The Traitor's Game

  Simon leapt onto the stage, and gave me only a passing glance before turning his attention to Trina. "Let go!"

  Behind me, Tenger said, "It might take time, Trina. Stay strong."

  "It's working!" she cried. "I will succeed here!"

  No, she would die here. Her face was becoming gray and the flesh sinking inward. Why wouldn't she just let go?

  One to Fall.

  Back in the dungeons, we had believed the third line of the prophecy represented Endrick, but that was wrong. It was speaking of Trina. If she didn't let go soon, she would die.

  The crowd was becoming more alarmed--and furious--that she was refusing to release a weapon that clearly had rejected her. Down in the audience, I saw more than one sword come out.

  Although, to be fair, those swords might've been for me. I was the enemy here, far more than she was.

  Simon grabbed Trina from behind, but she squirmed free, preventing him from getting control of the Blade. He had to be careful, or the Blade would hurt him too. I doubted his body could take much more punishment.

  Forgetting about me, Tenger dove into the fray between Simon and Trina. I immediately reached for a knife hidden against my thigh, one I'd stolen from a distracted man in the crowd before allowing Tenger to capture me. As soon as the knife was in my hand, I grabbed Tenger's good leg, stabbing him in the calf.

  When Tenger rolled away, his hand on the injury, Simon wrapped his arm around Trina's shoulders. "Drop the Olden Blade!" he yelled. "Trina, for your own sake, drop it, or I will stop you!"

  If she had been any stronger, I was sure she would have kept hold of the Blade, but by now, she couldn't help but release it. The instant she did, she fell to the ground, unconscious.

  The Olden Blade clattered to the stage floor. Simon was behind it, near Trina. Thorne was beside them, and Tenger was on the far edge of the stage. Slowly, I rose to my feet. The audience had gone entirely silent. None of us knew what to do next.

  One to Vanquish.

  Trina and Tenger both believed those words had been carved into the dungeon wall by Risha, speaking about Trina. But they weren't.

  Suddenly, everything made sense. My mother, the last fugitive Endrean, who had betrayed Lord Endrick and stolen the Olden Blade, had carved those words.

  Anaya had not been Risha Halderian's servant. It was the other way around.

  My mother had claimed the Olden Blade.

  My mother had been the Infidante.

  And when she had carved those words into the walls, it was never about her. She knew her fate. What if she had described the one person she would have thought about endlessly in her final days?

  Her infant daughter.

  Me.

  This was impossible.

  Above the roar of the audience, Thorne whispered in my ear, "There's a reason the Olden Blade didn't glow before. It's already been claimed."

  I tried to protest, but immediately felt uncomfortable beneath Thorne's steady gaze. "It wasn't me. There was no glow when I touched it."

  "But you did touch it?"

  "It burned my hand. It rejected me."

  Thorne took my hand, softly rubbing his thumb over the burn. "If the Olden Blade had rejected you, my lady, you'd be dead now. You claimed it."

  "No. I'm Endrean. My mother--"

  "Yes, child, but who's your father?"

  In a rush, the answer came to me, filling me with instant warmth and understanding ... and pain. Where Henry Dallisor had always resented me, threatened me, and tried to push me away, someone else had taught me, trained me, and kept me safe. Someone else had loved me as a father should, telling me exactly who he was without ever saying the words.

  "Darrow," I whispered.

  "You have a Halderian father, and an Endrean mother who gave her life to steal the Blade away from Lord Endrick. Why do you think I tried to bring you here three years ago? The Infidante never could have been anyone but you."

  I shook my head, still unsure of what to say. "I don't want this."

  "But will you accept it?"

  Would I? Someone had to bring Lord Endrick down. Someone had to end the Dominion's harsh reign over Antora. I'd lost so much already just to get to this moment. What more would I lose before completing the heavy quest that lay ahead?

  Everything. Before this was over, I risked losing everything. But that didn't mean I could walk away either.

  I looked down at my palm, squeezed a tight fist, and then walked forward to pick up the Olden Blade. I grabbed it with confidence. This time, it would not reject me.

