She curtsied to Basil and Gerald, then took my arm to walk out to the corridor. When I pulled her in another direction, away from her room, she huffed like a spoiled child. That was too bad. We needed to talk.
"You're being ridiculous," she muttered.
"You were ridiculous!" I hissed. "Why didn't we bring in a priest and marry the two of you right there?"
"You know why not! It's because in three days, he won't have me for a scullery maid, much less a wife."
"I thought you didn't want anything to do with him!"
"I don't, but if I were going to be forced into marriage, I could do worse than him. At least he's kind! A word, I'm sure, that has never entered your vocabulary!"
I was plenty kind. Just not to Dallisors. She would understand that, if she were anyone else.
But she wasn't. And it was becoming far too easy to forget that.
We paused for a couple of passing servants and then I led her deep into the gardens, still blooming with late-season lilies and dogbane that added a whiff of perfume to the evening air, a sweet contrast to the fight that was clearly coming. This late at night, nobody else should be out here. Still, we kept our voices low.
I started, "The person you met tonight is a fraud--tell me you saw that too!" I couldn't place exactly what was wrong with Basil, but something definitely was wrong. Was he too eager? Too friendly? Too irritating as he tried in every possible way to get close to Kestra? "The real Basil is ... different. You cannot trust him."
"I don't! Just as I don't trust Trina, or Gerald, or Celia ... or you."
"You don't have to like me, but you can trust me." I wanted to be clear on this point. "Keep your word to the Coracks and I'll do everything I can to help you get through this."
I'd meant well, but her cheeks turned to flame. "Is this your idea of kindness? What I'm doing could destroy my family! Perhaps the whole Dominion."
"The Dominion must be destroyed. You've seen the effects of their rule for yourself."
"Not this way. This is wrong."
I gestured toward the center of Highwyn. "No, what is happening out there is wrong! You are not the victim here."
"Nor are you. For those years you worked here, we fed and clothed you, put a roof over your head, and paid you for your work."
"I only worked here because my father had died and the rest of my family was starving. I needed the money."
"Which my father provided. But somehow we deserve this?"
"Did I deserve this?" I turned away from her, lifting my tunic just enough for her to see the scars on my back from where I'd been whipped. On the darkest nights, I could still hear the whip's crack against my flesh, the way I'd screamed for mercy until I realized begging only made the next hit harder. With the cold air bristling over my back now, I remembered the sting as if I were there again. It had been worse for my friend John.
She drew in a sharp breath, then immediately fell silent. I lowered my tunic and turned back to her. The arrogance had faded from her expression, her shoulders had hunched, and she had become hauntingly still.
Finally, she said, "You were the last one in my mother's room that day, and John supervised you there. I thought it had to be one of you." When she looked up, something was different. This wasn't a challenge, or a trick. Her eyes had become windows, clear and unfiltered. This was the real Kestra.
She continued, "It makes no difference, I know, but I've thought about that day a thousand times since then, wishing I could go back. My mother's ring was found a week later in the cushions of her chair. By then, it was too late for John, and for you as well, I thought. I am so terribly sorry."
I stepped closer and was surprised that she didn't move away. "John and I were sent to the dungeons, to be executed at the end of the week. I was in the lowest cell beneath Woodcourt, where all the sewage eventually collects, making the ground muddy. They warned me not to go toward the back of my cell because if I slipped, I'd fall into an endless pit."
"The Pit of Eternal Consequence." I must've looked confused, because Kestra added, "When I was young, that's what my governess called it. She described a pit beneath Woodcourt where the spirits of all who had died in the dungeons roamed, eager to grab anyone who tried peeking over the edge. She threatened to toss me in if I didn't finish my lessons."
The corner of my mouth lifted. "Well, I haven't heard it called by that name, but the guards told me the story too, and I think some of them believed it, based on the smell alone. For three days, I stayed as far from the pit as I could. But then I saw a rat headed toward the ledge. I followed it, intending to catch and eat it. The rat slipped into the pit, and I fell with it. Had I been less scrawny then, and on my feet instead of crawling, I probably would've died in the fall. Instead, I slid on my back, quite a long way down. My ankle was sprained, but I was alive."
"So there is a bottom to the pit?"
I thought back. "Of course. It was awful, littered with bones, and waste, and other odds and ends I'd wager prisoners threw down there so they couldn't be used as evidence against them."
"How'd you get out?"
"I followed the same rat into a tunnel, almost impossible to find unless you already knew it was there. I don't know how long I crawled, and I don't want to think about what I crawled through, but it felt like hours. Gradually, the tunnel went uphill again, to an exit far beyond Woodcourt's gates." I rapped a fist against my thigh, suddenly uncomfortable. Tenger and several other Coracks knew my history, but I'd never spoken this next part to anyone. "I abandoned John, who was in a nearby cell. Every night for months afterward, I pictured him calling to me, wondering where I'd gone, and finally figuring out I'd left him behind."
Kestra hadn't visibly breathed for some time. Finally, she said, "Your leaving didn't cause his death. I--" She stopped abruptly. We both knew how that sentence should end.
We exchanged another look then, something softer, gentler. My hand brushed against hers, and hers against mine. Her fingertips were cool in the evening air.
