The Traitor's Game

  She turned back to me with a mischievous smile. "You're afraid of me, I can tell."

  No, I wasn't going to play. "I'm not afraid of you, Princess."

  "Yes, you are."

  I grimaced. "Why do you think that?"

  "It's obvious by the way your arms hover around me, as if touching me is dangerous."

  "It is. I learned that last night."

  Her smile darkened. "That was nothing. End this now, while you still can."

  If only I could.

  The horses were keeping up a brisk, constant pace, and every step closer to Highwyn quickened the pounding of my heart. Despite what Trina had said last night, I couldn't shake the worry that Kestra might be right about the Olden Blade. Tenger's entire plan was built on the premise that we would find it. What if it couldn't be found? What would happen then? The fact that the Halderians also knew Kestra was returning to Highwyn only complicated an already precarious mission.

  The Halderian clan and the Coracks had similar goals--to remove Lord Endrick from power. But the Halderians mistrusted us, thinking that all we wanted was a back door to the throne, and maybe Tenger did. He had resisted any effort for the two groups to unite, saying he would not sacrifice his men to put a Halderian on the throne.

  "If we find the Blade, then we can choose the Infidante," Tenger had said in his final speech to us before we launched this mission. "And the Infidante will choose the next king. Why shouldn't Antora kneel before a Corack?" I'd cheered along with everyone else at the time, with no idea then how I'd be drawn deeper into Tenger's plan.

  And now I had to complete this mission. It required me to separate Kestra entirely from my feelings. Maybe in time, I could forget my anger or forgive her naive view of the world, but how could I ignore the emotions she had stirred in me last night, feelings that only intensified the more I tried to shake them off?

  With the same mischievous smile as before, Kestra turned to me and asked, "Why do you always stare at me?"

  I shifted my eyes to the road ahead. "I don't."

  "You were just now. Tell me why."

  "You remind me of a girl I once hated, that's all."

  Her smile fell. "Did you really hate me back then?"

  If anything, I'd liked her more than someone of my station ever should have dared. I recalled one summer's day when she was nine, and I'd seen her dancing alone in the gardens. Her dress had twisted in a perfect circle as she swirled around, the beads on her scarf reflecting pops of light. The head servant caught me looking and I lost a full day's meals. Kestra probably never knew I'd been there.

  "I never hated you," I mumbled. "Until--"

  "Until that day." Now Kestra became serious, and lowered her voice to a near whisper. "How do the Banished know Trina?"

  "Can you use their names, please? The Halderians."

  "How do they know her, Simon? Thorne told Trina he knew her."

  "Trina denied it."

  "No, she laughed at him. That's different."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. What had started as a headache back at the inn was quickly becoming a thunderstorm inside my head. "What's your point?"

  "My point is that she's working with them!"

  "If she was, then why would he have to say that he knew her? He'd know her and she'd know him--he wouldn't have to say it."

  "Forget that," she scowled. "How does he know her?"

  "How does he know Darrow?" I countered. "Why did Darrow arrange with the Halderians to meet you at that inn? He obviously didn't share that detail."

  She bit down on her lip and looked away. Clearly, that bothered her, a vulnerability I would absolutely use to my advantage.

  I continued, "Darrow apologized to you last night. Why?"

  "Maybe for failing to protect me from you."

  "Maybe for turning you over to the Halderians."

  She fell silent, and stubbornly faced forward without saying another word. Good. I needed the break.

  After another hour of riding, we passed through a dismal market that looked like the center of what had been a nice town once, probably before the war. A grand fountain had dried up and filled with leaves, its foundation cracked. A church in the distance had been looted down to its frame and steeple. The few homes that remained had disintegrated into little more than dried mud and bundled-reed shacks. The coming winter rains would destroy what was left of them.

  A fair number of people were here, so it was likely the only market within miles. I heard a passerby call this place Pitwill. A sad name for an even sadder place.

  I leaned toward Kestra to whisper in her ear, "Keep your head down. A Dallisor shouldn't be alone in a group like this."