  The Blade itself lit up like a sun, so bright that it hurt my eyes. There was no sting, no burn, only warmth that passed from the Blade into my arm, fusing itself into my very soul. Everything had gone silent around me--I was aware of that although I couldn't see anything but the Blade.

  My Blade.

  The Olden Blade was mine. I had claimed it.

  With that awareness, I held the dagger high, clasping it with both hands. And I kept it there until the glow finally faded. Once it did, and my eyes adjusted so that I could see the townspeople again, I realized that every person in the area had risen to their feet, their right arms folded against their chest in my honor.

  "You are the Infidante," Thorne whispered.

  One to Vanquish, my mother had written. Not speaking of herself, for she would never return from the dungeons. Not speaking of Risha, who would go to the same doom. Not even Risha's daughter, no matter how much she desired this. Those were Anaya's words, carved into a dungeon wall, beneath a home that bowed to Lord Endrick himself. From the bowels of Antora's enemy would come the Infidante, destined to end the enemy's rule.

  She meant me.

  I couldn't believe what I'd just seen, or didn't want to. As the glow faded, Kestra lowered the Olden Blade. Her eyes remained determinedly forward, her jaw set square and strong in defiance. Yet I'd seen her look afraid before, and no matter how hard she tried to hide it, she was. The Halderians stared back at her, equally uncertain. Moments ago, they had chanted for her death. Now she was the one person who might save them, who might return their people to power.

  Her people.

  Just as Lord Endrick and the Endreans were her people. Her own blood was about to go to war with itself.

  Thorne walked forward. "You know your first duty, my lady. The people would have you select our next ruler."

  One to Rule.

  Near me, Tenger was nursing his wounds. He glared fiercely at Kestra, but she didn't seem to notice.

  Trina was sprawled on the ground beside Tenger, unconscious. The surprise she'd have upon waking almost felt cruel.

  Kestra turned back to me. I'd become disheveled in the fight, with one missing boot, and with my tunic untucked and covering the handle of my sword. In response to her silent question, I shook my head, as serious as I'd ever been. With a curt nod, she faced forward again.

  "I will give my selection for the throne in my own time," she said.

  "Very well, my lady." Thorne took her hand with the Blade and raised it high, then called out, "My people, heed your Infidante, chosen to save the kingdom of Antora and restore the Halderians to the Scarlet Throne."

  The cheer that rose from the crowd was muted and cautious. Kestra might hold the blade, but they had not forgotten who she was. I started toward her, hoping that after the crowd settled, I could speak with her, explain myself.

  But it was not to be. Thorne cut between us, deliberately. "My lady, you must come with me. I have a safe place where you can spend the night."

  "A safe place?" I asked. This was the man responsible for her kidnapping, and we were supposed to trust him now? "If she's the Infidante--"

  "She is, while she lives," Thorne said. "But my people will not trust an Endrean girl raised as a Dallisor. Some will believe that if they kill her, they can obtain the Olden Blade for themselves." He gestured to the audience, which was already murmuring her name, all of it unfriendly. "They will accept her in time, but not tonight."


  "Not ever." Kestra bit her lip, raising barricades around herself again. At least this time, I understood. I couldn't imagine how it must feel to be given the quest of killing the last of your blood, to save a people who wanted you dead.

  "Wherever she goes, I go." I pushed toward her, but again, Thorne held me back.

  "We will take care of her," he said. "Kestra is no longer your responsibility."

  And that was it. She didn't have the chance to say good-bye before she was whisked away, and then Tenger was at my side, ordering me to help get Trina to safety. I obeyed, but for Trina's sake, not the captain's. Even as I lifted Trina into my arms, my mind remained with Kestra, wondering what was happening to her. Holding on to Kestra felt like keeping a handful of smoke, almost impossible. But I had to try.

  In only four days, she had gone from being the spoiled daughter of my enemy to being the sole hope of a clan we were forced into trusting. Worse still, she had taken on the task of killing an immortal ruler. How could she possibly succeed?

