The Winner's Crime (75 page)

blood at the base of the stalls in the Butcher’s Row. A pal-

ace maid wouldn’t stare at the slick organs in the gutter

and realize that she’d never seen the inside of a chicken, or

paid any thought to it.

Kestrel made herself look hard at the slurry that ran

down the Row. When her throat closed up, there was a rea-

son right before her. It was there in the disgusting street. It

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was on the damp wood of the fi shmonger’s mallet. It wasn’t

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in the Broken Arm tavern last night, or in Arin’s wounded

face turning away from her. It wasn’t in what she’d done to

deserve it.

She pulled the sailor’s coat tight around her, and lifted

MARIE RUTK

the blue- and- white hem of her work dress as she walked

down the Row.

A little Valorian girl ran ahead of her, braided ropes of

white- blond hair bouncing against her shoulders. The girl

gripped a cloth doll by the arm. Something about the

doll caught Kestrel’s eye, and she wasn’t sure why until the

child caught up to her mother and begged for another toy

the woman carried in her basket. It was a boy doll dressed

in black. Then Kestrel noticed the golden thread stitched

across the girl doll’s brow and realized who these toys were

supposed to be.

Kestrel pushed passed the girl and her mother. She

tried to forget the doll. She looked for Tensen.

She found him inspecting a gutted suckling pig that

hung from a hook in a stall. “Oh, good,” he said when he

saw Kestrel. “Just in time. I might have had to buy a pig to

keep up appearances, and who knows how I would have

smuggled
that
back into my rooms.”

They merged into the crowd of shoppers— servants,

mostly, sent to get the morning meat while it was fresh.

Kestrel and Tensen worked their way to the end of the line

of stalls and up the slope of a hill, where there were few

people.

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“The Senate leader has been to southern Herran,” Kes-

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trel told him. “I can think of only one reason. The emperor

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asked him to inspect the hearthnut harvest and gauge how

large the crop will be. The emperor must plan to take it all

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from Herran. He’ll know if you try to hold back any for

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yourselves.”

Tensen looked older in the outside light, his wrinkles

deeper, his eyes nearly lashless. “This will mean famine.”

THE WINNER

Slowly, Kestrel said, “I have an idea.”

Tensen waited. When she remained silent, he raised his

brows.

“It might not be a good idea,” she said.

“It must be better than nothing.”

“I’m not so sure.” She thought of the horses of the eastern

plains. She heard Arin saying
murder
. That word had raked

claws through his voice. It had sunk them deep into her.

Tensen placed one hand on her shoulder. For all that

his hand was light while the general’s was heavy, the ges-

ture reminded Kestrel of her father. “You could harvest the

crop early and hide it,” she told Tensen, “but leave some

hearthnuts on the trees. Then infect them. Choose your

favorite pest. Gull wasp, beetles, caterpillars . . . what ever

will breed quickly. When the emperor asks for the crop, it

won’t be your fault if you’ve nothing to give him.” Tensen’s

smile warmed. Kestrel wondered what her father’s father

had been like, or her mother’s, and whether if she had had

a grandfather, he would look at her like this. “If the em-

peror believes you’re lying, he can see the wasted fi elds for

himself. But . . . it might ruin the trees. You might starve

next year when nothing but worms grow in your fi elds.”

“We’ll worry about next year if we come to it,” said

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Tensen. He squinted at a few pinpricks of snow. They were

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just starting to come down. “Arin’s been pressing me to

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say who provided the information about poor Thrynne.”

Her heart jumped. “What did you tell him? You can’t

tell him it was me. You promised.”

“Don’t worry. We both know what it means to lie for the

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right reasons. I won’t share your secret. I insisted on my in for-

mant’s anonymity. I called her the Moth. That doesn’t bother

you, does it? Being named after a lowly house hold pest?”

The corner of Kestrel’s mouth lifted. “I don’t mind

being a moth. I would probably start eating silk if it meant

that I could fl y.”

The sleeve’s cuff had fi nally frayed. Arin pitched the shirt

into the trunk. He unstrapped the sheathed dagger, whose

almost slight weight made him uneasy. He didn’t like to

have Kestrel’s dagger on him. But he also didn’t like the

idea of packing it away, or leaving it behind. He glanced

back at the openmouthed trunk. The unraveling shirt rested

on top of its contents.

Arin set the dagger aside. He reached for the shirt again

and tugged on a thread. It spun free, a spider’s line that

Arin wrapped around one fi nger until it cut off the circula-

tion. He gave a sharp yank. The thread broke from the

shirt. He stared at it.

It was crazy, the thought that a simple string could help

Herran. But Arin left his rooms, sought Deliah, and asked

her for spools of thread in many colors.

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“You smell like fi sh,” Arin told Tensen when the minister

entered the suite.

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“My shoes, I think. I stepped in something.” Tensen

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glanced up and saw the closed trunk with its tightened

straps waiting by the door. “Arin, are you leaving me?”

“I’m no good here.”

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“Do you think you will do more good in Herran? I

hate to be rude, but surely you understand by now that

being a governor means little more than giving the em-

peror what ever he wants. Your cousin’s been able to man-

age that just fi ne in your absence.”

“I’m not going to Herran. I’m going to the east.”

