"You had a strange way of showing it." We all fell silent, until I said, "That's why I know you're lying about wanting to save your servants. I don't know your reasons for agreeing to Tenger's plan, but it's not about saving anyone. And when I figure out why you're really helping us, I'll do everything I can to stop you."
A tear finally escaped, landing on Kestra's cheek. But her voice was firm. "Try your best to stop me. But you will both end up in those dungeons again, where you belong. And this time, I will not have any regrets."
Despite the advantage of our situation, something in the tone of her voice set me on edge. I knew Kestra meant every word she just said.
During my first few months in the Lava Fields, sleep always brought on nightmares of the kidnapping that jolted me awake, but with lingering memories that threatened to suffocate me. On the worst nights, my handmaidens learned to fetch Darrow, the only one who knew how to soothe the fears away. He'd distract me with stories of his youth or sing playful tunes, despite the fact that under Endrick, music was illegal. Darrow was a terrible singer, the worst, but I never told him so.
Around that time, Darrow began training me to defend myself, and to think like a survivor. He filled my days with swords and disk bows, and our evenings planning battle strategies, making my poor lady-in-waiting and Cook stand in as our presumed enemy. If I survived this, it'd be thanks to him. How I wished he were here.
I wasn't anywhere near asleep, but I did let my body slump over as if I were. It was uncomfortable, and Trina made several comments about my unladylike slouch. But neither of them suggested releasing me.
After enough time passed, they seemed to think I was truly asleep and began talking more freely. Their voices remained low, barely more than whispers, but it was a quiet room and my ears were tuned to nothing except their conversation.
"She thinks Tenger's plan is going to fail," Simon said.
"She was only telling you that to make you doubt our mission," Trina responded.
"Maybe, but it echoed my own doubts. I served in that home. I've been in those dungeons, made of rock walls and wooden cell doors. There's nowhere to hide a weapon. Even if the dagger exists, are we certain the mythology of the Blade is true? Only a Halderian can hold it? Only the Infidante can kill Lord Endrick with it?"
"We have to trust the people who are certain," Trina said. "The Blade does exist, Simon, and it's somewhere in her home. And when we find it and the Infidante is chosen, we'll be heroes."
"Or martyrs." Simon lowered his voice. "After this is over, we'll become the two most hunted Coracks in history. Let's hope it's for a good reason."
It wasn't. I knew for a fact that Lord Endrick had ordered the kingdom to be turned inside out in search of the Olden Blade. Nothing had come of it. When his search failed to produce any results, he had declared the dagger a myth, and asserted that his immortal status could never be challenged.
But there was a problem with Endrick's story. Simon was right about that much. If it was a myth, then why had Endrick himself made a search for it? As much as Simon worried that the Olden Blade's existence was false, I worried that it was real.
"Let's try to sleep," Simon finally suggested. "We only have a few hours before we ought to be on the road again."
"What if she escapes?"
There was a pause and someone, probably Simon, got to his feet. He walked close behind me, studying the knots around my wrists, I assumed. My breaths weren't calm enough or as even as they should have been. He should've realized I was awake, yet his attention went to something else.
"Her wrists are raw from the rope."
"Good." The answer had come so quickly that Trina either knew and didn't care, or else she hadn't bothered to notice. Before pretending to fall asleep, I'd tried to work my hands free of the knots, gently twisting them until they hurt too much to continue. This hunched-over position I was in had only made the sores worse.
"This isn't us, Trina. This isn't what we do."
"She deserves it. I also cut her wrist while we were in the carriage."
Simon crossed back to her, his voice still low. "Listen, I understand how you feel about Kestra, but we need her to succeed. This assignment requires you to put away your personal feelings."
"Have you?" A chair scooted across the floor. Trina standing up, perhaps? "I've seen the way you look at her. Maybe she's got a pretty face, but that's all. This girl is part of the Dominion! Don't let her get to you."
Get to Simon? The whole idea of that was a joke. He hated me, and I wasn't exactly planning parties for him. Not unless we were celebrating in my father's dungeons.
