The Winner's Crime (59 page)

have forgotten what it was like to burn on a fuse before

him? He looked at her, and she knew that she had remem-

bered nothing at all.

“I can’t be seen with you,” she said.

Arin’s eyes fl ashed. He raked the curtain shut behind

him. The closed-off balcony became deeply dark.

“Better?” he said.

Kestrel backed away until the heel of her shoe met the

balustrade and her bare shoulder blades touched the glass.

The air had changed. It was warm now. And scented,

strangely, with brine.

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“The sea,” she managed to say. “You came by sea.”

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“It seemed wiser than riding my horse to death through

the mountains.”

CRIME

“
My
horse.”

’S

“If you want Javelin, come home and claim him.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you sailed here.”

“Technically, the ship’s captain did, cursing me the en-

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tire time. Except when I got sick. Then he just laughed.”

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I changed my mind.” Arin came to lean against the

balustrade beside her.

It was too much. He was too close. “I’ll thank you to

keep your distance.”

“Ah, the empress speaks. Well, I must obey.” Yet he

didn’t move except to turn his head toward her. Light from

the curtain’s seam cut a thin line down his cheek in a bright

scar. “I saw you. With the prince. He seems bitter medicine

to swallow, even for the sweets of the empire.”

“You know nothing of him.”

“I know you helped him cheat. Yes, I watched you. I

saw you play at Borderlands. Others might not have no-

ticed, but I know you.” His voice grew rough. “Gods, how

can you respect someone like that? You’ll make a fool of

him.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I
won’t
.”

Arin went quiet. “Maybe you won’t mean to.” He edged

away, and that line of light no longer touched him. His

form was pure shadow. But her sight had adjusted, and she

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saw him tip his head back against the window. “Kes-

SKI

O

trel . . .”

An emotion clamped down on her heart. It squeezed

her into a terrible silence. But he said nothing after that, only

her name, as if her name were not a name but a question.

MARIE RUTK

Or perhaps that wasn’t how he had said it, and she was

wrong, and she’d heard a question simply because the sound

of him speaking her name made her wish that she were his

answer.

Something was tugging inside her. It yanked at her

soul.
Tell him,
that part of her said.
He needs to know
.

Yet those words had a quality of horror to them. Her

mind was sluggish to understand why, so caught it was in

the temptation to tell Arin that her engagement had been

the bargain for Herran’s freedom.

“I don’t want to talk about your fi ancé.” Arin pushed

away from the balustrade and stood tall enough to cast a

shadow over her if there had been any light. “I seek infor-

mation.”

“Gossip, Arin?” she said lightly, and toyed with her

necklace in the dark until its fretful clicking made her

let go.

“I’m looking for a Herrani servant. He’s missing.”

The memory of Thrynne welled up.
Tell him. He needs

to know.
Those had been the tortured man’s words. “Who

is he to you?” Kestrel asked.

“A friend.”

“You could ask the palace steward.”

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“I’m asking you.”

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She couldn’t believe it. The mere
fact
of Arin’s asking

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was so reckless. No matter that his trust didn’t extend quite

so far as to admit the truth of the situation: that Thrynne

CRIME

had been a spy sent to gather information on the emperor,

’S

and must be assumed caught. It was nevertheless clear

that Arin was the sort of person who would dash safety to

pieces. No one with any sense of self- preservation would

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inquire after the whereabouts of his spy from the emperor’s

future daughter-

in-

law, who had already betrayed Arin

once.

But self- preservation had never been Arin’s strong suit.

What would he do with the truth of Kestrel’s engage-

ment?

Where is my honor in all this?
he’d asked her once. She

didn’t know what honor was to him. She thought that it

wasn’t the same as her father’s: monumental, marble- cut.

No, Arin’s honor was alive. She sensed the way it moved.

She couldn’t see its face— maybe it had many faces— but

she believed that Arin’s honor was the kind that would

hold its breath and bite its lip until it bled.

If she told Arin the truth, he’d wreck the peace she’d

bought. It almost didn’t matter whether he loved her. Arin

wouldn’t let someone imprison herself so that he could go

free. He’d fi nd a way to end her engagement . . . and she

would let him.

She’d felt it before, she felt it now: the pull to fall in

with him, to fall into him, to lose her sense of self.

There would be scandal, and then there’d be war.

Kestrel must keep her secret. She was going to have to

lie with her whole self. She could be cold. She could be

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distant. Even with him.

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As for Thrynne . . . she had a plan.

SKI

O

“Very well,” Kestrel said. “Tell me your friend’s name.

I’ll share what I know in honor of the protection you gave

me after the Firstwinter Rebellion. A Valorian remembers

her debts.”

MARIE RUTK

Arin stayed very still. “I hadn’t realized I had done any-

thing that begged repayment. What I did, I did for you.”

“Precisely. So ask. I will answer. We will be even.”

“Even? If you insist on seeing things that way, you and

I will never clear our debts.”