Tensen blinked, then frowned. He passed a palm over

the trunk. He fi ddled with the straps. “What could you

hope to fi nd there?”

“Allies.”

“The east doesn’t make allies. The east is the east. They

don’t like outsiders.”

“I’m not asking for your advice.”

“Apparently not. Because if you were, I would remind

you that people who go to that country rarely return, and

those who do aren’t the same.”

“I could use a change.”

Tensen studied him. “You were out all night. I wonder

what has inspired this decision of yours.”

“Tensen, we’re already at war. We need to face facts.

Herran will have to fi ght free of the empire, and we’re no

match for it. The east might be.”

“It’s illegal for a foreigner to enter Dacra.”

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“I’m no ordinary foreigner.”

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Tensen cupped his hands and opened them wide as if

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scattering seeds to the fl oor. It was the Herrani gesture of

skepticism.

“Don’t doubt me,” Arin said.

“It’s not you I doubt, but the idea. It’s not safe.”

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“Nothing’s safe. Staying

here isn’t safe. And going

home is useless. You asked me when we fi rst came here

what I would choose, myself or my country.”

“That’s true,” Tensen said slowly. “I did.”

“
This
is my choice.”

“A choice like that is easy when you don’t really know

what it will cost.”

“Whether it’s easy or not doesn’t matter. What matters

is that it’s
mine
.”

Tensen pursed his lips. The loose fl esh of his neck sank

gently beneath his lowered chin. Abruptly, he leveled his

gaze and met Arin’s. Tensen pulled the gold ring from

his fi nger. “Take this.”

“I can’t take that.”

“I want you to.”

“It was your grandson’s.”

“That’s why I want you to take it.”

“Tensen. No.”

“Am I not allowed to worry for you?” Tensen didn’t

look at the ring in his outstretched hand. He kept his eyes

on Arin. “You’ll go east no matter what I say. If you won’t

take my advice, the least you can do is honor an old man’s

gift by accepting it.”

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Still reluctant, Arin took the ring. It fi t on his smallest

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fi nger.

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“Off you go, then.” Tensen patted the strapped trunk

with deliberate lightness, in a way that avoided the emotion

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of the moment and yet also didn’t, because the avoidance

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was evidence of Tensen’s diffi

culty. He no longer looked

at Arin directly. It made Arin wish he hadn’t accepted the

ring. It made him remember his mother’s emerald. It made

THE WINNER

him wonder which pain was greater: to give up something

precious, or to see it taken away. In a fl ash that he would

have resisted if he could, Arin remembered Kestrel in the

tavern, her lips bitten white as he’d accused her. She had

looked cornered. She had looked trapped.

No,
caught
. That’s how the guilty look.

“Stop in Herran on your way east,” Tensen said, and

Arin was glad to be torn away from his thoughts. “I have a

job for you.” The minister told Arin about the hearthnut

harvest.

“Where’d you get this information?” Arin asked.

Tensen smiled.

“You met with the Moth,” Arin said. “Outside the pal-

ace. That’s why your shoes smell like fi sh.”

“I should have cleaned them,” Tensen said mournfully.

Arin tried to imagine Risha talking with Tensen on the

wharf, or maybe in the Butcher’s Row, but failed. “When

was this meeting? It’s almost noon. You weren’t in the state

room this morning.” Neither had been Kestrel.

Arin was suddenly furious with himself. He knew ex-

actly which way his thoughts were going. He couldn’t be-

lieve it. Even now, even when he
knew
what Kestrel had

done, even when he’d heard her
admit
it, heard it from

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her very lips, Arin’s mind kept playing its favorite sick

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game. It noted that Risha certainly hadn’t smelled like

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fi sh. Not like Tensen. How con ve niently Arin’s imagina-

tion ignored the possibility that Risha might have spoken

with Tensen and then changed her shoes before going to

the state room. No, Arin’s unruly mind didn’t care for that

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logical explanation. Instead it presented Arin with the

image of Kestrel in her maid’s dress. Meeting with Tensen.

Telling him secrets.

“Stop,” Arin snapped. Tensen closed his mouth, his ex-

pression puzzled. “Just stop.” Arin pressed his fi ngers to his

temples. He rubbed hard. “You don’t have to tell me where

you were or when. I don’t need to know.”

“Arin, have I made you angry?”

“No.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Only at myself.” Arin’s hand shifted to pinch the

bridge of his nose, his thumb digging into the corner of his

closed left eye. He ignored how it made the scratched eye-

lid smart. He wanted that image of Kestrel to go away. “It’s

stupid.” Arin felt worn out. He’d been ill, hadn’t slept. His

body was very heavy.

“Gods, Arin, sit down. You look ready to fall asleep on

your feet.”

Yes, the tired mind plays tricks. Arin knew that. His

hand dropped from his face. He found a chair, sat, and felt

better. More focused. “I went into the city last night,” he

told Tensen. “I asked the bookkeeper about bets on the

wedding dress. The chief palace engineer knows how to

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play the odds.”

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Tensen listened to Arin explain what he had learned

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from the bookkeeper. “So if the emperor paid the senator

for his secret trip to Herran with a golden bet,” Tensen

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said, “it’s possible that the water engineer is profi ting from