Me.
I immediately brushed that thought aside, wondering how such an idea had even entered my mind. I was not a Halderian. I couldn't wield the Blade. I couldn't even touch it.
But I wanted to.
I stared at it, unable to look away as treasonous thoughts swirled in my head. Thoughts I should not dare to have. But that I did.
Lying before me, the Blade became a beacon, suddenly like air for the suffocating, or bread for the starving. It was the only thing I wanted to touch because it was the one thing I could not touch, should not touch. But the idea was filling my mind, this sudden obsession, this desperate question of what if?
What if I could?
A flush of heat swept over me. What if I returned to my room, holding the Olden Blade in my hand, announcing to Simon and Trina that their search for the dagger had ended with me? What would they do? What would they say?
I smiled. Trina's head would probably split apart.
But then I'd be declared the Infidante, tasked with thrusting the Blade into Endrick's heart, killing him. The idea of such a quest horrified me. Even for the right reasons, I couldn't do that.
Yet, I knew that I was going to touch the Blade anyway. I had to test the truth about myself.
I had to know.
Almost not daring to breathe, I stretched out my right hand, hesitating only a moment before I wrapped it around the handle.
It wasn't cool to the touch, as I had expected. Instead, the metal was warm and seemed to pulse from deeper within. Endrick's magic. I felt it, I was part of it.
And then I was attacked by it.
The magic seized my whole arm, locking the joints of my fingers so that I couldn't release the handle, no matter how hard I tried. Pain burst from my palm, flared up my arm, and across my shoulders. I let out a gasp, though I could not let myself be heard, not here, not now. Especially not now.
Instinctively, I understood that if the magic reached my heart, I was finished. It was searing through every nerve, every vein, working its way through me.
Finally, I forced my left hand over the right and pried the fingers apart, fighting to let the dagger go. After an exhausting effort, it fell to the ground again, back onto the burlap, as quietly as if nothing had ever happened.
I pressed my injured hand to my chest, leaving it there until the worst of the pain passed and my breaths came more steadily. As awful as that had been, I was lucky it hadn't killed me. If I had continued to hold it, surely I would be dead by now.
I was not the Infidante.
But I was alive.
And at least I knew. Maybe that was a relief. Nothing in me wanted the Infidante's burden.
Maybe it was a disappointment too. Was I meant for no purpose greater than myself?
When I felt steadier, I folded the blade back into the burlap, though I couldn't use my injured hand to tie the twine. That had to be good enough. I would ask Gerald to tie it later.
It was the least I'd have to ask of him. Gerald was my last chance to get the Blade out of Woodcourt. While sitting in that security carriage with Tenger, I had made a plan. I had to stick to it.
By now, Gerald would have waited for me long enough. And with my understanding of how dangerous the Blade truly was, I hoped we were both up to the enormous task that still lay ahead.
My gut was in knots. Kestra's meeting with her father had gone on too long. After what she had done to get sent to the dungeons, I had expected it would take a while to get herself out. But too much time had passed. Had she angered her father again, or Lord Endrick? Or somehow gotten herself into worse trouble? She was perfectly capable of that.
My fears deepened when Gerald turned the corner without her. He was practically wringing his hands into shreds and his eyes fixed on me so suddenly, I realized this was no accidental meeting.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"Coming soon, I hope." Gerald glanced around us. "Until her father sends different orders, she must remain in her room."
"What did she do?"
Gerald frowned. "Dallisors always get the last word, and she's as bullheaded as the worst of them. Lady Kestra will not be allowed to defy Lord Endrick."
"Will you wait here too?" Maybe it wasn't wise to offer, but Gerald seemed to understand things about Kestra that I didn't. Things I was sure I ought to know.
"I cannot." Gerald's foot began tapping, as if he was anxious to leave. "But will you promise to take care of her? Kestra needs a protector now more than ever before."
I licked my lips. Why was he speaking in such coded terms? Why was he in such a hurry?
We waited for a servant to pass, then I gave Gerald my answer. "I swear on my life to protect her."