"John used to say it was a pity you're a Dallisor, because you might've turned out all right otherwise." My forefinger circled hers. "Sometimes you left little gifts on my bed."
She sighed. "They weren't gifts, Simon. They were leftovers, scraps that might've been given to the dogs if I hadn't snuck them to you."
"They were gifts."
Her thumb brushed over mine, sending a shiver up my spine. "I remember when you came," she said. "You were the first friend I'd ever had. What I did--"
"--was awful." I drew in a deep breath. "But in the long run, it probably saved my life."
I'd never intended to tell her so much. It had nothing to do with finding the Olden Blade, or helping her understand the importance of destroying Lord Endrick. At the moment, all I wanted was for her to understand ... me.
"Soon after my escape, I was attacked by some passing thieves who beat me when they discovered I had nothing they could steal. A kind old gentleman named Garr rescued me. He said if I worked for him, he would feed me and, more importantly, train me with a sword so that I'd never have to endure such a beating again."
Even now, I had a perfect memory of when he'd found me on the roadside, the pity and compassion he'd shown. "Three years later, he was collected by Dominion armies, one of forty people your father claimed were Halderians responsible for kidnapping you. Garr was no friend of the Dominion, but he had nothing to do with your kidnapping. At those executions, Lord Endrick publicly announced that the deaths were in your honor. If Antora didn't know your name before those executions, they did afterward, and not for anything good."
She stepped back, but kept her eyes low as she said, "I never asked for those executions. I didn't want them."
I only nodded. It wasn't the same as saying I believed her, because I wasn't sure if I did. But I wanted to. For now, that was enough.
I continued, "Garr adopted me as his own son. When he died, he left everything to me, far more than I deserved. I gave Garr's house and what mone
y he had to my family. They live there still. All I kept was a ring and his sword." That was the weapon at my side now and the ring was in my satchel. "I joined the rebellion to honor him. And, more importantly, I joined to bring down the Dominion. Endrick is our target, but I won't pretend bringing down your father in his wake hasn't crossed my mind."
She stepped back, repulsed. "And you're equally comfortable with destroying me?"
That was an accusation, not a question, but it deserved an honest answer. "I'm never comfortable with what I have to do for the Coracks, and I don't want to be. But you've said it yourself, Princess--by the time we're finished here, the Dallisors will never take you back. If I can separate you from them, I'll consider that the greatest act of service I could offer you."
She shook her head. "This is no service."
"It's no curse either." I checked around us again, keeping my voice at a safe whisper. "I'm a good person, Kestra. So are you. One of us is on the wrong side of this fight."
"I saved Trina from a serious whipping today, and covered for your mistakes here, risking my own life each time. I am doing everything you've required of me. Will Darrow be killed if I fail to find the Olden Blade? Celia? Will you kill me too?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but this time, no answer came. My silence became my conviction.
With a sharper tone, she said, "I think we know who's on the wrong side. You are stealing away everything that's important to me."
"Speaking of stealing ..." I needed to ask if she'd gotten into my satchel. She must have, though I wasn't sure how or when.
But I wasn't able to finish my question before Basil emerged from the home into the gardens and called her name. When he saw Kestra, his whole face lit up, like a giant mole rat approaching its next meal. If there was a better analogy for Basil, I couldn't think of it.
"I was told you'd come out here," Basil said. "Perhaps you weren't really tired before. Perhaps you were only tired of me."
Her grin was coy. "My protector was tired."
"Sick ... and tired," I mumbled.
"Ah." Basil smiled back at her, forgetting me almost instantly. "Then maybe you should dismiss your protector for the night and take a stroll through the gardens with me? I promise to see you safely back to your room."
"Her maid is expecting her--" I said.
"My maid works for me and not the other way around," Kestra snapped. Then to Basil, she added, "However, the air outside has chilled. If you'd like, I can show you around Woodcourt. I think you'd love my father's library."
Basil smiled and offered Kestra his arm. This time she took it, pressing closer to him than was necessary for an escort. I wasn't sure what she thought about Basil, or about me, or what tricks she was still plotting. But one thing was certain. She knew I didn't like her walking off with Basil, and that there was nothing I could do or say to stop her. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.
I pointed out to Basil the various features of Woodcourt as we walked through the home, but cared little for my own words. Basil seemed to sense my nervousness.
"Will your father object to us going in there?"
"It's his library, not his confessional," I said. "There can't be anything too private here."
Except maybe a pink satin diary. And if he kept it here, then what else was he willing to hide? Maybe the elusive Olden Blade itself, buried beneath some loose floorboard? Probably not. Concealing a diary from Lord Endrick was one thing. He'd never deliberately keep the Olden Blade from his master.
Once inside the library, I shut the door tight and began scanning the books, making casual conversation about the various titles. However, I barely listened to my own chatter, much less Basil's. I had a vague notion that he was trying to show how intelligent he was, by claiming to have read many of these books himself. I figured if he was particularly intelligent, he'd have already sensed that I wasn't listening to a single dreary word he said.