"She won't get to me. Anything beautiful about her faded as soon as she began defending Lord Endrick." Simon scowled. "I'm here to carry out the plan. Nothing more."
"I'm too tired to care." To prove her point, Trina yawned. "Can we discuss this tomorrow?"
Irritation filled Simon's sigh. If he preferred never to discuss me again, I had equal hopes of never having to hear it. He said, "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."
If I'd really been asleep, Trina's rough entry into the bed surely would've awoken me, but I only pretended to stir and let my head fall forward again. The last thing I needed was for them to figure out I'd been listening to their conversation.
I wasn't sure exactly where Simon decided to sleep, but it wasn't long before they had both gone quiet and their breathing became even. Only now did I dare relax, but I couldn't do it, certainly not while standing up.
I twisted my hands again, working at the knots. It wasn't about getting free--I wouldn't go anywhere--but I did want these two Coracks to know they'd have to do better than this to control me.
The problem was, they were in control of me. They had me physically bound to this room, had extracted my agreement to betray the Lord of the Dominion and my family. They even controlled my emotions with every foul word or icy expression cast my way.
And I couldn't escape the knots. The cut from Trina had opened again and blood ran down my palm. The flesh beneath the ropes was hot and swelling. Worst of all, Simon was right. At home, I would have to come up with an excuse for my wounds. Nothing else could've caused these sores other than my being tied up.
Could these injuries be my proof that the rebels were forcing me to find the Blade? Wouldn't it become obvious that I was acting against my will? I finally relaxed with that thought, smiling at how they had surely doomed themselves and saved my life.
If I fell asleep, then it wasn't for long, when the sound of horses outside awoke me. At any other time of day, that wouldn't have deserved my attention, but this late at night, and in my present situation, everything seemed important.
I strained my neck, hoping for a glance out the window, but I wasn't close enough to see anything beyond dark trees silhouetted against the moonlight. There were noises from several horses though, and their riders were dismounting in front of the inn rather than taking them around back to the stables for the night. These people had not come for lodging.
Both Simon and Trina were still soundly asleep and I debated whether it was a good idea to wake them up. I should at least have them check who had come.
"Simon!" I hissed.
"Hush, Princess, or we'll gag you," he mumbled.
"Simon!"
He sat up as the riders entered the inn, loudly demanding to see the innkeeper. He leapt from the floor, tossing the blanket he'd been sleeping with back onto the bed. That startled Trina awake.
"Get her out of those ropes." Simon pointed at me, then reached for his boots.
"Why?" Trina asked.
He rushed to the window, and when he turned back to Trina, eyes wide and alert, she immediately understood.
"Blue-and-brown hats." Simon's voice tightened. "Halderians."
"Here?" Trina checked the window too. "Wearing their colors in the open?"
"They've come for me." Certain of my suspicions, a rushing sound filled my ears. "You can't fight them all. Give me a weapon."
/>
"No chance." The way Trina sliced through the cords on my wrists showed her confidence. She wanted this fight.
"We're not fighting anyone." Simon was digging into his satchel. "Wait, don't--" He sighed. "You cut the ropes?"
Trina gathered the pieces from off the floor while I tried to regain some balance on my numb legs. "You said to get her out!"
"The rope could've gotten us out the window to escape."
"The window is sealed shut. I checked it earlier."
I started toward the window, but Simon pulled me back. "Don't let them see you."
"They obviously know I'm here." Though I wasn't sure how. Did everyone in the kingdom know where I was?
Without knocking, the innkeeper opened the door and shut it behind him. In any other circumstances, this would've been inexcusable, so his invasion signaled how serious the situation was. His focus went directly to me. "My lady, you must hide. Hurry."
He crossed past me and pressed on a panel of the bedroom wall, which swung open like a thin door when he released it. A small window was high above us, opened to allow air inside and a beam of moonlight by which to see. "This is why the Dallisor family chooses my inn," he whispered. "You are not the first to need it."
