* * *
The cloth was almost liquid. The dress lay cool against her skin, falling in simple, golden lines, pale as a winter sun. It left her arms bare, and was low enough to show the wings of her collarbone.
The dress was easy to slip on—a slave had only to fasten a few tiny pearl buttons that ran up the low back—and Kestrel was accustomed to belting the jeweled dagger around her waist herself. But once she was alone she knew her hair would be trouble, and she wasn’t going to call for Lirah, the person most able to help.
She sat at her dressing table, eyeing her reflection warily. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders, a few shades darker than the dress. She gathered a handful and began to braid.
“I hear you’re going to the ball tonight.”
Kestrel glanced in the mirror to see Arin standing behind her. Then she focused on her own shadowed eyes. “You’re not allowed in here,” Kestrel said. She didn’t look again at him, but sensed him waiting. She realized that she was waiting, too—waiting for the will to send him away.
She sighed and continued to braid.
He said, “It’s not a good idea for you to attend the ball.”
“I hardly think you’re in a position to advise me on what I should or shouldn’t do.” She glanced back at his reflection. His face frayed her already sheer nerves. The braid slipped from her fingers and unraveled. “What?” she snapped. “Does this amuse you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, and Arin looked like himself, like the person she had grown to know since summer’s end. “‘Amuse’ isn’t the right word.”
Heavy locks fell forward to curtain her face. “Lirah usually does my hair,” she muttered. She heard Arin inhale as if to speak, but he didn’t.
Then, quietly, he said, “I could do it.”
“What?”
“I could braid your hair.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Kestrel’s pulse bit at her throat. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything he had crossed the room and swept her hair into his hands. His fingers began to move.
It was strange that the room was so silent. It seemed that there should have been some kind of sound when a fingertip grazed her neck. Or when he drew a lock taut and pinned it in place. When he let a ribbon-thin braid fall forward so that it tapped her cheek. Every gesture of his was as resonant as music, and Kestrel didn’t quite believe that she couldn’t hear any notes, high or low. She let out a slow breath.
His hands stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
Pins disappeared from the dressing table at a rapid rate. Kestrel watched small braids lose themselves inside larger ones, dip in and under and out of an increasingly intricate design. She felt a gentle tug. A twist. A shiver of air.
Although Arin wasn’t touching her, he was touching no living part of her, it felt as if a fine net had been cast over Kestrel, one that hazed her vision and shimmered against her skin.
“There,” he said.
Kestrel watched her reflection lift a hand to her head. She couldn’t think of what to say. Arin had drawn back, hands in his pockets. But his eyes held hers in the mirror, and his face had softened, like when she had played the piano for him. She said, “How…?”
He smiled. “How did a blacksmith pick up such an unexpected skill?”
“Well, yes.”
“My older sister used to make me do this when I was little.”
Kestrel almost asked where Arin’s sister was now, then imagined the worst. She saw Arin watch her imagine it, and saw from his expression that the worst was true. Yet his smile didn’t fade. “I hated it, of course,” he said. “The way she ordered me around. The way I let her. But now … it’s a nice memory.”
She rose and faced Arin. The chair stood between them, and she wasn’t sure whether she was grateful for that barrier or not.
“Kestrel, if you must go to the ball, take me with you.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said, frustrated. “I don’t understand what you say, how you change, how you act one way and then come here and act another.”
“I don’t always understand myself either. But I know I want to go with you tonight.”
Kestrel let the words echo in her mind. There had been a supple strength to his voice. An unconscious melody. Kestrel wondered if Arin knew how he exposed himself as a singer with every simple, ordinary word. She wondered if he meant to hold her in thrall.
“If you think it’s stupid for me to go to the Firstwinter ball,” she said, “you can be certain that it is far worse for me to take you along.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Or it could send a bold message of what we both know to be true: that you have nothing to hide.”
