My gaze on her remained steady. "What were your father's secrets?"
She nodded toward the dark wall. "What you've obviously just discovered. He's the one who first found the carving in this cell. We believe the engraving is Risha's prophecy."
I arched a brow. "We?"
"Captain Tenger and I. We've studied every line, every word."
Simon folded his arms, obviously still skeptical. "How nice that you and Tenger had these conversations without me."
"You weren't supposed to be here, Simon! When could we have told you all of this?"
He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe anytime today, or yesterday, or the day before that. Maybe five minutes before we had to drag this information out of you!"
"How do you interpret the lines?" I asked, hoping the question would avert the fight Trina and Simon were otherwise on the verge of having.
She sighed, obviously grateful for the distraction. "The first three lines mention the people who will be involved in Endrick's death: The Infidante, the new ruler of Antora, and Endrick himself." Which was roughly the same interpretation Simon and I had.
Trina continued, "Our best guess for the final line is that all three people have someone to fool. Maybe the whole country. Maybe a single friend." Her eyes roamed from me to Simon. "Or more than a friend, perhaps."
I wasn't taking the bait. Instead, I asked, "What's your role in the prophecy?" Trina opened her mouth to protest, and with an irritated sigh, I added, "Obviously, you believe you have a role."
Trina hesitated, then said, "My role is to find the Olden Blade, to set the prophecy into motion."
Her motives couldn't be that simple, or that pure. "For Tenger? So does he want to be the Infidante, or the king?"
"Tenger never reveals all of his plans to us." Trina looked over at Simon. "Tell Kestra that. He shares the least amount of knowledge that he must, to limit our risk to any mission."
If Simon heard her, he didn't respond. Instead, he was digging at the rock with his boot, maybe giving himself something to do in this cramped space. Surely he was frustrated to realize Trina knew things about Tenger's plan that he did not. Or that Tenger clearly had trusted her more than him.
"I have to succeed," Trina said. "If I don't find the Blade, I will be nothing to the Coracks." And from her tone, I knew that much was perfectly true.
No wonder she seemed so desperate, so worried that all their efforts might end in failure--and mark her as the architect of that failure. She had bet everything on this mission succeeding, and I was the last hurdle in her way.
As clear as Simon's and Trina's emotions were, my own were a mystery. Too much had happened today, too much had changed.
Worst of all was my father's collaboration in a plot to kill me. I should have been angry about that, furious and vengeful, but I wasn't. Instead, I was simply ... empty, as if the part of my heart that I had reserved for Henry Dallisor was dead.
My anger was instead targeted at Lord Endrick, who had never viewed me as anything but a pawn, a sacrifice he was glad to make to expand his power. And what of Basil, who had agreed to such a dark plan? My feelings for him weren't so much anger as they were a single-minded desire to introduce him to Antora's largest catapult.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Trina. What did I feel for her? Sympathy, perhaps? She had struggled to find a place with the Coracks because of her father, just as I had never found my place as a Dallisor. Even if I disliked her, I could at least understand her, pity her.
But I wouldn't help her. Twice now, she had carefully avoided the question of Tenger's true motivations for wanting the Olden Blade. The idea of him as either Infidante or king was unacceptable.
Before I could allow the Blade to fall into anyone's control, I had to know who would ultimately take it. Because as bad as Lord Endrick was, I would not help one tyrant replace another. I would not have that blood on my hands.
"Enough of these suspicions," Simon finally said. "Trina, you should have told me the truth before, but if this is it, then I can live with it. The only way we'll ever get the Blade, and get out of here alive, is if we trust each other. Can we agree on that?"
"Agreed," Trina whispered.
They stared at me.
Trust Trina? Was he serious? She still had not told us the full truth. Surely Simon knew that too.
Trust him. Did I trust him?