  It was very early in the morning before I found her again. Kestra was saddling up a horse the Halderians must have given her, a brown courser with a thick black mane and strong build. It would serve her well.

  Kestra was dressed differently now, with her hair washed and braided, and in much finer clothes than the rags she'd arrived in. She had riding breeches that fit her perfectly, worn with a thick and parted overskirt to keep her warm, with or without a cloak. It lacked the bright colors or patterns of the Dallisors, but the muted style seemed more in keeping with her sacred quest. A low-hanging belt on her waist provided a sheath for a simple sword on one side, and the Olden Blade on the other.

  I barely dared to greet her again. She was the same girl who had captured my heart and occupied my mind. And yet, she was a sudden stranger. I didn't know what to do, or say, or what to expect.

  She turned before I had to say anything, but her smile was cautious. "No bandage for your head?"

  "I'm fine."

  She parted my hair to see where Tenger had hit me with the rock, then lowered her hand, looking as awkward as I felt.

  "I was worried," she whispered.

  It wouldn't be anything compared to the way I was worried for her. How could I tell her that? Make her understand that I hadn't slept a minute last night, not knowing if she was safe.

  Kestra brushed a hand over her horse's mane. "His name is Shadow. He's the best they have."

  "Good." Talking to her was like swimming through mud. "Good, I suppose."

  She smiled. "The Halderians are training tigers as replacements for their horses. They believe it's the best way to combat the Dominion's oropods in battle."

  That got my interest. "Tigers? Seriously?"

  "They're hoping this latest breed doesn't try eating their riders ... again. I was offered one, but I told them I'd take a horse until they get the details worked out."

  My grin widened, then quickly faded. "Darrow would be proud of you, Kes. Your father would be proud."

  Her eyes darted, though they were clearer now. "Why didn't he say something? He had hundreds of chances."

  I understood Darrow's reasons, though I doubted she ever would. If Darrow had told her the truth, he would have obligated her to become the Infidante. He was trying to save her from ... this.

  She shrugged away her sorrow, for now. "How is Trina?"

  "Tenger is taking her back to the Coracks. We hope that Loelle can prevent any permanent damage. Trina wants to talk to you."

  "No, absolutely not."

  "My lady?" Tenger had come up behind us, with Trina at his side. His calf was bandaged where Kestra had cut him last night. Trina's hands were bandaged too, and her face was ashen. But the biggest change about both was subtler. They seemed ... humbled.

  Kestra's eyes roved from Tenger to Trina without registering any particular expression on her face, and she remained silent.

  Tenger took a cautious step forward. "If I had known who you were--who you are--I would have helped you claim the Blade."

  Would he? I wasn't sure, and Kestra still hadn't responded.

  Tenger continued, "I won't apologize for how things happened last night, but I am sorry again about your father. It was never our intention that Darrow should die."

  In all my time with the Coracks, I'd never heard Tenger apologize for anything. He considered apologies a weakness, intolerable from a Corack. So if he was saying these things, then it was part of his calculation to get Kestra on his side. Which he absolutely needed now.

  "But it was your intention to kill me." Kestra's tone was flat, as unemotional as her expression had been. "Both of you."

  "Not me," Trina said. "I asked Captain Tenger to let me do it because my plan was to spare you."

  Kestra didn't react to that, though I did believe Trina. If she had wanted to hurt Kestra, she'd had plenty of chances before last night.

  Finally, Tenger bowed his head to her silence. "The Coracks are at your service, my lady. We remain devoted to the cause of ending Lord Endrick's reign. Simon, if you ever want to come back, we will have you." He gave me a meaningful look, then he and Trina left. At least he had meant what he'd always said, that he would serve the Infidante, no matter who it was.

  Kestra immediately turned to me. "What did he mean, if you want to come back?"

  "I left the Coracks." I kicked at the ground, a habit that was starting to wear holes in the toes of my boot. "I can't continue to follow Tenger, not after last night."

  "What will you do now?"

  "Help you, of course."

  Her eyes softened. "That's not your role, Simon. We both know that."

