The Traitor's Game

  What I noticed most was the difference in their eyes. Trina's were like disks, narrow and sharp, and eager to do damage. There was an intelligence behind Kestra's green eyes, and determination. This wouldn't be nearly as simple as Tenger had thought.

  Trina returned Kestra's glare and sat beside Tenger, directly across from me. She gave me a wink but I pretended not to see it. Trina was nearly impossible to figure out. Her emotions could shift within a single breath, and I'd seen her lash out in violence over the smallest of issues. It was easier to avoid her. Most Coracks did.

  After a careful appraisal of Kestra, Trina said, "Let's be clear about one thing. I'm not your servant and I have no loyalty to you. Unless we're in public, I will not do anything for you, not for any reason. My orders are to find the Olden Blade, or to kill you if you try to betray us."

  Kestra rolled her eyes, making sure Trina saw it. "That was five things, not one. If you can't count any better than that, it doesn't seem I have much to worry about."

  Trina's face reddened, but Tenger put out an arm to keep her in her seat. Then his attention shifted to me. "You will go as her guard. Act as her protector through this."

  "What? No!"

  I'd rather have been ordered to jump from a cliff. Coracks were forbidden from contradicting Tenger's orders in front of the enemy, but hadn't he also taught that our missions must be carried out with pure emotional detachment? I wouldn't dare attach the Coracks' fate to a girl I so passionately loathed.

  Before Tenger could speak, in a humbler tone I added, "Pell was assigned to Woodcourt, not me."

  Tenger spoke between clenched teeth. "Pell would have gone, if Kestra had not left a stab wound in his shoulder. You're the only other Corack who knows the layout of her home. It must be you."

  No, it must be anyone else. I shook my head. "I'm too young to be a guard. And what if I'm recognized?"

  Tenger shrugged that off. "Kestra will make sure you're not."

  "Sir, you don't understand." I licked my lips, trying not to say anything more than was necessary, especially since she could hear every word. "I don't want to guard her."

  "That's irrelevant." Tenger's tone sharpened. "You will carry out my orders."

  In frustration, I dug a fist into my thigh, the most I dared do in front of the captain. This order could prove to be a grave mistake. Why couldn't he see that?

  "Then we all have our jobs." Tenger gave Kestra's knee a final twist. "I'll see you in four days, my lady. Don't let me down."

  She glared a warning back at him, with flushed cheeks and a determined set of her jaw. I could almost read her thoughts.

  She had no intention of disappointing Tenger. No, she would do worse than that.

  In four days, Kestra intended to destroy the rebellion. Tenger may have finally picked the one target that would hand him a fatal loss.

  Tenger had forced my agreement to get the Olden Blade, but that agreement came with consequences he might not have anticipated.

  He left me with his final threat, after kissing my hand, a mockery that nearly made me sick, and then departed the carriage. I suspected he didn't want his rebels out in the open any longer than necessary. They were rodents, and by morning they'd all have to scurry back into their holes.

  Once the carriage door was shut, Simon took the seat where Tenger had been, allowing him to face me directly. A leather satchel hung crossways over his shoulder. It was tightly fastened and knotted at the top, sparking my curiosity about its contents. A sword was sheathed at his side with a handle tightly wrapped in worn fabric, perhaps for the comfort of his hand. Most people considered swords outdated, which made the fact that he openly carried one interesting. The knife in his hands was simpler, a hand-forged blade with a worn wooden handle. I wondered where my knife had gone, which scum rebel was holding it. I briefly considered asking Simon how he'd survived the dungeons, then decided it was pointless. Whatever friendship we used to have belonged to the past. We were enemies now.

  There was something about his eyes though that grasped my attention and wouldn't let go. They had an intensity that he seemed to wield like a weapon, cutting, or bruising, or boring into me. What I didn't understand was why they made me uncomfortable, as if I were the criminal here, not him. I had no doubt that he believed his fight was just.

  Which made him all the more dangerous.