My feelings regarding Simon were more confusing. He was a Corack, had threatened my life, and still held Darrow's and Celia's lives in his hands. He wasn't here for my well-being or safety, only to do what was necessary to ensure I located the Olden Blade. Once he had it, he would leave.
But he had also spent the past few hours with me in this cell, knowing my fear of such a tight, dark space, pulling me into his arms and promising to keep me warm and safe. He had hated watching me eat dinner with Basil, and had seemed genuinely concerned when Endrick had worked his dark magic upon my neck. He'd brushed his fingers over my cheek when he thought I was asleep, as tenderly as he'd touch a rose petal.
I didn't know how I felt about that, because I no longer trusted anything I felt about him. Except one feeling, something coming from the deepest part of my heart, and creeping in on me despite my best attempts to pretend otherwise.
I was falling for Simon.
"All right," I said. "We'll agree to trust each other."
It was a lie. I no longer even trusted myself.
Once the three of us began talking again, the question turned to the necessity of finding the Olden Blade as quickly as possible.
Simon began, "Even if the carving is a clue to the dagger, it isn't the dagger itself."
"If Risha's servant gave us this one clue, then she gave us others," Trina insisted. "We have to find them in the next two days before we meet Tenger."
"No, before tomorrow's wedding," Simon put in.
"One day might not be enough time," Trina said.
"She'll be killed if she goes through with that wedding!" Simon said.
"And Tenger will kill me if I don't give him the Olden Blade." I tilted my head at him. "Remind me again how Coracks are better than Dallisors?"
Simon glared at me, though it wasn't in anger this time. My words had stung him.
Trina either hadn't heard me, or she didn't care. "First, you need to get out of this dungeon. Send word up to your father, agreeing to the wedding tomorrow night. It's the only way he'll let you leave. That gives us one more day to find the Olden Blade."
Simon kicked at the ground again. "She's right," he muttered. "What choice do we have?"
He banged on the cell door until the guard released him to allow Trina some privacy with me. After he was gone, I began unlacing the servant's dress, eager to be out of it.
"I know what you believe," Trina said. "That I'm not important to this plan. That it would end the same whether Simon finds the Olden Blade, or you do."
"That's not my belief. It's just a fact." I turned away from the closed cell door. Somehow, without Simon here, the cell had become smaller than before. "What's the truth, then?"
She sat beside me, placing the new dress on her lap. "If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?"
"Of course." Unless I decided otherwise. That all depended on what she was about to say.
Trina cocked her head toward the wall. "My father had a theory, one he never shared except in his journals. He believed your mother knew what happened to the Olden Blade, but the focus was always on Risha, and then your mother died and any chance to find out what she knew died with her."
I slipped the servant's dress off my shoulders, grateful that Trina had also remembered to bring a shift, which she passed up to me. "Why would my mother have known about the Blade?"
"That's why we need her diary, to get answers. That's my secret, Kestra. I thought if I told you whose diary we wanted, you wouldn't help us find it."
No, I wouldn't. Especially not now that I had read it.
"Don't disturb my moth
er's memories," I said. "Don't bring her into this."
"I have to, Kestra. I wish I didn't, but it's my future at stake." She paused, biting on her lip, trying to hold something back, I thought. Finally, she gave up trying. "If I don't get the Olden Blade for Tenger, I promised to leave the Coracks."
Again, I glanced at her over my shoulder, somehow managing not to throw any insults when I did. "Where would you go then?"
Trina shrugged. "I have nowhere to go. You know as well as I do how much one's blood matters in Antora. With my father's past, no Antoran will ever trust me. The Coracks offer more than just a place to belong, they're my protection. But if I can get the Blade, all of that will change."
"You believe if you find the Blade, the people of Antora will accept you?"
Now she smiled, and even stood to begin helping me into the blue dress. "It's much more than that! Tenger has quietly sent word to the Halderians all throughout Antora to gather in the Hiplands, where they've been slowly rebuilding their numbers. When we find the Blade, Tenger and I will take it to them. They'll hold a ceremony and someone will step forward to claim the Blade. It will light up for the Infidante, binding the dagger and its master together for life. Then we'll go after Endrick, finally able to win!"