* * *
The governor’s wife, Neril, faltered for only the briefest of moments when she saw Kestrel in the receiving line for the ball. But the governor thought highly of General Trajan and, more important, relied upon him. This made the men allies—which, in turn, meant that Neril had to be careful around the general’s daughter, as Kestrel knew very well.
“My dear!” said Neril. “You look stunning.” Her eyes, however, didn’t rest on Kestrel. They darted behind her to where Arin stood.
“Thank you,” said Kestrel.
Neril’s smile was stiff. Her gaze didn’t leave Arin’s face. “Lady Kestrel, could I beg a favor? You see, half of my slaves fell ill tonight.”
“So many?”
“They’re faking, of course. But beating the lies out of them won’t make me any less shorthanded tonight. A whipped slave could hardly serve my guests, at least not with the necessary poise and posture.”
Kestrel didn’t like where this was going. “Lady Neril—”
“May I borrow your slave tonight?”
Kestrel sensed the tension in Arin as clearly as if he stood next to her, shoulder brushing hers, instead of behind her, barely out of sight. “I might need him.”
“Need him?” Neril dropped her voice: “Kestrel, I am doing you a favor. Send him to the kitchens now, before the ball has truly begun and more people notice. I doubt he’ll mind.”
Kestrel watched Arin as she went through the charade of translating Neril’s Valorian for him. She thought that, yes, he would mind. Yet when he spoke, his voice was humble. His words were in Valorian, as if he no longer cared who knew how well he spoke the empire’s language. “My lady,” he said to Neril. “I don’t know the way to your kitchens, and it would be easy to get lost in such a grand house. One of your slaves could guide me, but I see they are all busy…”
“Yes, fine.” Neril waved an impatient hand. “I’ll send a slave to find you. Soon,” she added, that last word directed at Kestrel. Then she turned her attention to the guests next in line.
The governor’s home was Valorian-built, after the conquest, so the reception hall led to a shield chamber, where embossed shields studded the walls and flared in the torchlight as guests chatted and drank.
A house slave placed a glass of wine in Kestrel’s hand. She lifted it to her lips.
It was knocked away. It smashed at her feet, wine splashing near her shoes. People broke off their conversations and stared.
“I’m sorry,” Arin muttered. “I tripped.”
Kestrel felt the heat in the way everyone looked at her. At him. At her, standing next to him. She saw Neril, still visible at the threshold between the reception hall and the shield chamber, turn and take in the scene. The woman rolled her eyes. She grabbed a slave by the elbow and pushed him toward Kestrel and Arin.
“Kestrel, don’t drink any wine tonight,” Arin said.
“What? Why not?”
Neril’s slave came closer.
“You should keep your head clear,” Arin told her.
“My head is perfectly clear,” she hissed at him, out of earshot of the murmuring crowd. “What is wrong with you, Arin? You ask to accompany me to an event you don’t think I should attend. You’re silent in the ca
rriage the entire way here, and now—”
“Just promise me that you won’t drink.”
“Very well, I won’t, if it’s important to you.” Did this moment, like others at Irex’s dinner party, hide some past trauma of Arin’s that she couldn’t see? “But what—”
“Arin.” It was Neril’s slave. The man seemed surprised to see Arin, yet also pleased. “You’re supposed to follow me.”
* * *
When Arin entered the kitchens, the Herrani fell silent. He saw their expressions change, and it made him feel as if something sticky had been wiped on his skin, the way they looked at him.
As if he were a hero.
He ignored them, pushing past footmen and serving girls until he reached the cook, roasting a pig on a spit over the fire. Arin grabbed him. “Which wine?” he demanded. Once the poison was served, destruction would fall on every Valorian in this house.
“Arin.” The cook grinned. “I thought you were supposed to be at the general’s estate tonight.”
“Which wine?”
The cook blinked, finally absorbing the urgency in Arin’s voice. “It’s in an iced apple wine, very sweet, sweet enough to mask the poison.”
“When?”
“When’s it going to be served? Why, right after the third round of dancing.”
26
Beyond its entryway, the ballroom rang with laughter and loud talk. Heat seethed over the threshold and into the hall where Kestrel stood.
