiously, he said, "My lady, your father requests that you return to his library at once."

  She folded her arms again. "Nothing has changed since our conversation an hour ago."

  "Your handmaiden claims it was you who overturned the bath, that it was not her fault. Your father believes she is only saying that to save herself from a whipping. He wants to hear your answer."

  Kestra released a deep breath, then followed Gerald back into the manor house. I continued to follow them, hoping no one would stop me. And hoping even more that if they did, Kestra would cover for me. After my final words to her, I had my doubts.

  I was the last to enter the library and stood in the doorway, eyes down. When I served here, I'd never taken orders directly from Sir Henry, but he would have seen me in the home. As much as possible, I'd have to avoid him.

  Trina was farther inside, her hands bound in front of her with rough cording and her yellow dress ripped at the shoulder. A guard standing beside her had a stiff rod in his hands, ready to deliver a brutal punishment. Trina had gone so pale that I wondered if she was about to faint.

  When she saw Kestra, she cried, "Talk to your father. Tell him the truth, please!"

  Sir Henry was standing in the center of the library, arms folded and with a face the approximate color of a ripened plum. Not good.

  Kestra crossed her arms and stared off at the shelves. It obviously wasn't the first time she and her father had faced each other this way.

  He finally erupted, at a volume high enough that the northern territories could surely hear him. "Water seeped beneath the floorboards, Kestra! It wouldn't surprise me if it all must be torn out and replaced!"

  I'd seen the damage myself. It was worse than that. Some of the furniture was spoiled, heirloom pieces that had probably been there for ages. A couple of rugs were ruined too. Kestra barely reacted and only kept her eyes grazing along the shelves. Was this about the diary that Trina had told her to find? If so, then Kestra's timing was awful.

  "Look at me!" Sir Henry ordered, and Kestra did. "Your servant claims you overturned the bath, that you did it out of spite and anger. I told her that Dallisors have enough dignity to never do such a thing. Tell me she is lying, Kestra. Surely you have matured enough that you would not willfully cause damage to my home." His voice sharpened to a fine point, making sure she understood his full meaning. "Be bold enough to assign blame onto your servant, and perhaps I will let you miss tonight's supper with Sir Basil."

  Trina mumbled Kestra's name, her voice quivering with fear, but Kestra's attention had returned to the shelves. Most books in this library were very old, some of them probably dating back to the times when books were largely unknown in the world. Trina had described the diary we were seeking as being covered in pink satin, but nothing I saw came close to fitting that description. I doubted it was as important as Trina had made it out to be anyway. Who'd be foolish enough to write down the secret location of the Olden Blade, risking discovery by Lord Endrick?

  With Kestra's silence, the guard reached for Trina's damaged sleeve, preparing to bare her back.

  Kestra sighed, as if she'd grown tired of the conversation. "Stop this, Father. You know I'm the one who did it."

  "That's irrelevant!" He stepped closer until he towered over her. "Do Dallisors let harm come to themselves, or do we bring it to others?"

  "Maybe if Dallisors were less concerned with bringing harm to others, Antora would be a better place to live. The people hate us!"

  "Are you more concerned with what the people think?" His tone darkened. "Or what I think of you?"

  Remembering what I had said to her in the gardens, my eyes shifted to Kestra. Her breaths became shallow, and her lashes fluttered as she tried to hold her stare at her father. No wonder my words had hurt her. She wanted his love. He wanted her respect. Neither of them would be the first to budge.

  Finally, Kestra took Trina's arm a
nd walked her over to Gerald. "Take her to my room and help her draw another bath. I have a supper to attend tonight."

  "My lady--" he began.

  "What happened was my fault." Kestra's tone was commanding. "Get her out of here, Gerald. Now."

  Trina glanced at me as Gerald led her out, leaning heavily on his arm. I'd known she was afraid of that rod, but not the full depth of her fear.

  As soon as she was gone, Kestra faced her father, as defiant as before. He didn't appreciate his daughter taking responsibility for the bathwater, but once she did, he wasn't likely to punish Trina. Kestra might not be so lucky.

  "May I go?" she asked.

  Sir Henry's eyes narrowed. "You chose a servant over your own father. There are consequences for your disrespect. Put out your hand." A flick of his head brought his guard forward with the rod.