My laugh spilled out as coarse as the rock walls. "You believe every part of the mythology, then? I wouldn't have thought you were so naive. It's an inanimate piece of sharp metal, nothing more."
Trina stiffened. "The Olden Blade is full of magic, and that magic lives and breathes. When a Halderian claims it again, the true revolution will begin."
"Fine. So you'll go to a ceremony, the Blade will become a lantern or something, because for some reason it cares who holds it, then that person will defeat Lord Endrick?"
"And the Coracks will have started it all, maybe even finished it."
"The Coracks?" My brows drew together, wondering if she had said more than she intended. "I thought only a Halderian could hold the blade."
She stumbled for the right words. "Well ... yes, but--"
If I asked again about Tenger, I knew she'd dodge the question. So this time, I tried something more subtle. "Are there any Halderians among the Coracks?"
Trina shrugged. "If there are, none will admit it."
"Would any of them hope to become the Infidante?"
She stopped working on my dress long enough to say, "Whoever the Infidante is, the Coracks will follow that person into battle. So should you."
If we were discussing Tenger, she'd be disappointed by my response. I'd seen what he was like as a captain. I wouldn't follow Tenger into the finest pastry shop in Antora, much less into battle.
"We don't need your approval," she said, sensing my disgust. "Just find us the Blade, and the Coracks will worry about the rest." Putting the final ties on my dress, she added, "You could join us, Kestra. You won't have any other choice, really. I had to leave my family name behind. You will, too."
A statement that proved words were far more cruel than any weapon. I turned to face her, signaling the end of that conversation. Instead, I asked, "Aren't you afraid of Lord Endrick, afraid of the things he can do?"
"Sooner or later, Lord Endrick will find all of us. Our best chance of survival is for the Infidante to find him first."
I gave Trina my used tunic and trousers, which she bundled inside the servant's dress I had worn. The knife that I had taken from the hutch the night before was still with me, though I hadn't been able to reach it with the dress on over my trousers.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Honestly, Trina, you seem surprised every time I get a weapon. Take this if you want. I'll only find another one."
"Are you going to use it on me?"
Now I smiled. "If that was my plan, I would've done it already."
"Then keep the knife."
I smiled and lowered my skirts over the knife, now secure in its garter. When that was done, Trina pulled out a brush from her apron pocket and began to work on my hair.
"This was an unpleasant task when we were in your room, but it's nothing compared to this tiny cell," she said.
"Then let's go." I hardly needed a reminder that these walls seemed to be closing in on me. "Leave my hair as it is."
"Stay still." She pulled at a tangle, then added, "When the Halderians kidnapped you, I heard they held you in a very small box. What did they want?"
"My death. Most of them did, anyway." I shivered, wondering if the cell walls were actually shrinking, or if I was imagining it. "I doubt they've changed their mind in three years."
"The Coracks will protect you." Trina moved to where she could see me directly. "I know how that sounds, given what we've done to you, but it's not personal. All we want is the dagger. If you don't try to stop me, I promise I will never harm you."
Which was a problem, because I absolutely planned to stop her. Unless I had no other choice, that dagger would never fall into Corack hands.
A few minutes later, Trina pronounced my hair "good enough," which was more than I cared about. I banged on the cell door until a guard came to open it. "Will you need an escort to your father?" he asked. "Your protector already left to tell him you were coming." The guard's eagerness to go aboveground was apparent. I doubted he ever saw much light.
"We don't need an escort," I said.
Still, he walked us up the slope to the main gathering area and then fumbled for his keys. Before we reached the stairs, another door opened behind us, one that would allow prisoners to enter the dungeons directly from outside Woodcourt's main gates. The daylight from the open door was bright enough that I had to shield my eyes. But the light was also accompanied by the sounds of people, several of them.