  "I'm not alone, I have you and Trina." She tilted her head. "Oh, I see what you mean. I might as well be alone."

  She could mock me if she wanted, but I'd been trying to help. "What I mean is that nearly everyone here is trying to survive beneath the might of Lord Endrick's immortal fist. They know the Dallisors enforce his cruelty, and nobody here would lose any sleep if they showed you what being crushed feels like."

  "They wouldn't dare."

  I hoped her show of arrogance was a mask to soothe her nerves. If it wasn't, this simple ride through town could go badly. I tried again. "Stop looking around. And cover your dress with your cloak. It's too elegant for these parts."

  "You chose it. I'd be better off in the ripped one from last night."

  "I hardly think a skirt ripped halfway up your thigh would keep people from noticing you." I followed that with a chuckle that sounded fake and forced. Which it was.

  We rode deeper into the market, passing vendors selling cloth and bonnets that a lot of women were staring at but nobody was buying, and fat cuts of meat that practically made the men drool. Disk bows were laid out on another counter, but they were cheaply made with blunt-edged disks that wouldn't cut through a summer breeze. No one had money for luxuries here, although payment wasn't always made in coins. To avoid the heavy taxes, a lot of under-the-table bargaining happened in places like this. Kestra probably had no idea of any of it. In her world, she ordered what she wanted from a servant and never saw the faces of those who were slowly starving to death.

  Proof of that was in her next question. "Why are the people so poor here?"

  "Here?" Trina, riding near us, scoffed. "Get five minutes of distance from Highwyn, and you'll see it's like this everywhere. Last year, Endrick demanded three-quarters of everything the people produced. When they protested, he came in and took all of it. There was a lot of starvation over the winter, and a lot of deaths. Simon and I both lost friends."

  "Fewer rebels in Antora? Good." But as she spoke, Kestra's shoulders slumped a little. I knew firsthand how winters passed in the Dallisor households. No family member ever suffered a hungry or cold night. If they lacked something, they sent soldiers to pilfer it from the defenseless. If Kestra had never wondered where all her niceties came from, then it was about time for her to find out. There was a reason the only line in this market was for the cheapest item available: bread.

  The girl selling it couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve, and I overheard as she introduced herself as Rosalie to a customer in line. The hems of her skirt were frayed and dirty, but she was clean otherwise. Not that it mattered. I smelled her bread from here, and even if she were covered in dung, I'd still have wanted a loaf. I'd eaten worse before.

  At the moment, Rosalie was being pestered by a woman who insisted she should get a better price because she bought bread every day.

  "I can't," Rosalie protested. "I don't set the price."

  The woman got louder and Rosalie more anxious, enough that she didn't see a young boy sneaking up on the back of the stall. He took one loaf, and when he got away with that, he put three more loaves under his arm and scampered away.

  Kestra had been observing him too. I asked, "Is he a criminal? Or is he simply hungry?"

  "I suspect he's both." Then with a humbler tone, she added, "But I see
your point. He should be fed, not arrested."

  "Rosalie, you stupid girl!" A man appeared from a small tent behind us, putrid enough to offend the common pig. "We just had more bread stolen! I warned you last time." He shoved her to the ground, yelling, "You'll pay for that!"

  "No, she won't," Kestra mumbled. Before I realized her intentions, she slipped beneath my arms and jumped off the horse.

  The man hadn't yet noticed Kestra. Instead, he picked up a stick from the ground and raised it against Rosalie. From behind, Kestra grabbed his upraised arm and locked it with hers while with the other arm she put a knife against his throat.

  I felt for my sheath and cursed. When did she take my knife ... again?

  That had been a masterful move on Kestra's part. More reason to worry about exactly who we had captured. Kestra was naive, but she was also dangerous.

  "Run," Kestra said to Rosalie, who merely stood there, frozen with fear.

  I slid off the horse, one hand on my sword, approaching Kestra like I would a frightened child. "Let this man go. Dominion soldiers will be here. Let's not call their attention to us."

  "You will be arrested for this," the man said. "Rosalie is my property to deal with in my own way!"