She wove her fingers into a tight lattice. She was nervous.
She looked nervous.
No one must know how she felt.
Kestrel pulled her hands apart and stepped inside the ballroom.
There was a sudden valley of silence. If the windows had been open and air had rushed through them, Kestrel would have heard the chandeliers tinkle, it was so quiet.
Faces chilled. One by one, they turned away.
She sought the crowd for a friend and hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she noticed Benix. She smiled. She moved toward him.
He saw her. She knew that he saw her. But his eyes refused to see her. It was as if she were transparent. Like ice, or glass, or something equally breakable.
She stopped.
Benix turned his back. He went to the other side of the room.
Whispers began. Irex, far away but not far enough, laughed and said something in Lady Faris’s ear. Kestrel’s cheeks prickled with shame, yet she couldn’t retreat. She couldn’t move.
She saw the smile first. Then the face: Captain Wensan, coming to her rescue, weaving past people. He would ask Kestrel for the first dance, and her appearance would be salvaged, at least for now, even if her reputation was ruined. And she would say yes, for she had no choice but to accept the captain’s pity.
Pity. The thought of it chased the blush from her face.
She scanned the crowd. Before the captain could reach her, she approached a senator standing alone. Senator Caran was twice Kestrel’s age. Thin-haired, thin-faced. His reputation was spotless, if only because he was too timid to break ranks with society.
“Ask me to dance,” she said quietly.
“Pardon me?”
At least he was speaking with her. “Ask me to dance,” she said, “or I’ll tell everyone what I know about you.”
His gaping mouth clamped shut.
Kestrel didn’t know any of Caran’s secrets. Perhaps he had none. She was counting, however, on his being too afraid to risk whatever she might say.
He asked her to dance.
He wasn’t, obviously, the ideal choice. But Ronan hadn’t arrived, and Benix still wouldn’t meet her gaze. Either he had changed his mind about her since the duel or his courage failed him in the absence of Ronan and Jess. Or maybe he was simply no longer willing to sink his reputation along with Kestrel’s.
The dance began. Caran remained silent the entire time.
When the instruments slowed to an end, a lute picking a light tune downward until there was no more music, Kestrel broke away. Caran gave her an awkward bow and left.
“Well, that didn’t look very fun,” said a voice behind her. Kestrel turned. Gladness washed over her.
It was Ronan. “I’m ashamed of myself,” he said. “Heartily ashamed, to be so late that you had to dance with such a boring partner as Caran. How did that happen?”
“I blackmailed him.”
“Ah.” Ronan’s eyes grew worried. “So things aren’t going well.”
“Kestrel!” Jess threaded through milling people and came close. “We didn’t think you’d come. You should have told us. If we’d known, we’d have been here from the first.” Jess took Kestrel’s hand and drew her to the edge of the dance floor. Ronan followed. Behind them, dancers began the second round. “As it was,” Jess continued, “we barely made it into the carriage. Ronan was so listless, saying he saw no point in coming if he couldn’t be with you.”
“Sweet sister,” said Ronan, “is it now my turn to share private things about you?”
“Silly. I have no secrets. Neither do you, where Kestrel is concerned. Well?” Jess looked triumphantly between them. “Do you, Ronan?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and thumb, brows rumpling into a pained expression. “Not anymore.”
“You look lovely, Kestrel,” Jess said. “Wasn’t I right about the dress? And the color will go perfectly with the iced apple wine.”
Kestrel felt giddy, whether from the relief of seeing her friends or because of Ronan’s forced confession, she wasn’t sure. She smiled. “You chose the fabric of my dress to coordinate with wine?”
“A special wine. Lady Neril is very proud of it. She told me months ago that she planned to import several casks from the capital for the ball, and it occurred to me that it is simply too easy to match a dress only to jewels, dagger, and shoes. A glass of wine in one’s hand is rather like a jewel, isn’t it, a large, liquid one?”