He stared back at me. At first I thought he doubted the sincerity of my promise, but then the corners of his eyes creased. He asked, "Do you love her?"
Such a simple question, yet it felt like a minefield, one I was hesitant to walk, and Kestra certainly wouldn't go there. Not yet.
By now, I'd stumbled too long for an answer. Gerald stepped closer, whispering, "I know what you're hiding, my boy. Protect her, but do not give her your heart. That is too dangerous for you both." Before I could object, he hurried away, back from the direction he had come.
If I'd been anxious before, Gerald's visit only made things worse. It took another fifteen agonizing minutes before Kestra finally came around the corner, her face grim and focused, her fists clenching her skirts tight enough to rip holes in the fabric. I didn't know whether to be angry with her or simply relieved, but I took her arm and pulled her against the wall. "What have you done? Why were you--"
"Ask Trina what I had to do," she replied with an equal amount of fire. "And then tell her it didn't work!"
Trina had already told me about Tenger's arrest, but little more. Had Trina threatened Kestra again?
"Let's talk where it's safer." I opened Kestra's door and walked into her room. Kestra stood in the passageway, refusing to budge. I hissed, "Do you know what they'll do if they catch you outside your room?"
She checked the passageway again. "Probably the same thing if you're caught inside it."
"There you are, finally!" Trina had obviously been pacing. I saw the line she had worn into the weave of the rug. "What about Tenger and the others?"
Now Kestra marched inside and shut the door behind us. "Our agreement must change. I will help Tenger escape, but you must promise to release Darrow and Celia."
Trina shook her head. "Our agreement is for the Olden Blade--"
"Forget the Olden Blade! After I help Tenger, I'll have to leave Woodcourt too. I won't be safe here after that."
"Then we have to find it first!" Trina was doing a good job of controlling her temper, I had to give her that much. "You are our only chance to find that dagger."
Kestra's response came quickly. "Tenger will be executed at midnight tonight. We're out of time!"
Trina wasn't giving up. "What if Simon sets him free? He's escaped before. If we lower the prisoners into the pit, he can find that tunnel again."
"The three of us came here together," Kestra replied. "Once they realize Simon betrayed the Dallisors, they'll question you next. And then me."
A Dallisor questioning. And Dallisors always got the last word.
Trina combed her fingers through her hair, clasping them behind her head in utter frustration. "No, we can still do this! Risha had the dagger when she was brought to the dungeons. It must be there."
Maybe it was. But my attention was fixed on Kestra. Her fists were clenched, one tighter than the other, and her breaths were shallow and tense. She was upset, but in a different way than I'd seen her before. She said, "The dungeons have been searched. Unless there's some hidden corner only you know about."
Trina clasped her trembling hands together, hoping to steady them. "You trust Gerald. Would he know where to look for the Blade?"
That wasn't necessary. My voice was flat and left no room for doubt. "Kestra already knows where to
look." She protested, but the desperate gleam in her eye proved my guess was right. "This morning, you were rushing to return something to your father's library. What else belongs there but a book?"
"It's not Risha's diary," she said, suddenly on the defense. "I swear it's not."
"No, but I'll bet my life it was a diary with a pink satin binding. And I'm equally sure it can only be unlocked with a small silver key."
"Like the one the Halderians brought to the inn the other night?" Trina asked.
I kept my eyes on Kestra, whose expression was stone, and said, "Which you stole from me."
"Which was meant for me, so technically, you're the thief."
Trina drew in a breath. "You found your mother's diary? You've read it?"
"She read it, which was why she'd been crying." Turning back to Kestra, I continued, "It told you where the Olden Blade is hidden, didn't it? Now you're using Tenger as a distraction, to force all of us out of Woodcourt without the dagger."
Trina's face reddened. "Is that true?"
Kestra backed up, shaking her head. "There is too much about the Olden Blade we don't know. Does it lend magic to the person who holds it? What happens if the wrong person tries to touch it? Was it the reason Risha Halderian was killed, or was that a coincidence? And if it can kill Lord Endrick, what will be the price?"