  "She's no one's property," Kestra said. "And no longer your concern."

  Rosalie probably was his property, something else Kestra had yet to learn about her country. Indenturement wasn't exactly legal, but the Dominion always overlooked it.

  At my continued urging, Kestra released the man and he turned to face her, then laughed, revealing several missing teeth. "Well, you ain't more than a child yourself. A wealthy one too, I can tell. Pay me enough, and you can take Rosalie with you."

  The knife twisted in Kestra's hand. "How dare you demand payment? I just told her she's free to go."

  His beady eyes narrowed further. "Oh, you told her, like you're something special? If she tries to leave, she'll pay for it."

  Kestra turned to Rosalie. "Run. I'll take care of this!" And this time, Rosalie left, though she only crossed the square and crouched beside a small wooden fence, huddled, waiting to see what would happen next.

  The man immediately cried out, "Thieves! Arrest these two!"

  I grabbed Kestra's hand, trying to pull her back toward our horse. But she shook it free, and instead landed a fist on the man's fleshy jaw.

  As he reeled backward, she said, "We cannot steal what cannot be owned."

  "Stop!" Two Dominion soldiers ran forward, wearing black uniforms with a green stripe across the shoulders. Endrick's colors.

  I'd already noticed their eyes. Glazed over, looking but not truly seeing. These were Ironhearts. Through those eyes, Endrick might not be aware of everything happening here, but then again, he might. Either way, this was a disaster.

  One soldier grabbed Kestra, but she twisted around and with a steady voice said, "My name is Kestra Dallisor. You will release me at once!"

  Her voice was firm as she spoke. Dallisors never hesitated to say their name, especially to inferiors, which they figured everyone was. Except Lord Endrick, of course.

  "Daughter of Sir Henry Dallisor?" The soldier who spoke immediately dipped his head at Kestra and let her go. "We heard your father was bringing you home. Our apologies."

  She nodded at Rosalie, still crouched near the fence. "You will not threaten that girl, on my orders."

  "No, my lady, of course not. If you are headed to Highwyn, it would be our honor to escort you there."

  It would also be their honor to arrest me and Trina and escort us to Highwyn as their trophies. I didn't know these men, or, at least, I didn't think I did. But I'd offended plenty of soldiers before. It was possible they knew me.

  Kestra gestured at me. "I've already got a protector. He'll take me home."

  I straightened up in a lame attempt to look confident, but based on my rigid smile, the soldiers had to be wondering if I had thorns inside my boots. If only my life were that simple.

  "Your young protector was unable to keep you out of trouble here," the second soldier said dismissively. "We'll get our oropods and meet you back on the main road."

  Kestra agreed, far too readily, and my temper warmed. As soon as they were gone, I marched over to her. "This is perfect! Are you going to have Trina and me arrested now, or wait until we're closer to your father's dungeons?"

  "I did us a favor," she hissed. "If they accept you two as my servants, nobody in Highwyn will question it. I just got you both inside Woodcourt's gates!"

  "Escorted by guards whose careers will be made if they figure out who Trina and I are. All you do is make things worse!" I pointed to Rosalie. "Do you think you helped her? Where will she work tomorrow, and the day after that? You've doomed her, and probably her entire family!"

  Kestra's cheeks reddened before she shoved past me and crossed over to Rosalie. She removed her cloak and wrapped it around Rosalie's shoulders, then knelt in front of her. "Your family needs to find another place to live. Far enough away that you don't have to work in this market."

  Rosalie's lower lip quivered. "We have no money to leave."

  "You do now." Kestra held out a hand to me, but I was already on my way with her bag of coins. I gave them to Kestra, who passed them to Rosalie.

  "I'm so sorry," Kestra said. "I was trying to help."

  Rosalie nodded back, as if to acknowledge that Kestra hadn't intended any of this. It didn't matter. Kestra looked wounded, stripped of her Dallisor superiority. I almost pitied her.

  When she stood again, I took her arm. "Our escorts will be waiting." My tone was gentle. After what had just happened, Kestra would scold herself far worse than I ever could.