“Do you want your information or not?”

“What I want . . .” He muttered the words. Then his

voice steadied and came clear. “My friend’s name is Thrynne.

He cleans. Floors, mostly.” Arin described the man’s fea-

tures.

Kestrel pretended to think. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t recall

seeing someone like him.”

“Maybe if you took more time to consider—”

“Doubtful. There are hundreds of servants and slaves

in the palace. How am I to know each one?”

“So you give me nothing.”

“When have I ever given you anything?”

Softly, Arin said, “You gave me much, once.”

“Well,” said Kestrel, “as cozy as this little chat has been,

I’d like to get back to my party.” She stepped toward the

curtain.

His movement was swift. He blocked her path, hands

coming down on either side of her to brace against the bal-

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ustrade. He didn’t touch her, but was close enough now

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that she could see the dark shape of his mouth and the

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angry glimmer of his eyes. He said, “That’s not all I came

for.”

CRIME

She could smell the sea on his skin, stronger now: salty

’S

and sharp.

“Kestrel, this isn’t you.”

She pressed back against the chill glass. “I don’t know

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what you mean.”

“This voice you’ve been using, that bright one . . . do

you think I don’t recognize it? It’s the sound of you laying

a trap. Of you hiding behind your own words. And I know

that the way you’ve been talking is
not you
. Say what you

want about me, about what happened between us, about

the shape of the sun and the color of the grass and any

other truths in this world you want to deny. Deny every-

thing until the gods strike you down. But you can’t say

that I don’t know you.” He was now close enough that the

air between them was alive against Kestrel’s skin. “I . . .

have thought about you.” His voice dropped. “I have thought

about how I have never known you to be dishonest with

me.”

Kestrel’s laugh was robbed of breath. It was short, in-

credulous.

“Let me rephrase that,” Arin said. “You may have

tricked me. But you were true to yourself. Sometimes even

to me. You have never been
false
.”

“Are you forgetting that I sent my father’s army to crush

yours?”

“I knew you would. You knew that I knew. Where is

the lie? I’ve never felt that there was a lie on your lips.

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Please, Kestrel. Please. Don’t lie.”

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She gripped the cold stone of the balustrade’s railing.

SKI

O

He said, “Do you know anything about Thrynne?”

“No. Now let me pass.”

“I’m not done. Kestrel . . . do you really want to marry

the prince?”

MARIE RUTK

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“Want and need aren’t the same.” His mouth hovered

near hers. “Tell me. Is this engagement really your choice?

Because I don’t believe it. Not unless I hear you say so.”

The glass against her back was a blaze of cold. She shiv-

ered. He was so close. All she had to do was uncurl her

fi ngers from the balustrade and lean forward into him. It

felt inevitable, like an overfull cup ready to spill.

The rasp of his unshaved cheek brushed hers. “Do

you?” he said. “Do you want him?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it,” Arin murmured into her ear. The heat of

him settled against her. His palm squeaked against the

glass by her head.

“Arin.” She could barely speak. “Let me pass.”

His lips caught at the base of her neck, slid upward.

“Prove that you want him,” he said into her hair. His kiss

traveled across her cheek. It brushed her forehead, then

rested right on the golden line that marked her engage-

ment.

“I do,” she said, but her voice sounded like she was

drowning.

His kiss was there, waiting near her lips. “Liar,” he

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breathed.

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Her hand came between them, and pushed. She was

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shaken, startled by the way she had shoved him. She felt

suddenly, cruelly starved— and angry at herself for this

CRIME

hunger of her own making. “I said,
let me go
. Or will you

’S

hold me here against my will?”

He recoiled. His boots scraped back. She couldn’t see

his expression, only the way he snatched his arms to his

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sides and stood stiff . He covered his face as if it weren’t al-

ready hidden by the dark. He muttered something into his

palms, then they fell away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He tore open the curtain, and was

gone.

The light hurt Kestrel’s eyes. She blinked, her lashes

wet, her vision too bright, blurry.

When her pulse had steadied and she could see and

breathe and think again, she tentatively stepped into the

hallway.

It was empty. She could hear music now. She hated to

hear it. Her whole future was in that airless ballroom. She

wondered if this ache inside her would ever go away— and

if she might feel even worse when it did.

She had to return to the ball. Surely she’d already been

missed. The emperor would be wondering where she was.

Kestrel slowly walked down the hall toward the ball-

room.

She had almost reached it when someone came out of

its open doors. Tensen took one look at her. His eyes wid-

ened, and he shook his head, striding toward her with an

urgency that defi ed his age and made his cane seem pur-

poseless.

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“You can’t go in there,” he said.

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“I must.”

SKI

O

“No, you must fi nd a mirror. A private one. Because

Arin just stormed through the ballroom. His mouth was

shiny. Maybe people will think it was from wine and not

glittered oil, but they won’t if they see you, too.”

MARIE RUTK

Kestrel’s fi ngers fl ew to her forehead and the engage-