  His eyes were on fire now, communicating his anger at being assigned as my protector or whatever fraudulent title he'd been given. Did he really expect me to ever ask him for help, or to depend on him for protection, pretending I didn't know his real purpose? Did he think I'd care that this attack was inconvenient for him?

  He said, "A lot of lives depend on you, Princess, including your own. If anything goes wrong at your father's home, our orders are to kill you immediately. And if all three of us do not return in four days, then your servants will die."

  He could fill his voice with weight and authority, as though this had been the plan all along, but we both knew the truth. Simon had never expected to be in this carriage and he was making things up as he went along.

  Of course, so was I.

  By now, my heart was in knots and my mind was spinning, but I couldn't let them see that. Cocking my head, as if I'd been in this situation a thousand times, I said, "I've already promised to return."

  And when I did, all the rebels would die, not Celia or Darrow--or me.

  "You'll find the Olden Blade," Trina put in.

  "Did you just figure that out?" As often as possible, I intended to remind her that I had more respect for a common stinkbug than for her. "Let's get this over with."

  Simon handed Trina his knife, then left without looking back, something I understood perfectly. If he could avoid thinking of me as a real person, then I was only a tool for the rebellion, little different from any other weapon. I'd be used for as long as I could help their cause, then tossed aside.

  When I'd protested to Tenger that I would be killed if caught stealing the Olden Blade, Tenger had seemed both unsurprised and unimpressed. The reason, of course, was perfectly clear. After I led him to the dagger, Tenger had no intention of letting me walk away from the Coracks. He'd lied about that. Even if I was allowed to leave, after such a betrayal of my family, where could I possibly go?

  With Simon up in the driver's box, my carriage started back on the road again, and Trina breathed easier once it did. She kept one hand firmly wrapped around her knife, and smoothed over the folds of her skirt with her other hand. My skirt, that is.

  Personally, I preferred trousers, but they were frowned upon for women in general society and my father would consider them intolerable. So if I had to wear skirts, then they had better be beautiful enough to compensate for the inconvenience of wearing them. Trina had chosen one of my favorite gowns. I'd have to burn it now. Whether she was still using it or not.

  "What kind of fabric is this?" she asked. "I'll bet it's expensive."

  "You think wearing the gown of a lady makes you one?"

  Trina leaned forward. "It's worked for you. Your hair is perfumed and styled, you casually wear jewels that would feed my people for a month, and you have servants to wait on you at all times. But your heart is as black as Lord Endrick's. When the Coracks heard you were returning to Highwyn, my vote was simply to kill you on this road. Antora would be better off with one less Dallisor."

  "I've done nothing to you," I whispered, struck by the potency of her hatred, and its focus on me.

  She snorted and turned sideways to prop her feet on the cushioned bench of the carriage, clearly communicating her disrespect, her lack of honor.

  A thousand years ago, the first recorded Dallisor, Gridwyn Dallisor, took control of Antora from its founder, a Halderian king. Gridwyn built the Scarlet Throne and made his children vow that a Dallisor would always occupy the throne, or make war until they did. If Lord Endrick had not claimed rule over the land, then my father would sit upon the throne now. He wasn't the original heir, but the War of De
vastation had severely diminished our numbers. Five pure-blooded Dallisor families remained. Among them, an aunt who governed the Watchman Mountains region, my father's cousin who was an emissary to Tarbush, and three other cousins who dwelt in Highwyn. Every grandfather in our history had served as a military commander. If I had been a son rather than a daughter, that would have been my fate too. As much as I would have loathed standing at the head of an Ironheart garrison, at least it might have earned my father's attention.

  For most of my life, I'd longed for a relationship with my father. I didn't need his warmth or approval or even his love. But it would've been nice to see him look at me just once without that hollow regret in his eyes. If he found out what I'd just agreed to do ... when he found out, I could well imagine his expression then.

  Trina wouldn't understand that. If anything, knowing she came between me and my father would only bring her a twisted sort of joy.

  So I wouldn't think of my father now, wouldn't think of anything but the job that had to be done. If I was careful, and smart, and held my ragged emotions together, there was a chance to defeat them, save Darrow and Celia, and redeem myself in my father's eyes.

