Tensen lost his smile. “What do you know, my lady?”
“That this conversation will end now unless you make me a promise.”
He raised his brows.
“Promise that Arin will never learn that you and I spoke,” she said. “I can offer information. You can give it to your governor. But it can’t be linked to me.”
Tensen considered her. He passed a gnarled hand over the carved back of a chair and pursed his lips as if there was something wanting in the chair’s design. “I know that your presence in Arin’s house after the Firstwinter Rebellion was … complicated.”
“I didn’t want to be there.”
“Maybe not at first.”
Slowly, Kestrel said, “I never could have stayed.”
“My lady, it’s not for me to know what you wanted or what you could or could not do. But your condition surprises me. If you’re sympathetic enough toward my governor—or his cause—to share something with me, why can’t Arin know? I swore by the god of loyalty to serve him. You would make me break my oath.”
“Do you know how I escaped from your city’s harbor?”
“No.”
“Arin let me go,” she said, “even though letting me go was the same thing as inviting the Valorian army to break down his city’s walls. So promise me, because it is in your interest that Arin can’t know. You can’t trust that he’ll always choose the safety of his country—or even of himself.”
Tensen was silent.
“Do you see?” Kestrel pressed. “Do you see that the very reason you stopped me from entering the ballroom is why you can’t tell Arin that your information comes from me? Let’s not pretend that you don’t know how I came to look like I did, and why I can’t look that way when I return to the ballroom.” Kestrel’s gaze dropped to her hands. She wished she had something to do with them. She imagined that she held one of those roses on the mantel. She could almost feel the bloom’s texture, its curled velvet as sinkingly soft as the balcony’s curtain.
“Arin and I are impossible,” she said quietly. “Dangerous. It’s best that we keep our distance from each other.”
“Yes,” said Tensen. “I see.”
“Do you promise?”
“Would you trust me to keep that promise?”
“I trust my ability to ruin you if you don’t.”
He laughed. It wasn’t quite a disbelieving laugh, only the kind that the aged sometimes have for the young. “Then speak, my lady. You have my word.”
Kestrel told him about Thrynne and what the tortured man had said.
The minister pressed a palm to his mouth, thumb rumpling the wrinkles near one eye. As he heard more, his hand shifted into a fist, still covering his mouth. He had the look of someone trying not to be sick.
His hand fell away. “You think that Thrynne had something important to tell Arin. What did Thrynne overhear during the emperor’s meeting with the Senate leader?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could find out.”
But Kestrel was already walking toward the door. “No.”
Tensen spread his hands. “Where’s the harm?”
She shook her head at the obvious absurdity of such a question.
“Are you afraid of the risk of finding out more?” said Tensen. “I hear that you love a gamble.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Yet you’ve played it well so far. You’re playing it now.”
Kestrel set her hand on the cane blocking the door. “This kind of conversation won’t happen again. I am not one of your people. I have my own country and code … and no reason to become your spy.”
“Then why tell me anything at all?”
Kestrel shrugged. “Valorians see little point in the sacred, but we honor the last request of the dying. I’ve told you what I know for Thrynne’s sake.”
“Only for him?”
Kestrel handed Tensen his cane. “Good night, Minister. Enjoy the remainder of the ball.”
*
Verex found Kestrel in a corner of the ballroom pouring a glass of iced lemon water with floating sprigs of mint. “Where have you been? And why are you serving yourself? Here.” He took the cut-crystal dipper from her and poured.
But Kestrel wasn’t really watching him. Her mind was a curtained balcony. It was filled with the memory of warm movement. Of almost coming undone. Coming close, pushing away, letting go …
Verex set the cold cup in her hand. The lemon-mint water tasted alien: piercingly sweet and clear.
He took his time pouring a cup for himself. His movements were tense. He seemed constantly on the point of saying something.
“Thank you,” he finally murmured.
“For what?” Kestrel’s heart was made of treason. Didn’t Verex sense that? Couldn’t he tell? Why would he ever thank her?
“For the Borderlands game. You helped me win.”
She’d forgotten about that. “Oh. It was nothing.”
“I’m sure to you it was,” he said bitterly. His eyes roamed the ballroom, then settled on the emperor. Verex drank. “I couldn’t find you earlier. I looked everywhere.”
Kestrel’s cup was cold and sweating in her hand. She ran a quick thumb through the condensation. She was aware that some courtiers lingered nearby, as close as politeness would allow. They were drawing closer.
“Did a senator corner you?” Verex asked. “They’ll do that. They’ll try to worm their way into your good graces for a chance to influence my father. Well, Kestrel? Where were you? And what…” He frowned, peering closely at her. “Your mark has faded.”
“Oh,” she said. “I have a headache.” As the courtiers watched, she rubbed at her forehead, smudging the mark. She hoped the gesture seemed casual, absentminded, as if she had been doing it all evening.