  Instinctively, I gripped my knife, but as soon as the guard noticed, I released the handle. I had to. If Kestra took notice of the exchange, she didn't acknowledge it. She walked up to her father and held out her hand, using the same indifferent attitude she had attempted with Tenger in the carriage.

  Sir Henry took it, drawing back the sleeve enough to ensure she would fully feel the sting on her palm. In doing so, he saw the sores on her wrists, still red and swollen. His brows pressed together. "Where did these come from?"

  From the same girl he had wanted to punish, ironically. If he would whip Trina for overturning the bath, I could easily imagine what would happen if she were exposed for tying Kestra up last night. That was my fault as well. I hadn't tied Kestra's wrists, but I'd allowed it, wanting her to know what it felt like. How selfish that had been, how cruel.

  Kestra only shrugged. "We were attacked at the inn last night, on our way here."

  "Who did this?"

  "Do you care?" She licked her lips. "I mean, do you care ... for me?"

  "I care about any attack on a Dallisor. Was it Coracks? What did they want?"

  He missed Kestra's meaning, deliberately, I thought. Sir Henry would rather discuss anything but his feelings for his daughter. If he had any feelings for her. I'd had two fathers in my life, the one I was born to, the other who took me in and adopted me. Both were great men whose lives had ended too soon. In half the lifetime of Sir Henry, they had felt ten times the love a father should have for his child.

  Kestra ignored her father's question, instead retorting with "Most people out there think that being a Dallisor is enough reason to attack us! Why is that? Can we have that conversation, Father, about the real reasons people hate us?"

  He studied the sores again, noting with his finger the difference between the cut from Trina's knife and the sores gouged into the skin from the rope. Finally, he released his daughter's hand as if it had burned him. "Cover these for the supper tonight with Sir Basil, and have your handmaiden apply healing creams to them. That will be enough punishment for the bathwater. I won't have you meeting your future husband with your palms bandaged too. Agreed?"

  Kestra pressed her lips tightly together. It was obvious that all her strength was going into containing her temper. "Agreed."

  Trina was alone in my room when I entered. Simon was probably itching to be here to see how these next few minutes unfolded, but, of course, his presence in a lady's bedroom would never be tolerated.

  The large basin for my bath was upright again and filled with steaming water that beckoned me closer. I paused, trying to figure out what Trina meant by all of this. Was it a show for Gerald, expecting he would accompany me here? Was she going to tempt me toward the water, and then use the bath herself instead?

  Trina stood when I entered. The ropes around her wrists were gone and she had been given a new dress with a handmaiden's apron, much humbler than the yellow one of mine she had been wearing. She looked more the part of a servant now, and seemed to feel the difference, which must have been humiliating. She had joined the Coracks to fight and find glory in disrupting the peace. Not to help bathe an arrogant and spoiled Dallisor daughter. That much about me was true.

  I said nothing to her, and she remained silent too. She only shut the door, then crossed behind me to unlace my dress. Once I was in the bath, I closed my eyes and let the worst of the day wash away from me. Not even on the coldest winter night had warm waters given me such comfort. Trina undid my braids and let the hair fall outside the tub, then brushed it out, all in silence.

  I mumbled that I would wash my own hair and reached for the soaps before she could say anything, if she would have. When I'd finished and dried myself off, I realized for the first time that all of my gowns had been left behind at the inn, except the blue one, which was dirty and smelled of our travels.

  Trina's eyes were cast down when she said, "Your father had a new gown waiting up here, in anticipation of your supper tonight. I'll get it."

  The gown had a black shift with narrow sleeves that widened at the wrists, an off-the-shoulder green corset that laced up the back, and a long green sash that tied at the waist. Endrick's colors. Considering that my father could not have known how much I'd grown in the last few years, once Trina helped me into it, the dress fit remarkably well. Maybe Celia had sent him my measurements. She was certainly telling people everything else about me.

  "Gerald's blue ... condition," I said. "You can't stare at it like you did before. You're a servant and he is your superior here at Woodcourt."

  "I know that. I just wasn't expecting ..."

  "He probably used to live near the silver mines, or worked in them as a young man. The silver dust affects the skin, that's all. Don't stare anymore. Don't stare at anything here."

  We cut off the conversation when a knock came to my door. Trina answered it, returning a moment later with something wrapped in cloth.

  From it, she offered me an apple. It wasn't much, but I hadn't eaten anything for a full day and dove at the fruit like it was the last of its kind.