  It would begin by putting Trina in her place. I nodded at her boots. "Those are impossibly ugly." They were dusty and scuffed, and seemed more appropriate for a man. "No one who sees them will believe you're my lady-in-waiting."

  She looked down as if she'd never seen them before. "I'll keep them covered with the skirts."

  "Brilliant plan. Really, I'm already impressed by your attention to detail. But when your identity is discovered a whole three minutes after we enter Woodcourt, remember that it wasn't my fault. I warned you about the boots."

  She lowered her feet to the floor and smoothed out her skirts again. Because that would help.

  "You're expected to stay at the inn near Grimlowe tonight, yes?"

  I frowned at Trina's question. "How do you know that? How did you know I'd be on this road tonight?"

  "We know more than you think."

  "The rebels might. I doubt you know much at all."

  "Tell me what I'll be expected to do when we reach the inn."

  Drown yourself. There was a pond near the inn and I'd gladly show her the way if she was interested. But Celia was too much on my mind. Remembering the terror of her screams sent a cold shudder through me. I couldn't imagine what she was going through now, or how they were treating her. What of Darrow? Was he still alive? Would they care for him and try to heal his wound, or would he be left to his own fate?

  Four days. I just needed them to survive that long. More importantly, I needed a plan to get them back.

  But in answer to her question, I only said, "The innkeeper was warned that we'd arrive late. We'll rest there for a few hours and be on the road again before everyone is awake."

  She gave a wide yawn. "When do I get to sleep?"

  "You don't. Nor will Simon." She did a double take at that, which gave me a little pleasure. "He'll greet the innkeeper and pay him for the night. I hope he's prepared for that, because Darrow carried my money." This wasn't true at all. I had plenty of money in a satchel inside my trunk, but if they were going to kidnap me, then they could do it with their own coins. "Simon will carry in the trunk and secure my room while you prepare a bath for me and serve me a meal."

  "When do we eat?" She was all but drooling with hunger.

  I hardly cared about that. "You eat when you can pay for it. But if you don't arrange for my meals first, it will arouse the innkeeper's suspicions. After my bath, you'll dress me for bed, and if you were a normal servant, you'd sleep on the floor beside me, like any good dog. However, I assume you and Simon will want to stay awake to guard me and be sure I don't run."

  Trina shook her head. "Run, and we'll kill your servants."

  I leaned forward, scrunching my face into the cruelest look I could muster. "What makes you think that I care about them? Maybe the death of some silly handmaiden and an aging driver are the least of my concerns. Maybe I'm luring you and Simon into a trap from which you'll never escape, and the last words we torture out of you before your horrible deaths will be a full confession of everything Lord Endrick wants to know about the rebellion. I'll gladly sacrifice my servants for that."

  Trina reached out and slapped me hard across my cheek. I drew back, but she caught my other hand with hers and let the knife lay upon my wrist, blade down. When I tried to pull away, the knife sliced--not deep, but enough to draw blood. Trina smiled when she saw it. She wanted more.

  I slowly shook my head at her, because as a general rule, I always tried to calm anyone who was about to kill me. "Whatever you think I am, if you do this, you'll be just as bad."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Nothing I am compares to you." Her knife pressed deeper into my wrist, widening the cut. "Sit back and don't say another word until we arrive at the inn. Or I'll tell Tenger you attacked me and I had no other choice."

  When she released me, I leaned back, pretending my wrist wasn't stinging fiercely. "I only wanted to warn you that at the inn--oh, sorry, I won't say another word."

  That made Trina curious. "Warn me about what?"

  I shrugged and motioned that my mouth was shut. She knew I was mocking her, that there wasn't anything to warn her about before our arrival at the inn. She knew that ... but still it bothered her. And that alone gave me enough pleasure to sit back in my seat, keeping one hand tightly wrapped over the cut, and relax.