"The Coracks will answer those questions," Trina said. "They're not your concern."
Kestra's voice rose in pitch. "Yes, they are! If I help you get the dagger, then it's my responsibility to know."
"We have a bigger responsibility if you don't help us," Trina warned. "What to do with you."
Silently, I groaned. Kestra responded to threats by tightening up on her secrets. Trina should have learned that by now.
My approach was gentler. "There's no future for you here, whether you help us or not. But if you keep your promise and tell us where the Blade is, we'll keep our promises to you. We'll rescue everyone in the dungeons and ride out of Woodcourt tonight, together. You'll get Darrow back, and Celia if you want her. And then you're free."
Kestra met my eyes, and I felt her resolve weakening. If Trina sensed it, then she misinterpreted it in the worst possible way.
"She's playing you like a game, Simon!" Trina said. "Don't give in to her." She marched toward Kestra, yelling, "Tell us where the Blade is--or else!"
She raised a hand, and when Kestra raised hers in defense, I caught it. Her palm opened and I saw a cross burned into it, reddened and beginning to welt. Where had that come from?
"Is that a burn?"
Kestra squeezed her hand back into a fist. It would have stung fiercely to do that, so she must've wanted to hide it. "It's nothing."
"That wasn't there when we were in the dungeons." I forced her fingers open again and studied the burn. "What caused it?"
Kestra's brows pressed together, as if this was nothing of interest. "What causes any burn?"
She knew what I meant. "From what fire, Princess? It's the middle of the day."
Trina cut in. "Aboveground it is, not below." Her tone darkened. "Maybe you went into the dungeons, hoping to find the Blade."
"You're wrong--" Kestra started.
Trina continued, "You took one of the torches for light and burned yourself."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I tried--"
I stepped closer and lowered my voice. "So the Blade is in the dungeons?"
Now her first tear fell, one she had been trying to hold in for some time. "There was an entry in the diary where my mother mentioned having been in the dungeons during the war, and that what she did down there would have eternal consequences."
"The Pit of Eternal Consequence," I mused. "You told me that name before."
Kestra nodded. "If Risha Halderian's servant, Anaya, was held in cell number four, then wouldn't Risha have been kept somewhere worse?"
I instantly understood her meaning. The cell where they had placed me when I was eleven, the one at the lowest point of the dungeons, was the worst of them all. "Risha threw the dagger into the pit, thinking it was bottomless. And no one has searched down there because they fear the stories about the spirits that roam there."
"This was my idea too." Her breathing was becoming irregular again, just thinking of it. "But I can't go down into the pit. You know that."
"I'll go into the pit." Trina spoke more kindly than I'd have expected. "When the Halderians kidnapped you, they kept you in that box. That affected you--of course it did. We understand. You can't go into that pit, but I can."
"Do what you must." Kestra seemed calmer already. "I only want Darrow back. But we'll all leave Woodcourt together, because once we find the Blade, we can never come back."
The girls both looked at me. "We'll leave after dark," I said. "Free the prisoners, find the Blade, and all of us escape."
Simon returned to the hallway to resume his guard duties, or to pretend that his reasons for watching my door were about keeping me in, rather than waiting for the right time to get me out. I told Trina that I was exhausted, which was absolutely true, and took to my bed for a nap. I assumed she went back to pacing, or, at least, that's what she was doing when I awoke several hours later.
I sat up in the bed and felt my hair, which was a mess again. Before she realized I was awake, I removed the pins myself and began combing out my locks with my fingers. It wasn't as neat as her work, but I had to learn to care for myself. After I left Woodcourt, I'd never have servants again.
When she heard movement, Trina stared at me, breathless and face flushed. "What if the Blade isn't in that pit? Once we get into that cell, we'll never be able to come back."
"Pray we should never come back here," I said, wishing my words could soothe her. "Besides, if we don't find it, we're no worse off than before."