At one point, I saw on an upper shelf a book with a faded fabric binding that might have been pink once. I reached for it, and failed, so Basil came beside me and lifted the book down. It was a treatise on seedlings, which I'm sure would be an instant cure for insomnia. But it wasn't Risha's diary.
"What happened to your wrists?" Basil took my upraised hand in his and pulled back my sleeve. "Kestra?"
I pushed the sleeve down again. "It's nothing. We had some trouble getting here last night."
"Trouble? From the Coracks?" Basil's face tightened. "Your father explained to me how much trouble they cause here in Antora. After we're married, my father will send in his armies to help destroy the Coracks for good."
I pressed my brows together. "Why would your father do that, risk his own soldiers to quash our rebellion? Sir Basil, what benefit is our marriage to you or your family?"
His expression became somber, and suddenly he seemed much older than he had before. "Lord Endrick's power extends beyond the Antoran border. If we do not join with him, we face destruction. Reddengrad is a strong country and we could hold out for a long time. But if Endrick is immortal, in the end, he will always win."
I tried to smile that away, but could not. "So the reward for marriage is preservation of your country."
"Those are the terms of our marriage, but the reward is you." He released my wrist but took hold of my hands instead. The flesh of his palms was softer than mine, like holding on to flower petals. It was odd, and not the least bit attractive.
My pulse quickened as I tried to figure out how we had suddenly gone from a bland discussion of books to a moment that had nothing whatsoever to do with being in this library. All I could think about was Simon's warning, that Basil was not who he appeared to be.
Simon clearly didn't like Basil, but I wondered if that was because Basil clearly liked me. Was Simon jealous? Had his feelings for me changed?
Had mine changed? I hadn't truly hated Simon for several hours, despite a sincere effort to do so. Twice during supper, I had thought about the unruly lock of hair that had fallen to his forehead. My father would hate it, which somehow made it even more appealing. Then, in the gardens, when Simon had stepped closer, and his fingers brushed against mine, I could feel his nearness tugging at me, sending warm shivers through my belly. Had he reached for my hand deliberately? I wondered. I hoped.
When had all this changed?
Basil whispered, "May I kiss you, Kestra?"
He was still here? And he wanted to kiss me? I was supposed to be looking for a diary. Also, I had no intention of marrying Basil, so it was unfair to allow him to think otherwise.
Unfair, but necessary.
I forced a smile to my face and lifted my chin. He pressed his lips to mine with all the romance of kissing a clam. When he pulled away, he took my hand and kissed it too, as if a second touch to my lips might be too much to expect.
"I will make you happy, Kestra," he said.
That was nice, but I'd be happier if a book covered in pink satin spontaneously ejected itself onto the floor.
"I'd like to ask your father to move up the wedding date," he continued. "It's supposed to be another year away, but I don't see why we should wait."
Would we wait longer than three days from now? If so, what did I care when the date would be?
"Please do," I said.
He smiled and went in for another kiss, but by then, I had returned to studying the shelves. He missed, and sort of got my ear, then pretended he had meant to do that.
A knock came to the door, which startled us apart, but before either of us could reply, Simon poked his head in. Of course he did. He wouldn't have been far away. He gave a quick look from Basil to me, surely noticing how close we were standing to each other, but all he said was "Sir Henry has just arrived. I suggest you both leave."
Basil must've seen the worry in my eyes, for he immediately agreed, and hurried us out of the library. He bowed to me in the hall, saying, "I'll speak to your father about the new wedding date."
"I'll go to my room,
" I said. "I'm tired now." Which was true, but hardly the reason I was leaving so quickly.
Simon fell in beside me, escorting me toward the stairs up to my room. Once we got a safe distance away, we slowed down. With a terse edge to his voice, he asked, "Any luck?"
"No."
"Maybe the diary isn't in there."
"But it's the place to start. I'll try again in the morning. I only had the chance to examine a few of the shelves tonight."
"In all the time you were in there? What else were you doing?"
I stopped and released his arm. "Turning cartwheels, of course!" He squared his body to mine and his eyes sparked with anger. So this was jealousy, and a ridiculous jealousy at that. Basil was as significant as a pincushion, a sea sponge. A bluster of wind, nothing more. Yet, although it bothered me to realize that Simon cared what had happened, even worse was the realization that I cared what he thought might have happened.
Well, let him wonder. I said, "You have no right to ask me about anything other than what is necessary to get that dagger. Remember that, Simon."
"Everything affects whether you'll find that dagger! I'll ask you whatever I want."
"And I'll refuse to answer." I strode forward, determined to outpace him. "I can find my own way to my room. I don't want to see you anymore tonight."
I knew he was still following, though at a greater distance. I entered my room and slammed the door shut behind me. It startled Trina, who was on her knees in a corner of the room. Only one purpose would place her there. She was searching for secret hideaways in my room. It was no longer safe to hide the silver key behind the wall panel. Sooner or later, she would find it.
She stood, forcing an expression of innocence on her face so laughable that a child would see her guilt. "You're later than I expected. How was the supper?"
No, we weren't going to chat, or pretend to get along, and we both knew I'd just caught her invading what little privacy I still had. "Can you help me into my nightclothes? I'd do it myself, if I could. But this dress--"