  This time she went with me. Every face in the market watched her leave, none of them in a friendly way, and I knew she felt it. One hand was on my sword, but nobody would try anything. Not with Dominion soldiers nearby.

  Trina was still on her horse, holding the reins for the mount we had been riding. Her face was nearly purple with anger.

  Before climbing on the horse, Kestra paused to say, "I didn't know places like this existed."

  And I didn't know how to respond to words filled with such sadness. I finally said, "Dallisors do not live in the same world as the rest of us."

  She gave a halfhearted shrug. "That's why everyone thinks Dallisors are horrible people, right? Because we support a ruler who allows such a country as this? Maybe we are horrible. Maybe I am, and I never knew it."

  Maybe. Or, there was a thought that bothered me more. Maybe she wasn't horrible at all. Despite my efforts to pretend otherwise, she had gotten into my head, stirring up emotions that kept my breath lodged in my throat whenever I looked at her. I could tell myself this was only the energy between rivals, or the stress of the mission we were about to undertake, but that'd be a lie. Whatever I felt, it was real and growing stronger. I'd sooner divide the sun from its light than separate Kestra Dallisor from my feelings.

  As awful as I felt upon leaving Pitwill, what remained of the ride into Highwyn only worsened my mood. The poverty we saw on our journey was rampant, with empty shops, abandoned or neglected homes, and children in overgrown fields foraging for scraps to eat. This was good land. Where were the people who used to tend it?

  Meanwhile, I was headed home to a manor of brick and stone with deep woven carpets and plush bedding. At each meal, we'd be offered more food than we could possibly consume, and every day, I'd have my choice of new dresses to wear. I was utterly ashamed of myself. How could I not know these realities of life outside of Highwyn?

  Behind me, Simon barely said a word for the entire ride, if his occasional mumbles could be considered that much. Trina kept quiet too, which was a relief. If we weren't being escorted, they'd have had plenty to say. About what a terrible person I was, how I'd ruined Rosalie's life, perhaps a comparison of me and the average rabid skunk.

  Trina could say any of that and it would roll off me without leaving a scratch. But I didn't want to hear it from Simo
n. I'd spent much of this ride replaying in my head the way he'd looked at me last night, while we hid inside the wall. His hands on my face and back, the warmth of his expression.

  Him.

  It was all a game to distract me from the trouble outside while I was distracting him from his knife--I knew that. Nothing that had happened there was real. But I wondered what it would be like to see that gentleness in his eyes again ... when he meant it.

  From there, my thoughts descended to dangerous levels.

  Lord Endrick was not a tolerant man. That was something I'd always understood, even when very young. Before she died, my mother had been afraid of him and taught me to be afraid too. She'd kept me hidden every time he came to our home. She whispered about the violence of his magic, and the casual cruelty of his heart. I accidentally encountered him once when he'd come for a supper, and remembered him saying that he'd forgotten Henry Dallisor even had a daughter. Then he'd ordered me away, claiming that I had the look of trouble in my eyes. I'd gone to a looking glass from there, searching my face for what he might have meant. It was years before I understood it, and before I saw that same look too.

  The official Dominion explanation for Endrick's harsh rule was that it was forced upon Antora by the uncooperative masses, by the Corack rebels who terrorized the countryside, and by the occasional appearance of a Halderian, which always caused unrest as people wondered if they would bring back another war. Nobody wanted that, certainly not me. Even if things were bad, maybe it was best to let everything remain as it was. Trying to help only made lives worse. Rosalie proved that.

  But what if Tenger was right? What if the Olden Blade was real, and the Infidante could be found among the Banished to claim it? If that was true, then I was playing a role in Endrick's downfall.

  And my own family's downfall.

  And possibly the collapse of Antora itself.

  A wave of nausea rose in me, forcing my hands into fists to fight it back. I had always loved my country, but what if I only loved the idea of it, of what Antora could have been if anyone else were on that throne? Maybe I'd spent a lifetime staring at a glossy painting of Antora, beautiful and rich in color, but which was actually rotting beneath the surface.