Was he joking? That tiny window couldn't possibly bring in enough air. Everything was stale in this hidden cupboard, and far too narrow. After he shut the door, the space would close in on me, my personal oubliette. I shook my head. "Find something else. I can't go in there."
"My lady ..."
"I won't ..." The panic began with numbing in the tips of my fingers, and moved into my heart, which was already racing wildly. My thoughts flew apart. All I knew was that I could not go into that tiny space. "I don't like--"
Simon pushed me inside, then motioned for Trina to join me. It would fit two people if we pressed close enough together, but not all three of us. Someone would have to remain in the room.
"Delay them," Simon said to the innkeeper. Once he had gone, Simon turned to Trina. "If they get this far, I'll stop them."
"You can't." Trina took a step back. "Kestra's trunk has women's clothes. When those men come, they'll expect to find a girl in this room. Besides, if she's missing, they'll expect her guard to be missing too, not her handmaiden."
"All right, but don't resist their search," Simon said as Trina returned his knife, something a handmaiden would never be expected to carry. Also his satchel, the only other item we had brought in from the carriage. "You can do this."
"Whatever happens, it's better than being stuffed in that wall with her," Trina said.
I didn't want to hide in here with Trina either. More accurately, I didn't want to hide inside this wall at all. I couldn't.
I started to push my way out, but Simon forced me back in, then flashed the knife at me. Did he think that would help? That he'd solve my growing panic with a threat? He seemed to recognize that and put his knife away. That didn't help either, because the knife was never the problem.
My shallow breathing got worse when the panel closed behind us. Simon faced me, our bodies now pressed together in a sort of harmony. He clasped my right hand in his, holding it between us. Even through my panic, I felt the strength of his grip.
With a grim smile, he whispered, "Do you remember when I was nine and got stuck in your chimney? It was smaller than this. The butler threatened to burn me out, but you tied a rope to my foot and pulled me down."
I didn't remember that. I didn't care. I barely heard him over the beat of my heart. How could it pound so loudly without him hearing it too?
"Look at me," Simon whispered. "Kestra, keep your eyes on me. I won't let those people take you again, I promise."
He couldn't make such a promise, nor did I need it. What I needed was to escape this thimble-sized space. And once I did, I needed a weapon of my own, such as that knife, sheathed again at his waist, opposite his sword. With my free hand, I felt for the knife's handle, but he moved before I could take it.
The Banished burst into my room with loud, angry voices. I didn't know how many there were but the bedroom seemed to shake under their combined weight. I must've dug my nails into Simon's hand, because he flinched until I loosened my grip.
"We've come for Kestra Dallisor," one of the men said. "Where is she?"
I knew that voice. His name was Tor, Torn ... or Thorne. Thorne. When I was taken from Woodcourt three years ago, he was the one who had grabbed me. I still remembered his rough hand over my mouth. The small box where he'd hidden me. The fear.
Simon's hand shifted to my back, and I realized I was shaking. His fingers were confident, each tip sending a pulse up my spine, trying to communicate that if I remained still, everything would be all right.
Everything would be all right. He seemed to believe that.
And somehow I believed it too. I believed him. How strange that feeling was.
In some ways, Simon was very different from the boy I remembered from so long ago, stronger, and with an air of confidence he never used to have. But now he was gentle, even kind, as he always was when we were children. I knew he was only doing this to protect Tenger's plan. But I wanted to believe a part of him was doing this to protect ... me.
I had to win against the Coracks, obviously. But I regretted the consequences to Simon, who would have to lose.
Beginning with losing his knife. I still planned to get it. The problem was the commotion happening just outside this tiny room.
"Lady Kestra has been missing from Antora for years. She isn't here." The innkeeper was a worse liar than me, if that was possible.
"Are you sure?" I could hear the smile in Thorne's voice. "Give the lady up, or as the heavens are my witness, you will die."
I should've made Trina come into this space with Kestra. Not me. Not with our history. Not a breath away from me. This was too close.