  "Thank you!" Simon must've brought this, an unexpected kindness. Even more unexpected was the flutter within me. Was that for him?

  I ate it, every bit of the fruit that I could get. While I did, Trina worked at my hair, piling it on my head and using curling tongs for the loose ends. If she got it too hot and burned my hair, I'd have a second reason to see her hanged.

  "What do you know about Sir Basil?" she asked.

  I'd have ignored her, except that we needed something to talk about while she did my hair. Basil seemed like a safer topic than most others. "He's from Reddengrad. Lord Endrick ordered a marriage between us years ago, but my mother protested because both of us were still too young. After she died, I told Lord Endrick I refused to go along with his plans. That's the real reason I was sent away. It never had anything to do with the kidnapping."

  "So your father thinks you've agreed to the marriage?"

  "It doesn't matter what he thinks." I shrugged with indifference. "In three more days, I'll have betrayed my kingdom. After that, I'll never be able to come back home. Basil wouldn't marry me then, even if I begged him to."

  She finished pressing another curl, letting it fall against my cheek. "You could've let me take that whipping earlier. If our positions were reversed, that's what I would've done. I know he's your father, so you won't want to hear what I have to say, but it's the truth: He's evil, Kestra, as bad as Lord Endrick."

  "Don't say that."

  Not because it was a lie, but because I feared it might be true. Now that I was home, the evidence of her words surrounded me.

  "I understand how you feel," Trina said. "More than you might think."

  "No, you don't."

  "You don't fit in here. We haven't been at Woodcourt for a day yet and I can see that."

  "Please stop talking." I couldn't listen to her any longer.

  "I never belonged anywhere either. Not until I joined the Coracks."

  Rather than answer her, which would have implied that I cared, I closed my eyes as she finished with my hair and the final details on my dress. It was still e
arly for the supper, so I said, "Leave me alone now."

  "Either Simon or I must be with you at all times."

  "That's not possible and you know it," I snapped. "Besides, you need to give Simon a message. You're expected to present yourselves to Gerald and give an accounting of any weapons you've brought into Woodcourt. If you delay any longer, it will arouse suspicions. But you might be searched, so don't bring anything else."

  Such as his satchel.

  That seemed to make sense to Trina, who hurried out the door. What I had said was true enough--Gerald would eventually ask for an accounting from these new servants. And that fact was very convenient for me.

  Immediately after she left, I dug into a chest of stockings, tying one around my right thigh as another garter. I didn't have a weapon for it yet, but I would, soon.

  Shortly after that, I left my room, following in the direction Trina would have gone. From a hiding place behind one of the carved stone pillars of Woodcourt, I spotted her talking to Simon in the stables. He grabbed his satchel, but she put her hand over his and said something, likely my warning about him being searched. He set it down again, surveyed the area, and then walked with her directly toward the spot where I was hidden. I had to counter their movements around the wide pillar, which was a trick because I didn't want my skirts to rustle or to flare out from behind the pillar, but it worked. They didn't see me.

  "I don't trust this Gerald Bones," Simon muttered to Trina as they walked past. "He looks at me with suspicion."

  "He serves the Dallisors, and they serve Endrick," Trina said. "Of course we don't trust him."

  Then they were past. I made certain they had gone, and hurried over to Simon's satchel. There wasn't much time.

  He had left his sword here with his horse, covered with a saddle blanket. Gerald would have noticed it when we arrived. He would wonder why Simon had neglected to bring it for inspection, especially if he was supposed to be a protector. But Simon would have to explain that. I couldn't do it for him.

  I dug inside the satchel. Simon had a few silver coins that might buy him a day or two's worth of meals, a heavy gold ring he'd probably stolen, and a roll of fabric that could be used for bandages, or to bind hands, or for the gag Trina had wanted to use on me. He was also carrying a bound sketchbook and a lead pencil. A quick scan of his drawings impressed me, though most were only abstracts of an eye or hand, nothing to tell me who had inspired the sketches. They were beautiful, though, a part of Simon I had not expected. In a different life, he might have been an artist, not an insurgent. I found nothing in the pages or in the satchel to identify him as a Corack, nor any means of contacting Tenger. Since I knew Trina carried nothing of her own, this was all they would have brought with them. It was true, their lives were entirely dependent upon me keeping my agreement, just as Celia's and Darrow's were.