“I’d better have a glass then. To complete my ensemble.” Kestrel didn’t quite forget her promise to Arin not to drink, but rather willed it away along with everything else about him.
“Oh, yes,” said Jess. “You must. Don’t you think so, Ronan?”
“I don’t think. I am thinking of nothing other than what Kestrel could be thinking, and whether she will dance with me. If I’m not mistaken, there is one final dance before this legendary wine is served.”
Kestrel’s happiness faltered. “I’d love to, but … won’t your parents mind?”
Ronan and Jess exchanged a glance. “They’re not here,” Ronan said. “They’ve left to spend the winter season in the capital.”
Which meant that, were they here, they would object—as would any parents, given the scandal.
Ronan read Kestrel’s face. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Dance with me.”
He took her hand, and for the first time in a long while, she felt safe. He pulled her to the center of the floor and into the motions of the dance.
Ronan didn’t speak for a few moments, then touched a slim braid that curved in a tendril along Kestrel’s cheek. “This is pretty.”
The memory of Arin’s hands in her hair made her stiffen.
“Gorgeous?” Ronan tried again. “Transcendent? Kestrel, the right adjective hasn’t been invented to describe you.”
She attempted a light tone. “What will ladies do, when this kind of exaggerated flirtation is no longer the fashion? We shall be spoiled.”
“You know it’s not mere flirtation,” Ronan said. “You’ve always known.”
And Kestrel had, it was true that she had, even if she hadn’t wanted to shake the knowledge out of her mind and look at it, truly see it. She felt a dull spark of dread.
“Marry me, Kestrel.”
She held her breath.
“I know things have been hard lately,” Ronan continued, “and that you don’t deserve it. You’ve had to be so strong, so proud, so cunning. But all of this unplea
santness will go away the instant we announce our engagement. You can be yourself again.”
But she was strong. Proud. Cunning. Who did he think she was, if not the person who mercilessly beat him at every Bite and Sting game, who gave him Irex’s death-price and told him exactly what to do with it? Yet Kestrel bit back her words. She leaned into the curve of his arm. It was easy to dance with him. It would be easy to say yes.
“Your father will be happy. My wedding gift to you will be the finest piano the capital can offer.”
Kestrel glanced into his eyes.
“Or keep yours,” he said hastily. “I know you’re attached to it.”
“It’s just … you are very kind.”
He gave a short, nervous laugh. “Kindness has little to do with it.”
The dance slowed. It would end soon.
“So?” Ronan had stopped, even though the music continued and dancers swirled around them. “What … well, what do you think?”
Kestrel didn’t know what to think. Ronan was offering everything she could want. Why, then, did his words sadden her? Why did she feel like something had been lost? Carefully, she said, “The reasons you’ve given aren’t reasons to marry.”
“I love you. Is that reason enough?”
Maybe. Maybe it would have been. But as the music drained from the air, Kestrel saw Arin on the fringes of the crowd. He watched her, his expression oddly desperate. As if he, too, were losing something, or it was already lost.
She saw him and didn’t understand how she had ever missed his beauty. How it didn’t always strike her as it did now, like a blow.
“No,” Kestrel whispered.
“What?” Ronan’s voice cut into the quiet.
“I’m sorry.”
Ronan swiveled to find the target of Kestrel’s gaze. He swore.
Kestrel walked away, pushing past slaves bearing trays laden with glasses of pale gold wine. The lights and people blurred in her stinging eyes. She walked through the doors, down a hall, out of the palace, and into the cold night, knowing without seeing or hearing or touching him that Arin was at her side.
* * *
Kestrel didn’t see why carriage seats had to face each other. Why couldn’t they have been designed for moments like these, when all she wanted to do was hide? She took one look at Arin. She had given no order for the carriage lamps to be lit, but the moonlight was strong. Arin was silvered by it. He was staring out the window at the governor’s palace dwindling as the carriage trundled toward home. Then he tore his gaze from the window with a sharp turn of the head and sagged against his seat, face filled with something that looked like shocked relief.
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