"Make way for prisoners!" someone called.
"I can't unlock the Woodcourt door until everyone is safely put into cells," the guard explained to me. "Wait on the stairs, out of their way, or you might accidentally be put back into the cells with them."
Trina grabbed my arm and pulled me up onto the stairs. Not that I needed any persuasion. I couldn't go down into the dungeons again. I barely could tolerate being here on the stairs, which by comparison felt like a palace.
Five Dominion soldiers came in, accompanied by a line of prisoners too beaten down to raise their heads, much less offer any resistance.
"Why are these people here?" the dungeon guard asked. "Another uprising?"
One of the soldiers had already noticed me and cocked his head. "Kestra Dallisor? My lady, it's appropriate that you're here to welcome this scum. Your father ordered these Coracks rounded up in revenge for the attack on you at the inn. Dallisors always get the last word, no?"
"Kestra wasn't attacked!" Forgetting her role as a handmaiden, Trina had stepped in front of me, nearly bursting with anger.
"The master described sores on his daughter's wrists, and a cut. Someone tried to kill her. Sir Henry wants people to know what happens to those who attack his family."
Considering the reason I was in these dungeons in the first place, that was a joke, and I would've told him so if a face had not caught my attention in the crowd of new prisoners.
Rosalie.
The young girl whose bread was stolen from the market. It was easy to spot her because she still wore the cloak I had given her yesterday. It was wrapped tightly around her like a shell she hoped would protect her from whatever was coming next.
I hurried to the bottom of the stairs and pointed her out, saying to the soldier, "That girl with the cloak, she's only a child. You know she could not have been involved in the attack at that inn."
"Of course not, my lady. But that's a Dallisor cloak she wears, so she knows more than she's saying, and she'll hang with the others."
"This is ridiculous!" I snapped. "I gave her that cloak myself. She's done nothing wrong!"
"Tell that to your father," he said. "I have no authority to release the prisoners once they're here."
"Your father won't release them
either," Trina whispered.
No, he wouldn't. He believed compassion was a weakness, and refused to admit a Dallisor could ever make a mistake--even in the arrest of a young girl. But I had to try.
I started up the stairs again when Trina grabbed my arm, pulling me back beside her and nodding in the direction she wanted me to look. One man had stopped directly on the dungeon slope, his eyes on us, seemingly unaware of the other prisoners around him. The way his gold metal leg glinted against the torchlight should have already caught my attention.
Captain Grey Tenger.
I wasn't sure whether he was staring at me or at Trina, and it probably didn't matter. His expression was like stone, a practiced indifference to what was happening around him. He was in the middle of the line, unchained and with a shiny black eye. If the soldiers had known who he was, a fist to his face would've been nothing. They'd have shot him on the road.
"Is there a problem, my lady?" the guard asked.
"No," I mumbled. Yet another lie.
Should I tell them about Tenger? He was responsible for the attack on me, for what was happening to Celia and Darrow, and for the fact that my life was in complete chaos. Only two days ago, I had quietly vowed to destroy the rebellion.
Now here was their leader, in the bowels of the Dallisor dungeons. All it would take was a few words from me and I could end the Corack rebellion where it stood. I didn't need to prove who Tenger was. My accusation was enough to guarantee his immediate death. Trina's too.
And Simon's.
Darrow's and Celia's deaths would follow, wherever they were.
And mine, eventually. The Coracks would see to that.
But this was no longer about my life, I understood that now. I'd just spent hours in a dungeon once occupied by two women who sacrificed everything in the hope of defeating Lord Endrick. The Coracks wanted to continue their quest, and had forced me into their battle. My only remaining question was, would I join that fight, even if I were not compelled?
The churning in my gut returned, worse than before. I didn't like Tenger, didn't trust him, and the idea of helping him achieve anything made my head spin. But he was on the right side of the battle. He would make me a traitor after all.