"I will be." Trina's eyes were empty, desperate for comfort, like a lost child's. I actually felt sorry for her.
"Tenger won't hold you to that agreement," I said. "Surely you've proven your value to the Coracks."
She shrugged. "This mission is the only major thing I've done for them. If I return empty-handed, Tenger will accuse me of sabotaging it out of sympathy for the Dominion, like my father would've done. If the Coracks reject me, where will I go then?"
"Maybe wherever I go, after I leave Woodcourt."
Trina and I were very different, yet somehow the same. If there was anything we both understood, it was the unfairness of being judged by who our fathers were. Maybe for that reason, neither of us would ever be fully accepted in Antora. I'd always looked down on the world through diamond-studded windows. She'd looked up at the world through salt glass. Despite those differences, we were both looking in from the outside.
"Tell you what," I said, letting a mischievous smile tug at my mouth. "If we don't find the Olden Blade, I'll tell Tenger how much I hate you, how many times you threatened me and forced me to act against my will."
Trina's brow wrinkled, trying to figure out whether I was serious. Finally, she burst into a laugh. "You'd do that? Tell Tenger how awful I am?"
"I try to help where I can."
Our giggling stopped when a knock came at our door. When Trina answered it, Simon was on the other side. He entered and all but slammed the door behind him.
"What's wrong?" Trina asked.
He cast a dark eye toward me. "Sir Basil has returned to Woodcourt and requested time with you in the gardens. Your father gave his permission for you to leave your room, on condition a guard accompanies you."
Trina caught my expression and walked over to begin winding my loose hair into something more formal.
"Don't go." Simon stepped deeper into my room, his jaw determinedly set forward. "We know the truth about Basil now."
"And he knows that I've agreed to marry him tomorrow. What happens if I refuse to meet him tonight?"
"Nothing happens because you won't be here tomorrow!"
"She has to go," Trina said. "Simon, you're not thinking straight. She has to
go."
Simon cursed under his breath, keeping his head down. When Trina pinned the last braid into place, I stood and she straightened my skirt.
"You can't let him suspect that you know about Endrick's threat," she warned. "It would lead him to think that you're planning an escape."
"Agreed." Nothing more needed to be said. Trina's advice was obvious. Simon's childishness was useless.
He held out his arm for me and led me from the room without the slightest glance in my direction. The muscles of his arm were so tense I doubted a hammer could loosen them. I snuck a peek at him. The clench of his jaw brought out a small dimple in his cheek. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did just looking at him cause this flurry of nerves in my stomach?
"If Basil tries anything tonight, I'll be right there," he said. "I can stop him."
I gave him a half smile. "I can stop him too. But he won't harm me tonight. Lord Endrick wants to save that for after our marriage, once I'm in Reddengrad. That way he can declare it as an act of war and rally Antora behind him."
"Then why does Basil want to see you now?" Simon scowled.
"Why do you care?" I asked. "We're leaving tonight, and once we get into that pit, you'll find the Olden Blade. You'll have what you want."
"The Olden Blade? That's all you think I want? Why I'm upset?"
I groaned. "What is it now? Haven't you asked enough of me yet?"
We should have started down the stairs, but the laughter of servants below stopped us both. Simon rolled his eyes, then opened the door to the nearest room.
I followed him inside, then shut the door and leaned against it, arms folded, determined to outlast this tantrum. He was deeper in the room and did a quick survey to be sure we were alone before he turned back to me. For a full five seconds, he didn't so much as blink. Then he opened his mouth and proceeded to say nothing whatsoever.
"Well?" I didn't have time for these games.
He was studying me, endlessly searching for clues to decipher me. It wouldn't work. If I couldn't understand myself anymore, what chance did he have?
It wasn't nearly so hard to understand him. He felt everything with such intensity that his eyes betrayed his emotions every time. Such as why he didn't want me going to see Basil tonight. This wasn't about my physical safety. Simon was protecting my heart.
Or his.
Finally, he said, "After tonight, Woodcourt can no longer be your home."