  I'd heard the fight inside the carriage. Heard it, and wondered how the rest of Antora had somehow slept through it. It was quiet now, which possibly meant one of the girls had killed the other. Trina was plenty dangerous, but my bet was on Kestra. From what I remembered, her father had never allowed her to train with weapons, but she had stabbed Pell, so she wasn't entirely helpless. I had no doubt she'd figure out how to punch back if she wanted to.

  Yet another reason to be glad I was up here driving. I'd rather face a hundred unharnessed oropods than get between those two below.

  Either of them could have started the fight. Trina hated Kestra in a way that Kestra couldn't possibly understand. And Kestra had good reasons to defend herself. She saw what had happened to Darrow, and heard Celia's screaming. She had to be thinking of her own safety too. Things would worsen as she began to grasp the full consequences of agreeing to help us. If she failed to find the Olden Blade, I would have to kill her. Those were Tenger's orders. If she was successful, she would become a traitor to Antora, a target for Lord Endrick's vengeance. Sooner or later, Endrick would find her, and her death would be awful. But this was a rebellion, not a tea party. Sacrifices had to be made for the Coracks to succeed.

  Tonight, Kestra was that sacrifice.

  I'd learned about sacrifices the hard way. On one of my earliest missions with the Coracks, I'd been on a team ordered to stop several supply wagons from reaching the Dominion barracks. My assignment was to locate an abandoned home where the team could hide at the end of its mission. If none were available, I was to clear a home, by the occupants' choice--or by their deaths.

  Shortly before ten bells, when the team was expected to arrive, I finally found a home that was a perfect choice, except for two elderly women huddling in a back room, faces cast in shadows and trembling with fear. They were too sick to leave, one of the women claimed. The other promised if I left them alive, they would remain in hiding. Captain Tenger didn't have to know they were there. It would be an act of mercy, a favor they promised to repay one day.

  Naive, and eager to avoid unnecessary killing, I'd agreed.

  Within minutes, I welcomed my team into the home, jubilant from a successful mission. They'd barely sat down to rest when the elderly women charged into the room, armed with lever blades that cut through three rebels before anyone had time to react. These were no elderly women but two Dominion soldiers in disguise, ordered to lie in wait for an expected Corack arrival.

  I'd led my team into a trap, and thanks to Tenger, was an undeservin
g survivor. Tenger poured oil into the lit fireplace, creating a diversion for the few surviving Coracks to escape. Then he pushed me out a window, saving me from the fire, though he lost his leg in the process.

  Back at camp, my punishment was the cruelest possible. I was assigned to visit the family of each dead team member and deliver the terrible news. To hold every wife and mother who collapsed from sorrow, comfort every weeping child who asked when their father would come home. I faced them all, each visit instilling in me a deeper vow to never again ignore Tenger's orders. Orders that had brought me here, now.

  The inn came into sight about an hour later. It sat on the northwestern border of All Spirits Forest, a place so desolate that even the birds wouldn't fly overhead. The inn itself was small and in great need of repair. The main floor was mostly stone and brick, but a half upper story was made of dry and cracked wood. I wondered why a Dallisor would choose to stay in such a crumbling place. Maybe because the finer establishments didn't allow swine for guests?

  I was particularly glad to see the inn, for two reasons. The first was that if both Kestra and Trina were still alive, then their truce wouldn't last long. Separating them was a survival decision.

  The second reason was more significant. My gut told me we were being followed. That was impossible, of course. No one knew our plans to take Kestra, and no one other than Kestra's father and her two servants should have known she was headed back to Highwyn tonight. So why did this feeling nag at me? Obviously, I was on edge. I'd never planned to do this job, and knew I wasn't prepared for it.

  Almost as soon as I alighted from the driver's seat, the innkeeper ran outside to greet us. He was a large man with hunched shoulders, a bulging waist, and a scalp that was clinging to its final few hairs. Yet he was all but bouncing on his heels in anticipation of our arrival.

  "This is young Lady Dallisor's carriage?" he asked.

  Yes, and I was her driver now, and her protector. The irony of this whole situation would've made me laugh if it weren't vital that the innkeeper accept us. This inn proudly displayed its green and black Dominion colors. No sane Corack would come within a mile of this place.