  I shook my head in anticipation of her accusation. "Whatever you're thinking--"

  "Last night when you came onto the stage, your tunic covered the handle of your sword."

  "It came untucked."

  "Your wrapping around the sword's handle came loose too. Your tunic covered it ... deliberately. Why did you cover it?"

  I didn't want to discuss this, not now. Maybe not ever. "I'm not--"

  "There are three people who are forever connected to the dungeons. All are referenced in the dungeon prophecy."

  "One to Vanquish." Reaching out, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind Kestra's ear. "That's you, born into the dungeons. The third line, One to Fall, was fulfilled by Trina last night when she failed to claim the Olden Blade. She lost her mother to the dungeons."

  "And you were the first to escape them," she said. "One to Rule. Simon, that's you."

  Worry seeped into my chest. "Don't choose me, Kes."

  "I don't have to. You've already been chosen."

  I refused to look at her, but couldn't suppress the stiff rise and fall of my shoulders. She wasn't guessing. Somehow she knew.

  She continued, "The exiled ruler of the Halderians was King Gareth. After you escaped from the dungeons, a man you called Garr took you in, even adopted you as his own son. Before his death, he gave you everything he had: his home ... his sword." Her eyes met mine, perfectly calm, fully in control. "His legacy."

  "No, he didn't mean--"

  "His ring is in your satchel--why else would I have traded away my mother's necklace for it? And that's why you have his sword, and why you hid it last night. Why don't you want the Halderians to know he anointed you as king?"

  "I'm no king. Nor do I have a drop of Halderian blood!"

  "And I am an Infidante with the blood of their enemy. When I complete my quest against Lord Endrick, I will name you king. You have some time to get ready, but not much. I intend to complete this as soon as possible."

  Shaking off her threats to have me crowned, I stepped closer to her, cupping her cheek in my hand and wishing it could remain there forever. How could she not understand how little I cared for the throne, and how much I cared for her? She leaned into my touch, placing her own hand over mine. I said, "If you have a plan, let me help."

  "I want that," she whispered, and her other hand wrapped ar
ound the back of my neck. "It's all I want. But I have to go alone."

  My brows pressed together. "Go where?"

  "If it works, this won't be as hard as anyone thinks."

  I looked at her horse again, and then with a thud against my chest, I understood. I released her and backed away. "You're returning to the Dallisors? Tell me you're not!"

  "Tenger was right! That's the only way to get close to Endrick."

  "The last time you were close to him, he nearly killed you with a simple touch of his hand. And he inserted a tracker into your neck!"

  "But I know about that ... now."

  "He has other powers. Powers you can't protect yourself from because you don't know what they are!"

  "And he doesn't know who I am. I can still get close to him."

  "And then what? That dagger will not protect you."

  "No, but my wits can. The last they saw of me was when you led me out of the dungeons with a knife at my neck. I'll tell them you took me to the rebel camp."

  "A camp where you attacked their soldiers."

  "None of whom lived to report what I did. They don't know I have the Blade, or that I've been here. I'll be admitted back to Woodcourt again."

  I huffed, feeling angrier than before. "Where you'll immediately be married off to that twit, Sir Basil!"

  "I won't! I'm going to defy Henry Dallisor: disobey his command to marry, and refuse to speak to anyone about it ... except Lord Endrick himself."

  I shook my head, wishing it were enough to make her understand how much she was risking. "No, Kes, don't do it this way. Even if you succeed, how would you escape Woodcourt again, all alone this time?"

  "I've been alone there for my whole life. At least I know the truth now, which will help me get through this. And--"

  "And if something goes wrong, I'll have no way of saving you." I lowered my voice, hoping she would hear the worry in it and at least pay attention to that. "I won't even know it's gone wrong until it's too late."

  She closed the remaining gap between us. It wouldn't work. I wouldn't be distracted. "Then I'll have to make sure nothing goes wrong." Her fingers pushed through my hair and remained there, drawing me nearer to her.

  I was suddenly very much distracted. My eyes flitted down to her smiling mouth, and there was practically no air between us. "Please don't go. Not alone."