Kestra's heart pounded against mine, and with every breath, I inhaled the cinnamon scent of her hair. A thin line of moonlight teased at the angle of her jaw and highlighted her dark lashes.
If I didn't know who she was, I would ... but I did know. I knew her far too well.
Kestra's breaths were still shallow and too fast, too panicked. My hand moved to her face, my fingers brushing against her cheek. It wasn't a gesture of affection, but it did seem to calm her.
It did the very opposite to me.
As she relaxed, her body began molding to mine, impossibly becoming closer than before. Every shift of her position left me increasingly unsettled and distracted, a dangerous combination.
In the outer room, Trina was in far more danger. If I could've stayed in the room to help her, I would have. But if I had, they'd know Kestra was here too.
"I'll ask you again," one of the men said. "Where is Kestra?"
The innkeeper seemed to be at a loss for words, but Trina quickly filled in. "I'm Lady Kestra's handmaiden. She was here until about two hours ago. Then she heard of an approaching threat--you, I assume--and rode on with her guard for Highwyn. They'll be there by morning."
"Her carriage is still outside," a man said.
"They left by oropod, naturally. It's faster."
"Oropods." The man snorted. "Evil creatures born of dark magic. Kestra agreed to travel on one?"
Trina's voice rose in pitch. "I'm telling you the truth, sir. If my lady were here, do you think I'd have been allowed in this bed?"
"We have a ... gift for her in this sack. Something Darrow wanted."
Kestra's attention was immediately drawn to the mention of her servant's name. When she realized I had noticed, she looked away, but her breaths became harsher than before.
"What is the gift?" Trina asked. "Give it to me, and I'll see that my lady gets it."
"Tell me where Kestra really is, and I'll give it to her myself." When Trina remained silent, he said to the other Halderians with him, "Search this inn, every room. Kill anyone who stands in your way."
Kestra tried to push past me, obviously wanting to surrend
er herself, but I pressed her back to the wall. This was not negotiable. I felt the same ache for the guests here as she did, but her promise to find the Olden Blade was bigger than this one moment, and ultimately would save more lives than might be lost tonight.
Footsteps pounded into the hallway, though it sounded as if at least one man had remained in the bedroom. He seemed to be making a cursory search, though with such spare furnishings, he shouldn't be out there for long.
Kestra touched my cheek to get my attention. If only she knew how much she already had it. She motioned again that she wanted to leave this passage. I gave her hand a firm squeeze, then pressed it flat against my chest, where she could feel my heartbeat. A heartbeat was life, and all that mattered now was to remind her she was alive, and would remain so if she stayed quiet. It seemed to calm her a bit, so I left it there. Would she notice the quickening of its pace, the way each beat seemed to beg her to come closer?
Kestra began breathing more evenly again, and her eyes closed as if she was deep in thought. I took the chance to steal another look at her. To ask myself who she really was.
A cipher. A lockbox.
A girl who'd obviously learned long ago how to keep her guard up. She wasn't always this way, I remembered that.
Then she opened her eyes, letting them drift to mine like a rising dawn. Her stare was heat, melting away my defenses, exposing more than I'd ever intended for her to see: the real me, flawed and too often foolish, and funneled into a life of rebellion. Certain of nothing but the weight of her hand on my chest. Aware of nothing but the softening of her expression, the parting of her lips. Her other hand wrapped around my waist, though I noticed a slight tremble of her fingers, nervous, anticipating. I was nervous too.
Something about her had gotten beneath my skin, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. And that was hard enough when she was across the room or out of my sight, but here, now, the itch was unbearable.
Every instinct within me shouted to turn away from her. To keep her out of my mind, and certainly nowhere near my heart.
I knew exactly who and what she was, and I had some idea of Tenger's ultimate plans for her. Only a fool would pretend that she was any kind of heroine, or that her past crimes should be forgiven.
Yet she wasn't a villain either. She seemed genuinely concerned for her servants, and had just tried to sacrifice herself rather than put anyone else at risk. On my darkest days at Woodcourt, she used to smile for me.